Block’s voice came out of the darkness. “He’s all sweetness and light, ain’t he?”
16
EMMA RETURNED HER CAR TO THE RENTAL OFFICE AT PIETERMARITZBURG airport and hopped a shuttle to the terminal. Her phone started rattling. To her relief, the caller ID showed that it was Banner.
“Ms. Caldridge, Banner here. How can I help?”
Emma felt herself relax. At that moment this was one of the only men she trusted. He sounded tired, his voice scratchy.
“What time is it there? You sound exhausted,” Emma said. She heard him sigh over the line.
“I got called out of bed for an emergency and just got back here. I’ve been sleeping since then.”
Emma hated the word “emergency.” Especially when Banner used it. Darkview’s emergencies were always dangerous and volatile. She didn’t bother asking him about it. Darkview handled classified matters on a regular basis. He’d never tell her about it unless it was absolutely necessary.
“I’m afraid I’m being targeted,” she told him.
“In what way? I heard about the bomb at the marathon.”
“It’s that, but there’s something else. I’ve been hit with some sort of medication.” Emma described getting stabbed with the EpiPen at the bombing. “I tested my blood later. I was floating in dopamine and epinephrine, which you probably know as adrenaline.”
“What are the effects of these chemicals?”
“They can trigger a fight-or-flight response, but at the levels I saw, any reaction is possible, even heart attack or death. In my case it increased my anxiety levels tremendously, and…” Emma trailed off.
“And?”
She took a deep breath. “And it made me want to run.”
Banner was silent a moment. “I don’t want to appear facetious, but you were competing in an ultra at the time. Most people would say that wanting to run is normal for you.” His voice held a friendly, amused tone.
Emma smiled to herself. “I guess that’s true, but trust me when I say that this was strange, not normal. And my endurance increased a hundredfold.”
“I do trust you. You tell me: Are there any drugs out there that can trigger dopamine responses and increase one’s endurance? The only thing I know about is from a layman’s perspective, and that would be steroids.”
Emma paused. “Steroids can enhance physical performance, but they take a long time to work. There are several drugs that affect dopamine. Dopamine agonists, used for people with Parkinson’s, will sometimes trigger addictive behaviors, but even those drugs wouldn’t flood one’s system indiscriminately at the saturation point that I’m experiencing.” The shuttle bus reached the terminal. Emma grabbed her duffel and stepped out, heading to the departure area. To her surprise, she saw Stark standing there. He held a BlackBerry in one hand while pulling a roller bag behind him. He glanced up and locked eyes with Emma. She nodded and started toward him, talking all the while.
“I wanted to tell you right away.” She paused. Since her experience in Colombia, she’d not been in touch with either Banner or Cameron Sumner, the man who’d helped her through the mess. Now she wanted to contact Sumner, but only Banner knew where he’d been whisked off to after their arrival in the States. “Can you tell me anything about Sumner? I’d like to know that he’s okay.” There was a pause.
“He’s in the Indian Ocean. On a cruise ship that was headed to the Seychelles. It got waylaid by pirates, and now he’s somewhere off the coast of Somalia.”
“Somalia!” Emma couldn’t believe her ears. She stopped walking; all thoughts of Stark flew out of her head. “Oh, God, tell me he isn’t a hostage again.”
“No. But there is a situation that I wanted to speak with you about. The U.S. thinks the ship is carrying vaccines and pharmaceuticals that have been tainted with ricin and some other, unidentified chemical. They don’t want to alert anyone to the importance of the cargo by mobilizing a large force to take the ship back. It’s moved into Somali territorial waters, which creates a unique situation.”
“So let me guess,” she said. “They want Darkview to infiltrate the ship covertly.”
She heard Banner blow out a breath. “Something like that.”
“I’m going,” Emma said. “You said the vials possibly contain ricin and some other substance. Who better than a chemist to figure this out?”
Banner sighed. “I agree with you, and your name came up, but I’m afraid Major Stromeyer does not. She is, in fact, in vehement disagreement with me. She said it would be taking unfair advantage of you in light of your recent traumatic experience. And that is a compelling point for your not going.”
