One moment Chase was giving her a look of mixed fear and loathing; the next he’d seemed to argue with himself, in a freakish Gollum impersonation, if the Lord of the Rings character were a six-foot-tall mercenary. And now the man wasn’t breathing and had no pulse.
Chest compressions first. She’d recertified in CPR last year and knew the drill. Thirty compressions and two breaths—but breathing only if she had a partner. She placed her hands in the center of his chest, one hand on top of the other, and started compressions at a hard, rapid pace, chanting “Another One Bites the Dust” to get the rhythm.
Footfalls sounded and she glanced up to see Alec and Ethan racing toward her at a dead run. “What happened?” Alec asked.
“I don’t know! He has no pulse. He’s not breathing.” She didn’t break stride with the compressions as she answered. The rhythm was fast. She’d begun to sweat as she tried to keep the young operative’s heart beating.
Alec hit the intercom button next to the elevator and relayed the emergency to the communications operator. Ethan knelt beside her and touched Chase’s neck with two fingers.
“You’re doing good. I’m getting a pulse with each compression.”
“You know CPR?” she asked.
“Yes.”
“You can breathe for him, then.”
“You got it.” He positioned Chase’s head to open his airway. “Just tell me when.”
“On thirty.” She’d been counting silently but now she said, “Twenty-eight, twenty-nine, thirty.”
Ethan gave Chase two quick breaths, and Isabel returned to counting silently.
“Doc’s on his way,” Alec said as he knelt down across from her. “Do you want me to take over?”
“Not yet. Soon.” She focused on Chase’s face as she counted chest compressions. He was so young. Twenty-two or three? Far too young for his heart to stop. Something had been done to him. But what? Why? And how did it connect to what happened to Vin? To Alec? To her?
Isabel’s forehead was slick with sweat by the time the elevator door opened. Doc Larson and his assistant stepped out, followed by a gurney being pushed by someone from security. The gurney was loaded with equipment.
“Keep doing chest compressions,” Larson said as he grabbed his equipment from the gurney. Alec moved out of the way, and Larson took his spot. While Isabel pounded on Chase’s chest, Larson used a blade to slice open Chase’s thick camouflage shirt, starting at the sleeve and cutting from hem to the neckline. He repeated the action with the other arm.
Isabel reached the end of the cycle and stopped compressions so Ethan could breathe. Larson took the opportunity to pull the shirt down, exposing Chase’s chest. He quickly placed a small square patch in the middle of his chest, then nodded to Isabel.
She positioned her hands again, this time above the square pad, and returned to the fast beat as Larson placed a larger square patch to the upper right on Chase’s chest that was connected to the smaller one under her hands. He then placed a final large square patch on Chase’s left side, just below the nipple line. He quickly placed four small electrodes—two on Chase’s upper hip bones, two on his collarbones—and the monitor sprang to life.
Larson paused and studied the screen. “Patient is in V-fib. On my count, Isabel will stop compressions and switch positions with Ethan.” He counted down, then nodded to Isabel, who scooted back so Ethan could take over chest compressions.
“Charging to 200 Joules… Everybody clear… Delivering shock.” He pushed a button.
Chase’s body contracted, his whole body jolting—almost levitating from the floor. Larson kept his gaze on the monitor. “Ethan, begin compressions,” he instructed.
Ethan took over the job of pounding on Chase’s chest, while Isabel moved to take over breathing, but Larson’s assistant brushed her aside and put a manual resuscitator mask over Chase’s nose and mouth.
She slumped backward and took her own deep breath.
When Ethan reached the end of the cycle, he counted aloud, and the assistant pumped the air-filled bag two times. Meanwhile, Doc Larson was in the process of setting up an IV. He injected something into the line.
“You both have done great,” Larson said without taking his gaze from the monitor.
The minutes moved slowly, and she wasn’t even doing the compressions any more. She met Ethan’s gaze. With a quick nod, she indicated she could take over after the next round.
