by Hinze, Vicki
He lifted a hand. “Coffee or tea, then?”
“Coffee would be good.” She was chilled before learning that awful truth. Now the cold crept in deeper, freezing her bones. Maybe it was normal for him, but it wasn’t normal for her. Especially not with Holly bearing down on them.
“This way.” He led her through the outer ring and then down the hallway to the quarters section.
As they passed the second closed door, Emma heard Sophia inside, playing a game with the kids. The constant thump of a ball hitting the concrete floor muted their voices.
“Olivia’s practicing her dribbling. Basketball tryouts are right after the holidays. She’s been at it since June,” Mason said with a wry grin. “David says he hears the dribbling in his sleep. I bet Sophia does, too.” He motioned to the end of the hallway. “The kitchen is right down here.”
Emma’s earlier glimpses of this area proved accurate. The end of the hallway opened into a large living room and kitchen combo. It shouldn’t have surprised her to see the kitchen was well-equipped with a full-sized fridge, stove and two sitting areas. A table with six chairs and three stools at the breakfast bar. As much time as Mason spent here, he would have a functional and comfortable retreat. Long-ingrained habits didn’t change. As kids, he’d created a similar space in their fort at home and often hid out there to read. He had loved his books. While Emma had read mysteries, Mason had read about germs and diseases. It hadn’t seemed creepy then. It did today. Weaponized pathogens. As if the originals weren’t horrific enough. “This looks like a normal kitchen.” Emma sat down on one of the stools.
“It is a normal kitchen.” Mason put on a fresh pot of coffee. “Obviously, I spend a lot of time here.” He leaned a hip against the bar. “So, are you going to tell me how you know so much about high-containment labs?”
“I did tell you.” She met his eyes easily. “I did an investigative report on them once.”
“Missed that one.” He filled the coffeepot with cold water. “When did you do it?”
“About two years ago,” she said. The lie rolled easily off her tongue because it had been then when she’d done her training on them. It wasn’t a lie really. Just a twist on the truth. She’d had to get used to those twists on her missions.
“I didn’t see it.”
“You mentioned that.” His noting it twice raised a question in her mind. “Do you always watch to see what stories I have published?”
“Actually, yeah. I do.”
That surprised her. “Why?”
“We share a long history, Emma. I’m interested.” He walked back to the coffeepot, reached in the cabinet and pulled out two mugs. “You’ve done good work. No small thing, getting nominated for a Loeb award.”
He knew about that, too? Well, that should help her on the credibility front, even if Liz would most definitely not approve and the Director would like it even less.
“You should have won.”
“Thank you.” His following her publications surprised her. Following her as closely as he had, stunned her. But supporting her for an award she could not win? Shocking. All this time, she’d believed he was uninterested and distant because that’s all she had seen from him. But apparently that hadn’t been all there was to it. He had monitored her through her work.
“I’d like to read it. Where can I find a copy?”
It would take time to digest that monitoring and to figure out why he had done it and what it meant. Yet he clearly wanted an answer to his question now. Think, Emma. Think. “Well, you can’t,” she said. “You didn’t see the HC lab article because it wasn’t published.”
A furrow creased the skin between his brows. “Why not?”
“My editor was afraid it would incite too much fear in people.” Emma shrugged. “To be honest, I think some politician nixed it, but that’s just a guess.” She frowned. “Fear sells. The honchos push for it and for the sensational.”
“Unless they’re persuaded to avoid it by those who prefer any discussion stay off the public’s radar. Probably cited to bury the story for reasons of national security.” He frowned at the mugs. “I hear you.”
He heard her but he didn’t believe her. She sensed it with every bone in her body. But, at least so far, he hadn’t called her out on it. Few reporters would ever be granted access to an HC lab. Not unless they were owed a fistful of favors, and even then, a visit wouldn’t be welcome. Would he call her out? Maybe. Maybe not, if she distracted him. At this point, that was about her best shot. If he didn’t know her so well, this wouldn’t be an issue. It hadn’t been before. But he did know her well, and that complicated things. “Can you answer a question for me?”
“Still drink your coffee black?”
He’d noticed that, too? Not trusting herself to speak, she nodded.
He placed a mug of steaming hot coffee on the bar in front of her. “Shoot.”
Still simmering inside, she asked, “What brain-dead jerk put a bio-weapons storage facility under an airport?”
“I don’t know, but it’s been here for years.” With his mug, he walked around the bar and sat down on the barstool beside her. “Without incident.”
“By the grace of God.”
“Yes,” he agreed. “And because so few people know it’s here.”
He had to get beyond thinking they were safe because so few knew about this facility. “That was once true. But it’s not true now.”
Skepticism riddled his face. “Why do you say that?”
“Mason, I’m here because someone knows who shouldn’t.”
“You aren’t here because of the storm?” Suspicion now rippled off him in huge rolling waves, and he curled his fingers tightly around the handle of his mug.
“That, too.” He needed to know the truth. About the contents of the text she’d received from Liz while waiting for him to retrieve her from the Main. “There’s been a substantial amount of chatter. The Intelligence Community is…quite concerned.”
