Next Exit, Quarter Mile

by CW Browning

  “I agree.” Michael reached for a napkin and wiped his hands. “The only thing I can think is that somehow Trasker Pharmaceuticals is in on it. They're the ones distributing the antidote. They're the ones making all the money.”

  “But why infect people only to cure them?” Chris asked.

  “Maybe to show they can?” Michael suggested. “To spread panic? Make a statement? I don't know.”

  Chris fell silent again as he worked his way through his hamburger. Michael picked on his fries, thinking about Dr. Traeborn and Dr. Krupp. Was Alina right? Were they in danger?

  “We need to know if Sgt Curtis really has the flu,” Chris broke the silence when he had cleaned his plate.

  “I agree.”

  “He's in the hospital in Quantico,” he continued. “I'm not saying this will happen, but if I can get a blood sample, can you get it to this genius doctor?”

  Michael looked at him and resisted the urge to grin. Chris had just jumped directly into the course of action Michael was hoping he would take.

  “Yes, if you get it to me quickly,” he answered slowly. “If he did infect himself with Ebola, everyone who's been in contact with him is now infected. You'll need to warn the hospital staff.”

  “I know,” Chris replied. “I'll think of something. In the meantime, you need to find those three travelers. Do you think you can?”

  “I'm in contact with the agents trying to pick up their trail,” Michael said, pushing away his empty plate. “With a little luck, we'll find them. I'm going to work from home as much as possible, if that's alright with you.”

  “Whatever you need,” Chris agreed. “I never thought I'd say this, but how will I know when you have something? They've already bugged my office once, and now apparently my phone, and they're watching you. I don't want to use phones or email until we have solid evidence and know who we're dealing with. So what does that leave us? Smoke signals? Carrier pigeons? What?”

  Michael chuckled.

  “Why don't I just text you and ask you to meet me for lunch? We'll meet here.”

  Chris nodded.

  “That works,” he agreed. “What a fiasco. I feel like I'm trapped in a Bond film. Is this always how it is when your Black Widow gets involved?”

  Michael thought back to last fall when the Casa Reino Cartel led straight to a North Korean terrorist.

  “It's starting to look that way,” he muttered.

  Stephanie pulled the ringing phone out of her purse and glanced at the screen before answering.

  “Tell me you found something,” she answered, cradling her phone between her shoulder and ear as she unlocked her front door.

  “I found quite a bit, but none of it is related to your smuggling ring,” Alina replied. “I'm still working on it.”

  “Ugh.” Stephanie pushed open her door and stepped into her apartment, letting the door swing closed behind her. “Ok. What's up?”

  “I need you to ask your basement gnome for a favor.”

  “Matt?” Stephanie asked in surprise, dropping her purse and keys on the coffee table.

  “I have a lab coat. I need to know where it came from, who bought it, etc.,” Alina told her. “There's undoubtedly some DNA on here and I'll need anything that kicks up, too.”

  “Oh, is that all?” Stephanie demanded sarcastically. “Lina, what are you up to?”

  “Can you do it?”

  Stephanie sighed and rubbed her eyes.

  “Yes, of course I can,” she said. “Bring me the coat and I'll get it to him. How urgent is this?”

  “Very.”

  “Of course it is,” Stephanie muttered, rolling her eyes. “If it's that urgent, why can't you do it? Don't you have a super-secret lab somewhere?”

  There was a faint chuckle on the other end.

  “Yes. It's in the super super-secret basement of our invisible building,” Alina drawled. Stephanie grinned despite herself. “I'm on my way over to drop this off. Are you home?”

  “Yes.”

  Alina disconnected without another word and Stephanie put the phone down with a grimace.

  “You're welcome,” she muttered.

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Alina rolled to a stop behind a pickup that had seen better days and stared blindly at the assortment of lawn mowers, edgers and gardening tools piled into the bed. It was mid-afternoon and Route 70 was heavy with traffic. She glanced at her watch, then raised her eyes again to stare at the truck, waiting for the traffic light to change. Her jaw was clenched and no matter how hard she tried to focus on something else, the hard and heavy weight in the pit of her stomach wasn't budging.

  Viper didn't need to be at the hospital to know what was happening. The familiar stranger in the lab coat had been sent to do a job and, if he was what she thought he was, he wouldn't fail. The only question now was who discovered Dave sent John emails twelve years ago and how?

  Her lips tightened into a grim line. According to the notes on the partitioned hard-drive, John began seriously investigating the events that happened all those years ago about twelve months ago. How did someone find out now? What did John find that necessitated someone going through the trouble of trying to kill him? And when they failed, sending a professional to finish the job?

  The light turned green and the truck in front of her rumbled and jerked into motion. Alina took her foot off the brake and hit the gas. There was no doubt in her mind the stranger was responsible for John's cardiac arrest. Potassium chloride was the likely culprit. It would probably be her pick if she was sent to eliminate someone in John's condition. It was quick, easy and virtually never recognized.

  Alina's hands clenched and she took one off the wheel to rest on the gear shift, trying to get a handle on her rioting emotions. She glanced behind her and switched lanes suddenly, zooming around the pickup truck and accelerating up the left lane. Someone had tried to kill John twice now. She now knew the why; she just had to find the who. The rest was immaterial.

