by Alex Ander
An image flashed across Hardy’s mind; the monitor inside the control room at the training facility. He double-timed it.
… … … … …
Cruz stood at the base of the stairs, one eye staring into the red dot sight atop the L85, the other searching for a weapon on the man beginning his descent. “I’ve got contact…stairs…second level.” The thobe-clad man turned his head and saw her. “Stop right there! Hands—show me your hands!”
The Middle Eastern man dashed down the stairs, either not understanding her or not caring. His left hand slid along the handrail; the right was behind his back.
Cruz’s right forearm tightened when he hit the midway point. Her finger slipped inside the trigger guard. “Freeze,” she shouted. “Show me your hands.” A bead of sweat ran down her temple. She swallowed, closed the left eye and focused on the sight picture. Warm air fogged the lower part of the facemask. Her heart pounded. She centered the red dot on the man’s center of mass and touched the trigger. He folded in half, clutched his knee and tumbled down the stairs.
Cruz backpedaled, the L85’s muzzle following the rolling man. He stopped six steps from the bottom, yelling and holding a knee in both hands.
… … … … …
Hardy pulled up short and raised the bullpup to the left. A Middle Eastern man, dressed in a dark thobe, ran down the stairs. Hardy flicked his eyes right. The man was heading straight for Cruz, who had her rifle pointed at him. Hardy glimpsed the man’s hands. The left one was out of sight. The right one grasped a black object behind his back. He spied Cruz, the man, Cruz. Screw this. He lowered the L85’s muzzle a hair and pressed the trigger. The man doubled over and toppled down the stairs.
Hardy ran forward. “Target is down. I repeat…target is down.” He trained his weapon on the man and looked at Cruz. “You okay?” Her gaze went back and forth a couple times from him to the screaming suspect before she nodded. “Cruz and Hardy are good. Hamilton, what’s your status—over?”
Hamilton: “I’m coming up on your six. Main level is clear—over.”
Hardy whirled around and saw her jogging up the aisle.
Team Two Leader: “This is Team Two. The upper level is clear—over.”
“Copy that,” said Hamilton. “All units, the building’s secure. Bring in the HazMat Team.”
∞ ∞ ∞ ∞ ∞ ∞ ∞
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Chapter 9: Choked
11:28 a.m.
Cruz tossed aside the helmet, leaned against the building, bent over and rested hands on knees. The HazMat Team had cleared the warehouse. There were no traces of Anthrax found anywhere, allowing everyone to come and go freely. I did it again. I froze. I should have pulled the trigger. He could have killed me. He could’ve killed Har— she swallowed hard and hung her head. Oh, dear God, why have you done this to me? Why have you put me in this situation? I-I don’t want someone—Hardy’s smiling face flashed before her eyes—to end up dead because of me. Show me the way, Jesus. Show me what to do.
“Hey, what’s up?” His helmet tucked under an arm, Hardy stood three feet away from Cruz. He put a hand on her back. “You okay?” She said nothing. “Cruz?”
“You saw what happened in there. I choked…again. I had his chest in my sights. I could have dropped him. I should’ve…” she put her back to the brick wall, ripped off her gloves and flung them. “I should’ve dropped him before he even made it halfway down the stairs. I…I…” she started undoing the hazmat suit, but stopped when Hardy touched her shoulder.
“If you had pulled the trigger, then you’d have killed him over this.”
Cruz stared at a cell phone in his hand.
“He had no weapon, Cruz.”
She gazed at him, mouth agape.
“From my vantage point, I could only see something black in his right hand. From,” he pointed, “your perspective, you couldn’t have seen his hand at all.” He wagged the mobile. “We don’t kill people for having phones. You made the right decision.”
Cruz took the device and turned it over in her hands. A portion of the weight lifted from her shoulders. Her heart rate increased and her stomach churned. Thank you, Lord. Thank you for not letting me shoot him. She breathed deeply and slowly let out the air.
“Are we good now?” Hardy retrieved the cell.
