The Dark Hour

by Robin Burcell

  Sydney, recalling what the curator told them at the museum, said, “Faas received a knife from France. Possibly the knife he was killed with.”

  “What sort of knife?” Dirk asked her.

  “The curator thought it was an antique, because that’s what Faas dealt with. Originally that’s what we thought we were searching for.”

  “Only because Faas seemed to be handing the knife to me when we approached him.” Griffin repeated Faas’s dying declaration. “At first, I thought he was asking me not to let them get the knife. That he dropped it and I needed to find it before they killed everyone.”

  “A logical conclusion, considering the circumstances,” Dirk said.

  “It was what he uttered at the end, ‘from Atlant,’ that didn’t make sense.”

  “He was dying,” Dirk pointed out. “Hard to say if he was even talking to you.”

  “Looking back, Faas was obviously telling me he’d dropped the vial and that’s what I should be looking for. The knife may have been a ruse to make sure the package had a purpose to get it to Faas without question.”

  “Unless we’re overlooking the obvious. What if there was something significant about the knife? Something that might be a clue as to where the vial came from?” Dirk asked.

  Griffin rubbed at his temple, the day taking its toll on him. “The pattern on the hilt maybe. Distinctive. Black and gold. Other than that, it didn’t look like anything more than a convenient murder weapon.”

  “Short of recovering the box it was mailed in, it may be your best lead. What sort of pattern? Maybe it was an antique specific to somewhere in France?” Dirk took a pad of paper and a pencil from an end table drawer, handing both to Griffin.

  He sketched out the design. “Mind you, art is Sydney’s strong suit, not mine, but I think it’s fairly accurate.”

  Dirk eyed the rough drawing of the knife and the pattern on its handle that resembled a string of tulips placed end to end. “This I have seen before . . .”

  “Where?” Griffin asked.

  “Something makes me think at my wife’s office.” He glanced at Sydney, saying, “She’s a doctor, so maybe it is medical . . . Mo?”

  Monique stepped out of the kitchen to see what he wanted, her fingertips slightly dusty from flour. He held up the knife drawing. “This pattern. Where have I seen it recently?”

  “Very likely when you met me for lunch, and we walked past the lab at the hospital. Well, the individual portion of the pattern,” she said, covering up all but one of the tulip-shaped symbols. “It’s the Greek letter psi. Or rather a string of them. In virology it represents a viral packaging signal.”

  “Packaging signal?” Sydney echoed. “As in that thing in our cooler contains a virus?”

  At once they all looked at Griffin, and Dirk said, “Any chance we’re dealing with a nice mild virus? Swine flu?”

  “Is Lisette in the area?” Monique asked. “This is, after all, her specialty,” she said, referring to another ATLAS agent, Dr. Lisette Perrault.

  “I have no idea where she is.”

  “Well, then . . .” Monique smiled, her eyes sparkling as she turned toward the kitchen. “If we all come down with sore throats in the next couple days, we’ll know if we should worry, yes? In the meantime, let’s hope they used proper care and handling when they packaged it for transport.”

  “Cheery thought,” Sydney replied.

  And Dirk said, “Monique is ever the optimist.” He looked at Griffin. “What do you plan to do with it?”

  “We can’t very well cart it around Europe if it is a deadly virus,” he replied. “Especially if this is what Faas and Petra were killed for. Because it means they’re hoping to recover it and that puts anyone who has it in danger.”

  “Can one of your teams come pick it up?”

  “That’s clearly the best option,” Griffin replied. “Let’s hope they don’t try to bring me in with it. After we eat, Sydney can phone Carillo and make arrangements.”

  Sydney heard the clang of pots and pans, and water running, followed a few minutes later by the loud sizzle and tantalizing scent of frying fish. Only then did she realize she was starving and hadn’t eaten a thing since morning.

