by Nancy Smith
He drew her blood, marked the vial, and put it into his ice chest to check out when he had access to his microscope. “Do you have any dry ice?” he asked the Main Guy. “And little sandwich bags.”
“Si,” Main Guy said, but must have been too weak to make the trip himself. He sent one of his minions.
Jesus took a blood sample from Main Guy. “You should lie down. I’ll take care of you. I promise.”
Main Guy did not resist.
He clipped a bit of Main Guy’s hair and put it into a plastic bag. He held a Sharpie posed, ready to mark the bag.
“What’s your name?”
Main Guy closed his eyes and did not answer.
“Have you been in town?” Jesus asked. “In Creel?”
“No,” Main Guy shook his head.
Jesus gave him a sip of water. “Who was the first person to get sick?” he asked.
Main Guy turned his head toward Amanda.
“Amanda was first?”
Main Guy gave a slight nod.
“And your people who got sick first were the ones who came into closest contact with Amanda?”
Another nod.
Then the answer came to him. The mint-green doses were not a vaccine. How else could Amanda have gotten the flu? They’d lied to him. The mint green doses were the virus itself. The orange doses were the vaccine. There had been no human trials—before now. The vaccine was not approved. They selected an isolated mountain town of about five thousand people. They had to infect the whole town to ensure that the vaccine worked. The mint green was the flu. The orange was the vaccine and everyone else in town was the control group.
Jesus had given Amanda the flu. She would die and he would have had a hand in her death.
And they did die. They all died, except him.
Jesus buried Amanda and put a marker on her grave, a statue of the virgin mother that he had found. The rest of the dead he left where they lay, mostly in the hospital tents.
He rummaged around in the kidnappers’ stores of supplies. He took a long, hot shower, found warm clothes and sturdy boots. He took the time to find his driver’s license, credit cards, and wedding ring from the bins and he took all the cash. With a moment’s hesitation, he took all the driver’s licenses. There needed to be some way to identify the victims. He found a large backpack and stuffed in the licenses, and then he filled it with water bottles and medical supplies.
He spent an hour looking for the cars, but was unable to locate them. There was nothing at the camp—not even the kidnappers’ trucks, not a motorcycle, not even a mountain bike.
He slipped a pistol into his waistband. He picked up his now-full ice chest. He took a final item with him as he climbed the steep path up the hill that led out of the encampment.
Jesus said a prayer for the dead and then raised the rocket launcher to his shoulder and blew the encampment from the face of the earth.
13
Peabody stood in a semi-dark morgue looking at the body on the metal table. He’d had this body moved from the funeral home to which it had been released. He wanted it back. He had to see.
The body was burned beyond recognition. “Autopsy report?”
“Blow to the head,” the doctor said. So, the seventy-five was seventy-four, plus Nick, his friend. One of the seventy-five had gotten away.
Peabody had been losing interest in the daughter and the reporter. They looked like they were playing at investigating her parents deaths as an excuse to play footsie with each other. They weren’t finding out anything significant. Only after the doctor identified Nick did Peabody step up the surveillance on those two, especially related to their little trips. Where were they going? Who were they seeing?
Isa had been gone more than a day and Rory was back and forth, showing up for his network news appearances. He changed parking garages. He changed cars, but still....
Yesterday, Peabody had sent one of his men, dressed civilian and driving a rental car, to follow Rory after his broadcast on a circuitous route an emergency clinic in San Marcos. His man had followed Rory inside and he’d found Rory and Isa visiting an older man with chemical burns on his lungs. It had to be Kolli Vedkka. Kolli Vedkka had killed his friend. Peabody grabbed his helmet and weapon.
He stepped into the next room where all his crew waited for him. He was dressed in full tactical garb, including a bulletproof vest. They were also suited up and ready to go.
“That’s Nick Calhone in there.” His voice was barely a whisper. “Kolli Vedkka killed him.” He looked over the faces of his men. “This isn’t a sanctioned mission. There will likely be a price to pay with Darwin if we do this. Darwin won’t like it. We’re supposed to know that there is risk with what we do. Darwin won’t want the added attention. So, it’s up to you. Come or not as your conscious dictates. There won’t be a price with me whatever you choose.”
The men stood and started to ready their gear.
Rory parked his car in the lot of the San Marcos ER clinic. He paused for a moment and looked at his phone. He had a text from Isa, but he would see her in a minute. He’d find out what she needed then.
As he stepped out of the car, he watched the traffic. He noticed a black SUV on the highway. Could be nothing. Lots of people had black SUVs. The car made a U-turn and headed back toward the clinic on the service road. It was a Lincoln.
Rory ran.
Rory reached Kolli’s room, panting and yelling. “We got to go!”
It was empty. Where were they?
He heard commotion at the front of the clinic: the ping of cans falling to the floor, running, yelling, and confusion. Rory pulled Kolli’s oxygen mask over his face and held it there until the noise was replaced with an eerie silence somehow more frightening than the onslaught.