Cruz looked at him, every inch of his face. She wanted to hug him, kiss him, but she fought the urge. All those things were unprofessional in the workplace.
Hardy noticed her glistening eyes. “What’s wrong? You did the right thing. No one got hurt.”
“This time,” she replied, her voice barely above a whisper. “What about the next time? What if it’s you at the bottom of the stairs—or Cherry or Dahlia—and I’ve got the shot? What happens if I can’t…” her voice trailed off.
“Is that what this is about? You’re afraid you’ll get one of us killed?”
Straight-lipped, Cruz looked away. “I’m not sure I can do this. I don’t feel like I’m in control anymore…of me, the situation,” she paused, “of what happens to you.” She stared at the ground. “I’ve lost my mojo.”
Mojo? If it were not for the gravity of the matter, Hardy would have busted a gut. Coming from Dahlia, mojo would have seemed commonplace. Cruz saying the word was comical. She did not say things like that.
Hardy tipped his head back. The temperature was pleasant—for January. The clouds were parting and allowing the sun’s rays to become visible, coming down from the sky. He had always thought that if there was a God, then those rays were like Him smiling down on the world.
Hardy faced Cruz. “You know, what is it that you’re always preaching to me about God? That this is His world…He created it—and us—and is always looking out for it, and His people.”
Cruz glimpsed Hardy out of the corner of her eye. Where’s this coming from? He’s told me numerous times he’s unsure if God even exists.
“If you follow that logic, Cruz,” he squinted at her, “His world, His people…then it stands to reason that He’s also in charge, in control of what happens to us.” He nodded. “Am I right?”
Out of his view, Cruz curled up the right side of her mouth.
He nodded again. “Let’s go with I’m right. So, with that being said…my life, Dahlia and Cherry’s lives are in His hands, not yours. Whatever happens to us is…” he glanced away and snapped his fingers a couple times, “what is it that you tell me?”
“His will.”
He snapped his fingers again and pointed at her. “That’s it. It’s God’s will.” Hardy paused. “So, maybe you shouldn’t beat yourself up over this. Let it go.”
“Let go and let God,” she said, pushing away from the building and turning toward him.
Hardy’s eyebrows came together. “What?”
She smiled when he did not recognize the inspirational saying. “Never mind.” She regarded him. “Thank you. That really makes me feel better. Maybe I have been taking on too much. Maybe I’m a little burned out from two weeks of hard training.” She shook her head. “I’m not sure, but either way…thank you.”
“You’re welcome.” He motioned. “Let’s get back in there.” They headed toward the door.
“So, you think I’m preachy, huh?”
Inwardly, Hardy groaned. I knew that would come back to bite me in the… “You know what I meant by that. You just like to talk a lot about God.”
She arched her eyebrows. “And, I talk a lot too?”
Hardy winced. Man, shut your mouth. “That’s not what I said.”
Since he had started digging a hole, Cruz playfully handed him a shovel—her silence.
“I didn’t mean anything by that.” He waited for a reply, a look, anything that would indicate she understood. “Preaching can be a good thing.” He paused. “Talking is a good thing.” He pointed forefingers back and forth between them. “We’re talking right now. I didn’t—” he came to a halt, pivoted and ogled her. “You’re messing with me, aren’t you?”
> A wry grin spread over her lips. “Uh huh.”
Hardy smiled and winked.
“What’s with the winking? You did that in the van too.”
“I just thought that since we shouldn’t be kissing or hugging in the field—because it’s unprofessional…and makes others uncomfortable—that maybe a wink could be how we tell each other I love you or…we’re good or…everything’s fine…” he shrugged, “I don’t know. I just thought it could be our thing.”
Cruz smiled. Oh, Mr. Hardy, I love you more and more every day.
Hamilton came out of the building. “There you are.” Turning around, she cocked her head and curled an arm. “Come on. We may have found something.”
Hardy led Cruz toward the door. “You think it’s dumb, don’t you?” He bobbed his head. “It’s probably a dumb idea.”
Cruz scanned the area for onlookers before grabbing and squeezing his hand for a few seconds and letting go. When he glanced her way, she winked at him.
