Resistant

by Michael Palmer

  “Where is all that?”

  “I can’t believe I’m caving in on this,” Vaill said. “Okay, listen, we’ve got a new system, the I.D.W., for Information Data Warehouse, where we log in all the evidence and leads we collect on a case. It’s supposed to help improve efficiency with our taskforces. Physical evidence stored in evidence rooms gets logged in so we know where it is. We even take pictures of it, so we can look at it remotely. Any electronic evidence—photographs, videos, that sort of thing, is uploaded to the I.D.W. as well.”

  “And you have the codes and passwords to access that warehouse?”

  “Of course, doc. That’s the idea.”

  “Sorry. Between Cap and you, I’m a little rattled.”

  “Okay, I’ll check what McCall and I have entered into the warehouse.”

  “Burn as much as you can onto a CD and we can go over it together.”

  “What are you going to do in the meantime?”

  “I’ll take your advice and go back to my hotel room and reread Humphrey’s notes. Then I can start making calls to my ID contacts in Washington. If we can’t find Humphrey, maybe I can locate another microbiologist who could help put his theories into action.”

  “We need to just stay away from any government scientists for a couple of days until I figure out where the leak could be coming from. If I don’t find it in two days, you’re the boss. This is all on us, doc.”

  “And you’re feeling all right?”

  “A few patches of fog still hanging around, but I’m okay. You just protect that book.”

  “Check.”

  “We’re going to bust this thing, Lou.”

  Where there had been confusion and pain in Vaill’s eyes, now there was only fury—a hunger for vengeance.

  “You got it,” Lou said. “I’ll stay in the hotel long enough to change out of these clothes, shower, call Emily, pack, and try to understand as much of Humphrey’s research as possible. You go check out that warehouse, make a CD, and maybe find us a place that’s safe away from McCall and anyone like my former clients and family who might know where I’m staying.”

  “Sounds like a plan,” Vaill said. “Two hours?”

  “Make it three and be extra careful picking a place for us.”

  The new allies shook hands, climbed into the sedan, and drove off.

  If, when they first arrived at the parking lot, they had glanced toward the hillside three hundred yards behind them, one of them well might have seen sunlight glinting off the lenses of a powerful pair of 30-160x70 Sunagor mega-zoom field glasses.

  Now, had they looked, they would find the hillside empty.

  CHAPTER 42

  A civilization is viable so long as there is trust between the people and the government.

  —LANCASTER R. HILL, A Secret Worth Keeping, SAWYER RIVER BOOKS, 1941, P. II

  Alexander Burke loved stalking his prey even more than he loved killing them.

  When on a job, he frequently envisioned himself as a tiger, padding through the brush on huge, soundless paws, getting closer by the second to administering violent death … and closer.

  He had come to Arbor General Hospital prepared for a long surveillance, having brought a knapsack of energy bars and water in addition to night glasses and binoculars. As it turned out, he didn’t even need the night glasses. Now, lowering his binoculars, he wished he had bought a laser microphone so he could have listened in on the conversation between his former cohort Tim Vaill and the man that photos told him was Dr. Lou Welcome—the prey he was actually stalking.

  He’d been watching the parking lot and main entrance to Arbor General from a perfect vantage point on a hill overlooking the main lot. The full resources of One Hundred Neighbors were working nonstop to locate Welcome’s hotel room in Atlanta. But Burke was certain the hospital was the most likely bet, so he had taken that watch himself.

  It had required more work on Humphrey Miller’s fingers, but eventually the pathetic cripple had given up additional and useful details, including the existence of a secret lab in the hospital subbasement, and the name of Welcome’s hospitalized friend, Hank Duncan. Duncan was in bad shape and was being cared for in some kind of unit. If Welcome and Duncan were as close as Miller had said, odds favored Welcome would be visiting soon—and those odds had been on the money.

  The tiger had no trouble spotting the two FBI agents as they headed for the lobby entrance. He identified Vaill right away. He’d never forget the face of the only man he had ever failed to kill. But it took a moment to realize the agent with him, also wearing shades, an FBI Windbreaker, and hat, was Dr. Lou Welcome. Clearly, they were wary.