Rory kept the oxygen tank with him, mask secured to his face, as he peeked out the door of the room. A doctor was sprawled on the hospital’s green tile floor. The cord of the oxygen mask would go no further, so Rory left it behind him and checked on the doctor. Still breathing. Just asleep. Whatever was in the air was dissipating.
When Rory heard the breech of SUV men at the door, he pulled the white coat from the doctor’s sleeping form. He ran toward the rear door of the clinic until he heard the pounding on a metal door’s lock. It would soon to fail. He stepped into the nearest room and put on the white doctor’s coat. He sprawled on the floor in a posture similar to the doctor, lying facedown with his arm covering most of his face. He allowed enough of a sliver of vision to see the olive khaki pants and combat boots that ran by. They ran directly to Kolli’s room.
He had to find Kolli and Isa. He thought about slipping out the door and going for help, but he felt sure that men would be posted there—just like at the clinic.
Rory remembered the text from Isa. Maybe that would give him a hint where to find them. Rory sat up and read.
I’ve taken my father to a safe place to continue his recovery. Thank you for all you’ve done, but my part in this is now complete. I hope you find what you want.
She followed this with a little pink heart emoji.
Rory was still staring in shock at his phone when Peabody burst through the door. Rory turned his phone around and showed Peabody.
“Used you up and gave you the brush-off, huh?”
Rory just stared at him.
“Found this in the trash.” Peabody tossed Isa’s phone toward him.
Rory picked it up and saw Isa’s version of the same text. Time stamp was more than an hour earlier.
“Check out the data cache. “
Rory called it up. The last thing that Isa had looked up was the pink heart on an emojipedia website. It meant something like growing fondness for you.
“Are you going to kill me?” Rory asked.
“Not yet. Are you going to write about me?”
“Not yet.”
Peabody slipped out the door. From a device that was clipped to his shoulder, he called for his men to retreat.
14
Pierce was frustrated. He sat behind his big desk in his big office in his blue suit and could find out little about his own company and its dealings. He had been looking through records and accounts for days and coming up with nada.
It was late. Car lights, building lights and stars blazed outside his window. Pierce preferred to work at night when no one else would bother him. No one, of course, meaning his father.
Pierce looked at the heavy wooden door that connected his office to his father’s. He stood and took a minute to examine the thumb scanner that was fixed next to the door. Pierce had no idea if it would work. He shrugged and gave it a try. The lock unlatched and he opened the door. Easy peasy.
His father’s office was empty and quiet. He looked around, trying to bring new eyes to this familiar space. He saw expensive art his father never looked at and pretentious awards on the walls. The furniture, including a desk that could be used as an airline runway, was heavy and dark. A door led to a bathroom and another door led to a supply closet.
Pierce tried a few of the desk drawers. They were locked. He went to the closet. He knew that there was a safe in that closet. He’d never seen his father open it. He had no idea what was inside. He tried the closet door. Also locked.
Pierce went back to his office. He decided it was time for him to do what rich people do. He would hire a private investigator. In his Internet browser he typed “Austin private investigators.” Most listings were single person shops. If you couldn’t tell by the name, you could when reading the company description. “Auggie will find out if your employees are cheating the till” or “Auggie will find out if your spouse is having an affair.” Pierce felt that he needed a firm at a different level—bigger, more resources, more connections, but those kinds of firms were all too well-known to his father.
Maybe bigger wasn’t the answer. Maybe the answer was shadier. Pierce typed “dark net” into his browser. He found a documentary television show, an article in a computer magazine, and a couple of disturbing news accounts. As he scrolled down, he found “this is how to get on the dark net” instructions. Pierce was just about to check it out when his door flew open and three armed guards burst in.
“What?” Pierce yelled.
He had forgotten that, when Kolli Vedkka set up their security software, he had included alarms for certain key words and phrases. “Dark net” must be one of them.
The security guards looked confused, not sure what to do, as he was their boss.
Pierce shut down his computer. He apologized to them.
“Sorry, I forgot. You know how it hasn’t been getting cold enough in winter to kill off the mosquitos. Well, the little buggers are getting to be quite annoying around the boathouse. I was looking for netting, but I didn’t want that shiny silver stuff. You know what I mean? I wanted dark netting.”
Pierce had always been quick on his feet. He was proud of that.
The guard who was obviously in charge nodded to him and all three were out the door. They found this frivolous answer completely plausible for him. He was a frivolous guy—if you listened to his father.
Pierce picked up a stack of phone messages waiting for his attention. One guy had called several times, so Pierce had checked him out. He did a background search and found that this guy had something to hide. Pierce had an idea.
15
Daisy had wheeled Kolli out to Isa’s car and helped Isa get him settled in the front passenger seat.
“Remember to take it easy for a while,” she had reminded them. “And this mobile oxygen tank won’t last long. You’ll need to go to a medical supply place and get this refilled. Get a couple of spares too.” She handed Ved Poutin’s papers to Isa. She paused for a moment and then gave Isa a little hug.
“Will you do me a favor?” Isa had asked. “If anybody asks about him,” she pointed to her father, “please don’t tell them anything—anything at all.”
Daisy had nodded and Isa and her father took off.
