“Drugs?” Laura asked.
“Not like any I’ve ever seen before. I suppose it could be a new designer drug, but the problem cuts across every social strata and age group. Besides, the health department says no. We’ve looked for contaminants in the air, water, food; you name it, and we’ve checked it out twice.”
“How are you holding up? You sound more tense than usual.”
“I’m all right; things here really aren’t set up to deal with a problem of this magnitude.” He always tried to stay positive with his daughter.
“You’re not in Baltimore anymore, Daddy.”
“I know that. Everyone looks to me for direction. I’m not used to that; the people I worked with back home were professionals—they had experience and instincts of their own. No one here can make a decision without first running it by me.” He was afraid that he was starting to pull her down and wanted to change the subject.
“Two comments,” Laura said in her characteristic pattern.
“Yes, counselor,” Rodney answered sarcastically.
“First, this is a grossly unfair comparison. The men and women . . .”
“Woman,” he corrected her.
“You are such a sexist SOB. Now as I was saying, the people in your unit were seasoned veterans handpicked by you for those very characteristics. Secondly, and this is the most important point, are you letting people follow their instincts and make their own decisions, or are you, in true form, overwhelming everyone with your charming personality?”
“You’re asking me if I’m being an asshole?”
“I would never be so crass, but you do have an understanding of the question.” Laura liked teasing her father.
“I always told your mother we should never have encouraged you to talk. You were so much better when all we had to do to shut you up was to put a pacifier in your mouth.” Rodney loved being teased by his daughter. “It may not matter much longer because if I don’t figure out what’s happening here, and soon, I may just show up on your doorstep applying for the nanny position.”
“I’m sure it’s not that bad.”
“Actually it is. The mayor has been dropping some notso-subtle hints that he may have made a mistake hiring outside of the department.” So much for staying positive with his daughter. “Hey, you’re not going to believe what I’m doing at this very minute.”
“I’m guessing it’s not scuba diving.”
“No, but you’re surprisingly close. I am walking through the snow following a set of tire tracks left by a potential murder suspect.”
“My father the bloodhound; I am so proud,” she pretended to choke up with tears. “Daddy, I do have to go. I’ll call you this weekend.”
“All right, honey. If anything changes call me sooner.” He closed his phone and the usual wave of emptiness filled his heart. She was so far away and he missed her so much, but she had her own life now, and the days of holding her hand as he walked her to school were gone.
Yaeger and his partner came up behind Patton in a police cruiser; they drove slowly, careful not to obscure the tracks or run over their new boss. Patton glanced back and thought that they looked like a couple of teenage boys out for a joy ride in the old man’s car. “This is my backup,” he said to himself. He kept walking, choosing the cold over their obligatory nervous banter. Despite his size, he could move quickly if the need or desire arose, and this morning, he wanted to cover some ground. After thirty minutes, he had followed the tracks two and a half miles. They crossed two major streets, but as luck would have it, each time the tracks continued straight across the intersection. This is absolutely incredible, he told himself. Things like this just never happen.
After another ten minutes, the tracks turned into a parking lot shared by a Sheraton and two restaurants. A pickup truck was busy plowing away Patton’s tracks. He turned back to the car and noted that Yaeger and his partner had that resigned, that’s-the-end-of-the-road expression plastered across their faces. He ignored them, opened the driver’s side door, told Yaeger to get in the back, and then drove them around the large parking lot. Most of the cars were still covered in blankets of snow, but there were about thirty that had been cleared and obviously driven. Of the thirty, three were Tauruses; unfortunately, all three were brown. Patton had Yaeger get out and clear the snow from the three license plates, and then he ran the tags. As he waited for the computer to slowly work its way through the DMV files, he wished that Rucker had seen the plates. Even a partial would have been useful. The screen stopped flashing and displayed the details about the three cars. The first was owned by a fifty-two-year-old Asian woman, and the other two were Hertz and Alamo rental cars with Florida registrations. A hunch told Patton that the person they were looking for probably wasn’t the fifty-two-yearold Asian woman.
