by CW Browning
She landed on the ground and crouched for a second, listening. There was no sound of alarm, indicating the open window was not immediately obvious and she wasn’t seen disappearing from view. Viper shook her head, exhaling, and raised her eyes in time to see Dr. Krupp's tall shadow disappear around the front corner of his neighbor's house.
She assessed her options in one, swift glance. There was no cover between here and the neighbor’s house, no bushes or trees to shield her. If she moved along the side of Krupp's house to the back, she would still have to cross open space to follow him. Either way, as soon as the intruder looked out the window, he would have a clear shot. There was only one way to buy herself the extra few seconds she needed.
Viper moved to the side of the window and straightened up, pressing herself against the side of the house as she reached into her cargo pocket. With quick, sure fingers, she silently attached a suppressor to the barrel of her gun, waiting. Her heart settled into a rapid, pounding rhythm and she inhaled silently. When a head emerged from the window a second later, she pressed the barrel into its temple and fired in one smooth motion. As soon as the body sagged lifelessly over the windowsill, she turned and darted across the open expanse between the two houses, following Dr. Krupp. She had just reached the neighboring house when there was a shout behind her and a muffled shot rang out.
Viper sucked in her breath as a searing pain streaked through her left bicep. She ducked around the corner of the house and shook her head incredulously. Who would have expected such a good shot? Who were they?
She looked up to see Krupp waiting for her in the next yard, pressed against the side of the house. Pushing aside the burning pain in her arm, Viper moved quickly through the shadows, past the neighbor's front porch, before slipping between the bushes and the house. Glancing behind her, she heard shouting and then the sound of an engine roaring to life.
“Nothing's ever easy,” she muttered to herself, emerging from the bushes at the corner of the house.
The side yard here afforded the protection of a row of boxwoods and Viper ducked behind them thankfully, running toward where Dr. Krupp was waiting a few yards away.
“Head to the back!” she hissed, motioning him to the back of the house.
He nodded and turned toward the back yard. With another swift glance behind her, Viper straightened up and ran toward him.
“Quick!” she said, pushing him around the corner just as the headlights from the sedan lit up the street in front of the houses.
Viper took in their surroundings with a glance. The yard was large and an in-ground pool took up most of the space. She glanced at the dark house and breathed a sigh of relief that the owners were apparently not home.
“Who are they?” Krupp demanded, his eyes wide and his face pale. “Why do they want me?”
“Loose ends,” Viper answered shortly. “We have to get to the back and to the next block. Can you climb fences?”
Dr. Krupp followed her glance to the tall solid wooden fence at the back of the yard and gulped.
“I can try,” he said doubtfully.
Viper nodded and they skirted the pool, running along the concrete until they reached the grass on the other side. As they ran, she scanned the ground, looking for something to help get Dr. Krupp over the fence. A garden shed was in the corner and she headed towards it, spying a space between the shed and the fence. They only had a moment before their pursuers made their way into this yard.
“Hey!” she hissed, motioning to Krupp. “Over here.”
Dr. Krupp followed her behind the shed and she looked up at the seven-foot fence.
“Look!” Dr. Krupp whispered, pointing. “I can climb those.”
Viper followed his finger and smiled. Stacked in the corner between the fence and shed were some old plastic milk crates. She nodded and pushed him toward them while she stayed near the corner of the shed.
“Go!”
He nodded and began overturning the crates. Keeping to the shadows, Viper peered around the corner of the shed. The headlights were passing the front of the house slowly and she could hear the men in the yard next door, calling to each other. Her eyes narrowed and she listened intently. There were two...no... three of them, plus the number in the sedan. If she was alone, she could handle them easily, but she had the good doctor with her. Flight was the better choice now.
“Ooof!”
A grunt behind her made her turn her head just in time to see Dr. Krupp hoist himself over the fence and disappear over the top. With a final glance around the corner of the shed, Viper turned and used the same crates to vault over the fence, landing next to the doctor on the other side a second later.
“We need a car,” she told him, flipping the safety on and unscrewing the suppressor before tucking her gun back into the holster at her back. “A fast one. You don't happen to know where we can get one, do you?”
“Well, there's a kid with a Charger on the next block,” he said slowly.
Viper looked at him and her lips twitched.
“Of course there is,” she murmured, amused.
“He parks it in the street,” Dr. Krupp offered. “But you can't really be planning to...”
He stopped at the look on her face.
“Do you have a better idea?” she asked. He shook his head and Viper nodded. “Which way?”
“What do you mean, he's gone?”
The man squirmed at the deadly note in the voice, cringing even though the owner of that voice was over three hours away. He wiped his brow and turned away from the black Equinox, pacing a few feet away. A black sedan idled behind them at the side of the road, the two occupants watching him curiously.
“He wasn't alone,” he said defensively. “When we got here, someone was with him. They went out a side window.”
“Who was with him?”
“I didn't get a good look, but the car's here. It's a rental from the airport. Lee's looking into it now. I'll have a name soon.”
