The Ares Virus

by A P Bateman

  He tracked the room with his pistol, held firmly in his right hand. He knew she had left but could not bring the receiver with him, as it was far too bulky and connected to the laptop through the USB socket. As he had left his hotel and crossed the street he knew that there had been the possibility that she could have returned to the room whilst he had been in transit. He had decided that in this event he would simply kill her and retreat from the operation. She was the only link to the drives but he could not afford capture on his part.

  Satisfied that the room was clear he started a careful and calculated search of the room starting high and working lower, checking all of the recesses and alcoves and under the edge of the carpet. He had an incredible short-term memory and worked hard at remembering where everything had been. He would stand back occasionally and study the room as if it were a photograph, then repeat the search only when he was happy that he had left nothing out of place and nowhere unchecked.

  ***

  The walk had done her good and she felt refreshed and in a more confident frame of mind. She had kept on West 71st and crossed over Columbus and Central Park West and had ventured into Central Park. The sky was a clear deep blue and utterly cloudless. The air had warmed and if she kept out of the shade there was no need for her jacket but once out of the bright sun's glare the temperature dropped considerably.

  She watched the joggers uniformly skirting the park, the Sunday morning fathers and sons pitching and batting and the dog walkers who all seemed to be either throwing balls for their dogs or picking up their mess with plastic bags and depositing the package in the bins. It was a picture, a snapshot of normality and it had inspired, willed her to get over the situation and return to her own snapshot, her own little picture of normality.

  She had paced the sidewalk back towards the hotel and she had entered the building with determination and a purpose. As she climbed the stairs she had formulated her plan and was going to return to Washington and contact the police. It would stand her in better stead than the NYPD and she would not feel so isolated and alone in her hometown. She had friends there and people she could possibly turn to.

  She reached the top of the stairwell and caught up with an elderly couple, who climbed far slower than her. They were indecisive in their actions and stepped onto the next stairwell in front of her. She didn't want to hurry past them, and knew that they were oblivious to her, so instead settled into their pace and took the stairs one at a time as patiently as she could.

  At the top of the stairwell the couple veered off to the right and Isobel turned left and walked along the empty corridor towards her room, fumbling to get the key out of her bag as she neared the door. She stopped for a second and felt a shiver run down her spine. It was eerily quiet, she reflected as she slipped the key into the lock. The stillness was most unnerving and she felt another shiver, this time more violent than the first as she unlocked the door and stepped inside.

  TWENTY EIGHT

  Rodriguez Fortes drove erratically and without regard for his fellow motorists. Pedestrians were regarded even less, as were amber lights that were about to switch to red. He challenged the narrowest of gaps and made it through more by luck than by any degree of skill or judgment.

  Rob Stone had to drive even harder and even faster than the taxi driver. Amber lights for Rodriguez Fortes were red for Stone. The gaps through which Fortes barely made it through narrowed further for Stone in the pursuing Mustang and the pedestrians were just that little bit further across the road. He worked the Mustang hard and grimaced as he continuously accelerated only to slam on the brakes for an obstruction. By the time they had reached West 71st trickles of perspiration ran down Stone's brow as he battled for control of the vehicle and kept up continuous concentration through the traffic. It was an old car and not meant for driving like this. Stone owned it for vanity and release. In truth it was only fast in a straight line. The Mustang's V8 popped and rumbled as they slowed up and pulled to a halt in front of the entrance to an unremarkable hotel called The Albany.

  Rob Stone got out and slammed the door. He nodded a quick thank you to Rodriguez Fortes who was standing by the taxi with a pointed finger towards the hotel's entrance, Stone then mounted the steps and walked briskly into the foyer. David Stein told the driver to go and followed Stone inside.

  “I'm Agent Robert Stone, Secret Service.” He flashed his ID wallet at the female receptionist. “I need to see your register.”

  She looked at him in bewilderment. “Is there any name you're looking for in particular?” She looked at her computer screen and brought up the current booking calendar. “It'll be far quicker this way.”