  “Dinner!” Monique called out, and they moved into the kitchen, sitting at a round table in the very center. Monique set out a large platter of fried fish, the likes of which Sydney had never seen. It was very thin, and she watched a moment, saw Griffin pick up his fork, scraping the flat fish from the bone. Sydney followed suit, and found it light, crispy, and mouthwatering.

  Unfortunately there was little time to relax after dinner, because she needed to make that call to Carillo.

  “So how’s Europe?” Carillo asked her.

  “Cold. And a few too many people who are using us for target practice. I don’t suppose Tex is with you? I have some information he needs to pass on to HQ. Preferably Dr. Lisette Perrault.”

  “I’m meeting Tex later this afternoon. He’s supposed to follow up on some promising leads as to where to find Griffin.”

  “He having any luck with that?” Syd asked.

  “Zilch. Secret agents these days, ya know? What’s up?”

  She briefed him on the discovery of the vial, and their suspicions of its contents, and the importance of getting someone out to secure it from them at once.

  “And you’re sure it couldn’t be some other biological sample? Like maybe this Faas guy was on his way to a sperm bank?”

  “Unless he was carrying around Einstein’s potential progeny, I don’t see that worth killing for.” She glanced at the drawing Griffin made of the knife, the pattern on the hilt. “There was a symbol on the murder weapon that could possibly have been some sort of a warning. Griffin sketched it out. One of his contacts said it is actually a repeat of the Greek letter psi, which is also the symbol used in virology packaging.”

  “So you can recognize it on the grocery store shelves? Tell it apart from the bacon?”

  “In the labs. Like biohazard symbols. We’re heading to France since that’s where the package originated from. I’ll send a picture of his sketch over the phone. Maybe you or someone there can see if there’s something else about the pattern that we’re missing.”

  “I’ll give it to Tex once he gets out of his meeting. They’re all up in arms about this stolen AUV. They think it’s tied into the senator’s murder, even though publicly everyone’s sticking to the theory that a lone gunman was responsible. A tragic isolated incident. Can you spell conspiracy theory?”

  “What’s an AUV?”

  “Automated underwater vehicle. Sort of a robot submarine drone thing. I think they’re worried that a terrorist could strap some nukes to it and send it into a busy port would be my guess. Apparently there was a sighting somewhere between Jamaica and the Cayman Islands, so they’ve sent a ship out to see if it’s connected. Your friend from Italy’s there now. Marc di Luca.”

  “Lucky Marc. Any chance he needs backup? Jamaica sounds a hell of a lot warmer than here.”

  “I’ll put in a good word for you, should there be an opening. In the meantime, keep in touch. Oh, and that pattern on the knife hilt?”

  “What about it?”

  “If it really is something to do with virology, you might want to pay special attention. Double up on the gloves.”

  “Thanks Carillo. Always a help.”

  She hung up, then looked over, saw Griffin staring into the fire as he sipped at his wine. He was quiet, too quiet, and Sydney wondered how much it hurt him to be placed in this situation, seemingly alone and abandoned, where he had to go through middlemen to contact his own agency.

  That wasn’t, however, what occupied her mind after they retired for the night, sharing a spare room with twin beds. In fact, she thought about what happened out there at the museum. The kiss. Wondered if he had contemplated
it at all, thought about her.

  But when she looked over, saw him in the moonlight, his back to her, she knew what caused his silence. It wasn’t his job. It wasn’t the kiss. It wasn’t her at all.

  He was studying the sketch she’d drawn. The one of his wife.

  She told herself it didn’t bother her. She was not, however, a good liar—at least not to herself.

  A chill swept through the room, and she turned her thoughts to Marc in Jamaica. Clearly he had the better assignment.

  Chapter 30

  December 10

  Off the coast of the Cayman Islands

  Marc di Luca stood on the deck of the Desdemona, a 270-foot medium endurance cutter, watching the forensic divers enter the water. One team was assigned to recover the remains of the victims, if any; another would recover what might be left of the Random Act and the students’ belongings. Both teams would attempt to determine, if possible, why that location might have drawn someone to explore it with an AUV.

