And Then You Die

by Iris Johansen

  “When Esteban sent his men into Tenajo for the cleanup, we had orders to go through the town and collect any twenty-peso bills we found. They were put in specially insulated bags and later burned. We evidently missed the poor box then. Esteban will be most upset.”

  “Pesos?”

  “Counterfeit pesos printed with a very special ink. According to Ed, a genetically mutated anthrax bacteria was added to the lilac ink.”

  “Anthrax,” she whispered. “My God.”

  “What do you know about it?”

  “Just what I learned while I studied medicine for a couple of years. Most people get it from handling infected material like leather or animal furs.”

  “It usually occurs as cutaneous, intestinal, or pulmonary infection. The kind released in Tenajo was pulmonary. It affects the lungs and pleura and the mutation causes it to kill within six hours of contact. But it didn't act on everyone in the same way. From the condition of the corpses, it was clear some died within minutes, while others took hours.”

  The little boy in the store looked struck down, as if by lightning. “But everyone died.”

  “Yes, but the time difference bothered Esteban. I think that's why he's delayed going forward. But he's close, too close.”

  “There's serum for anthrax. It usually works very well.”

  “Not for this mutated version.”

  “No cure?”

  “Working twenty-four hours a day for the next eight months might produce one. We're not going to be given that luxury.”

  “And Esteban used money to kill all those people,” she whispered.

  “Can you think of a better way? Who's going to refuse money? Tenajo was a poor little village. When Esteban's men drove into town and distributed the pesos to everyone, they probably thought they'd died and gone to heaven.”

  “And then they did die.” It was hard for her to comprehend such calculated malice. It was like those twisted people who laced Halloween candy with poison and gave it to children. “How could Esteban's men pass out the money without harming themselves?”

  “They put the money in specially sealed see-through plastic envelopes. It took almost as long to develop those envelopes as it did to mutate the anthrax.”

  Like the envelopes he'd taken out of the poor box. “Was your metal briefcase specially sealed too?”

  He nodded. “But I wasn't too worried. Esteban wasn't afraid to let the public health team into Tenajo. He'd tried to pick up every peso, but there's no way he would have chanced one of those officials dying of anthrax. The bacteria had to have a built-in dissipation factor. I think its life must have been at least twelve hours, because Esteban was sure you and your sister had been infected.”

  “Rico died.”

  “The circumstances may have been different. He may have come in direct contact with the pesos at some point.”

  “The root . . .” she said numbly. “The priest kept saying ‘the root' before he died. I thought he was referring to poison. He was talking about the money.”

  “The root of all evil? Possibly.”

  “What does Esteban want that would make him do this?”

  “I'm not sure what the crazy bastard wants.” The coffee was done and he poured a cup.

  “You have to know. You worked for him.”

  “He wants to use it as a blackmail tool, so money is an obvious answer. And power. But I think there's more.” He sipped his coffee. “He's a wild card.”

  “He's like some cartoon monster.”

  “Don't even think it,” he said soberly. “He's very intelligent, or he wouldn't have been able to establish his network. Esteban's lab developed the anthrax and Habin was handling the counterfeit branch of the operation. Habin thinks he's in control, but I wouldn't bet on it.”

  “What about this Habin?”

  “He's an international terrorist stationed in Libya. He's doing it for politics. He's been trying to pressure the United States for the past year to influence Israel to release Palestinian prisoners.”

  Shock jolted through her. “The United States.”

  “I told you that Tenajo was just a test.”

  “You didn't tell me that the United States would be the target.”

  “I think you suspected it.”

  Maybe she had, but she hadn't wanted to admit it to herself. “You're sure?”

  “Eighteen months ago a set of twenty-dollar plates disappeared from the Denver Treasury.”

  “But I've heard our currency is impossible to reproduce.”

  “They could come close enough and the setup would be just like Tenajo. Who's going to check if money falls from heaven?”

  “What city?”

  He shook his head. “I don't even know if it's been decided.”

  “We have to warn someone.”

  “Who do you want to call? The president? If he contacts Mexico, he's going to be assured Tenajo was decimated by cholera. The CDC will confirm it.”

  “But you have the contaminated money.”

  “That's another drawback. Even if the president accepts the fact that there's danger, he can't make a public announcement. To make the public suspicious of our currency would send the economy crashing. Can you imagine what would happen to the stock market?” His hands tightened on the cup. “That would please Habin. It would accomplish his purpose without the bother of unleashing the anthrax.”

  “So you're going to chance letting more people die?” she asked in disbelief.

  “I didn't say that. We just have to know more before we send out any warnings.”

  “And how are we going to find out any more? You can't go back to Esteban.”

  “I could if I brought him your head.”

  She stepped back.

  “I was joking,” he said roughly.

  She glared at him. “How am I supposed to know? Would it hurt to smile?”

  “Maybe.”

  “What about your CIA friends? Doesn't one of them have access to someone in the White House who could help?”

  “Paul Ramsey. He's deputy director of the CIA and went to school with the president. I called him from Johns Hopkins and told him what I suspected.”

  “Is he going to do something?”