  And when Viper found them, may God show mercy on their soul, because she wouldn’t.

  Her hands-free system rang, breaking into her dark thoughts, and Alina tapped the button on the steering wheel impatiently.

  “Yes?”

  “Oh good, I caught you!” Michael's voice filled the Jeep. “I was afraid you wouldn't pick up. I just finished lunch and swung by the hospital to check on the doctor.”

  “And?” Alina prompted when he didn't continue.

  “He wasn't there,” Michael said. He paused, then continued, “It's probably nothing, but I’ve tried calling his cell phone and it goes straight to voicemail.”

  “He usually works every day?” Alina asked, switching lanes again to go around a tour bus.

  “Yes, and he specifically said if I needed him, the best time to get him is at work,” Michael told her. “So I find it strange he's not there.”

  “Did he go in at all?”

  “Not according to the woman at the desk.”

  Alina shook her head.

  “Do you know where he lives?” she demanded.

  “I can easily find out,” Michael replied. “You think I should go to his house?”

  “I think you need to find out where he is,” Alina said. “He knows about the antidote. That makes him a liability to someone.”

  “Roger that,” Michael said. “I'll let you know when I find out what's going on.”

  Alina tapped the button on the steering wheel again, disconnecting the call. She didn't like it. Everything inside her was tightening in warning and Viper knew that feeling. It was the same feeling she felt right before she dropped off a glider just outside a Taliban camp in Afghanistan last fall. It was the same feeling Hawk had last night.

  It was the feeling that all hell was about to let loose.

  If they knew about Michael's doctor friend, then they knew about the biochemical engineer Michael took the antidote to for testing. If they had Michael's doctor friend, they would soon know just where that genius was, i
f they didn't already.

  She didn't have much time.

  Alina tried the door to Stephanie's apartment and found it locked. Her lips twitched, but instead of picking her friend's lock, she pressed the bell with her knuckle. While she waited for Stephanie to come to the door, she glanced out of the little alcove. It faced a courtyard, and the only occupants of the open space were a pair of squirrels chasing each other in a streak across the manicured lawn. Her eyes automatically searched out the blind spots and hiding places, scanning for anything out of the ordinary.

  “That was fast,” Stephanie greeted her, opening the door.

  “I'm in a hurry,” Alina answered with a faint smile, stepping into the apartment.

  Stephanie closed the door behind her and looked at her.

  “What's wrong?” she asked, noting the grimness about her mouth.

  Alina forced a neutral expression and resisted the urge to laugh. What was wrong? Everything! She couldn't tell Stephanie that, however.

  “I have to go out of town,” she said instead, her tone even. “Something came up. I wanted to get this to you before I left.”

  Alina held out a clear plastic bag with the white coat stuffed inside.

  “This is what you want me to give to Matt?” Stephanie asked, taking the bag. “Where did you get it?”

  “I know he won't find much, but anything he can pull from it will be helpful,” Alina said, ignoring the question. “The sooner the better.”

  “I already called him. He's stopping by after work,” Stephanie told her, walking over to set the bag on the dining room table next to her laptop. “I didn't want to say much over the phone, so I just told him I had something for him.”

  “Good. The less people who know about this, the better,” Alina said, glancing at her watch. “Have you heard from Blake? Did he get the list of cars?”

  “I gave it to him this morning.” Stephanie turned toward the kitchen. “He says thank you, but I have a dilemma.”

  “What's that?” Alina followed her into the kitchen and watched as she opened the fridge to pull out a can of soda.

  “I'm not a good liar, apparently,” she said, holding the can up questioningly.

  Alina shook her head.

  “No thanks, and no, you can't lie to save your life.”

  “So it seems,” Stephanie muttered, popping open the top and taking a sip. “He saw right through me and knows there's something I'm not telling him. He's giving me until 10 tomorrow morning to read him in.”

  “And if you don't?”

  “That's not an option.”

  “It's always an option, Steph,” Alina retorted, amused. “What aren't you telling him?”

  “About the bombs,” Stephanie answered. “More specifically, what kind of bombs they are and where they come from.”

  “Ah.” Alina pursed her lips. “Well, that's more complicated.”

  “Exactly.”

  “You told him he could lose his job?” Alina asked, leaning against the kitchen counter and folding her arms over her chest.

  “Yes, but he's got tunnel vision. He wants these drivers and the Cartel, and that's all he sees,” Stephanie explained, sipping her soda. “He thought you were the one keeping him out at first,” she added. Alina raised an eyebrow and she chuckled. “He really does like to blame you for everything. He's still bitter about last fall, I think.”

  “He needs to get over it,” Alina murmured. “Go ahead and tell him what you know. He has a right to know what kind of mess he's getting into, and he'll keep it all to himself.”

  Stephanie looked at her.

  “Well, I know that, but how do you?” she asked. “You've never even met him.”

  Alina's lips curved into a faintly self-depreciating and twisted smile.

  “I've known enough people to tell the good apples from the rotten.”