  It wasn’t the worst assignment he’d been on, even though he’d been none too happy about it. It was more that ever since he’d left his home in Italy to work for ATLAS U.S. full-time, it seemed he was anywhere but in the U.S. Today was no exception, he thought, as he scanned the horizon. No other boats in sight. Water calm, skies sunny. All in all a beautiful day, as long as one ignored the bank of dark clouds on the horizon that foretold a coming storm.

  Marc left the deck and returned to the control center where the lieutenant oversaw the personnel monitoring the cutter’s radars, closed circuit televisions, electronic surveillance, navigation and communication systems. The lieutenant’s attention was fixed on the monitor closest to him, where grayish-green images of the divers were visible as they swam near the ocean floor, the bubbles from their air tanks rising to the surface. The cutter had been here several days and still the crew had yet to find anything noteworthy, at least in the location where the two witnesses had claimed to be when the explosion occurred. “Any sign of an older shipwreck?” Marc asked, eyeing the monitors as well. “Something where a treasure might have been an issue?”

  “Been a couple storms. Could be buried under silt.”

  The morning had passed with no significant finds when Director McNiel called, asking if there was anything to report. “Not much,” Marc replied. “Unless you count the underwater ruins, which on further inspection appear to be a sunken ship.”

  “Is it possible that these pirates were that far off? That they were after the ship, and whatever was buried there?”

  “Anything is possible, sir, except that your two witnesses said the pirates never ventured toward the shipwreck.”

  “What about biological agents?”

  Marc’s gaze flicked to the monitors, trying to determine the significance of that statement. “Sir?”

  “I’m sure Tex informed you that he received confirmation on the Russian scientist, Dr. Fedorov? He was last seen in the area of that stolen AUV. He was a researcher for Vector,” he added, referring to the heavily guarded Siberian laboratory. “Marburg, Ebola, that sort of thing. Add to that, a source at the FBI recovered some partial computer files from the shooter’s computer which supports our suspicions on a possible biological agent.”

  “Viruses? In the middle of the ocean? Is that even possible?”

  “I have no idea. Which is why I’m sending in a team that has that expertise. Lisette’s heading it up. They should be arriving within the hour.”

  “Any word on Griffin?” Marc asked.

  To which McNiel said, “Let me know when the team arrives.” Apparently he wasn’t free to speak, since he didn’t even acknowledge the inquiry on Griffin. After McNiel disconnected, Marc stood there a moment, staring at the monitors, watching the divers. Even if Griffin hadn’t gone AWOL to search for his wife’s killer, Marc doubted there was much for him to do here. Of course, that was exactly why McNiel had assigned Griffin to the cutter. Keep him out of the way while the rest of them worked the LockeStarr case.

  A lot of good that did.

  An hour later, Marc watched as Lisette Perrault hopped off the helicopter, her dark hair assaulting her face as she ducked below the rotors. Two men and one other woman followed: Lisette’s partner, Rafiq, the only one of the four who wasn’t a scientist, then Dr. Raj Balraj and Dr. Patricia Zemke. After their equipment was unloaded, the chopper took off, leaving the four standing on the helipad as Marc walked up to greet them. He hadn’t seen Lisette since their last operation in Tunisia, the location and destruction of a suspected Black Network bioweapons lab. Even that short time with Lisette had taken its toll on his emotions. He’d known better than to get involved with a fellow agent who was assigned long-term to another country—hadn’t he seen the disaster of Griffin and Becca’s marriage and impending divorce just before she’d been killed? Griffin had never fully recovered from it, and Marc suspected that was part of the reason for his own difficulties, things not working out between him and Lisette. The fear of failure. He just hadn’t expected the sight of Lisette last month in Tunisia, after all that time away, would remind him how much he’d missed her—feelings Lisette hadn’t seemed to reciprocate, he thought as she held out her hand, saying, “It’s good to see you.”

  “You too,” he said, shaking her hand, ignoring the pull of emotions, then greeting the others. He turned his attention back to Lisette. “Director McNiel said that there were some biological concerns?”

