Resistant

by Michael Palmer

  No chance.

  How long would he be in prison? Could they actually do it to him? He was caught in a scenario that would do Kafka proud. Theater of the most absurd, only this drama was for real. And as Vaill had said about his wife, the real victim here would be the person he loved more than anyone in the world.

  Emily …

  “Humphrey Miller,” he heard his voice say in a strained whisper.

  Vaill leaned forward.

  “Again?”

  “Miller. Humphrey Miller,” Lou repeated, more forcefully this time. He felt a weight lift from his chest, but there was no sense of relief. “He’s a pharmacy tech at Arbor General, but he is also a brilliant microbiologist. He was part of a team that was helping Kazimi develop a treatment for the germ.”

  “So, what happened?”

  “They had a fight—a falling-out because Kazimi didn’t believe Humphrey’s phage theory would work. Humphrey was either kicked off the team or he dropped out.”

  “I think you’re messing with us.”

  “Think what you want. I don’t believe Kazimi ever even met him. Humphrey isn’t a scientist. He’s a plain old hospital employee, who has debilitating cerebral palsy. He and Kazimi have communicated for years online, but they’ve never met.”

  “This is ridiculous!”

  “Well, it’s the truth. Humphrey never spoke to anyone at the hospital about his talents because people often ridicule him, and have trouble understanding his speech, and because the blowhard in charge of infectious diseases would never have taken him seriously. But Humphrey grew to trust me, and I understand his speech and respect his theories. I believe Humphrey can cure this infection using killer bacteriophage. If you’ve been researching it, you know it’s possible. They use the method in Russia and other countries.”

  “Jesus,” Vaill murmured. “Why didn’t you tell us this?”

  “Because Humphrey is wheelchair-bound. He has poor use of his hands and not much of his legs. He wanted my help setting up a lab in a storage space in Arbor General, so we could conduct experiments to prove his theories, and I needed him to do it quickly.”

  “You mean an unsanctioned lab?”

  “Yes, in the subbasement. He hacked into the hospital’s computer system and ordered all the supplies and animals he needed. Thanks to me, it’s all ready to go. Now please, Cap’s life is at stake. You can’t stop Miller now.”

  “Jesus,” Vaill uttered again, shaking his head.

  He turned to McCall.

  “Chuck, call Beth and give her the name Humphrey Miller, a pharmacy tech at Arbor General. See what she wants to do.”

  “You got it. Meet you at the car.” He hesitated at the door and gestured toward Lou. “Tim, you believe this guy?”

  “I don’t think he’s a whack-job if that’s what you mean. But I’m not the least bit sure I can say the same thing about this Miller.”

  Vaill helped Lou to his feet and put handcuffs on him once more.

  “What now?” Lou asked.

  “Now, you get to take a nap in a bedroom with bars at the U.S. Marshal’s place, and we get to do what we do.”

  “I told you what you wanted to know. Aren’t you letting me go?”

  “Um, let me see.… No.”

  The word echoed like a judge’s gavel.

  Vaill escorted Lou out the door and past McCall, who was already on his phone, presumably talking to their supervisor.

  Lou knew that he had made a mistake caving in. The government was famous for messing up situations like this one. There was no chance they would ever step back and let Humphrey do his work. No chance for Cap.

  Vaill guided him out of the building and into the cool, early morning air. Overhead, the sky was drenched with stars.

  “What time is it?” Lou asked.

  “Two thirty in the morning,” Vaill said, checking his watch.

  Lou took a deep breath, no longer sure if he’d ever breathe fresh air as a free man again.

  CHAPTER 36

  A Neighbor often needs a community to reach his goal. Therefore, if deemed reliable, others may be hired or enlisted into the order for specific purposes, but they shall not be offered a number unless there is an opening and they are acceptable to the director.

  —LANCASTER R. HILL, 100 Neighbors, SAWYER RIVER BOOKS, 1939, P. 57–8

  Vaill rarely felt sorry for criminals, but he made an exception for Lou Welcome. From his read, Welcome seemed like a decent guy, a caring father, and a devoted physician who got caught up at the wrong time in a deadly set of circumstances. But the laws were the laws, and more than a few men and women were trudging around in orange jumpsuits with numbers on their backs because they made bad choices.

