Containment Failure (A Special Agent Dylan Kane Thriller, Book #2)

by J. Robert Kennedy

  The elder of the two men stepped forward, extending his hand. “Good to meet you. I’m Neil, this is Lee,” he said, motioning at his younger partner.

  Michael waved off the handshake. “We’ve got a virus going around, so let’s minimize physical contact, okay?” He noted Lee’s and Macleod’s hands dart away from each other moments before connecting. He raised his voice to those still within earshot. “That goes for everyone! Minimize physical contact! We don’t know how this thing is spread, and those with a set of swingers don’t get cocky, you may just bring it home and infect your wife, daughter or mother.”

  He made a show of removing a pair of latex gloves and snapping them on, prompting the rest to do the same. He motioned for Neil and Lee to lead the way. “After you, gentlemen.”

  Neil nodded, eyeing the gloves and looking slightly uncomfortable. Michael smiled and pulled another pair from his belt. “Like a pair?”

  Neil smiled, taking them and snapping them on as Macleod offered a pair to Lee. The two men took a few moments to get the gloves on, it taking a practiced hand to do it efficiently. Finally gloved, they made their way into the massive structure, the men obviously having been here before as they navigated the maintenance tunnels with confidence.

  “What the hell?”

  It was the older specialist Neil who first came to a halt. Sergeant Michael rounded the duo and his eyebrows shot up in surprise. Police tape crisscrossed the door along with a seal across the lock warning anyone who broke it that they may be subject to arrest.

  Michael held his mike to his mouth.

  “This is ten-william-fifteen, we’ve got a crime scene marked off at our location. Request permission to breach the seal, over.”

  “Roger that, ten-william-fifteen, hold for instructions, over.”

  “What do you think happened here, Sergeant?”

  Michael looked at Macleod and shrugged his shoulders. “Maybe it’s related to the power failure during the game?”

  “I thought they traced that to be something outside. A transformer or something? Like at the Super Bowl.”

  “Then you know more than me.”

  “Could be the murder?”

  “Huh?” echoed Michael and Macleod.

  Lee looked at them. “You mean you didn’t hear about the murder?”

  Michael shook his head. “No, spill.”

  “Yeah, they found a security guard shot to death a few days after the game. It was one of our guys who actually found him, stuffed behind an air exchanger.”

  Michael looked at the door, the bright yellow tape a stark contrast to the black painted door.

  “Could be—”

  His radio interrupted him.

  “Ten-william-fifteen, you’re a go for breach. Homicide Detective assigned to the case is on route to your position, over.”

  Homicide? Then it must be the murder.

  “Roger that dispatch, breaching now. Out.”

  He clipped his mike to his vest and nodded for Officer Macleod to cut the seal. She stepped forward, tore the tape down, sliced the seal along the door frame, then ripped the portion covering the keyhole away. She stepped back and Neil was about to step forward with the key when Michael held out his hand.

  “Better let me.”

  He took the key, pushed it into the lock and turned. There was a click and he turned the knob, pushing the door open.

  The stench was overwhelming.

  “My God! Haven’t they cleaned this crime scene yet?”

  They all stepped back, the smell overwhelming as three days of human decay, followed by a week of confinement oozed out the door and into the corridor. Neil and Lee put on facemasks from their kits, offering a pair to Michael and Macleod, all continuing to wait for the air to clear a bit. Michael stepped inside, looking for something to prop the door open with. Finding nothing, he reached up and unscrewed the bolt to the pneumatic door closer. He swung the door all the way open, and it stayed. He and Macleod then advanced into the cramped utility room, making certain it was clear, then stepped back out.

  Michael’s eyes were watering from the stench as he stepped back into the corridor, Macleod looking a little gray at his side.

  “All yours gentlemen,” said Michael through his mask, motioning them inside with an outstretched arm.