  “Yes,” she replied, attempting to comb her fingers through her hair, only to have the wind whip it right back into her face. “Of what magnitude, we’re not sure. At this point, it is only speculation, based on some recovered partial computer files, and the sighting of the Russian scientist near Amphitrite when there was no valid reason for him to be there.” She reached down, picked up one of the boxes. “Is there a spot we can set up a lab?”

  “They’re giving you use of the wardroom.” He helped carry the equipment to the officers’ lounge, then led her up to the control center, because she wanted to see the area where the AUV might have descended.

  She watched the divers on the screen, then eyed the map that someone had tacked up. A red pin had been placed on their current location in the Atlantic.

  “What are they expecting?” Marc asked. “For you to take samples of the water here to see if they’re planting a virus? Isn’t the ocean too vast for that?”

  “I would think so. If you were going to spread a water-borne virus, I’d think you’d want a smaller body of water. And you wouldn’t need an AUV for that, so I’m not sure that this intel Director McNiel received is accurate.”

  “It may not be accurate, but whatever the actual purpose for that AUV, someone went to a lot of trouble to make sure there were no witnesses.”

  Chapter 31

  December 10

  Washington, D.C.

  “Do you believe me now?” Izzy asked, several hours later.

  Maddie leaned against the wall. She nodded. “I believe you.”

  Izzy wished he felt a sense of relief at her answer. All he felt was scared. This had spun out of control faster than he’d realized, and he didn’t know how to fix it. “I left that FBI agent’s card back there with my phone.”

  At the moment they were holed up in an alley across the street from the back entrance of the building they’d fled earlier that morning. He thought he’d been so clever picking that building for their setup. Easy in, easy out.

  And it would have worked, had they not been seen.

  “We don’t need the number,” she said. “We could go to the FBI office.”

  “But we didn’t get the proof. They’re not gonna believe us.”

  “Then you have to make them believe us. Besides, I have the picture on my phone.”

  “We can’t get to the FBI,” he replied, “if we can’t get to the car.” Unfortunately the exit they had used was on th
e opposite side from the parking garage where he’d left his car.

  “Maybe they’re gone. Go see.”

  He didn’t want to go see. He didn’t want to do anything but go home and pretend that none of this ever happened. Then again, if it hadn’t happened, he wouldn’t be standing here so close to Maddie.

  “Go on,” she said, giving him a little push.

  Izzy looked back at her, saw her nod in encouragement, and he realized that for her he was willing to pretend bravery—up until the point he saw a white van drive past. He jumped back, his heart beating fast. He liked Maddie. Just not enough to die for her. “We need to think of something else.”

  Down the alley in the opposite direction, he saw only thick traffic. That way took them farther from his car, but if it worked out right, they could double back and avoid being seen. “Keep close to the wall. Maybe the Dumpster will cover us.”

  He hoped.

  They’d nearly reached the street when he heard the screech of tires. He looked behind him, saw the van speeding down the alley. “Run!” he said, pulling her by the hand. The alley intersected into a one-way street, the traffic coming from the right. He guided Maddie toward the oncoming cars, figuring the van would have to stop to make a turn. They raced down the block, and he glanced back, saw someone bailing out from the van’s passenger door.

  He and Maddie reached the corner, turned to the right again, and he threw his hand up, praying for a taxi as they stepped off the sidewalk between the line of parked cars, not daring to stop. The first taxi passed. And then another. And just as their pursuer turned the corner, a cab stopped. Izzy yanked the door open, pushing Maddie in. He jumped in after her, slammed the door. “Take us . . . to the FBI office,” he said, trying to catch his breath, as the driver pulled out into traffic.

  Izzy swiveled around, saw the man racing toward them, finally giving up as the cab gained speed. He leaned against the seat, trying to slow his breathing. Maddie reached over, grasped his hand, her eyes closed, whether from relief or the desire to forget any of this happened, he wasn’t sure.