∞ ∞ ∞ ∞ ∞ ∞ ∞
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Chapter 10: Munich
January 20th; 12:56 p.m. (Local Time)
Munich, Germany
Hoffman-Koch Labs
Each making a distinctive sound, Dahlia’s black knee boots and Charity’s one-inch flats clicked against the tiled floor, as a short woman led the agents to an area outside a third floor sterile lab. Sheer nylons, leather skirt and a knee-length leather jacket—all black—with a navy blue turtleneck completed Dahlia’s look. Charity wore blue jeans, a white long-sleeved shirt and a blue knee-length blazer.
“Right this way,” said the woman, pushing and holding open a door. Once her visitors had crossed the threshold, she nodded. “Wait here.” Her broken English had a thick German dialect. “I’ll get doctor.”
Charity smiled. “Thank you.” She turned to Dahlia after the door closed. “I wonder how Hardy and Cruz are doing.”
Dahlia separated the vertical blinds with a finger and peered out the window. “I don’t know, but I think we drew the short straw on this one, Cherry. We have to talk to the eggheads, while they’re probably living it up in London.”
Charity stood in front of the window, mimicking her partner. “Have you read our assessments yet?” Each woman was forwarded a copy of Darling’s report on the other two as part of the ‘getting better acquainted’ theme.
“I have.”
“And?” said Charity, facing Dahlia.
“And what?”
“What did you think about Cruz’s evaluation?”
Dahlia let go of the blinds, glimpsed the other woman and turned around. “It doesn’t bother me a bit. I’ve seen her in action. Cruz can handle herself.”
“Yeah,” said Charity, her mind wandering to the first time she met the FBI agent in a Texas restaurant. “I agree.” Special Agent Cruz was the only person standing between Charity and three men with guns and a kill order. “I’m not worried either. When the time comes, she’ll do what needs to be done.”
The door opened. A tall and lanky man in his mid-thirties walked into the room, shutting the door behind him. With jet-black hair, slicked back, he looked like a 1950’s hoodlum, white lab coat replacing the leather jacket, however. “Good afternoon, I’m Dr. Kimmler.” His English was perfect, but with a prevalent German accent. “I was told you wanted to speak with me about the Anthrax that went missing several months ago.”
“Dr. Kimmler, I’m Dahlia James with the Centers for Disease Control.” She motioned. “This is my associate.”
Charity held out a hand. “Charity St. Clair…World Health Organization.”
Both women presented credentials that verified identities that had been created for them during the flight.
The doctor shook hands with the women and gestured toward a table and chairs. “Please, sit down.” He pulled out a chair and sat. “How can I help you?”
“We’re here,” Dahlia sat, “to conduct a follow-up investigation on the missing virus you mentioned.”
“I’ve already been over this with the authorities and the WHO back when it happened. I’m not sure how much more help I can be.”
Charity leaned back in the chair before opening and resting a file folder on her lap. “If you could just start from the beginning…when you noticed the virus was gone, how much was missing, who you told.” She clicked a pen.
“Well,” said Kimmler, “as the lead scientist, I’m usually here at least an hour before anyone else arrives. I noticed the Anthrax was missing right away, as I had planned to conduct an experiment with it first thing.”
Dahlia crossed her legs. “How much was missing?”
“All of it.”
Charity scribbled on a note pad inside the file folder. “How much is all of it, Doctor?”
He turned his palms upward. “I gave all this information to the other CDC people already. Don’t you have it in your notes?”
Dahlia interlaced her fingers on the table. “Our superiors wanted us to start fresh. They didn’t want the new investigation to be tainted in any way. As a scientist, I’m sure you can understand the importance of control measures.”
Charity raised an eyebrow at her partner. Control measures?
“Of course, of course,” replied Kimmler. “Well, let’s see…there were ten cases and each case contained fifty vials. One case was down a few, so I’d have to say a little less than five hundred. If you want a specific number, I’d have to check my notes.”