Larson’s gaze never wavered from the screen. Finally, he spoke. “He’s in sinus rhythm now. Stop CPR.” He pressed fingers to Chase’s throat. “Strong carotid.” He shifted to his wrist. “Weak radial.”
Instant tears sprang to her eyes. She scooted backward to get out of the way so the security officer and Larson’s assistant could lift Chase to the stretcher.
“If his heart keeps going, he may be solid for airlift to Fairbanks.” He nodded to his assistant, who’d been busy in the background, handing the doctor the various patches and tools necessary, and it vaguely registered that he’d been on the phone, calling for emergency airlift. She’d been so focused on Chase, the rest was a blur.
“Let’s get him up to the clinic. Isabel, Ethan, Rav, ride with us and tell me what happened.”
Everyone crammed into the elevator, a tight fit due to the gurney carrying Chase. Isabel gave a brief rendition of Chase’s screams, disoriented speech, convulsions, and eventual collapse. The only time the doctor looked away from the heart monitor was when she mentioned infrasound and added that she thought he’d been hit with a frequency that caused an abnormal heart rate and eventual cardiac arrest.
Larson’s eyes widened, and he turned to Alec with an accusing gaze. “Infrasound? I thought you stopped the experimental weapons program.”
“I did. It appears someone decided to continue it without my knowledge.”
The elevator doors opened, and Larson pushed the gurney into the corridor. “We’ll discuss this later, Rav. Right now I have a patient to take care of.” His angry tone made it clear he was as suspicious of his boss as Isabel had once been.
The elevator doors closed, leaving Isabel, Alec, and Ethan inside. No one had pushed a button. They didn’t move. Isabel was at a loss for where they should go. What they should do. Alec opened his arms, and she fell into them. The tears she’d been holding back burst through her control. She had no clue why she cried. It could be the shock of watching a man collapse before her, the relief his heart had restarted, or the fear his heart would stop again.
“You did great, honey,” Alec murmured as he stroked her back. “If he lives, it’s thanks to you and Ethan.”
She pulled back and met his gaze. “He’s what, twenty-three? His heart never should have stopped. What the hell is going on?”
The intercom inside the elevator beeped. Behind her, Ethan pressed the button and identified himself.
“This is Hatcher. Is Rav with you?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Tell him Markwell and I are in Chase Johnston’s quarters on the fourth floor, and we need him. Now.”
Alec flipped through the pages of Chase Johnston’s most recent journal. Anger mixed with horror caused his stomach to clench with each turn of the page. Johnston had been stalking Isabel. For three months. Page after page showed photos of Isabel. Handwritten underneath were dates, times, and locations.
“He must have set up cameras in town,” he said to Nicole and Keith. “He had to be working some of these dates and times.” He closed his eyes. This was worse than bad. Isabel had claimed—several times—that in addition to someone shooting off bear bangers on her property, she was being monitored by Raptor personnel. Of course the claim made her look like a nutcase or a liar. This was proof she was neither, and the fact that one of his employees had been stalking the woman who’d been on a crusade to shut down the compound wouldn’t look good, no matter what his relationship with her was now.
His campaign could well fall apart. He was already slipping in the polls. His opponent had raised
questions about his missing hours, and voters were echoing them to the pollsters. Stimson had cast suspicion on the silence from the campaign on the subject, and it didn’t help that Alec was still in Alaska, and not in Maryland working damage control. A full seven percent of the registered voters who’d been firmly in the Ravissant camp had moved to the undecided column.
Alec had no illusions they’d maintain the fiction that he’d hit a moose and wandered the woods until Isabel found him—for starters, that would mean letting the bastards who’d abducted him get away with their crime—and when the truth came out, voters would have even more doubts. If his employees were behind the abduction, there would undoubtedly be whispers of cover-ups and Alec’s involvement in dirty deals.