“Yaeger, stay with the car and position yourself so that you can watch both of those vehicles. Try to be as unobtrusive as possible. I’m starting to feel uneasy about this whole situation, so stay alert.” Patton had turned his bulk to stare directly at Yaeger, and the inexperienced officer nodded his understanding as earnestly as possible. Patton stifled a biting remark and turned to the other policeman. “What’s your name?”
“Johnson, sir.” His voice was very nearly a squeak, and his eyes widened in fear.
“It’s okay, Johnson, I’m not going to eat you. I had a detective for breakfast, so you’re good for another hour or so.” Patton wondered if Johnson was his first or last name and decided that he didn’t care. “You come with me. We’re going into that Sheraton to see if we can sweet talk someone into giving us the names of the drivers of those two cars.” He turned back to Yaeger. “Don’t be a hero. If you see someone approach those cars call me, or call for backup. Am I clear?”
“Crystal, sir.”
Johnson got out of the car. He was five-seven and a hundred and thirty pounds dripping wet. He had more than just a passing resemblance to Barney Fife; it was a likeness that had dogged him ever since he had enrolled in the police academy. Only he had never really felt it until he found himself trailing his new boss into the hotel lobby.
Within ten minutes, Patton had the names and room numbers of both drivers. He couldn’t decide whether he appreciated the trust the desk clerk had shown him and his gold detective’s badge, or whether it was just another sign of how far away from home he really was. What a cynic you’ve be- come, he admonished himself, confusing good faith with na- ïveté. Still, he had always enjoyed the give-and-take with the more worldly and skeptical big city dwellers.
Johnson appeared by Patton’s side and craned his neck to read the two names scribbled on the notepad. “Two middleaged males; a Texan and a Bulgarian. What do you suppose a Bulgarian is doing in Colorado Springs in the dead of winter?” Patton asked himself.
“The academy,” Johnson offered meekly. “We get a lot of foreign visitors. Most of them are affiliated with the Air Force. Either theirs or ours,” he added for clarification.
Patton looked up from his notepad at the slight policeman. “Well done, Johnson. Maybe I should have you follow me around and introduce me to all the local customs and peculiarities.” He tried to sound sincere, but it only seemed to confuse the officer. “The Texan makes more sense. I doubt someone would fly half way around the world just to kill Mr. Van Der.” Patton paused. He was investigating a murder now; something along his three-mile trek had changed his mind. He dwelled on that thought, but his subconscious hadn’t finished sorting through the situation. “Room 341,” he said simply and took off for the elevators.
It took Patton about half a second to rule out Edwin Reese as Rucker’s witness/assailant/murderer. Reese was not the middle-aged male that the desk clerk had promised. He was older than God, and with the arthritic bend in his back, wasn’t even five feet tall.
“Yes, that’s the car we rented,” the octogenarian said in a very loud voice. “My daughter is meeting us in Denver.” He was in no mood to be disturbed, or apparently, to put in his tee
th, or put something on other than undershorts. A frail, white-haired woman appeared at Edwin’s side.
“Please excuse Edwin. He is mostly deaf and completely deaf when he doesn’t wear his hearing aids. I’m his wife, Clara Reese.” Her voice was calming after the gruff Edwin. “Is there a problem with the car?”
“Probably not, Mrs. Reese, but can I ask if anyone drove the car this morning?” Patton turned on the charm.
“Yes, I moved it to this side of the building so Edwin wouldn’t have to walk so far.” She had a friendly voice with a prominent North Texas accent that made her draw out every last syllable.
“Did you sweep off all that snow?” Patton cocked his head to the side and clicked on his two-hundred-watt smile, playfully patronizing her.
“Goodness, no. I paid the man who carried our bags to warm up the car. I think he cleaned it off for me.”
“Is it possible he drove it, maybe to heat it up a bit?”
