The Ninth Day

by Jamie Freveletti

  “Can you run down what happened? I know you’ve probably told the story a thousand times already, but I’d like to hear it from you directly,” he said to Raynor. The man nodded.

  Banner listened as Raynor gave the same essential facts that Wiley had already relayed.

  “Can you describe the accomplices?”

  “One Mexican guy, early twenties, and one white guy, maybe late twenties. Both slender. The white guy had hair past his ears and he wore beat-up jeans and a band tee shirt.”

  “What band?” Sumner said.

  Raynor looked confused. “I beg your pardon?”

  “What band was on the tee shirt?”

  “Uh. Rex Rain.”

  Banner had never heard of them. “Either of you guys know them?” he said to Wiley and Sumner.

  Wiley snorted. “Not me. I like Tim McGraw and Gretchen Wilson. Dolly Parton’s good, too.”

  “They’re an alternative rock band out of England. Just completed their first U.S. tour this year. Definitely up and coming,” Sumner said. “You like alternative rock?”

  Banner liked old rock and new jazz. “You mean like Led Zeppelin or the Stones?”

  Sumner smiled. “I mean like Gomez or Phoenix.”

  “I’ll put Stromeyer on it,” Banner said. Sumner’s smile broadened. Banner turned back to Raynor.

  “We’ve had another witness describe this band guy as handsome, like someone on television with an effeminate manner. That right?”

  Raynor shook his head. “He wasn’t effeminate at all. He took charge of the Mexican guy and helped him tie me up. When she took a knife to his hand he didn’t even flinch.”

  “She took a knife to his hand?”

  “He had sores on his left hand. He said they’d been growing for only eight hours, but they were already pretty extensive. She did a pretty deep cut to get some tissue for a slide.”

  “Did she analyze the skin?”

  Raynor nodded. “She said she saw bacteria, and when he asked her what he had, she said possibly meningitis or tuberculosis.”

  “I got a call into the CDC,” Wiley interjected. “Figured if this guy is running around with tuberculosis, he could be infecting everyone he’s coming in contact with.”

  “Was he coughing?”

  “Not at all,” Raynor said. “And he didn’t look feverish or sick the way meningitis would make him look.”

  Banner sat back, thinking.

  Raynor leaned forward. “I’ve been thinking about this all night. I went back and dug up the slide that she threw into the sharps container. I put it under a microscope.”

  Banner was liking this Raynor more and more. “Great. And?”

  “It was tainted, but I thought I did see some rod-shaped bacteria. Could be tuberculosis, sure, but the guy wasn’t coughing or pale, and that didn’t explain the sores. Just by the way she acted, I thought she had a different idea in mind. She hesitated to tell him. It was as if she was holding back. Then she asked him if he had been digging in the dirt at the compound.”

  Banner threw a glance to Sumner. He was staring at Raynor with as intense an expression as he’d ever seen on the man.

  “Is that significant?” Banner said.

  “She thought he got the bacteria from the dirt on the compound,” Sumner repeated.

  Raynor turned to Sumner and nodded. “But not bugs. She told the guy no worms or parasites.”

  “How big were the sores?” Sumner asked.

  “Large ones. They covered his whole hand.”

  “Does anthrax present in rod-shaped bacteria?” Sumner asked.

  Raynor looked triumphant. “Yes, it does.”

  Chapter 26

  Banner and Sumner were back in the car. Sumner drove while Banner called Stromeyer. She answered in a sleepy voice.

  “I’m sorry to wake you up, but we may be running this Caldridge thing down.” Banner filled her in.

  “I can’t believe Caldridge would try to kill the guard,” Stromeyer said. “What I can believe is that she’s trying to help this guy with the sores.”

  “I agree, but why not just get him to a hospital? Raynor told us that if it’s anthrax and he’s reached the sores stage, he’s not likely to survive. The good news in all of this is that anthrax is not contagious. The guy isn’t spreading it throughout the States on this crime spree of his, or whatever the hell he’s doing.”

  “Did you notify the Mexican authorities? They’d better test everyone who came in contact with the soil in the compound.”

  “They’re on it. Can you check on something for me? It’s an English rock band called Rex Rain. Have you heard of them?”

  “Sure. What’s their connection?”

  “Maybe none at all. The guy with the sores is running around with a tee shirt emblazoned with their logo. Sumner thinks that the only way to get that shirt is to attend one of their concerts.”

  “You think he picked up the anthrax at a concert instead of at La Valle’s ranch?”

  “Caldridge asked this guy if he was digging in the dirt. If they had an outdoor concert he may have sat on the ground, come in contact with the dirt that way. I’m told that the only place anthrax exists in nature is in the ground.”