“Tell her not to worry. Do you have a contact for me? Where should I go? Mogadishu?”
“Absolutely not. Insurgents just closed the airport. They’re using mortar shells to attack any plane that lands. Can you get yourself closer to Somalia?”
Emma glanced up to see Stark headed her way. He would be at her side in the next few seconds. She needed to end the call. Watching him, though, gave her an idea. “How about Nairobi?”
“That would be perfect, actually. Send me a text message when you land, but keep it brief. My cell phone is tapped, as are Darkview’s phones. This line is secure for the moment, but I’ll be changing phones on a regular basis. Dump yours after you’re done. I’ll have a contact meet you there to transport you to Berbera, a small port town at the tip of Somalia, where another contact will take over.”
Stark was upon her.
“I’m off. I’ll be in touch.” Emma hung up just as Stark stopped in front of her.
“Hello, where are you going?” he said. His attitude was stiff, but he seemed less angry than the last time she’d seen him, which she took as a positive sign.
“Turns out I’m headed to Nairobi also.” Emma waved her cell phone at him with a smile. “Just got my marching orders.”
Stark raised an eyebrow. Emma thought he looked as suspicious as hell.
“Do you have a visa for Kenya?” he asked.
Emma paused. She didn’t. “Can’t I get one at the airport?”
Stark shook his head. “Maybe, maybe not.” He looked at her for a moment, as if deciding something. He nodded then, seeming to have come to some internal decision. “You’re welcome to fly on the Price jet.”
“If it’s no trouble.”
“Of course not. I had some questions for you anyway. About your report.”
Emma did her best not to grimace. The last thing she needed was an extended grilling about her report, but using the Price jet would save time, something that she assumed Cameron Sumner didn’t have.
17
BANNER CALLED STROMEYER TO TELL HER THAT EMMA CALDRIDGE was on her way to Berbera, and then he braced himself. He expected a tongue-lashing. After the DOD meeting, they’d talked in her car. Stromeyer looked as angry as he’d ever seen her. She’d made no secret of the fact that she did not agree with his plan.
“You can’t send that woman into such a situation. Not so soon after Colombia. You know she’s suffering from post-traumatic stress and is in no position to take on yet another risky venture.” Banner had agreed, but he saw no other way.
“She has the expertise we need to analyze the vials, and she has a huge stake in the outcome.”
Stromeyer pointed a finger at him. “You’re using what you imagine to be her feelings for Sumner against her. You have no idea how she feels about him, and if she does care for him enough to do this, then she’s really the wrong person for the job. You know as well as I do that strong emotions often lead the person having them to make mistakes. People in love will try to save their loved one against all odds, and usually they die right along with them.”
“I agree in principle with what you’re saying, but not when we’re talking about Caldridge. She won’t let that happen. She’s tough and resourceful—Colombia’s proven that, and she’s already on the run. She’d be better off staying the hell out of the States for a while. And you k
now that none of these attackers will follow her to Somalia. They’d be insane.”
Stromeyer made a disgusted noise. “You’re insane for sending her there. You can’t seriously argue that she’s safer in Somalia than here. Go home and get some rest. I can only imagine that sleep deprivation has scrambled your brains.”
Now Banner listened to the phone ring and crossed his fingers that Stromeyer had altered her thinking on the subject. When Stromeyer picked up the phone, she dispensed with the usual hello and said, “Tell me you’ve seen the light now that you’ve rested.”
So much for a change of heart. “Caldridge just called me. She’s agreed to go help Sumner. I suggest we meet at Darkview to work out the rescue logistics. Want me to pick you up on the way?”
“Why the escort?”
“Caldridge said someone hit her with a strange medication after the bombing. I think there’s safety in numbers.”
“In that case, absolutely.”