  “Thanks,” he said appreciatively. “Isobel Bartlett.”

  The receptionist studied the screen for a moment and then looked up at him. “Room three fifteen.”

  “You have that many rooms?” Stein interjected.

  '”No. Fifteen to a floor, six floors. Three just means level three.” She looked back at Stone and pointed. “The stairwell is that way, or the elevator is just over there. She's in her room, or should be. She walked through the foyer about five minutes ago.”

  Stone ran the three flights of stairs and stopped when he reached the top. He turned back to face Stein right behind him. The FBI agent bent down and took a stubby revolver out of a concealed ankle holster gun in hand.

  Stone looked at the snub-nosed revolver and frowned. It wasn’t standard bureau issue, but then Stein hadn’t been on duty today. It was most likely his off-duty piece. “What are you doing?”

  Stein looked bewildered. “I've got a dead agent. Dead friend, even. I don't know this Bartlett woman, nothing other than what Delaney told me... and she's dead. I'm not going anywhere near her unarmed until I've got a few facts clarified.”

  “Wait here,” he paused. “I'll go and confront her. I don't want you scaring her half to death with that.”

  “We had a deal, Agent Stone. I was to get to interview her. Don't welch out on me and start waving bits of paper at me now. It's still not too late for me to call in the bureau officially.”

  “I'm not welching out. What are you in high school? I just don't want to go in too heavy. It'll only scare her and make her clam up.” He shook his head. “Wait here. Cover me with that, if you want. But let me go in first and tell her what's going on.”

  Stein thought for a moment, then nodded. He kept the revolver in his hand and leaned against the edge of an alcove, partially shrouded by a large potted rubber plant. He had a clear line of fire to the room at the end of the corridor. The revolver was small, but it was a .357 magnum with 158 grain loads. One shot stopped all. “Just remember our little deal, partner.”

  Stone smiled at the FBI agent and then walked quietly down the corridor and knocked on the door to room three-fifteen.

  ***

  He was in a fury. A rage. His head was starting to pound and he could feel the flickering starting to return to his eyes. The blood pumped through his temples and erupted in a crescendo of malevolence, clouding his vision and interrupting his hearing. All he could hear was the sound of his own heartbeat, echoing through his ears.

  He had glanced, purely by chance, out of the window and had seen the woman returning to the hotel. He had not had enough time to finish conducting his search and had been forced to leave before he was halfway through. He had managed to get down onto the second floor and wait for Isobel Bartlett to climb past the floor and onto the third. Once she was out of sight, and he heard her footfalls on the corridor above, he had run down the remaining stairs and out of the foyer. He had noticed the receptionist look up from her work but knew she had had no time to look closely enough to recognize him again if it were necessary for her to do so.

  After arriving back in his hotel room he had quickly checked the screen of the laptop but still there was no message.

  His head was starting to pound and it hindered his aim as he settled the sniper scope on the woman's forehead. He hated her. Hated her for leadin
g him on this wild goose chase, hated her for coming back to her room before he could finish conducting his search. Had he found the drives she would already be dead. But now he was back at square one. Back in his room waiting for the order to kill her, or continue to follow her movements. He prayed for the order to kill, was willing it to come through.

  He heard the knock on the door through the transceiver beside the laptop. It made him jump with a start. He watched her look of bewilderment, her expression of fear. He enjoyed watching her, enjoyed looking at her troubled face. He couldn't wait to squeeze on the trigger.

  ***

  “Open up, ma’am,” Stone paused. He was standing by the door, his back to the wall, his hand outstretched to his side. He rapped on the heavy wooden door once more, waited for a moment. “My name is Robert Stone, I'm an agent with the Secret Service and I need to talk to you at once.” He could hear movements inside the room and cursed himself for not checking out the layout of the room or the outside structure with the receptionist. She could be halfway down a fire escape by now and then he'd have no chance in catching up with her. Have to start all over. “I'm going to count to three, then I'm coming in! One... two ... three!”