Dahlia lifted her interlocked fingers off the table. “That’s all right. Tell me, Doctor, if that much Anthrax were to be weaponized, how many people could be affected?”
The doctor sat erect. “Do you think that’s what’s happened?” He glanced at Charity. “Someone is going to use it as a weapon?”
“At this point, we’re looking into all possibilities.” Dahlia stood, circled behind her chair and leaned against it. “Who at the company had access to the virus?”
Kimmler stared and tapped a finger on the table. Fifteen seconds passed before he looked up. “I’m sorry. Did you say something?”
Dahlia exchanged glances with Charity and repeated the question.
“Everyone with a level five clearance,” said Kimmler, “had access to the lab.”
Dahlia stood straight, “Who would that be, exactly?” and crossed her arms.
“All of my scientists and lab personnel.” He paused, looked away and came back to Dahlia. “Um…I suppose all the department heads…upper management too.”
“Forgive me, Doctor, but you seem distracted. Is everything all right?”
Kimmler looked up at Dahlia. “You said that someone might be interested making a weapon out of the virus.”
Dahlia nodded.
“Well, the missing Anthrax was a new strain. It was found in permafrost in Russia.”
Dahlia took her seat, “What’s so special about that?” and crossed her legs under the table.
Kimmler leaned forward and spoke with his hands. “With the planet getting warmer every year, new areas of the arctic are being exposed. Germs that have been frozen for thousands of years are coming to the surface. One boy recently died from Anthrax poisoning. And, hundreds of reindeer died from the disease in the same remote area of Russia.”
The man shifted in the chair. “We sent a team up there when we heard about it to collect samples for study. We also came back with two new giant viruses that had been frozen for thirty thousand years. We were experimenting with the heartiness—”
“Excuse me…” Charity made a note, “giant virus?”
“Giant viruses are so large they can be seen under a normal microscope.” He waved a hand. “That’s not the alarming part. When we thawed these giant viruses, they quickly became infectious again.”
“So, why did you it?” Dahlia interjected. “Why not just leave them alone?”
“If the earth is going to continue to warm and bring back to life diseases the human body has never encountered in three hundred centuries, then w
e need to study those germs and find cures.”
Charity’s words from the OR meeting came to Dahlia—know thy enemy.
“Anyway,” continued Kimmler, “we found one of the giant viruses to be highly infectious. Nothing we threw at it killed it. It exhibited a special immunity from all our antibiotics.”
Dahlia showed him her palms. “How is this relevant?”
Kimmler stared at Dahlia. “It went missing along with the Anthrax.”
The women looked at each other.
“That’s why I was so surprised when the first investigation just died. I thought for sure the CDC would have moved heaven and earth to find the missing vials. You know, get the police involved and find those who have it.”
“How easy,” said Dahlia, “would it be to create more of this giant virus?”
“All we needed was a small amount. When it was combined with the new strain of Anthrax, the contagion was magnified exponentially.”
Dahlia methodically placed both hands flat on the table. “Doctor, define exponentially…in terms of the number of people who could be infected.”
“With that much Anthrax and no viable cure,” Kimmler slowly shook his head and shrugged, “there’s no telling. We could be talking about an ELE.”
Dahlia turned toward Charity.
The latter woman arched her eyebrows. “Extinction Level Event.”
∞ ∞ ∞ ∞ ∞ ∞ ∞
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Chapter 11: Ruff
1:47 p.m.
Munich, Germany
Ruff’s Burger
Sitting on the booth side of a combination booth/chair café table, back to the wall, Dahlia passed a menu to the server, “Danke – Thank you.” The young girl smiled and left to place the lunch orders.
Charity slipped out of her blazer and folded the garment over the back of the chair.
Dahlia glanced in all directions. Extremely small, the restaurant was clean, well lit and gave off a homey, cozy ambience. If filled to capacity, the noise level would have made for difficult conversations. At this time of the day, however, there were only a few other patrons and they were spaced far enough away for the two women to talk normally. “I like this place. Let’s hope their burgers are as good as the atmosphere.”