  “Not yet. I told him that I needed more time. I didn't get an argument. He doesn't want to have to tell the president how little we can do. He said to contact him if I needed him.”

  “We do need him.”

  “I've every intention of calling him to tell him Ed confirmed the anthrax.”

  “And to do something official about it.”

  He stared at her impassively. “Have a cup of coffee.”

  “I don't want your damn coffee.” She wanted to strangle him. She drew a deep breath and tried to steady her voice. “Call this Ramsey and tell him to call the White House. I won't carry around this kind of responsibility.”

  “Then ignore it. I'll carry it.” He finished his coffee in two swallows. “I've done it for a long time. A few more days won't hurt.”

  “Then I'll call someone.”

  “You will not,” he said with clear precision. “Not even if I have to tie and gag you. I've seen too many operations bungled by bureaucrats through leaks or sheer stupidity.”

  “You won't use force on me.”

  “You weren't too sure a moment ago.”

  “You won't do it.”

  “You're right, I won't. So you have me defenseless.”

  She looked at him, startled. “Like a tiger. I doubt if you've ever been defenseless in your life.”

  “Not if I could help it.” He added simply, “I can't help it. This means too much. Tenajo wasn't a complete success, but it was close. We're running out of time. I have to do anything I can to keep from triggering this thing, and I need you to help me.”

  “You mean you need my silence.”

  “That's a big help. I may ask you for more help later.”

  “It's wrong.”

  “Maybe. But Esteban is too volati
le. I can't risk him doing something crazy. Do you know what anthrax can do?” His lips twisted. “In 1942 the British set off an experimental anthrax bomb on an isolated island off the coast of Scotland. A day after the explosion the sheep began to die. Gruinard is still uninhabitable today.”

  She shuddered. “And that's supposed to convince me to keep quiet? Besides, you said the mutated strain has a life of only a few hours.”

  “What if Esteban decides to use the unmutated organisms?”

  “Stop it. You're scaring me.”

  “You're not as scared as I am. I've seen it. I know what it is.”

  “Where did you––”

  “Help me.”

  She gazed at him with frustration. She had learned how clever he could be and how fully capable he was of manipulating her feelings. But he meant every word he said, and the sheer force of his honesty was overwhelming. “Damn you.”

  “I need you.”

  She whirled away from him and moved across the room.

  “I'm doing the right thing.” His words followed her. “Believe me, Bess.”

  Just because he thought he was doing what was right didn't mean it was.

  But what if it was? She'd had a taste of Esteban's venom. What if a leak triggered him to act? The mutated strain was hideous enough, but the unmutated bacteria was worse. Kaldak's story about Gruinard had shaken her.

  Kaldak said, “You don't know what Esteban is capable––”

  “Shut up, you've made your point. You're just like Emily. I'll make my own decision, dammit.”

  Kaldak fell silent.

  The decision was already made, she realized. She turned to face him. “I'll wait . . . for a while.” She held up a hand to stop him from speaking. “Until we get Emily away from Esteban. After that, I don't know. But I won't be some ventriloquist's dummy who speaks when you tell her to. Don't you dare close me out again. I want to know what you know. If I'm going to be responsible for some doomsday weapon going off, it's not going to be because I'm being kept in the dark.”

  He nodded slowly. “Anything else?”

  “Yes.” She came toward him. “Give me a cup of that blasted coffee. I need it now.”

  She glared at Kaldak as he moved around the kitchenette, tidying after supper. She was an idiot. If she had a brain in her head, she would call the FBI or CIA or . . . someone.

  But she could see Kaldak's point about bureaucracy interfering. She had seen too many snafus in Somalia to believe in even the best-intentioned organizations.

  “You're burning a hole in me,” Kaldak said mildly. “Would you mind stopping your glaring?”

  “Yes, I would. I enjoy glaring at you.”

  “Whatever makes you happy.” He neatly hung up the dish towel.

  “Tell me, is all this domesticity a ploy to disarm me? The contrast is just a little too blatant.”

  “Oh, you think I'm trying to distract you from this gargoyle mug of mine?” He shook his head. “I know it doesn't work. The face always stays with you.” He turned off the kitchen light and came around the bar. “So I live with it and sometimes use it.”

  “I suppose in your profession it could come in handy.”

  “My, my, you are trying to hurt me, aren't you?”

  “Does honesty hurt? You do kill people. I saw you.”

  “Yeah, I kill people.”

  This was ridiculous. For some stupid reason, she was feeling guilty about accusing him of something she knew very well was the truth.

  But truth wasn't always kind.

  And, dammit, he was what he was.

  Still, since when did she start looking at things in black and white? Kaldak was a very complicated man, and she had found that complicated people were usually capable of doing both evil and good.

  “Well, have you made up your mind?” Kaldak's gaze was fixed on her face.

  “About what?”

  “Weren't you struggling against giving me the benefit of the doubt?” He suddenly smiled. “I think you've lost. You're too soft, you know. Life must be hard for you.”

  “Life's hard for everyone.” But it was harder when you ran across someone who seemed able to read your thoughts.

  “It's your face. It shows everything.”

  She wrinkled her nose. “I know. You'd be surprised what a detriment it's been to my career.”