  Putting his feelings aside, Vaill had done what had to be done. As an agent for the FBI, it was his duty to conduct sensitive national security investigations and to enforce hundreds of federal statutes. Regardless of what Lou Welcome was holding back, he was involved in a case the government considered priority one, and Vaill had done his job and done it well. Next it was up to the federal prosecutors to build a case and officially charge him with a crime. Meanwhile, Vaill would do his best to support those efforts, while in this case secretly rooting against them.

  It was four o’clock in the morning when he finally emerged through a side door of the Atlanta City Jail. McCall had elected to stay at FBI headquarters for the rest of the night and write what was sure to be a lengthy report on the events leading up to and following their encounter with Lou Welcome at the Blue Ox Tavern. After that, he would get a ride back to their hotel from one of the guys, and they would meet later in the morning.

  There had been virtually nothing said between them about the episode in the interview room. As before, he had lied to his new partner about having migraines, and as before, as far as he could tell, McCall had bought it.

  Sometime around nine, Vaill would retrieve Welcome from his cell and ferry him to a magistrate’s hearing in the courthouse. After that, it would be up to Lady Justice to decide the man’s fate, and Vaill could, and most certainly would, join his partner in continuing to track down Alexander Burke.

  During the short walk to the jail parking lot, Vaill tried with no success to immerse himself in the serenity of the early morning. Something wasn’t right with his brain, and the headaches seemed to be getting worse and more distracting. Once he had nailed Burke, he would consider going back for a consultation with Dr. Gunter, his neurosurgeon. Maybe another MRI. But not until Maria’s killer was behind bars … or dead.

  Vaill’s cell phone had rung several times before the sound intruded on his thoughts. He checked the caller ID and was not surprised to see his boss’s name.

  “McCall gave me the lowdown,” Beth Snyder said, “and we’ve started running things down. Good job on the interrogation, Tim.”

  “My pleasure, ma’am.”

  “You think this Humphrey Miller is really a player here?”

  “Could be. Lou Welcome, the doctor, is safely tucked away until he goes to court in a few hours. By then, I hope we’ll have something on Miller.”

  Vaill’s knees and back creaked as he climbed into the motor pool sedan, and the rumbling in his stomach had him considering a frozen burrito from the first all-night convenience store he could find. But there was another stop he wanted to make first.

  “Have you gotten Miller’s address yet?” he asked. “I’ll drive over there right now.”

  “No,” Snyder said, perhaps a little too quickly. “Take a rest until you’re due to pick up Welcome. I want to get a search warrant to check out this secret lab of Miller’s. If it’s there, getting a probable cause warrant to search his apartment will be a no-brainer. Better to get all our I’s dotted and T’s crossed when we make the move on him. Last thing we want is for Miller to get off on some technicality, especially if this handicap of his is as severe as McCall tells me it is. Chuck didn’t think we had to rush on this one, and I agree. Besides, it sounds like you could use s
ome rest. In case you’ve forgotten, you’ve been through a lot.”

  I’m not resting until I find Burke.

  Vaill kept the thought private. Having worked under Snyder for many years, he knew how she’d respond: The FBI is not the place for personal vendettas. Agents go on vendettas, agents die. Something in the way Beth ordered him to get some rest had him wondering if McCall had said anything to her about the headaches. He didn’t want to give away the intensity of the problem by making a big deal about it, but perhaps it would be best if he and Chuck had a talk.

  “Actually, I’m feeling surprisingly perky,” he tried. “It’s no problem to do a quick drive-by and at least check out Miller’s place from the outside. Knowing the setup there might make it easier serving the warrant when you get it.”