“Where's King?”
“Dead.”
“Dead?”
The man cringed again.
“Yes.”
“Are you sure?”
“Half his head is blown off, sir,” he informed him. “I'm pretty sure.”
“How the hell did that happen?!” the voice demanded. “I sent you to pick up a scientist, not the goddamn Terminator!”
“I told you, someone was with him,” the man shot back. “With all due respect, we were unprepared for this. King believed he would be an easy mark.”
There was silence on the phone for a beat, then a very faint sigh.
“He can't get far,” the voice decided. “If the rental car is from the airport, that's where they're heading. I'll alert the airport authorities. You get out of there and let me know as soon as you have a name from the car.”
“And the house?”
“Leave it,” the voice instructed. “Call the local cops and tell them shots were fired. Let them find King. The more people looking for the doctor, the more chances we have of finding him.”
Chapter Thirty-Five
Michael opened his front door just as Blake was lifting his hand to press the bell and handed him a cold bottle of beer.
“A man with foresight and vision,” Blake said with a grin, stepping into the house.
“You're going to need it,” Michael retorted, taking the pizza box Blake was holding.
“Nothing new there,” Blake countered, sipping the beer and following Michael down the hallway to the kitchen. “I'm starting to think we should set up a bat signal. You know, you turn it on and I show up with food and hear about the latest plot intrigue.”
“You might be onto something there,” Michael grinned over his shoulder.
“We could set up a second one with a serpent’s head for your girlfriend,” Blake continued cheerfully. “You know, for when we need bad guys to disappear.”
“You're an ass,” Michael informed him, heading through the kitchen and straight for
the door to the garage. “Grab my beer from the counter, will you?”
Blake grinned and swiped the almost-full beer bottle from the island as he passed, following Michael through the door and down the steps into the garage-come-wood shop.
“Of course, Master Wayne,” he said in a rather good attempt at a British accent.
The bookshelf in progress was propped up on low brackets off to the side, waiting to be stained, and a long piece of plywood lay across the saw horses. Michael set the pizza box down on it and turned to grab a stool from the work bench.
“Pull up a seat,” he said, flipping open the box and reaching in to pull out a slice loaded with pepperoni and sausage. “I'm hungry.”
Blake grabbed an extra stool from the corner near the steps and carried it over, handing Michael his beer as he joined him.
“Alright, who goes first?” he asked, reaching for a slice of pizza. “I've got news from Jersey.”
“I've got news from West Virginia,” Michael mumbled around a mouthful of meat, cheese and dough.
“West...hell, you go first,” Blake exclaimed. “I can't beat boondocks.”
“Don't be so sure of that,” Michael said more clearly after swallowing. He reached for his beer. “New Jersey's been interesting lately.”
“That's putting it mildly. You've got your girlfriend to thank for that.”
“So everyone keeps saying,” Michael muttered.
“So why the hell did you venture into West Virginia?” Blake demanded after a few moments of eating in silence. “What's there besides mountain men and moonshine?”
“The CDC,” Michael told him. “One of their headquarters is in Morganville.”
Blake stared at him for a minute, then popped the last piece of pizza crust into his mouth.
“You know, I really don't think I'm going to like what you have to say,” he muttered, reaching for his beer.
“I know you won't,” Michael agreed glumly before polishing off his slice of pizza.
“Alright,” Blake said after taking a long drink. “Let's have it.”
“You know my trip to Mexico?” Michael asked, reaching for a second slice. Blake nodded. “Viper had information that three men traveling under Turkish passports were in Cancun. She sent me down to check them out.”
“Three men traveling under a Turkish passport?” Blake interrupted. “You went all the way to Mexico over that?”
“If you'd shut up and let me talk, you'd understand,” Michael reproached.
Blake grinned and reached for another piece of pizza.
“Sorry. Go on.”
“You don't know her. She doesn't give information away,” Michael explained. “She doesn't give information, period. She leaves it to you to figure out. So, when she says go to Cancun to check it out, you know it's something worth checking out. You just don't know what you're walking into.”
“And what did you walk into?”
“Three men traveling under Turkish passports,” Michael replied dryly, sipping his beer, “and a dead undercover agent.”
“You think they're responsible for that?” Blake asked around a mouthful of pizza.
“I do. Paul was watching them. I think they slit his throat.”
“Why? Why take the risk?”
“Reading between the lines, and taking into account Viper's very real and active interest in them, I'm convinced they're terrorists,” Michael answered. “She won't tell me who they are or where they come from, but her interest pegs them as surely as if they were on the Most Wanted wall in Langley.”
Blake grunted in agreement.
“Ok. So then what?”
“When I got there, they were already gone, heading across the border,” Michael told him.
Blake stopped chewing and stared him.
“Across the...” he began, then hastily swallowed. “You mean, our border?”
“That's the only border worth mentioning.”
“You mean to tell me, three terrorists came over the border and no one stopped them?” Blake demanded.
