by Jack Bowie
“What do you want from me, Mr. Luckett?”
“I want to share information. I don’t trust Slattery, the CIA, the FBI, or the goddamn administration to get this right. That friend of mine I mentioned? The militia killed him because he wrote the truth. I don’t know how you’re connected, but I think you’re an honest guy. I took this chance because I need your help. Tell me what you know. Maybe we can stop this before it gets any worse.” Luckett glanced down at his watch. “Well, my minute’s up. What do you say?”
This was all coming too fast. He needed time to think. And to find out more about this reporter.
“You tell an interesting story, Mr. Luckett. Let me sleep on it. I’ll give you a call if I think of anything that might help.”
Braxton turned his back on Luckett and walked slowly toward his car. His heart was pounding like a jackhammer. Could there be a connection between the militia and Amsterdam? Could that be why Carlson came down on him so hard? Or did this Luckett have some other motive?
“Oh, Braxton,” Luckett called. “Don’t wait too long. Folks close to this problem have a nasty habit of getting hurt. But I guess you already know that.”
Chapter 52
Falls Church, Virginia
Monday, 6:50 p.m.
Braxton leaned back in the overly-soft Scandinavian sofa and whistled a sigh of fatigue. There was something very wrong with the events around him but he was unable to put them into any kind of pattern. Megan’s death, Vision One, a militia conspiracy; seemingly unrelated events but with a mind of their own. As if some master puppeteer was pulling the strings of a troupe of marionettes. Daring the audience to piece together the story line. Unfortunately, he at least, was missing the point.
After the encounter with Luckett, Braxton had passed on dinner and poured a strong tumbler of Talisker scotch instead. He had planned to put all the questions out of his head and spend the rest of the evening falling into a calming stupor. That, among all of his other worries was why he answered the knock on his door with such enmity.
“Who is it?” he growled from across the room at the intrusion.
Nothing.
Shit! He pulled himself up and trudged over to the door. The dark, smoky liquid had begun its magic and he felt a slight wobble to his step.
“What!”
A quiet voice drifted through the door. “Adam. It’s Sydney. I need to talk to you.”
Sidney? Sidney who? Oh, Jesus. Sydney! He twisted the deadbolt and pulled the door back against the security chain. Peering through the crack, he spied his previous partner-in-crime. She was as attractive as ever, but her face had an unease he had never before seen. Damn, what more can she do to me now?
“Well, the disappearing Miss Marino. How good to see you. What do you want?”
“We need to talk. Please let me in.” Her voice was almost pleading. She checked the hallway behind her as if expecting someone to come through the shadows. She was not at all acting like the self-possessed PR expert.
“I think I’d rather not, Miss Marino, or whoever you are.” The words stumbled awkwardly out of his mouth. He shook his head to clear his thoughts. “I’ve been called a liar, my reputation is shot to hell, and I feel like shit. When I needed your help, you were nowhere to be found. No thanks, I think I’ll pass on anything you have to tell me. Have a good life.”
He wanted to simply slam the door in her face and get on with his life, but something stopped him. Before he could gather the strength to pull away, her voice reached through the opening and held him fast.
“I’m sorry, Adam. You’re right. I lied to you. But we have to talk. It’s about the Chlamydia.”
So she does know about that! Goddamit, it was time somebody told him what was going on. It may as well be her. He unhooked the chain and pulled open the door.
“Alright, get in here and sit down. You’ve got a lot of explaining to do. But first I’m getting something to sober me up.”
He made her sit quietly while he brewed a double-strength pot of green tea and took two aspirins. While he waited for the caffeine to kick in, he peered around the corner of the kitchen at his guest. She was dressed conservatively for the sophisticated, outgoing woman he remembered. Dark blue suit, raincoat.
Was it raining outside? He didn’t even know.
Her blonde hair was pulled back tightly, revealing a child-like innocence in her face. It had been like that in Amsterdam. Which woman was she?
“Where should we start?” He chose one of the easy chairs and set the cup down on the end table. It was the last he would see it that evening.
She slowly raised her head and stared straight at him. He didn’t know whether to be relieved or scared.
“My name really is Sydney. Sydney Walker. I’m a Lieutenant in the US Army, assigned to Pentagon Intelligence, the Defense Intelligence Agency. My job was to infiltrate and gather intelligence on Vision One. But something went terribly wrong.”
Braxton felt all the air leave the room. He could barely breathe. “So you are a spook,” he finally exclaimed. “But why investigate Vision One?”
“Vision One gets a lot of government contracts. Some are public, and some, well, not so public. C. Pneumoniae was used in Desert Storm as a biological agent.”
“Wait a minute,” he interrupted. “I found that name, too. From the pages in the lab notebooks. I looked it up. It’s not all that dangerous. And easily cured by antibiotics. It isn’t any secret weapon.”
“I know the background. But there are special strains that are very virulent. They’ve been developed over the years as part of the CBW program at Fort Detrick. We had a vaccine, but the bacteria mutated again. I don’t understand the details, but Vision One was supposed to be designing a new antibiotic. It was taking much too long. We thought they might be hiding something from us so I was sent in.”
“How did you get in?”