  “Oh, I know about faces. Nothing surprises me.”

  No bitterness colored his voice, which surprised her. What had it been like growing up with that intimidating face?

  Perhaps he hadn't grown up with it. Maybe as a child he had looked entirely normal. His blue eyes were perfectly fine and––

  “What are you thinking?”

  “That you have nice eyes,” she blurted out, not thinking.

  He blinked, disconcerted. “Oh.” He quickly glanced away. “We've located a safe house for you in North Carolina. I'll drive you there tomorrow afternoon.”

  “Why not tomorrow morning?”

  “We have to go to the CDC. I asked Ed to have the reports ready for me on the mutant strain. I may need documentation.”

  “Have you contacted Yael Nablett today?”

  “I tried this morning before I left. I couldn't reach him.”

  She frowned. “Shouldn't we have heard . . . something?”

  “I'll try him again tomorrow before we leave.” He paused. “But you shouldn't worry too much. He'll be in the hills close to Tenajo and unreachable by phone.”

  “But you'll still try?”

  “No problem,” he said.

  Gentleness? She had to be mistaken. She stood up and moved toward the stairs. “I called Dr. Kenwood this afternoon. Josie's doing fine.”

  “That's good.”

  “You bet it is. I'll see you in the morning.”

  She could feel his gaze on her back as she climbed the stairs. It was strange how comfortable she was becoming with him. Well, anybody would probably become comfortable with a tiger if caged with the tiger for any length of time. That didn't mean she should trust Kaldak.

  But she did trust him or she wouldn't have let him talk her into remaining silent. Dear God, she was tired of arguing with herself as well as Kaldak. She had made a decision. Now she had to stop questioning and teetering back and forth. She had done enough of that all her life. She couldn't afford not to act with sureness and authority now.

  Emily, who had never needed anyone, needed her. She had to clear her mind of everything but that one important truth. To hell with Kaldak's safe house. She would give Yael Nablett one more day. If he didn't call with word of Emily, she would go back.

  Kaldak could save the world. She would concentrate on saving Emily.

  “Anthrax,” Ramsey repeated. “Christ, I can't keep this under wraps, Kaldak.”

  “Go ahead. Tell the president. See what he does about it with no hard documentation. He's great on documentation. Even if we show him the CDC report, there's no proof Tenajo could happen here.”

  “Shit.”

  “Right.”

  “It may be too late by the time we get proof, and then it's the Company's ass on the line again. Politicians will sidestep quicker than you can blink. How much time do you think we have?”

  “God knows. We may be on borrowed time already. I think he's almost ready to go.” He paused. “But he's waiting for something.”

  “What?”

  “I'm not sure. Have you managed to tap his phone?”

  “Not his cellular. Only the one in his office.”

  “What have you found out about Morrisey?”

  “Nothing much. He's evidently in Esteban's pay. We got the impression he was looking for someone for him. He's called Esteban several times lately from different cities in the U.S. Is he important?”

  Kaldak had the uneasy feeling that he was very important. “He may be. Galvez said he's been faxing and phoning Esteban for a long time. Find him.”

  “You think we haven't been trying?”

  “Try harder. Wh
at about the lab in Iowa?”

  “You told me about it just the day before yesterday, for God's sake. I had to pull the FBI into it. They have more domestic contacts.”

  “What about the Cheyenne connection?”

  “Nothing yet. No sign of any counterfeiting activity. No cases of anthrax reported.”

  “There probably won't be any cases reported in advance of the strike this time. Esteban is almost through experimenting. What about De Salmo? Heard anything more?”

  “Only that he's dropped out of sight.” There was a pause. Then Ramsey added, “I want Bess Grady, Kaldak.”

  He'd known that was coming. “The CDC is the only place Esteban would trace me to, and I made sure I wasn't followed. I'm heading for a safe house tomorrow. You can't have her.”

  “I could take her.”

  “That's what you'd have to do.” He added softly, “And do you really want to piss me off that much, Ramsey?”

  “Don't give me that shit. Remember, I made you what you are.”

  Ramsey was actually proud of the assassin he had created. Kaldak had never realized that. “The hell you did. You gave me the tools and showed me how to use them. Nakoa made me what I am.”

  Another silence. “You're lucky that you're in a unique position in this operation. I'll allow you to have your way . . . for now. Keep me posted.” Ramsey hung up.

  Lucky? Kaldak wearily leaned back on the couch. No one connected with this mess was lucky. Not him, not those people in Tenajo, and most certainly not Bess Grady.

  He just hoped to hell De Salmo was on his way to Timbuktu and not Atlanta.

  Bess did not dream of Emily that night. She dreamed of Danzar.

  She woke in the middle of the night with tears streaming down her cheeks.

  And Kaldak standing over her in the darkness.

  She jerked upright in bed, her heart pounding furiously. For a moment she thought she was back in that hospital room in San Andreas.

  “I heard you crying out,” he said quietly. “I thought you'd want me to wake you.”

  She wiped her cheeks with the backs of her hands. “Thank you.”

  He shrugged. “We have enough nightmares to face every day without tolerating them at night.” He turned and moved toward the stairs. “Good night.”