  He stepped backwards, squared himself to the door and pulled the Sig Sauer pistol out from its holster. David Stein was in the corridor now, inching his way towards him with his back to the wall.

  The door opened cautiously. Stone stepped to one side keeping the pistol down by his side out of view from Bartlett behind the door. He holstered the weapon as he walked in. She hadn’t noticed he was armed.

  “Isobel Bartlett?” He asked, and she nodded meekly. “I have some questions for you regarding the theft of government property.”

  She nodded. Her demeanor was solemn but to Stone she looked like she had given into a fight. Resigned herself to her fate. “You'd best come in, then.” She opened the door wider and stepped aside to allow him through.

  Stone glanced down the corridor at Stein and then looked back to her. “I have a colleague with me, Special Agent David Stein of the FBI.”

  “David Stein?” She looked confused. “Then Elizabeth’s here?”

  “No ma’am,” Stein said as he walked into the doorway. “I'll explain in a moment.”

  Stone walked inside and waited for Stein to follow. He glanced around the room and then looked across at Isobel Bartlett. The woman looked a wreck. Her eyes were sore looking and red, like she'd been crying for some time and her eye sockets were deep and dark.

  “Take a seat, please Isobel.” David Stein ushered her to a chair, then looked around for somewhere to sit. He perched himself on the edge of the bed and looked up at Stone who was leaning against the wall, his hands in his pockets. “You expected to see Elizabeth Delaney?”

  She looked at him, unsure where it was leading. “No... I thought...”

  “Thought what?” Stone interrupted.

  “What's this about?” She asked, turning back towards David Stein.

  “Don't play the innocent!” Stone snapped. “You were caught on CCTV at the facility. You contacted Delaney from the phone in your apartment...”

  “You've been in my apartment?”

  Stone ignored her protest. He glanced down at Stein and then looked back at her. “You arranged to meet Elizabeth Delaney, when was that?”

  She hesitated, then looked at him defiantly. “I want a lawyer.”

  “Why? You're not under arrest.”

  “Then get the Hell out of my room!”

  Stone smiled. '”Not under arrest yet, at least.”

  “Then go to Hell or arrest me! Either way I'll only talk with a lawyer present.”

  “Delaney. When did you meet her?'”

  She stood up and slipped on her jacket, picked up her shoulder bag and stared at him. “I'll tell the cops. I've had enough of you lot.”

  “What lot?”

  “Federal lot. Elizabeth Delaney was my friend and I couldn't even trust her in the end.” She moved to pass between them, but Stein stood up and blocked her path. “Get the Hell out of my way!” she snapped.

  “Sit down and shut up.” Stein's voice was calm, yet firm. “Delaney's dead. You know anything about that?'”

  She looked up at him, her face was ashen. “What?”

  “Elizabeth Delaney. My friend, partner, lover ...” He glared at her. “You were to meet her. That's the last we know.”

  “I had nothing to do...”

  “Cut the crap! You arranged to meet her. You fed her a whole lot of shit about being on the run, not trusting anyone, now she's dead!”

  She glanced up at Stone, but he remained impassive. “I know you! You're the NSA guy from the conference on Friday.”

  Stone smiled. “Small world.”

  David Stein looked at him. “NSA?”

  “Cover,” Stone said, continuing to stare at Bartlett.

  “What the hell's going on?” She attempted to push past Stein once more but he stood firm and continued to block her path. “I'm going to the police.”

  Stone eased himself away from the wall and paced around the room. “Where are they? The flash drives. What have you done with them?”

  “They're safe.”

  “Where?”

  “Fuck you!”