Prior to seeking out Isabel in the firing range, he’d been on the phone with his campaign manager, who had not so subtly hinted that the only certain way to salvage the mess was if the FBI charged Isabel with his abduction. Carey asserted a crackpot with a baseless vendetta would be far easier for voters to accept and move on from than anything involving Raptor.
Alec had made it clear to Carey that any attempt to characterize Isabel as a crackpot wouldn’t be tolerated. He’d rather lose than allow anyone associated with him to smear her.
Aside from finding the idea of pinning everything on Isabel abhorrent, it was now clear she’d been right about her stalker. She’d been right about so many things.
Had Chase stalked her because he was obsessed with her? Or did his reasons have to do with Raptor and infrasound?
A team of operatives had entered the basement from the south stairwell and searched for Chase’s assailant—assuming he’d been zapped with infrasound—even as Isabel and Ethan performed CPR. But they’d found no one in the shadows of the vast basement. Security was going through all the basement camera footage, including the stairs and elevators in hopes of identifying a suspect, but any number of employees could have a legitimate reason to enter the basement, and Alec was certain the assault on Chase had been an inside job.
The deeper they looked, the more tangled the situation became. All he knew as he stared at the journal was that he was glad Isabel was safe in his quarters, because if she saw this proof Johnston had her under surveillance, she would rightly freak out.
Would she regret administering CPR to her stalker? He doubted it. After all, she’d saved Alec’s ass, taking good care of him even after she knew exactly who he was.
20
Isabel stared at the screen of Alec’s laptop, methodically picking through the results of Internet searches on infrasound and cardiac death. She rubbed her eyes and stretched her neck. Information on infrasound remained scant, and she’d learned the odds weren’t in Chase’s favor.
A knock on the door startled her. She heard Nicole shout, “It’s Nic. I bring food and files.”
Isabel slid back the dead bolt Alec had installed while they were hiking yesterday. The bolt couldn’t be unlocked from the outside, ensuring she’d feel safe in his suite. It was strangely comforting to have a simple, mechanical lock in a building in which everything was controlled by electronic key codes. If the power went out, and the backup generator failed, this door would remain locked.
She swung open the door to see Nicole holding a plastic file box. Behind her stood Hans, carrying a cafeteria tray laden with food and a basket with an assortment of drinks and the necessary accoutrements. Nicole breezed past Isabel and set the file box next to the computer desk in the corner.
Hans followed her in and set the tray the table. “Do you need anything else?”
“No. Thanks, Hans. Call when the FBI is ready for Isabel, and I’ll escort her to the conference room.”
He nodded and left.
Isabel eyed the food, realizing she was hungry. The events of the last two days had suppressed her appetite, but the smell of steak revived it. “Aren’t you a little high up in the hierarchy to be saddled with babysitting duty?” she asked.
Nicole grinned and started dealing plates and silverware. “Yes, but it’s been a craptastic few days, and I wanted an hour off so I can vent about my new boss, so I volunteered.”
Isabel smiled and dropped into a seat at the table, snitching a slice of garlic bread from the basket as she did so. It had been a few weeks since she and Nicole had hung out and she’d missed her. “You don’t like Keith Hatcher?”
“Hatcher is fine. He might even be easier to work for than Rav. He seems open to some of my ideas that Rav has repeatedly shot down. I’m just annoyed that I have a new boss. I wanted the job.”
Nicole had made no secret of her wish to take over as Raptor CEO if Alec won the election, but she’d also admitted it was a long shot given the difficulty she was having retaining employees at the compound.
“I heard Godfrey quit on Thursday,” Isabel said, then licked garlic butter from her fingers.
Nicole made a low growling sound in the back of her throat. “I begged Godfrey to stay. Quitting without notice when the CEO was about to arrive was shitty as hell. I can’t blame him for my not getting the promotion, though. Hatcher, apparently, was hired weeks ago, right after he passed the background check.” She pulled a bottle of cabernet sauvignon from the basket along with two glasses. “But I can get my petty revenge against the company by drinking one of the best wines from the cellar.”