“Oh, it wasn’t that hard. General Hastings is on their Board. It only took a call.”
That’s what Sam had said. Must be nice to have powerful friends. All his seem to want to do is screw him.
“So how did I fit into your neat little plan?”
“You didn’t. Not at first. I really did know Megan. She was a great lady. It was a terrible accident, Adam. You’ve got to believe that.”
“I don’t know what to believe any more, Sydney. People seem to have this habit of lying to me.”
“I know. I’m sorry. It was wonderful to see you in Amsterdam. And when you said you were going back out to Vision One I had to go with you. If you were caught it could have brought too much attention.”
“Apparently we were caught. Do you know how?”
“Vision One security checked the access logs and then the video surveillance tapes. After my superiors found out, they were adamant that I couldn’t surface. ‘Sydney Marino had to disappear’, they said. It was too dangerous and Venton would undoubtedly suspect we had had something to do with the break-in. They wouldn’t let me corroborate your story. As long as it was just you, they had deniability.”
“Deniability?” Braxton yelled across the table. “They crucified me. My reputation could be shot. Just so you could have ‘deniability’? Bull shit!”
He knew he was attacking the messenger but he couldn’t help it. And anyway, she was one of “them.”
“I know, Adam. I know it’s late, but maybe I can help. That’s why I came.”
“Help? How?”
“I heard something when we were in the laboratory. I didn’t tell you.”
“You mean when the lab techs came through? I thought you said they were discussing their sex lives.”
“They were. But they also said they were duplicating the antibiotic. Vision One has the cure, Adam. It exists.”
“So they did what you wanted. Why would they hide it from you?”
“Why do you think? Money. A new antibiotic could be worth billions of dollars. They wanted to get it to market first.”
“I thought we had al
l the antibiotics we needed?”
“That’s what everybody thought in the eighties. So the mainstream drug companies quit doing antibiotic research. They went on to other projects: Alzheimer’s drugs, TPA, Viagra. Unfortunately a lot of bacteria developed mutations, resistant strains. Like what happened with C. Pneumoniae. This made it a great biological warfare agent. But we needed a way to control it. Once we had the antibiotic we would have time to develop a vaccine.”
“And now Vision One made you one. So why don’t you and your SEALs just go get it?”
“That’s the Navy, Adam. We have the Rangers. Anyway, Venton denies it. I assume you know the lab is gone. Without that, there’s nothing to find. It’s my word against Venton’s. And I’m not all that credible right now, either.”
Braxton shrugged his shoulders. “So? What does this have to do with me?”
“Dammit, Adam. I could get court-marshaled for telling you this! I’m trying to help you.”
“Yeah, thanks. Next time just keep your help to yourself. I’d rather have my life back.”
“I’ve read your file. You have friends in the community. Contact them. You can make them understand.”
“And save your ass at the same time I suppose.”
Walker’s face dropped. He had gone too far.
“Sydney. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it that way. I’m strung out too. I don’t have any more credibility with my contacts than you have with yours. The Director of National Intelligence threatened to throw me in jail! You get paid to save the world. I don’t. There’s nothing I can do.”
“Apparently not. Whatever you say.”
Walker stood up and immediately headed for the door. Braxton didn’t bother to move.
Before she disappeared into the hallway she turned back to him. “You can be a really great guy, Adam Braxton. But Megan was right. Sometimes you’d rather lock yourself in a little room and hide rather than take a chance on really making a difference.”
The sound of the slamming door echoed through his apartment. What was he supposed to do? This wasn’t his problem. He had other things to worry about.
* * *
Robinson rolled over and stared at the glowing face of his alarm clock. 1:50 a.m. Five minutes later than the last time he had looked.
He hadn’t gotten a solid night’s sleep since Kam Yang’s death. And his cold-turkey avoidance of Flynn hadn’t helped. Night after night he traced every crack in the ceiling, studied every pattern in the texture.
It had gotten too personal. He had always worked in the background. Setting things in motion and watching the reactions. Now he was part of the play and the ramifications were much too close. People he knew were being affected. Being killed.
He closed his eyes and tried to visualize his last vacation to St. John. When was it? Three years ago? He was climbing on the rocks, walking in the sand, . . .
The insistent buzz slowly pulled him back to his bedroom. Away from the sun, away from the surf. He reached over and grabbed the phone.
“Hello?” he said sleepily.
“What are you doing calling me again?” said the angry voice.
What the hell? Oh, it’s him. “You’re getting back to me now? It’s 2:00 a.m.!”
“Keeping the country safe is not a nine-to-five job, Garrett. Now why did you call?”
“Did you see the latest decryption?”
“Yes.” The response was flat. Without emotion. What was wrong with him?
“So what should we do?” Robinson asked. He pulled himself up against the headboard.
“Didn’t we already have this discussion? We don’t do a goddamn thing.”
“But it’s that consultant. Braxton. They’re after him. We should warn him.”
“Warn him! Hasn’t he done enough damage already? Look, Garrett.” The voice dropped to nearly a whisper. “If this information helped us with the attacks, of course we’d release it. But it doesn’t. And the cost would be too high. We must keep the algorithm secret a little longer.”