“I’m aware of that. Headquarters gave me a heads’ up before you arrived.”
“Then you know the IC expects an attack on this facility.”
“There’s a remote possibility, headquarters said. There’s always a remote possibility, but they said nothing about expecting an attack.” He lifted his mug, sipped. “Come on, Emma. You’ve seen the facility now, and it’s obvious you know what you’re looking at. The lab is encased by mountain. How can anyone, even the most advanced group of terrorists, penetrate it?”
“Working on that. Still assessing vulnerabilities.” Her emotions churning, she asked the question she’d wanted to ask since leaving the HC lab. “Mason, what happened to you?”
“Excuse me?”
“Why are you working here?” Lifting her gaze from the bar, she met his eyes. “You were going to save the world. Find cures and treatments. What happened?”
“I am saving the world.” He shifted on his stool. “I make sure people are protected from what’s in here.”
“Your lab isn’t active.” Risky, being this truthful, but instinct warned her, he would know her true thoughts either way. Better to be out front with them. “From what I observed, it hasn’t been active for some time.”
His expression went lax. “Okay, you’re right. That’s true. We have been on monitoring-only status for a while.” That grated at him. “But it wasn’t supposed to be like this.”
Disturbed and irritated. That was a good sign of trust. And discomfort. Regrettable, but she needed to know the real picture. “What was it supposed to be like?”
“When I accepted this job, I was supposed to be here for a year. The specimens were slated to be moved to a special lab.”
“The CDC in Atlanta?” The Center for Disease Control would be the logical place for specimens, but did that include weaponized versions?
He avoided her eyes. “Close.”
Silence stretched on between them. He had refused to disclose, and nothing she said would change his mind. She pul
led back and tried an alternate route. “So, you’ve been here how long?”
“Five years.”
She hadn’t expected that. And now he knew she hadn’t been monitoring him or his career. “Why weren’t the specimens moved?”
“Budget issues.” His voice went deadpan flat. As flat as the look in his eyes. “It was during sequestration. Budgets across the board were slashed to the bone, and what money was available was needed for other things.” Clearly annoyed, he snagged his mug and refilled his cup. “More?” He lifted the pot.
She nodded and shoved her mug across the bar toward him.
As he poured, he went on. “We were at war, Emma. Still are. When you’ve got active mission planes robbing the boneyard for parts, there’s no place left to siphon funds from, and everyone knows it.”
“Budgets have been replenished now.”
“Some have, yes, including ours.” He returned the pot to the warming plate, then reclaimed his seat. “We were finally set to make the move next week, but then Holly came up. Bad timing for a bad storm.”
“Word on the move leaked,” Emma guessed. “That’s what spurred the chatter.”
“Probably,” he said. “But no leak originated here.”
“How do you know that?”
“Only David and I are here. I didn’t leak, and if he had, he certainly wouldn’t have his family here now.”
Logical. “The leak came from higher up, then,” she said. “Who exactly do you work for?” Liz would have the information, but Emma asked the question anyway. She wasn’t at all certain he would answer her.
“U.S. Army Medical Research Institute of Infectious Diseases,” he said, then issued her a stern warning. “Do not write about that or about me. You’ll get us both killed, and I’m not ready to die.”
He wasn’t exaggerating, he meant it. Not that she had needed the warning. He couldn’t know that though, so she didn’t mention it. “Neither am I. Nowhere near ready to die.” She looked him right in the eye and spoke the unvarnished truth. “I have no intention of writing an article about any of this. I promise.” Many around the globe would love to get their hands on Mason. Both for what he knew and for what he could do. That fired protective instincts in her she hadn’t expected. Strong protective instincts that weren’t entirely welcome but accepted.
The look in his eyes pierced her. “One day, I am going to ask you that question.”
“About writing?”
“No,” he said. “About who exactly you work for.”
She stiffened.
“Relax, Emma. I’m not slow on the uptake. I won’t ask today. But I will one day. Just giving you notice.”
Promise or threat, either could end her probation and bounce her right out of the Silencers, Inc., program. The standing policy was she could tell one person the truth about that. Only one. Ever. She smiled. “One day, I could answer that question, but it would put me in the position of making a choice I know you don’t want me to make.”
“What choice is that?”
“If you ask and I answer, I’ll have to marry you or kill you.” She held her smile, proving she was up for either. “So I know…any preference?”
That knocked him on his heels. His jaw hung loose, and he just stared at her.
She hadn’t seen Mason flabbergasted ever. Not even when they’d sneaked into Grouchy Green’s orchard and had been caught red-handed plucking grapes off his vines. Emma laughed. “Don’t worry, Mason. I won’t answer your question today.” She tilted her head. “In fact, I won’t answer it until you ask me the question again. That’s a promise.”
“You still keep them?” he asked, a little crease forming on his forehead between his brows. “You used to, but—”
She lifted her right hand. “I never break a promise.”
Relieved, he cleared his throat. “Fair enough.”
Her phone pinged.
Mason swiveled to look at her. “Your phone works in here?”
“I told you it was special.” Smiling, she slid off the bar stool and answered, walking down the hallway toward the outer door. “Miller.”