“I don’t think so. He was terribly busy . . . Well, I suppose it’s possible.” Confusion added to the lines in her face.
“And you said that he works here, downstairs?”
“Yes, the hotel manager arranged for him to bring our bags down to the car.” She was trying her best to be helpful.
“Were you planning on going on to Denver today?” Patton asked.
“Yes, we are. Our daughter has a house in Grange.”
“I doubt you’ll get out of here today. The interstate is closed, and I don’t think it’ll open before tomorrow.” Patton felt sorry for the woman; she was barely able to function herself, and she appeared to be the primary caregiver for her irascible husband. “Why don’t you give us your daughter’s name and number, and we’ll let her know that you’ll be spending the night here and that everything is all right.” A little of the small-town attitude was seeping into Patton.
Clara carefully and shakily wrote out the information about her daughter and gave it to the detective, who immediately handed it to Johnson. Patton thanked them and left for the lobby, Johnson in tow.
“Do you think it might be the bellhop?” Johnson asked breathlessly, jogging down the hall, trying to keep up with Patton.
“I don’t know, but it sure wasn’t Edwin or Clara. I don’t want you to forget to make that call to their daughter. Do it while I’m talking to the manager and our helpful bellhop.” Patton emphasized the term. He couldn’t remember the last time he had heard anyone referred to as a bellhop.
They reached the stairwell, and Patton began to pound down the metal stairs. Johnson hesitated as the entire structure rocked and clattered with each of Patton’s footfalls. “Move your ass!” Patton’s voice echoed up from below, and Johnson forced himself onto the landing. He paused only for a moment, and then made a headlong dash down the swaying stairs. Patton was already through the door and in the lobby before Johnson reached safety. He ran for his boss, all dignity lost.
“Afraid you were going to fall?” Patton laughed as his junior caught up.
“Things were mov—”
A pop, and then two more in rapid succession, interrupted Johnson. His hand didn’t wait for instructions from his brain; he had his weapon out even before he consciously recognized that the shots were fired from a standard-issue police thirty-eight.
The snow had slowed Amanda’s progress, but it would equally slow any pursuit. She had passed a few police cars along the way, but none of them seemed to notice her or care about her.
It had been almost an hour since she left her aunt, but her words still rang in Amanda’s ears. She would find whoever was spreading this new virus, tear open his mind, and perhaps kill whatever was left. The prospect excited her, and she had to consciously ease her foot off the accelerator. Almost as if on cue, her cell phone went off.
“Good morning, Greg,” she said in a cheerful voice.
“You’re on your way here aren’t you,” he said without preamble.
“I gather there’s a reception party waiting for me. They sure don’t waste any time,” Amanda said with a matter-of-fact tone.
“Honey, this is serious. There are two agents up by the Harrisons’, and they’re not exactly being covert, which means there are probably a lot more sneaking around. Somebody with real pull wants to see you bad. What did you do?”
“I e-mailed Martin,” she said simply.
“That son of a bitch from the CDC? Why would you do that? He’s the last person in the world you should be talking to.”
Amanda smiled. She loved Greg’s paternal tone. She knew that he would protect her, even with his dying breath, from anybody or anything that could harm her, and that included herself. “I had to give it a try. He’s the one person best positioned to help. Besides, he’s going to find out very soon and come after me anyway.”
“Then there is no point in you coming here. Just turn around and disappear.” Greg pleaded.
“I can’t,” she said.
“I’m sorry for calling you; I never meant for you to get involved.”
Amanda could hear the anguish in her father-in-law’s voice. “Greg, I already knew something was going on, you just helped to bring it into focus. Someone is spreading a virus, and that same someone is looking for me. I would rather meet him on my own terms.”
“Why haven’t you told me about this before?” Greg asked too quickly. Amanda saw something in his mind. For most of the last seven years, she had restrained her ability around family members, but this particular thought was so powerful that Amanda couldn’t avoid it.