Half an hour later, Banner arrived on a motorcycle in front of Stromeyer’s condominium building. He removed his helmet and looked around. She lived in the Georgetown area, a quiet, elegant neighborhood with tree-lined streets. Banner watched as several residents of the neighboring houses opened their doors to collect the morning paper. They were all women, and they all looked suspiciously alike. Each one glanced down the street, each one spotted him on his motorcycle, and each one frowned at him.
Stromeyer stepped out onto her porch. To Banner she looked different from the other women. More animated, less of a cookie cutout. She wore dark jeans and a short navy trench coat that she buttoned as she jogged down the steps. Her hair was loose. A triangular-shaped bag hung over her shoulder. Banner watched her take in the motorcycle.
“Planning on losing a tail?” she said.
“The women in your neighborhood all look alike. And every one of them frowned at me on this bike. Do I look disreputable?” He offered her a spare helmet.
She finished buttoning her trench, tied the belt, and did some magic with the bag’s straps that turned it into a backpack. She swung a leg over the cycle.
“This area isn’t known for its diversity, as you’ve noticed. A whole group of people here only ride in chauffeured limousines. Men on bikes are suspect.”
Banner prepared to start the engine. “Lacking diversity is one thing, but imitating each other is something else entirely. Why do they all look alike?”
“Beltway hair. Affectionately called ‘helmet hair.’ Designed to make the women look conservative. I’m surprised you haven’t noticed it before now.”
Banner shrugged. “I haven’t really focused on it before.” The motorcycle roared to life. He merged onto the street and headed to Darkview’s offices.
He picked up the tail ten minutes into the ride. So must have Stromeyer. She leaned in to him at a stoplight.
“Brown Crown Vic.”
Banner just nodded. He accelerated through the next intersection, barely making a yellow light. The Crown Vic stayed with him by blowing the red light. He sped up, splitting lanes and zipping past a MINI Cooper. The Crown Vic got caught behind the Cooper and a Honda Civic in the left lane. Through his rearview mirror, he watched the car swerve back and forth in an attempt to pass. He took an abrupt right turn, accelerated through the first half of the street, then turned left onto another. He kept zigzagging, taking pains to keep within the speed limit. The last thing he needed was to be pulled over. At first he thought he’d lost the tail, but after a few minutes he saw it turn onto the street behind him. It was over a block away, but still in the game. Even more so after he hit a red light.
“Alicia has a motorcycle,” Stromeyer said. “I’ll call her.”
The light turned, and Banner concentrated on driving. Behind him he heard Stromeyer telling Alicia to lock the office door and giving her their location. He pulled up to an empty parking space next to a coffee shop. Both he and Stromeyer stayed seated. The Crown Vic slowed as it passed them. The passenger, a man who appeared to be in his late thirties, with hard eyes and a menacing manner, glared at them through the glass. The car inched to the corner, crossed the street, then pulled to the right and parked.
Banner shifted a little to be able to see Stromeyer. “Did you get a look at the passenger? That was one rough character.”
“Can you hit the street and turn right? I told Alicia to meet us near the White House.”
“What’s the plan?”
“Divide and conquer. You’re going to park the cycle. Alicia is going to swing by and pick me up while you head off in another direction. We’ll meet back at the office.”
“What’s the point? Surely they know where we work.”
“Make them think we’re off to meet someone. It’ll give us a few minutes to speak freely at the office. Our latest sweep came up clean, but once they return and point a microphone at us, we’re back on tape.”
Banner fired up the cycle, swung into traffic, and blazed right at the corner. He shot down the street, keeping an eye on the rearview mirror. The Crown Vic cruised along with them, easily keeping pace. Banner swayed through the cars, each time getting farther and farther away. He reached the corner of their appointed meeting place and idled, waiting for Alicia. She appeared a few minutes later on a battered yellow Suzuki. She pulled up and flashed a smile.
“We get to lose a tail, huh? I love this! I feel like a spy. So much better than answering phones.” Stromeyer crawled onto the back of the Suzuki. Banner glanced behind them. The Crown Vic turned a corner.
“Go,” Banner said to Alicia.
“See ya, boss.” Alicia revved the Suzuki out of the spot and back into traffic.