  “That’s a negative, Tim. What you’re feeling is the adrenaline left over from a very long, grueling interrogation. You promised me you’d take care of yourself if I let you get in on this case. Well, getting some rest is taking care of yourself. I’ve got to protect my soldiers, especially ones who had their head operated on not so long ago. So the answer is no. Now, you’ve got a few hours. Go back to your hotel and get some shut-eye. Whether you believe it or not, you need it.”

  “You ask, I do,” Vaill said, knowing this was a battle he couldn’t win.

  “That’s the old agency spirit. I’ll have the gift shop send you out a pennant and a mug. So listen, Tim, while you’re on your way to your hotel, tell me what your take is on this Dr. Welcome. Who’s he playing for? How hard should we put his feet to the fire?”

  “Believe it or not, Beth,” Vaill said, turning onto the near-empty highway, “after working on him for most of the night, I think he’s playing for his friend.”

  CHAPTER 37

  Any piece of legislation passed by Congress, approved by the Senate, signed by the president, that in turn erodes liberty must not be viewed by the American people as the law of the land, for it is in truth the beginning of the end of our world.

  —LANCASTER R. HILL, MEMOIR (UNPUBLISHED), 1940

  Humphrey Miller had four different in-home aides who assisted him throughout the week—three women and one man. There were others who tended to his needs on weekends. The aides generally worked for two hours then left or accompanied him to the van for transport to his job at Arbor General. The nighttime help took care of preparing his dinner and the subsequent cleanup, addressed his bathing and grooming needs, changed him into his bedclothes, and physically moved him from his wheelchair into his adjustable bed.

  While he slept, many of Humphrey’s CP symptoms went dormant along with the rest of him, offering a brief but welcomed respite from his daily physical travails.

  On weekday mornings, Humphrey’s favorite aide, Cassie Bayard, would let herself into the apartment to help get him ready for his workday. He always wished her time with him could last longer. Cassie was a strikingly beautiful Jamaican woman, tall and long limbed, with ebony skin and caring eyes, and was the focus of most of Humphrey’s fantasies. He often lightly referred to her as Mama Teresa, but it really was a fitting moniker. Dependable as sunrise, Cassie, a single mother of three, always brought a lift to the start of Humphrey’s day. Like many with CP, most of life’s many mundane tasks were mini-mountains he was forced to climb time and time again. Cassie’s enthusiasm made his daily trudges up Mount Life all the more manageable.

  Humphrey had a mixed form of CP resulting in symptoms of both the spastic and athetoid types. Not easy. He endured involuntary movements of his face, arms, legs, and body, difficulty swallowing, drooling, and slurred speech, in addition to having tight muscles, which limited his movement altogether. He credited Cassie with keeping him from wallowing in self-pity.

  Cassie knew he was bright and respected him for that. But he had never bothered to try to demonstrate to her just how bright. He was embarrassed to show off in that way, and feared he would intimidate her and drive her away. Now, with the newfound help of Lou Welcome, he wouldn’t have to demonstrate his brilliance to anyone. Universal recognition of that was certain to follow when word got out of his achievement and his role in defeating the Doomsday Germ.

  Following their morning routine, Humphrey was dressed and at his desk, a specially constructed workstation. While Cassie busied herself with the breakfast dishes, Humphrey used the joystick controls for his computer, which allowed him to search, type, and code with almost the same ease as an able-bodied person. Prior to Lou, Humphrey had used this time each morning to enlarge on his bacteriophage theories and computer models. Now that his lab was about to be functioning, he was instead preparing for the first round of serious, confirmatory experiments—studies that would rapidly lead to the cure for the deadly germ, and the sort of fame that would transcend his disabilities.

  Cassie emerged from the kitchen with her denim jacket over her arm, a signal that their time together this morning had come to an end. She was rushing because if Humphrey did not make it to the curb on time, the van would simply leave without him.

  “You’ve been extra happy these past few mornings, Humphrey,” she said, her lilting Jamaican accent like a birdsong. She paused at the door, contemplating. Then, with the trace of a smile, she asked, “Mr. Miller, have you got a girlfriend you’re keeping secret from me?”

  Humphrey’s smile was ebullient.

  “Never compared to you,” he said.