  The doctor wasn’t the only one to have altered his appearance. Because he was now one of the FBI’s ten most wanted—number one, actually—Burke had applied a fake beard to minimize the shape of his jawline, and heightened the contours of his face with makeup that added years to his age. He also traveled with a number of different disguises, and his current choice—a brown wig, brown contacts, and a latex covering that altered the shape of his nose—fooled the FBI agents who had swarmed Arbor General several hours before. He had even followed two of them down the stairs to the subbasement, although he refrained from getting any closer to the lab that Welcome must have told them about.

  Seeing Vaill and Welcome together put a new wrinkle into Burke’s plans. He wanted to learn more about Welcome’s relationship with the FBI. Did they know each other from before? Why did they seem so close? Had Vaill gone rogue? Was that why he snuck Lou into Arbor dressed as an agent? If so, to what end? For now, their unusual association would be information to report back to Bacon and nothing more. He doubted this unexpected development would compromise his mission, but if Bacon gave the kill order, the tiger would gladly eliminate them both. Even though he actually liked Tim Vaill, there was no real emotion involved, one way or the other.

  It was different for the woman, Cassie, whom he had taken out on the way to Miller. She was an anathema, a representation of the wasted entitlement spending the Neighbors had vowed to eliminate. He would have killed the freeloading Miller, too, as retribution for all money stolen by the government from those who had earned it to fund the broken man’s so-called entitlements. But his mission called for a different course of action.

  When Vaill and Welcome finally drove away, Burke was just a few car lengths behind, countering every one of Vaill’s evasive maneuvers with one of his own. The streets here were fairly wide and traffic lights lasted longer than most, making it easy to maintain his tail. Burke had sped up anticipating and avoiding a yellow light, when his phone buzzed. Bacon.

  “I’ve got a visual on Lou Welcome right now,” Burke said.

  “And hello to you, too,” Bacon replied in a cool tone.

  Burke often forgot Bacon was a Southern gentleman who, even at the oddest times, demanded civility and proper etiquette.

  “Hello, Thirty-eight,” Burke said, correcting himself. “I’m on to Welcome.”

  “Well, I was calling to tell you that we’ve found his hotel room. He’s staying at the Miralux Towers on Grand Street, room six-seventy-five.”

  Burke keyed the address into his GPS, careful not to lose visual contact with Vaill.

  “My GPS says they’re headed in that direction right now.”

  “Good. I trust you’ll be able to resolve this matter fully.”

  In Bacon-speak that was his way of ordering termination.

  “First I’ll get the book Miller said he gave Welcome. One interesting thing—he showed up at the hospital with Tim Vaill.”

  There was a pause.

  “Why have those two come together?”

  “I don’t know. Vaill gave Welcome an FBI Windbreaker to wear into the hospital. There’s got to be a reason.”

  “Your call there,” Bacon said.

  Burke knew it was Thirty-eight’s way of saying it was up to Burke’s discretion to let Vaill live or die.

  “Understood. Is Miller safely there?
”

  “Yes. Nice job. The Gulfstream touched down a few hours ago and we transported Humphrey to Red Cliff by van. Of course, he’d be more useful to us with his data, but you’re about to make that happen. This is a vital part of our mission now, Forty-five. You have a substantial role to play, and I trust when we are victorious, and Western society is changed forever, history will shower you with the accolades you deserve.”

  “I’m proud to do my part.”

  Burke pulled to within three car lengths of Vaill’s sedan. Vaill was good at evasion, but the tiger, driving a burgundy Buick LaCrosse, was able to predict his moves. Even if he lost them, the turns Vaill was taking had him headed directly toward Grand Street. Miller’s book and Welcome’s life—one-stop shopping. The decision regarding Vaill could wait.

  As expected, fifteen minutes later, Vaill stopped in the drive of the Miralux and remained in the car, engine running, as Welcome hurried past the uniformed doorman and into the modest, family-type hotel. Five minutes later, Vaill took a call on his cell, spoke for a couple of minutes, then drove away. Obviously, Welcome was safely inside his room.