Isa crossed the I-45 bridge that went to Galveston Island. She saw a seagull decorating one of the bridge’s posts. She smelled salt in the air. She was at the beach.
She took a few turns through a neighborhood of marred wooden-frame houses painted in peeling pastel colors. She stopped at a small condo unit just across the street from the rock wall and sand dunes intended to protect the shoreline.
The parking lot had a high, galvanized wire fence with panes so close even the seagulls couldn’t get through, but she could still see the view beyond. Isa punched in the code on the wide driveway fence. It rolled open.
The lot was nearly empty. Half of the units had been damaged by a hurricane a year ago. The people who owned the condos used them as their second homes, so they had left and had not come back. They were at their main homes, getting the kids ready for the next year of school.
Isa helped her father into the building and onto the elevator that would take them to the second floor. The hall that separated the two upstairs units was mostly dark and empty. It had a tile floor and a beach picture or two. Isa entered another number code on a pad to open the left side door.
The inside was decorated beachy industrial, meaning the walls were painted blue and the pipes in the ceiling were exposed. There was a large living room/dining room combination, a functional kitchen, and two bedrooms—each with its own bath. Isa cranked open the hurricane shutters and let a little light into the rooms. Her father sat on the sofa and stared into space.
They hadn’t spoken much in the last hour. She didn’t feel right about cutting out Rory without so much as a by-your-leave. As she had defended him, Isa realized she did like Rory. She did trust Rory.
“Why can’t I call him? I’ll buy another phone just to call him. I won’t tell him where we are.” No matter how mad he gets, thought Isa.
Dad pointed up. “Cell phone towers. He can find you using the towers you ping from. He’s a smart cookie, that Rory.”
This condo was Harry’s sister’s husband’s parents’ condo. Harry had called Isa to give her the results of her mother’s autopsy. There was no fatal disease, no viruses, and no chemicals except those that they expected externally on the skin. All of the seventy-five had died from bullet wounds. It was mass murder and then a chemical fire to cover it up. Harry had offered Isa a place to hide out if she wanted it. Isa had kept these details until she needed it.
Harry had told her sister that she had a friend who wanted to rent it for a few weeks. Harry wrote out a check and said she’d get the money back from the renters. Her sister had asked for the names of the renters. Harry had said, “John and Mary Williams,” a couple with some of the most common names in the United States.
“I’m going to take a walk on the seawall,” Isa said. “Then later I’ll go to the grocery store and get some food and the medical supply place for new air.”
“Please don’t call him,” Dad said.
Isa thought for a moment. More than anything she wanted a happy reunion with her father. “I won’t,” she promised.
16
Rory was at his tiny desk in the crowded bullpen at KNUS when his phone rang. He didn’t recognize the number, so he punched the answer button a bit anxiously, breathlessly, hoping it was Isa.
“Mr. Burke.”
It was a man’s voice he didn’t recognize.
“You’ve been trying to reach me.”
Rory still said nothing. He didn’t know what to say.
“This is Pierce Wagner,” the voice said. “Did you still wish to meet?”
“Oh, yes. Thank you for calling me back. I can be in your office in an hour. Whatever you say.”
“I’m not at my office.” Wagner gave him directions. “I’ll wait.”
Rory arrived at a tavern fashioned after a British pub. It was dark, almost black, on the inside. It took Rory a few minutes for his eyes to adjust.
There was a bar along one wall. Behind it, dozens of microbrews were displayed in long neck bottles. Along the opposite wall we
re booths. Tables for four filled the in-between. It was almost empty, as it was too late for lunch and too early for happy hour.
It took another minute for Rory to find Pierce Wagner. He was in an isolated booth over by the dartboard, his back to the door. The surface of the table in front of him looked like a party of ten was sitting there.
“Mr. Wagner,” Rory said. He extended his hand and they shook. Rory plopped down opposite him.
Wagner raised two fingers high over his head and in a few seconds two cold beers appeared in front of them.
“Shall I remove a few of these empties?” the waiter asked and Wagner nodded. They waited in silence until the waiter left.
“What can I do for you? Mr. Burke.”
“I’m working on a piece about the seventy-five. I noticed that all these scientists worked for you in your state-of-the-art research and development division where they had access to the best facilities and equipment. I was wondering if you could explain to me why they all left to work in a funky cellar?”
“Tell me about yourself, Mr. Burke.”
“What? Tell you what?” Rory was a bit taken aback. “What do you want to know?”
“I want to know about your investigative skills, Mr. Burke.”
So Rory told him about a few pieces for KNUS that had required in-depth investigation.
“What if I want you to go deeper?”
“Deeper?” Rory suspected he was quickly losing control of this conversation.
“KNUS isn’t all that you are. You have a sneaky second job.”
Rory didn’t speak. He was trying to figure out if that was an implied threat. But why? Wagner obviously knew about the Newsman site, but why would he care?
Wagner slid a piece of paper across the table to Rory. He picked it up and scanned it. It was a contract with an enticing daily rate.
“I have something I want deeply investigated. I’ll make you a deal. I’ll tell you why the seventy-five left the Wagner Company when you complete my investigation.” He paused. “Plus that.” He pointed to the contract.