  Cassie’s hands went to her hips. She gave him an appraising look, but not because she had any difficulty understanding his speech.

  “She better not, mister, or I might get jealous.”

  She opened the door and Humphrey, who had glanced away for one last, longing look at the other love of his life, his computer, heard two strange popping sounds. He turned to see Cassie fly backward, feet off the ground, arms beating the air. She landed on her back with crimson welling through two holes punched through her white blouse and into her chest.

  With blood beginning to flow onto the floor beside her, a man entered the apartment and softly closed the door behind him. It was only then that Humphrey cried out—a weak, strangled scream. The man was tall and thin, with blond hair and pale eyes as cold as ice. Humphrey, staring down in utter disbelief at the inert body of the woman who loved him more than any other he knew, began to hyperventilate. The tall man gingerly stepped over Cassie, careful to avoid the expanding pool.

  “Hello, Miller,” he said. “Sorry if I seem surprised. Nobody told me anything about you being a fucking cripple. My name is Burke, Alexander Burke, and I’m going to take you out of this shithole … now.”

  Humphrey’s fear spiked, triggering a chain reaction in his body. His CP symptoms were often affected by his emotions and he had already lost most of what control he maintained over his limbs. His arms and legs jerked chaotically. His facial muscles tensed, distorting his features. His thoughts became a blur.

  “Oh, my God,” he finally managed. “Why did you do that?”

  Burke looked at him curiously.

  “I don’t understand you,” he said, reaching for Humphrey’s motorized wheelchair. Instinctively, Humphrey pulled on the control stick and backed up, but in the small apartment, there was really no place for him to go. Burke, at once bemused and repulsed, watched his efforts. After creating a couple of feet between them, Humphrey pawed at the medical emergency alert device linked around his wrist. The killer moved to stop him, then paused and grinned. His prey, at least for the moment, was helpless. Beside Humphrey, Cassie’s blood glistened on the hardwood floor, and filled the room with a nauseating, coppery smell.

  “This must be horrible for you,” Burke said. “Help is just a button push away and yet you can’t even do it. Why in the hell do the Neighbors want you so much anyway?”

  He ambled across the room, grasped the emergency bracelet, and ripped it off Humphrey’s wrist with one hard yank.

  “Who pays for all this?” he asked, holding up the bracelet, and using it to gesture around the room and down at the lif
eless woman on the floor. “Who pays for this whore to come to your apartment and tend to you? Wait, don’t answer that. I already know.”

  “What … what … do you want?”

  Humphrey continued to quake.

  Burke ignored the question, quite possibly because he could not understand it.

  “Where is your family?” he demanded. “How come they don’t take care of you? Wait, don’t answer that. It’s because it’s easier for Uncle Sam to foot the bill, that’s why. Fucking leeches. Entitlement. That’s what’s made such a mess of this country. Your mother boozed or smoked or drugged or all three when she was pregnant with you, and we all end up paying for it for as long as you live. Trillions of dollars. That’s what your entitlement programs cost the rest of us. Trillions!”

  “What do you want?”

  “What do I want? Is that what you said? Hey, I understood what you said. Okay. I’ll tell you what I want. I want you to get your materials related to the Janus bacteria together so you can make us an antibiotic that works. Our scientists and our laboratory are waiting for you.”

  “No … I don’t know…”

  Burke slapped him violently across the face. Bright blood began coursing from one nostril over his lip and into his mouth. Grabbing one handle and the control stick of his wheelchair, Burke drove him over to his computer. There was a large gym bag nearby. The killer, virtually out of patience and composure, emptied the clothing from the bag, swept up the mass of papers and articles covering the cluttered desk surface, and jammed everything into it. Then he pulled open the drawers and a file cabinet, and did the same. The bag was bulging by the time he finished.

  “Okay, what do you want to print out from that computer? I have the address of our scientist in case you just want to send it. You had better get everything you need, because if you screw this up and don’t make the antibiotic we need, you’re going to die, one tiny piece at a time. And I tell you, I’m going to love doing it. Understand? I said, do … you … understand?”