“The compound has a wine cellar?” Isabel asked incredulously.
“It was Beck’s.” She waved an arm around the overdecorated room. “I think Beck intended to move here permanently, maybe right before he’d planned to set off an epidemic in the lower forty-eight, making Alaska a safe haven. The CEO suites at all the other compounds aren’t nearly this gaudy, and Hawaii doesn’t have a wine cellar or tennis courts. Beck’s passions were wine and tennis.” She twisted the corkscrew into the top of the bottle. “My revenge is feeble, though, since Rav instructed me to pick out a good bottle to go with our dinner.” She gave Isabel a knowing smile. “It appears he’s wining and dining you even when he’s not here.”
“More like he’s placating you.”
“That too. Rav is nothing if not a brilliant strategist.” She pulled out the cork. “And, sadly, I can only have one glass. With everything that’s going on, more would be foolish.”
“Just one for me too. I’ve got to talk to the FBI.” Isabel loaded her baked potato with butter, cheese, and sour cream, but her attention was on something else Nicole had said about Robert Beck. “What do you mean ‘start an epidemic’?”
“I only know what came out in the pretrial filings. Beck hemorrhaged money building this place—the Alaska compound ended up costing three times the estimates. He was at risk of defaulting on far too many loans, and his scheme to turn things around was to freak out the American people by committing terrorist acts that would scare the government into contracting more security work to him. There was a bill in Congress at the time that would have designated private security firms as first responders. There was some speculation that biological agents and an epidemic were involved, but none of that was presented as evidence in the filings.”
Isabel knew most of that but hadn’t heard the part about biological agents, but then, that had probably been kept out of the media, for good reason. “Do you think Beck was experimenting? With infrasound, among other things?”
“It’s possible. With Beck, it’s hard to rule anything out. But I’ve searched this place top to bottom. Hell, I’ve even paced and measured. While it’s a crazy maze, there are no unaccounted-for spaces. No hidden chambers or laboratories. I always heard that if there was a lab, it was in the Virginia compound.”
Isabel sliced a bite of steak—medium rare, just the way she liked it—and chewed the perfect cut slowly while considering the pieces of the elaborate puzzle. It was easy to imagine Beck had been experimenting with infrasound if he’d been dabbling in biological agents. Anyone working on that research for him would have been more than eager to cover it up to save themselves from jail. Then, six months o
r a year after Beck plea-bargained for a life sentence to avoid the death penalty for a vast array of crimes that included murder-for-hire and treason, whoever had been experimenting with infrasound could have resumed their research.
She nodded to the file box as she cut another bite. “What’s in the box?”
“Everything we have on the search for Vin and the investigation into his death.”
That fast, Isabel’s eyes teared. “Everything?”
Nicole squeezed her hand. “Yes. Everything. Rav gave me permission to give it to you.”
It wasn’t wine, food, or a trip to Paris, and it proved Alec was, indeed, a brilliant strategist.
Isabel met with the two FBI agents in a small conference room on the third floor. She told them everything, starting with Vin’s first email about passing out while hiking on Raptor land and ending with performing CPR on Chase Johnston. In between, she confessed to encroaching on Raptor property to find the lynx cave, her fears of being stalked by Raptor operatives, and her vague memories of being hit with infrasound and Airwave in her cabin.
In short, she finally got the FBI to listen to her, after ten months of begging them to investigate her brother’s death, only to sound utterly paranoid and insane with the bizarre list of events that had occurred since finding Alec in the woods on Thursday afternoon.
She could only hope that Alec’s version of events matched hers.
For their part, the agents—a white man named Upton, and an African American woman named Crews—kept their faces blank, never once indicating whether or not they thought she was nuts.
Interview complete, she shook hands with both agents and stepped into the hall. No one waited to escort her back to Alec’s suite, but then, they hadn’t known how long the interview would take, and everyone here was busy prepping for the training.
Vote Then Read: Volume II Page 255