  Neil stepped inside, his younger partner, Lee, hesitating then finally following. Michael chuckled as he heard Lee gag, then the thought of the kid yacking caused his own stomach to flip and he stepped farther from the door.

  A quick glance at Macleod and he was surprised to see she seemed unaffected.

  “This doesn’t bother you?”

  “Four baby brothers. I’ve been changing diapers for most of my life. Some of the stuff that came out of those little bastards would make grown men weep. Out here it’s not too bad.” She nodded toward the two men inside the cramped room. “Those guys I feel sorry for. That’s like putting your head in the diaper.”

  Michael chuckled, finding the conversation was distracting him from the thick air.

  “Found something!” called Neil. Michael looked to see him beckoning them inside.

  Christ, it had to be us.

  He stepped inside and saw Neil pointing at a canister sitting on the floor behind the exchanger, a long black hose attaching it to a series of other hoses. It all meant nothing to him, but from the looks of the shiny new fitting on the hose, he would guess it was a recent addition.

  “What is it?”

  “Somebody’s added something to the ventilation. This canister is cranked fully open,” said Neil, pointing at the unmarked canister. “This hose feeds it directly into the system, so when the system fires up, it pumps it into the air exchanger, and throughout the building, or at least throughout the area that this unit services.”

  “Which is?”

  “Pretty much half the complex.”

  Lee reached forward with a wrench, quickly fitting it over the collar holding the hose in place when everyone shouted, “No!”

  The young man froze. “What?”

  “What the hell are you doing?” asked Michael.

  “Removing it so you can have your guys examine it.”

  “Gently remove the wrench,” said the more experienced Neil, reaching out to steady the now shaking hands of the young man. “We don’t want to mess with their evidence now, do we?”

  Lee shook his head, removing the wrench, and pocketing it. He stepped back, a little paler than when he arrived.

  Michael breathed a sigh of relief. He, probably like the others with the obvious exception of Lee, was pretty sure the canister was empty and no longer a danger, but there was no point in risking it. This was the CDC’s job now.

  “Everybody out,” ordered Michael. Macleod exited first, followed by Neil and Lee. Michael exited and closed the door tight, grabbing his mike.

  “Dispatch, this is ten-william-fifteen. I think we found what you’re looking for, over.”

  Michael gripped the mask over his face a little tighter, wondering what the hell he had just gotten himself into, and if it was related to the homicide that had obviously taken place here.

  Leroux Residence, Fairfax Towers, Falls Church, Virginia

  Chris Leroux stretched, one leg extending out, the opposite arm reaching over his head, and with a groan, he reversed the stretch, his head turning to the other side, a smile of contentment smeared across his face that quickly disappeared when he saw the empty bed beside him.

  He immediately awoke, pushing himself up on his elbows.

  “Honey?”

  There was no answer, but the sound of the shower running quickly put that question to rest. The shower shut off, and Sherrie’s happy humming became audible and Chris frowned.

  She’s only that happy right after we’ve shivered the timbers, or when she’s going out on an op.

  Chris swung himself out of bed, knowing full well which one it was, and grabbed his phone, suddenly remembering that was what had awoken him.


  Report to office immediately.

  “Argh!” This was supposed to be a day off for both of them. A lazy day in bed, a nice afternoon playing tourist, a quiet romantic dinner, a movie on the couch with some ice cream and hot raspberry sauce, and a whole lotta lovin’.

  But instead, all they’d get now is a few extra hours sleep.

  He stood up, pulled down then kicked off his boxers, and opened the door to the bathroom. Steam rolled out into the bedroom and he smiled at the spectacular love of his life that stood in front of the fogged up mirror, humming while drying her hair. He stepped up behind her and reached around, cupping her breasts. She yelped then smiled, leaning into him and give her bum a wiggle to get things stirring, but he was way ahead of her. He gently kissed her shoulder.

  “Going somewhere?” he asked.