“They didn't see them to stop them,” Michael told him with a shrug. “Border Patrol has no record of them passing through customs.”
“Then how do we know they're here?”
“They were spotted crossing the Mississippi and going into New Orleans,” Michael said. “I've got some friends in the CBP and they're tracking them. They're headed East. They may already be here.”
Blake reached for his beer and drained it, then stood up and held up his empty bottle questioningly. Michael nodded and Blake turned wordlessly to go back into the house for refills. Michael finished his pizza while Blake was gone, reflecting that his old friend was taking the news rather well. The real test would come when he told him about the Anthrax antidote.
Blake returned with the whole six pack from the fridge and set it on the plywood table next to the pizza box.
“Tell me your girlfriend has a plan for this,” he said, sitting back down on his stool and popping open another bottle.
“I'm sure she does, but she's not sharing,” Michael replied, reaching for a fresh beer. “It gets better. Remember our old friend Sgt Curtis?”
“Vividly.”
“POTUS wants a meeting and press conference with him,” Michael told him, taking a sip of cold beer. “Viper was adamant about making sure that didn't happen. I talked to Chris and we stalled, and now I'm glad we did. Viper found out what some of your precision drivers were hauling.”
Blake looked at him sharply.
“What?” he demanded.
“Bomb parts,” Michael told him bluntly. “They're moving bomb parts up and down the East coast.”
Blake swore and got up to take an impatient turn around their make-shift table.
“The bomb on John's car,” he said after a moment. “Is that how she found out?”
“I don't know,” Michael answered truthfully. “I didn't know about that until you told me. It gets worse, though.”
“How can it get any worse than three terrorists and an unknown number of bombs?” Blake demanded, stopping by his stool.
“They're biological weapons.”
He stared at Michael for a long, silent moment before sinking onto the stool and drinking half his beer in one gulp.
“You're right,” he finally said after a long burp. “That's worse.”
“Viper and her people are handling the immediate biological threat, though God alone knows how and I'm not sure I want to,” Michael continued, setting down his beer and reaching for a third piece of pizza. “In the meantime, I went to see Patrick Traeborne. Remember him?”
“Yeah, I remember the doc,” Blake said, setting his beer down and rubbing his neck. “How's he doing?”
“He's doing well. He works at Mercy General now. He told me all the local hospitals are stocking up on a new antidote,” Michael said.
Blake looked at him apprehensively.
“I can see where this is headed,” he muttered. “Antidote for what?”
“Anthrax,” Michael replied, then hastened to continue as Blake looked to be in danger of exploding again. “Only it's not. It's not an antidote for Anthrax at all.”
“Well, thank God for small mercies,” Blake said in relief. “What is it?”
“I went to West Virginia with a sample to find out,” Michael said, taking a big bite of pizza. He chewed for a moment, swallowed, then continued. “There's a Dr. Krupp out there who was on the ground in Africa during that Ebola outbreak a couple years ago. He's a genius, and a biochemical engineer.”
“I'm sorry, did you say Ebola outbreak?” Blake repeated.
Michael shrugged.
“I told you it wasn't Anthrax,” he reminded him.
“Oh, Ebola is much better!” Blake exploded. “Are you out of your mind?!”
“Ebola’s not confirmed yet,” Michael said, trying to be positive. “He has a lot of testing to do.”
“I'm sure he gave you some initial thoughts,” Blake retorted.
“Geniuses are like that. He probably started running tests while you were there! What did he say?”
“He believes the antidote is for some kind of mutated form of Ebola,” Michael conceded, finishing his pizza. “He's still working on it.”
“Jesus, Mary and Joseph,” Blake muttered, getting up again. This time he took his beer with him as he began to circle the table. “Someone expects an Ebola outbreak on the East coast. Who's the company behind the antidote?”
“Trasker Pharmaceuticals,” Michael said. “I'm already on it. If nothing else, I should be able to find a money trail.”
“So, let me make sure I've got this right,” Blake said, sipping his beer as he paced. “You're working on the assumption that three terrorists made it over the border—”
“Unprotected border,” Michael interjected.
“—and are coming to the East coast to execute an attack with bombs armed with Ebola.”
“Something like that, yeah.”
“But...Ebola isn't airborne,” Blake told him. “It's spread through body fluids.”
“Well, that's where Dr. Krupp comes in,” Michael murmured.
Blake stared at him.
“Mutated form? That's what he said?” he asked. Michael nodded and Blake swore under his breath. “And we think Sgt Curtis was going to attack POTUS with it?”
“Yes. I think Viper's running assumption is that Sgt Curtis engineered the weapon,” Michael replied, lifting his beer. “He was with the enemy for five years. If they provided the lab, who knows what he could have done.”
“And that's why your girlfriend didn't want him anywhere near the President,” Blake concluded.
“It's pretty crazy, but she thinks he infected himself,” Michael said. “He came down with flu symptoms and she's convinced he doesn't have the flu.”
“What are the symptoms for Ebola? Flu-like symptoms?”