“I’m tired, sir. Very tired.”
“I know, Garrett. We both know what a burden knowledge can be. But your country is counting on you. Let’s see what happens. We’ll talk later this week.”
“Yes, sir.” He was too tired to argue.
“Now get back to sleep, son.”
Robinson collapsed back onto the bed. Nothing was clear any more. What should he do now?
Chapter 53
Tysons Tower, Tysons Corner, Virginia
Tuesday, 8:10 a.m.
“Braxton! Can we talk?”
The muffled voice came out of the darkness in a corner of the Tysons Tower parking garage. Braxton had just parked his car and started toward the elevator. He recognized the voice and just kept walking.
“Adam. Please.”
Jesus. Why does everyone want to talk in the goddamn garage? He turned to face the voice.
“Look, Mr. Smith. Mr. Slattery. Whatever your name is. I don’t have time for any more of this. I tried to get the information you asked for. I nearly got killed doing it. And as a reward I get threatened again. Only this time by my own government. No, I don’t think we have anything to talk about. I should have listened to Sam and told you to go to hell.”
Braxton’s voice had grown louder and angrier with every sentence. He took a deep breath and let his pulse return to normal. What the hell did Slattery want now?
“I understand you’re angry. I didn’t have any idea Carlson was going to set you up like that. We, I, appreciate the information you gave us. I can promise you that it will be used. I just can’t give you any more details.”
Still playing the cool spook, eh, Slattery? Well, maybe I’ll try a little fishing and see what I catch.
“I hope so, Slattery. For Tak Yang’s sake. Oh, by the way, you wouldn’t be interested in any information on Chlamydophila Pneumoniae would you?”
The reaction was instantaneous. Nothing major, just a twitch above the eyes, a tightening of the neck. But for a professional agent it was a scream. Braxton had caught a big one.
“Well, did I get your attention, Mr. Slattery?”
“What do you know about that, Braxton?” Slattery’s tone had a razor-sharp edge.
“I know of someone who has a very strong interest in that particular microbe. Maybe we can share some information. You tell me how Yang figures into the recent militia activity and I’ll tell you about C. Pneumoniae.”
“Militia? I don’t know what you mean.”
“Okay. Have it your way. There’s no militia conspiracy. No coordination. And nobody cares about Chlamydia. See you around Slattery.”
Braxton turned, walked toward the elevator, and started counting. He got to four.
“Stop. Okay, we’ll talk.” Slattery walked up to face the consultant. Braxton felt the power of the man as he stood just inches away. “Look, Braxton. If any of what I’m about to tell you gets public, I will personally break every bone in your body–very slowly. This is a national security issue. I don’t imagine I need to explain the potential penalties for both of us.”
“Okay, Slattery, I’m duly impressed. Let’s get on with it.”
The agent took a step backward and Braxton’s heart slowed a bit. “About two weeks ago, Kam Yang decoded an Internet message that suggested an external group was organizing the activities of a number of militia groups. Since then, these groups have executed a series of coordinated attacks on local and state institutions. Eleven people have already been killed, including two FBI Agents.”
Braxton just stood and listened. This was old news, except for the FBI murders.
“We don’t know what further attacks may be planned,” Slattery continued, “because Kam Yang was killed in the traffic accident. And with him the ability to decode the messages. We have to find out who’s behind this and what is their objective.”
“So you sent me to get the algorithm from his brother?”
“Yes.”
“But he didn’t h
ave it and said his brother wouldn’t have kept it a secret. Why would the NSA tell you different?”
“I still don’t know.”
“Shit, Slattery. You’re the one from the world of secrets and lies. If you don’t know, who does?”
“Good question, Adam.”
“Okay, so these militia groups are working together. You want to know who is behind it. What does this have to do with C. Pneumoniae?”
“Not yet. Your turn. What do you know about it?”
Slattery’s cold stare cut into the consultant. He had to find the connection that would explain Megan’s death. Unfortunately the CIA agent was his only shot.
“You know I went snooping around the Vision One facility in Utrecht last week?”
“And caused quite a stir among some of their friends in the Pentagon it seems.”
The Pentagon. DoD. So that was where the pressure began.
“Apparently. When I was there with Marino, we discovered a hidden biological laboratory. Heavy-duty biohazard stuff. As best as I can figure, the scientists upstairs were designing molecules and the ones downstairs were cooking them up.”
“How do you know this has anything to do with Chlamydia?”
“I lifted some pages out of their lab notebooks.” Slattery’s eyes popped. “When I got back here, Sam and I discovered they were descriptions of Chlamydophila Pneumoniae.”
“Sam knows about this too?”
Braxton would have enjoyed shocking the spook, if the subject wasn’t so frightening.
“Yes. I hope that’s not a problem.” Braxton enjoyed watching Slattery shake his head in frustration. It was time to poke the spook again.
“Oh, Marino’s a DIA agent, in case you didn’t know.”
“Your friend Marino is DoD? Jesus Christ.”
Braxton let the surprises sink in, then got back on track. “Your turn again, Slattery. What’s the connection?”
The agent again paused. “We raided one of the militia cells last week.”
“The one in Georgia?”