  She moaned, turning around and embracing him, her naked body pressed against his, as he pulled her in tightly, the grinding sending Little Chris into a frenzy.

  She pushed him away.

  “Sorry, Dear, but I’ve got to report in for an op.”

  Chris groaned, looking down at his wagging member then at the object of his desire as she left the bathroom. He waddled out after her, wagging his pride back and forth like a dog’s tail. “Aww, hon!”

  Sherrie looked and burst out laughing at the sight.

  “Put that thing away, we’ve got to get to work.”

  Chris looked down then back at Sherrie, a pout on his face.

  Sherrie looked at him then let out a burst of false exasperation.

  “Fine, a quickie. And I do mean quick!” She marched over to him and shoved him backward, onto the bed. Straddling him, she dropped down, mashing her breasts against his bare chest, her mouth at his ear, whispering words that made his heart skip a beat, the shy man he was only months before now full of confidence, thanks to a woman out of his league, that had given him a chance. “You’re lucky I find you so irresistible,” she whispered, her breath hot against his neck. I can never say no to you.”

  He flipped her over, kissing her hard as she wrapped her legs around his waist, pulling him inside. She pulled his hair, separating their lips.

  “Remember, I said quick.”

  Chris smiled, and proceeded to follow his orders.

  I-10 Northbound, New Orleans Louisiana

  Kyle Patrick rolled the window of his Ford F-150 down and leaned out the window, looking up while trying to keep one eye on the road. Dozens of helicopters, scratch that, hundreds, all military, flew by overhead, the sky full. He heard a horn honk and he looked ahead then slammed on his brakes as the traffic had come to a halt.

  What the hell is going on?

  He turned the radio on, and his jaw dropped.

  “—complete quarantine. I repeat, authorities have informed us that the President has ordered a complete quarantine of New Orleans due to the recent virus outbreak that began yesterday. All air traffic has been halted. No civilian air traffic will be permitted to enter or leave airspace surrounding the city, and shockingly, we have just discovered that the Air Force is operating under shoot-down orders. Any air traffic disobeying the quarantine will be shot down.”

  “My God!”

  Kyle couldn’t believe his ears. The shutdown extended to rail and shipping, and as traffic began to move again, slowly, the reporter described the shutdown of all roads leading into and out of the city. As the traffic inched forward he saw several National Guard vehicles ahead, camouflaged men with automatic weapons directing the traffic down the off ramp and back into the city.

  And they were all wearing what looked to him like hazmat suits.

  Jesus, this is serious!

  He felt his chest tighten as his heart began to pound. His hands shook as he reached for the dial to turn up the volume, real palpable fear gripping him as he listened to the report, wondering what he should do next, for now his movements dictated by the soldiers manning the blockade.

  “—CDC spokesperson Anthony Wade said the situation was serious, but there was no need to panic. The CDC advises all residents remain in their homes and not attempt to leave the city. Should anyone display flu like symptoms, it is essential that you call 9-1-1. Do not leave your home. If someone has symptoms in your home, isolate them, call 9-1-1, and an ambulance will pick them up. At this time it is not known how the disease is transmitted, however good hygiene and isolation is the best way we know how to prevent the spread. Wash your hands, wash down all surfaces with a mild bleach solution, and minimize contact with your neighbors. The next update from the CDC—”

  Kyle blindly followed the car in front of him, debating where to go. He could go back to his apartment. At least there he’d be alone. But did he really want to be alone? He could go to his folks place, but what if he were infected? He could infect them. If they were to die because of him, he’d never forgive himself.

  His phone rang. It took several rings for him to realize what was happening. He grabbed it and took the call.

  “Hello?”

  “Kyle, it’s Mom. Are you okay?”

  “Yeah, I-I’m fine. Christ, Mom, have you heard the news?”

  “Yes. I want you to come here right away.”

  “Really? What if I’m infected?”

  “Then we get sick together. Come home. Your father and I have lots of food and water here unlike your empty fridge. We’ll ride this thing out together, as a family.”