Banner sped off the other way. He was the lucky one that the Crown Vic decided to follow. He swerved down streets and around corners. The sedan lost more and more ground. After twenty minutes he couldn’t see it at all. He changed course and headed to his office.
He entered the office and walked straight to the conference room, where he watched Stromeyer pace back and forth. Alicia sat at the table’s head, nervously eyeing first Stromeyer, then him. She mouthed, “She’s mad,” at Banner when Stromeyer wasn’t looking. Banner sighed. This much he knew. The phone on the conference room’s table rang twice before being abruptly cut off on the third ring.
“What did you do with the phones?” he asked.
“Forwarded them to your cell.”
Banner grimaced. Sure enough, his pocket started vibrating. He ignored it while Stromeyer continued to pace.
“Aren’t you going to answer it?” Alicia asked. “I try to never let them go to voice mail.”
“It’s tapped,” he said.
Alicia’s eyes grew large. “So cool. Can I text my boyfriend and tell him?”
“No!” Both Stromeyer and Banner spoke at once.
Alicia put up a hand. “I was just kidding. Jeez, you guys are on edge today.”
“Being hit with an investigation, audited by the IRS, followed by two goons, and having one’s phone tapped does that to a person,” Stromeyer said. She stopped wearing a path in the carpet and pointed a finger at Banner.
“Okay, I’m over it. She’s made her choice, and for better or worse she’ll need backup.”
The phone started ringing. Alicia reached over to answer.
“Leave it,” Banner said. “This is more important.” After two short rings, the phone went silent. Seconds later his pocket started vibrating again. He ignored it. Stromeyer raised an eyebrow but said nothing.
Alicia pursed her lips. “What if it’s someone important? Like the president of the United States?”
Banner laughed. “The president would never call here. At best he’d have one of his assistants contact us.”
Alicia put her hands on her hips. “Even so. I’m taking Marketing 101, and the professor said that a company should endeavor to always have a living person answer its phones during business hours. Not to sends the wrong message.”
“Alicia.” Stromeyer’s
voice held a note of warning.
Banner retrieved his phone and looked at the readout. “I’ll pick up this one.”
“Yes.” Alicia pumped a fist, waved at him, and swung out the glass doors, headed to her console.
“Just filing, no phone calls!” Stromeyer called after her.
Banner made an irritated sound and punched the green button. “Banner,” he barked into the phone.
“Is this the Mr. Banner who knows Emma Caldridge?” The female voice on the other end of the line was soft and spoke with a slight Asian accent.
“This is he.”
“I work for Price Pharmaceuticals. Ms. Caldridge asked me to analyze some vials of blood and to give you the results. May I proceed?”
“Certainly,” Banner said.
“The blood was negative for ricin, botulism, and anthrax. Also for HIV. As for her dopamine question, please tell her that people like her who engage in extreme sports will often exist in a state of continuously elevated dopamine levels.”
Banner wasn’t sure how to respond to this information. “Is that bad?”
The caller chuckled. “No. But it does reduce their sensitivity to certain stimuli. The body learns to accommodate the levels by forming a tolerance, much like that formed by individuals addicted to substances. For example, a Formula One race-car driver may feel intense excitement during his first race, when his body dumps dopamine into his system, but over time he will lose the jittery feeling and adjust to the new levels. Likewise Ms. Caldridge, as an extreme runner, has probably grown used to the excess chemicals created when she runs. She is undoubtedly capable of functioning normally under higher blood-saturation levels than less acclimated people.”
“And what would happen to those less acclimated?”
“I’m sorry to say that these people would likely behave in a highly erratic and possibly dangerous fashion. Moreover, excessive amounts—say, in successive doses—could stress the heart to levels that can kill.”
Banner thanked the woman and hung up, not quite sure what to do with the information just given to him.
“That call was for Caldridge,” he said. He consulted his watch. “She should be landing in Nairobi soon. I told her to wait at the airport before heading to Berbera.”
Running Dark Page 8