  Stephanie stared at her for a moment, her gaze searching. She seemed about to say something, but then changed her mind. Alina glanced at her watch again and straightened up.

  “I have to go.”

  “How long will you be gone?” Stephanie asked, following her out of the kitchen and toward the front door.

  “I should be back by morning,” Alina replied. She hesitated at the front door, her hand on the handle. Turning, she looked at Stephanie. “If you need me, call.”

  Stephanie raised her brows in surprise.

  “Of course,” she agreed readily.

  Alina searched in vain for words to say, anything that might ease the pain Stephanie was bound to feel in the next few hours.

  “I'll be back as soon as I can,” she finally said, knowing it was inadequate but unable to come up with anything more.

  “Should I be worried?” Stephanie asked, her brows coming together. “What's going on?”

  “I don't know,” Alina answered grimly. “That's what I'm going to find out.”

  Michael rolled to a stop at the curb and killed the engine, looking at the modest, two-story home. The lawn was neatly mowed and an American flag fluttered in the breeze, hanging off the side of the house next to the single car garage. There was no car in the drive and the house was quiet, like most of the houses on this street. Patrick Traeborne lived in a small, hard-working neighborhood where the lawns were mowed and the houses were well-maintained. At this time of day, the community was deserted, with the adults at work and the children at school. Michael glanced down at the address he pulled for the doctor. Number twenty-six. He looked at the house number on the mailbox. This was definitely it.

  Pulling the key from the ignition, Michael opened the door and got out of his truck. He glanced around and walked up the driveway to the brick path leading to the front door. Curtains were pulled across the windows, making it impossible to see inside as he walked by. Michael stepped up the single step to the porch and pressed the bell.

  While he waited, he looked around the front yard. A few bushes were spaced apart in the bed stretching along the front of the house and a single tree stood in the middle of the lawn. He turned his attention back to the house. The frosted glass insert in the front door was impossible to see through, but long narrow windows flanked the door on either side and Michael stepped closer, peering through one closest to him.

  The front door opened onto a small entryway with a coat rack and an umbrella stand. The entryway appeared to open into a living room to the right, but the wall blocked most of his view. Michael could see part of a hallway that looked like it might run back along the stairs, but again, his view was blocked by a corner. What he could see was neat and tidy and void of movement.

  Sighing, Michael stepped back again and glanced up at the second floor. The curtains weren't drawn up there, but there was no way to see in without a ladder. Pressing his lips together, he turned and retraced his steps back to the driveway. After another glance around the empty street, he calmly unlatched the gate to the backyard and stepped through, closing the gate behind him.

  The backyard was just as neat and tidy as the front. Michael followed the cement path along the side of the house and turned the corner. A large stone patio stretched the length of the house, and a grill and patio set occupied one end. Sliding doors faced the patio and Michael walked up to them, unabashedly peering through the glass. He had a clear view of a kitchen on one side and the living room on the other. Both were spotless and deserted, with no signs of struggle. Michael tested the sliding door. It didn't budge.

  With a sigh, he turned away from the house and looked around the patio. There was nothing to indicate any intruders or forced entry of any kind. It simply looked like the good doctor had gone to work as usual, locking up the house before he left. Michael frowned.

  Where the hell was he?

  Tito looked up as the bay door slid open and a black BMW rolled into the empty bay. He straightened up and wiped his hands on a rag, watching as Dominic opened the back door and got out, the bay door sliding closed again behind him. His driver stayed in the car, as he always did, and Tito
tossed the rag aside.

  “You're early,” he said.

  “I'm in a hurry,” Dominic answered, glancing around. “Did you find the girl?”

  “No.” Tito walked over to a large workbench and picked up an open bottle of water, taking a long drink. “She's disappeared. The house is locked up tight and her work said she's taking some time off.”

  “Damn!”

  Tito raised an eyebrow at the uncharacteristic outburst from his boss.

  “I did find out one thing,” he said slowly, setting the water bottle down. “Their old man used to run a junk yard up north. If it's still there, Dutch might have gone there to stash the package.”

  Dominic pinned him with a sharp look.

  “If it's still there?” he asked.

  Tito shrugged.

  “It was a long time ago,” he said. “I'll look into it.”

  “You do that,” Dominic agreed. He turned and stared at the Shelby still parked in the far bay. “Any ideas who took the GPS chip?” he asked suddenly.

  “I checked the surveillance feed,” Tito answered, leaning on the work bench. “There was nothing on it. The camera facing the side of the building is broken. Someone could have come in on that side and not been seen by the other cameras.”

  “Fantastic,” Dominic muttered.

  “How did it go at the Fed’s last night?” Tito asked after a moment of silence.

  Dominic swung around and glowered at him.

  “It didn't,” he replied testily. “Someone was already there.”

  “What?”

  “You heard me,” Dominic muttered. “They came up behind me. I woke up in an alley two blocks away.”

  “You're joking!” Tito exclaimed, staring at Dominic. “Who was it?”

  “If I knew that, do you really think they would still be alive?” Dominic demanded. “I never saw him. One minute I was going through the bookcase, and the next thing I know, I'm in an alley with firetrucks going by and smoke in the air. Whoever it was torched the place.”