  Kyle’s shoulders sank in relief, the decision made for him.

  “I’m on my way,” he choked out, ending the call as he was turned back onto the freeway, heading back the way he had just come.

  God, please help us!

  En route to CIA Headquarters, Langley, Virginia

  Chris Leroux couldn’t believe what he had just heard, even turning up the radio and switching to several different stations. Every station that had a human being at the other end seemed to be talking about nothing but. Even the music stations were dedicating songs to the people of New Orleans, their DJs giving sound bites in between tracks. There was no escaping the story, and he had no doubt it was why they were being called into work.

  “What do you think is going on?” asked Sherrie, sitting in the passenger seat, leaning forward as she looked in the side mirror, probably checking to make sure their escort was in tow. They had been assigned an escort since the incident several months ago with The Assembly, a secret organization that seemed to have its fingers into the worlds’ finances and governments to a degree so terrifying it kept Chris up at night sometimes. The team of four now watched Leroux’s back as he was now tasked to investigate the organization. Sherrie was an active operator so wasn’t their responsibility. In fact, Leroux knew the agency probably considered her additional security for him since that was her original assignment until they had developed feelings for each other.

  He stole a quick glance at her and smiled at the memories from this morning, then frowned at another report about people trying to escape the quarantine zone.

  “I think we’re being called in because of this, and since this is domestic, and we’re technically foreign, I’m guessing this isn’t some natural occurrence.”

  “Terrorism?”

  He shrugged as he turned.

  “Could be. We’ll probably be briefed as soon as we get in.”

  Sherrie looked at him, her hand squeezing his thigh. “I’m scared.”

  “Me too. For them to quarantine a city…” His voice trailed off as he shook his head. “I just can’t believe it. It’s like something out of a horror movie.”

  “You don’t think—” Sherrie cut herself off. “Forget it.”

  “What, that it’s zombies?”

  She smacked his shoulder and laughed. “No! That’s not what I was going to say!”

  Leroux rubbed his shoulder. “Ow! Don’t forget you’re a trained agent, licensed to kill, hands are a registered weapon, and all that stuff.”

  “Ohhh, I’m sorry, baby!” she cooed as she leaned over and kissed wh
ere she had hit. “Is that better?”

  “Yes. And you were thinking zombies.”

  This time he was ready and when the blow came he jerked toward the window, avoiding it. She shook her head, trying to hide her smile.

  “Next week let’s go see something nice and tame instead of World War Z, okay?”

  She laughed, then pointed ahead. “Slow down. That light’s going to change before our escort can reach it.”

  Leroux lifted his foot slightly off the gas as the flashing red crossing signal turned solid, and the traffic light went amber then red. He was still getting used to essentially driving in a convoy, but with Sherrie along, she always seemed to know when he was forgetting.

  “I wonder if you’re going out of country again.”

  Sherrie put her arm over his shoulders, massaging his neck. “No idea. If this is related to New Orleans, and it’s terrorist related, then probably. Hopefully not too long.”

  “It’ll take as long as it takes. Don’t worry, I’m used to being alone.”

  She squeezed a little tighter and extended her fingers up the back of his head, gently massaging his scalp. “I’ll miss you.”

  “You better.”

  “Christ, will you look at that!”

  They had exited the highway for the south-east entrance to CIA Headquarters when Leroux was forced to come to a stop far from the gate, a large lineup of vehicles waiting to clear security.

  “They must have called everyone in,” commented Sherrie as they inched forward.

  One of the guards was walking up the line of vehicles, checking ID, directing visitors to the visitor area, trying to speed things along so staff could get through quicker. As he approached, Leroux rolled his window down and presented both their IDs. The guard scanned both passes then handed them back.

  “Please proceed up the left and directly inside, then report to your supervisor immediately.”

  Sherrie leaned toward the driver’s side window.