  “Really Isobel? You don't look the type to use profanity.” He turned around and stared at her. “At this moment in time, I want to believe in you. I want to believe that a lead I have been following for three months is still as strong as before you took the drives. I want to believe that you are good and true and that you acted out of decency and with fortitude. I want to believe that I was on the right track and that Professor Leipzig was murdered because he was an obstruction to the people behind this and that your old college friend, was killed whilst helping you.” He continued to stare at her coldly. “I don't want to involve the police, and I don't want anyone but Agent Stein knowing what has happened. I don't want the people behind this getting to you. Or your family. I don't want the people involved getting away with this. And they will. Unless you start to co-operate and tell me what you know.”

  She seemed to be weighing up her options. She visibly relaxed, taking a breath. “OK,” she paused. “But I don't know where to start.”

  “How about the beginning,” Stein suggested.

  ***

  There was a discreet chime as the e-mail arrived. He looked at the screen, traced his finger across the mouse pad and clicked on the mail icon. He read carefully, not wanting to risk mistake. The orders were clear. His fee had been increased and he had been given the reference number for a new deposit to his offshore account.

  He carried only the one bag and it was packed and ready. He quickly packed the laptop and the rest of the electronic equipment into a compact case and checked over the room for traces of his stay. It was immaculate and looked as if the room had been freshly remade. Satisfied that he was ready to leave he sat down at the table and picked up the customized M4 assault rifle. The weapon’s soft rectangular carry case was open on the table. It looked like a suit carrier. He blinked several times to moisten his eyes and then took up aim at the figure in the window across the street. The weapon was light and compact and felt comfortable in his hands. He could hold the zero for hours, not shaking nor twitching as his muscles relaxed.

  He moved the crosshairs of the sniper scope until they were lined up on the target. He had a clear shot at the center of the forehead. The target was still, and his aim was steady. The headache had gone and so had the hammering of his heartbeat. He was calm. He was controlled. And he held the zero completely.

  His finger tensed on the custom trigger and he anticipated a pull of about a pound and a half. He rechecked his aim and breathed steadily out, losing all the breath from his lungs. He held steady. Held his breath, sound and relaxed. Almost trancelike as he watched the crosshairs line up for the last time. Then, slowly, surely, he squeezed the trigger.

  TWENTY NINE

  There was no sound of a gun
shot. Just the sound of the glass shattering and the bullet impacting into the very center of David Stein's forehead. His head snapped backwards and a thin mist of red puffed from the back of his head and splattered the wall behind. For an indeterminable moment in time he remained standing as he stared blankly at the ceiling, his legs shaking uncontrollably. The second bullet penetrated his chest with a solid thud, pierced his heart and passed through his back hitting the wall behind. He dropped lifelessly to the floor. Not flung backwards with the force of the bullet as depicted in movies but merely slumped inertly, the use of muscles and limbs and .senses gone forever.

  Time stood still for a moment for Isobel. She stared at Stein’s body slumped lifelessly on the floor. She looked up at Stone who was moving towards her like a sprinter out of the blocks. He looked past her, his eyes on the baseball sized hole in the glass and the street beyond.

  Stone’s mind was working, his thoughts moving through the dense fog that had threatened to cloud his mind the moment Stein had been hit. Whereas Isobel was standing frozen, Stone’s years of training for this scenario had suddenly and thankfully taken over. The hole was small, the second shot had found its way through without any loss in accuracy. The marksman was an expert, a supreme shot. There was no sound, the weapon had been a silenced one - there was no chance of detecting the sniper's location by hearing alone. All this had passed through his mind as he had taken his first step. As he had taken his second, his hand had reached behind his back and pulled the .357 pistol clear of its holster. He kept moving, powering his leg muscles and willing for the world to catch up and play at real-time. Isobel was still staring at him, her face was expressionless and her body hadn't moved from the spot where she’d been standing at the first shot. Stone reached her in three powerful strides and had his hand on the fabric of her jacket, just on top of her left shoulder. He heaved and twisted and pulled her towards him. In a split second, she had spun right around and was shielded by his body as he lined his weapon up one of the many windows across the street and they both fell to their knees.