“Emma,” Liz said. “You all okay?”
“We’re fine. Why?”
“I’m patching through a weather report. You need to watch it, Emma. Right away.”
Emma stopped at the neck of the hall. “What’s happened?”
“The airport has sustained some storm damage. Significant damage.”
“Where?” They’d heard nothing. Mason hadn’t been alerted to anything going on. Surely Security would have informed him of any problem.
“Portal. The airport you’re in right now.”
Emma squeezed her eyes shut for a brief second. “It’s a huge airport. What area has been damaged?” Mason came down the hall, took one look at her face, and stopped.
“Street level. Way too close to you.”
Mason asked, “What’s wrong?”
“Watch the weather.” Emma whispered. “Damage above. Street level.”
“Emma, are you there?”
“Yes, I’m here, Liz.” Every nerve in her body hit high-alert. “Have the tunnels been breached?”
“I can’t tell from here. I need sensors. Any alarms there?”
“No, none.”
“Reporters are now on the scene. Darcy something or the other.”
“Keller. Darcy Keller,” Emma said. “She’s pregnant.”
“How do you know that?” Liz asked.
“I saw her on a road-side weather report right after I landed.”
Mason skirted around Emma and she followed him. “I’ll watch. Anything else?”
“You make sure that lab stays secure.”
Worried. And nothing Emma had to report on the specific pathogens would do a thing except jack-up that worry to terror. “So far, there’s no sign of trouble in the lab.” Emma checked to be sure Liz had called on a secure line. Verifying she had, Emma shared her report on the weaponized pathogens.
“But that’s insane.”
“My sentiments exactly.” Glad they agreed, Emma went on. “A direct impact of political sequestration on the real world.” Emma frowned. “You getting reports of more chatter?”
“A lot of them.”
“How solid are they?”
“Historically reliable.”
That set Emma on edge. “In this case, that’s not good news.”
“No, I’m afraid it’s not.” Liz’s voice tensed even more. “Emma, I know I ride you hard, but that’s because you’re good. You’re really good. You can handle this.”
She wished she felt as confident as Liz sounded. But how she felt didn’t matter right now. She had a job to do. She had to keep the storm and the terrorists from killing them all, including themselves and her, if that proved possible. “Do you know who they are yet?”
“Not yet. We’re winnowing down possibilities. My instincts are telling me it’s a private group. They seem to not have a political agenda. All reports indicate they’re in it for the money.”
“Black-market sales?”
“That’s what my gut says, based on what we know so far. But I could be wrong.”
Unlikely. Liz’s instincts were honed to a fine edge. Experience in her job made that unavoidable. It left no room for illusions but relied hard on facts. Otherwise, Liz would be dead. “For the record, when was the last time you were wrong?”
“You don’t want me to answer that right now.”
“It’s been a while, though?”
“A long while, yeah.”
“Are you wrong now?”
Liz hesitated a long moment, then answered. “No. No, I don’t think I am.” A heavy sigh crackled through the phone. “The Director is summoning me,” she said. “I swear, if Billie doesn’t get over the flu and get back to work, I’m going to scream until they straitjacket me. Watch the weather report, Emma.”
Portal 3 News
A male anchor stood in the studio in front of an animated radar s
creen. “Residents are feeling the brunt of the storm in Portal. The temperature is now four below. Winds are steady at 78 miles per hour and gusting to 96. Folks, do not attempt to go outside. We have whiteout conditions, heavy snow and ice, and winds that equate to a Category Two Hurricane. Reports are flooding in from all over about power outages and falling trees. Authorities warn residents to avoid downed power lines and the risks of trees falling or being uprooted by high winds. Conditions are extremely dangerous. Unfortunately, they are still deteriorating. The weather is going to get even worse before it gets better.”
“Sorry to interrupt, but we have breaking news from Darcy Keller, who is at PIA in Portal. Go ahead, Darcy.”
Keller’s image appeared on the screen, replacing that of the male anchor. She still wore her red coat, but she stood inside the airport. Gauging by the stretched canvas overhead and the cluster of shops behind her, she was in the Main. Briefcase Man stood in the crowd gathered to her left.
“The terminals are on lock-down,” Darcy Keller said. “For those viewers who may be unaware, Portal International Airport is currently undergoing extensive renovations. There’s a lot of heavy equipment on the grounds outside and inside the facilities.
“About fifteen minutes ago, heavy wind gusts whipped nearly everything not nailed down into segments of the buildings. The short- and long-term parking area has cars that have haphazardly flipped and stacked. Many have sustained damage. From a visual, it’s difficult to find a windshield that isn’t cracked.
“Near one of the renovation sites outside Terminal C, two cranes that had been secured with steel cables broke free and somehow crashed through…”
The transmission froze.
The screen went black.
Chapter Seven
Tuesday, December 17th
1800 (6:00 PM)
Standing in front of the seating area off the kitchen in the lab, Emma turned away from the blacked-out screen to Mason. “Where’s Terminal C in relation to where we are now?” She’d only had time to glance at the plans Liz had forwarded, but the lab didn’t appear to be on it.