“You’ve seen him,” she said.
“I’ve seen someone, and Lisa has seen the same person several times as well. It’s probably just Internal Affairs making sure that my retirement is not too comfortable.”
“You don’t believe that and neither do I,” she answered. “I’ll know more as soon as I see you.”
“Amanda, don’t be a fool; if you come anywhere near here, the FBI will be all over you.”
“O ye of little faith, with a wave of my hand, they will all disappear.”
“Amanda this isn’t funny,” Greg rebuked her.
“What’s wrong with you, Greg?”
He waited a moment before answering her. “There is a priest in our parish. I’ve known him for a few years. He’s a good man; at least, I thought he was a good man.”
“Greg you’re babbling,” Amanda prodded him along.
“It seems he has abilities similar to yours and has managed to conceal them for I don’t know how long.” Greg waited for a reaction, but Amanda stayed quiet. “He said he saw you early this morning and that you were looking for someone to kill.”
“He’s wrong,” Amanda said rather unconvincingly.
“Honey, we can’t do this again. The last time . . .”
Amanda cut him off. “I gave you my word, and I’ve kept it,” she said sharply. ”I am coming home to find the man who is purposely spreading this infection. I will tell you now that I will do whatever is necessary to stop him; you can’t ask me to do anything less.”
“Even if you do it for the right reasons, it’s still murder.”
Amanda didn’t respond; she didn’t want to argue with Greg, especially over a cell phone. “I should go Greg, it’s starting to snow, and traffic is picking up. I’ll call you once I get in, and please don’t worry about me.”
“I will always worry about you, Amanda, please be careful.”
Over the next half hour, the snow worsened. Travel was being discouraged, but no one seemed to have listened. There had been three multi-car accidents within a twenty-mile stretch along I-25 before the road was closed. Amanda had been lucky; she had been able to follow three huge snowplows into Colorado Springs a little after nine. The Highway Patrol finally directed her off onto a downtown exit. The streets had been plowed and sanded so the going became a little easier. Her first order of business was to find a place to stay. For more than six years, she had successfully evaded the FBI by assuming the identities of others. She was s
urprised how easy it was. Even with the additional scrutiny over the last few years, Amanda could effortlessly become half a dozen different people. She had credit cards, drivers’ licenses, and bank accounts, everything a normal person would need to move through society without arousing suspicion, including getting a hotel room.
“Good morning, and welcome to the Hilton,” the desk clerk greeted Amanda with a tired smile. Normally, she would have preferred a place with a lower profile, but all the low-to medium-range hotels were filled with stranded travelers.
“Morning!” Amanda returned the smile and read his nametag and his mind in the same instant. David Ruiz was twentyseven, married with three children, all boys. He and Sophie, his wife of six years, had just moved into a new house, and David was working two jobs to manage the mortgage. Sophie was a legal clerk, and David’s greatest fear was that he would lose her to a better provider. Normally, he was home by this time, but the rest of the hotel staff was having trouble getting in, so David had volunteered to stay for a while. He needed the extra hours almost as much as he needed the gratitude of his boss. He was a good, decent man, which made it all the harder to accept that he was infected.
“How long have you been sick?” Amanda asked. She could have pulled the answer directly from his mind, but that would have required an active search, and she didn’t know how he would react.
“About a week. It’s just this flu that’s been going around. I think I picked it up from one of my kids.” He seemed somewhat embarrassed by his haggard look. “I’m pretty much over it now, but last week was pretty rough.”
“So you’re getting better?” she asked with a voice too high for casual conversation.
David paused and looked at Amanda. She had slipped out of character, and he had noticed. “I can assure you that I’m not infectious.”
She stared at him with a blank face. His embarrassment changed to curiosity, and then just as fast to the special, viralinduced brand of anger that Amanda was all too familiar with. He stared back at Amanda, his rage building. He tried to fight the rising fury, but the more she stared at him the harder it became for him to control himself.
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