  Time to make the doughnuts.

  Keeping the weapon in his lap, Burke mounted his Gemtech suppressor to the barrel of the SIG Sauer 9mm MK25—the preferred weapon of the Navy SEALs. Then he slipped the exquisite gun inside his gym bag. Finally, he worked his trusty Strider SJ75 folding knife into his back pocket and exited the Buick. The knife was lightweight and the thin profile made it easy to forget it was even there.

  If possible, he would kill Welcome with the Strider. It was a powerful weapon, great for the quick draw. However, if it was more practical, the suppressor would take care of matters well enough.

  Either way, Dr. Lou Welcome had just minutes to live.

  CHAPTER 43

  Poverty is not an addiction, and as such is remediable. But the treatment for the condition is most certainly not a paid vacation from life.

  —LANCASTER R. HILL, 100 Neighbors, SAWYER RIVER BOOKS, 1939, P. 7

  From the small balcony off his sixth-floor hotel room, Lou had a view almost straight down at the kidney-shaped pool below. By the time Vaill and he arrived at the Miralux, the sky had transformed from bright blue to battleship gray. Now ominous clouds forming in the west warned of an approaching storm. As instructed, Lou had passed slowly through the small lobby to the elevators, keeping an eye out for anyone sitting down, reading, or otherwise appearing to be simply hanging out.

  Nothing.

  Once inside his room, he checked the closet and the bathroom, which had a glass shower stall, but no tub, and confirmed that the king-sized bed was on a frame that left little room underneath. Humphrey’s notebook was where he had left it, locked inside the surprisingly ample room safe.

  Before Lou exited Vaill’s sedan, the agent gave him his business card with a mobile phone number written on the back, adding that at least they could count on him remembering that Lou had put the card in his wallet. Lou’s smile in reply held little mirth. Not being able to predict when Vaill might suddenly go blank was a bit like playing Russian roulette.

  Last, Vaill tried to give Lou his pistol, promising to pick up another one at the field office. Over his life as a doc, Lou had treated many more gunshot wounds than the number of times he had actually held a gun.

  “They give me the creeps,” he explained, refusing. “Chances are I would end up shooting myself or some innocent bystander before I hit anyone I was actually aiming at.”

  “Suit yourself,” Vaill replied. “I don’t have time to talk you into it, or to give you an in-service lesson.”

  “Believe me, Tim, the world will be a better, safer place.”

  After the careful search of his room, Lou called to confirm all was well.

  “Okay,” Vaill said. “Now flip on a James Bond marathon and watch how he handles a gun.”

  “I thought Bond films were all Hollywood bogus.”

  “They are, but he never misses.”

  Finally able to stretch and relax, Lou plugged in his cell, stripped down, and fell onto his back on the bed, tired, hot, and sweaty from what was probably the worst twenty-four hours in a life that gave them stiff competition. The thought of a quick dip in the pool began to wriggle its way into his mind, but that simply wasn’t going to happen.

  Survey says: shower.

  As if placing an exclamation point on the result of his one-man audience poll, there was a volley of lightning nearby, followed by resounding thunder. Lou peeked out between the balcony drapes. Sixty feet down, the pool was emptying out, as it should have been.

  The shower won high marks in the hotel category by only twice shifting without warning to icy cold. He dried off, changed into jeans and a knit polo, and by habit shifted his wallet to his left front pocket. Moments later, another flash and a booming clap of thunder announced the rain.

  The sound of the kids racing into the lobby or back to their rooms made Lou realize that he had not spoken with Emily in two days. One or two was their average when he was in D.C., closer to one those rare times when he was away.

  “Keep a close watch on her,” his father, Dennis, had warned when Emily was a newborn. “You blink, and they’re driving. And sometimes, like the day your brother Graham drove my Plymouth through the garage door, they’re only twelve.”

  Ensconced in the storm-darkened, womblike comfort of his room, Lou reflected on the many times he had urgently raced to get Emily out of the water before a thunderstorm. The memory brought a tired smile, and he picked up his cell phone. She would do most of the talking, which was good, but he really needed to hear her voice, to know she was at home in Virginia, and most important of all that she, like the children from the pool, was safe.

  The balcony door was open, allowing a fresh breeze stirred up by the impending storm to cool down his stuffy room. He checked to be sure there was no rain blowing in on the carpet, then sat on the edge of his bed and dialed her cell.

  One minute they’re crawling and the next they’re on your data plan.

  That would be his quote to his daughter after her firstborn.

  “Daddy!” Emily squealed.

  “Hey, baby girl.” Her voice was a symphony. “How’s my favorite chiquita in the universe? I miss you.”

  “I miss you too, Daddy. How’s it going? How’s Cap?”

  “He’s okay, sweetheart. He’s hanging in there.”

  “That means he’s not doing so good.”

  “It’s a bad infection, but you know how much strength and courage he has. He’s going to do all right.”

  Lou fought back a sudden swell of emotion. His heart filled with uncontainable love for his daughter. It was right for him to have caved into Vaill and McCall’s grilling and threats. He could not imagine being locked up in a cell somewhere, kept away from her and shielded from the fullness of what her life would become.

  “Dad, are you okay?” Emily asked.

  He’d gone quiet for too long.

  “Yeah, sweetie. Tell me about you. What have you been up to?”

  Just talk to me … I need to hear your voice.

  “I’m doing everything I can think of to raise more money for Cap,” she said. “It’s going great. I mean, we’ve still got a long way to go, but people are really rallying behind me.”

  “Is General Mills still contributing?”

  “They are!” she announced with pride. “In addition to the five hundred they’re donating, they’re also sending all sorts of mixes so we can have a big bake sale. The street team has been picking up steam, and my fund-raising sites have raised over two thousand dollars so far.”

  “Two thousand,” Lou repeated. “That’s wonderful! Congratulations, honey. Well done. Very well done!”

  “Thanks, Dad. You sure you’re okay?”

  “I’m fine, kitten. I’m just a little—”

  A sharp knock on the door interrupted him.

  “Lou, it’s Vaill,” he heard the urgent, somewhat muffled voic
e say. “We gotta talk.”

  “Sweetheart, let me call you right back.”

  Lou got up from the bed.

  “Okay, Daddy, I love you.”

  “Love you, too,” he said on his way to the door. “Talk to you soon.”

  Such a kid.

  Lou wondered what news Vaill had returned to share, thinking it was something too serious to discuss over the phone. He turned the knob and had pulled the door open barely an inch when it sprung inward on him, rammed from the other side. Knocked off balance, Lou staggered backward. He was confused by Vaill’s sudden aggression until he realized it was not Vaill. This man had a beard, dark brown eyes, brown hair, and carried a pistol with a silencer pointed at the center of Lou’s chest.

  “Don’t make a sound, not a single noise or you die,” the intruder said. One look at his flat, lifeless eyes, and Lou had no doubt the threat was real. The man stepped farther into the room, closing the door behind him with his foot and reaching back to dead-bolt it, which Lou knew would automatically engage the Do Not Disturb notice on the outside. “Keep your hands chest-high where I can see them,” he demanded.

  “Who are you? What do you want?”

  Lou’s stomach cartwheeled. His heart slammed again and again against the inside of his ribs. This was not a man to be tested.

  “Doesn’t matter,” the gunman replied, “you have something I need.”

  Missing pieces quickly dropped into place.

  “You kidnapped Humphrey, didn’t you. You’re Burke. You killed Tim Vaill’s wife.”

  Outside, the wind and the downpour had intensified, but Lou, desperately sizing up his situation, was barely aware.

  Alexander Burke returned an indifferent shrug. “So I am,” he said. “But to repeat—you, sir, have something I need. A notebook your friend Miller gave you.”

  The killer moved closer, one cautious step … then another. His gun hand was as steady as a steel rod. Lou was on one side of the king-sized bed, Burke on the other, but the bullets in his gun shortened the distance between them immeasurably.