  Banner heard static from Stromeyer’s end as she shuffled around. “I don’t like the sound of that. If he got it, then others may have too. It’s ten o’clock in the morning in England. I’ll track down the band’s publicist, find out what outdoor venues they played during their tour, and get back to you.”

  They had arranged for a hotel near the local airport where Sumner had landed the plane they were using from the Air Tunnel Denial facility. Banner thought it was best that they stay in Nebraska on the off chance that the warrant out for Caldridge and the others was successful and she was apprehended. Banner switched off his phone. Sumner’s rang almost immediately. He shoved a hands-free device in his ear and answered it. After a few minutes he rang off as well.

  “That sounded like some ATD business. Can we keep the plane?”

  Sumner turned the rental car into the hotel parking lot. “Actually, it all dovetails pretty nicely. We’ve been tracking that rogue pilot. He’s currently on a course that has him landing about six hundred miles east of here. They’ve lost track of him for the moment, but the minute he reappears, I’m going to fly intercept.”

  “You do what you have to. I’ll keep digging around here.”

  Banner dragged himself out of the car. It was three o’clock in the morning, and exhaustion was gnawing at him. He wished that he could make some sense of Caldridge’s actions. Put them into some logical framework that gelled with his view of her, but nothing was adding up. He followed Sumner down the hotel hallway. Their rooms were on opposite sides of the corridor. When they reached their respective doors, he asked Sumner the question that had been preying on his mind the whole long day.

  “Do you think she’s involved with La Valle in some way?”

  Sumner had been sliding his key card into the hotel lock. He looked over at Banner, surprise on his face. “Absolutely not. I have complete confidence in her.”

  Banner did, too, but he was glad that Sumner, who he considered to be one of the most logical, dispassionate men he had ever met, thought so as well.

  “Do you think she’s a hostage?” Banner asked.

  Sumner nodded. “Yes. I think she’s biding her time. I also think she’s doing what she can to help this guy. My concern is that if he has anthrax from the compound, she could have it as well.”

  “How long does it take anthrax to kill?”

  Sumner snapped his fingers. “Not long at all. As far as I’m concerned, the band guy is a walking dead man. I just want to get her freed before she joins him.”

  Five hours later, Banner’s phone rang, waking him from a fitful sleep. It was Stromeyer.

  “No go on the Rex Rain publicist. She says they’re touring Europe and can’t be disturbed.”

  Banner snorted. “They can’t be disturbed? What the he
ll does that mean? What are they, royalty?” He listened as Stromeyer’s laugh came over the phone. The sound made him glad in a way that he didn’t want to spend too much time analyzing. He shoved the feeling back.

  “Their publicist was clearly stonewalling me. She’s a real bulldog. Lots of attitude. If she wasn’t sitting safely in England I’d send in an FBI guy to arrest her for obstruction of justice. I don’t suppose you know anyone in England who has access to rock stars?”

  Banner’s phone beeped, signaling another call before he was able to respond. “Let me think about it,” he said. He transferred to the second call.

  “Wiley here. Just wanted to let you know we got a photo of the three of them as they ran down the hall. We sent some stills to Mr. Sumner by e-mail. He confirmed that the woman is definitely Emma Caldridge, but was unable to ID the other two. I e-mailed the photos to you.”

  Banner flipped open his laptop and pulled up the still footage. The first showed Caldridge in the center of the hall. There was no mistaking that it was her, because the camera caught her full on. The next photo showed two men just as Raynor had described them. The Mexican looked keyed up, edgy. Even in the grainy photograph Banner could see the whites of the man’s eyes.

  The second man looked grim. The graphic on his tee shirt looked like a bit of impressionist art, all white lines and spiked edges with words drawn into the center in an archaic script. Banner couldn’t quite make out the words, but he presumed anyone familiar with the band might recognize the image. Banner analyzed the photograph. The white man was handsome in an aesthetic, almost artistic way. His bone structure was classic, refined, and the long hair to his shoulders gleamed. Banner could now understand why the drug dealer had interpreted the look as effeminate. Even the fluorescent lights didn’t mar his features.

  After a moment, Banner had an idea. He flipped open his phone and dialed a private number. He smiled when he heard the woman’s voice.

  “How was your flight home?” he asked.

  “Uneventful. I’ve been catching up on my sleep. When I came home no one assured me that I looked rested. I blame you for that.”

  Banner chuckled. “Sorry.” They chatted a bit more and he got down to business. “I have a problem that I hope you can help me with,” he said.

  She paused, and Banner thought she was steeling herself to say no. As if she was afraid he’d intrude on her daily life. After a moment she said, “Of course.”

  He told her about the Rex Rain publicist’s refusal to help them. “Are all publicists like that?”

  “Hmmm, they’re pretty protective. They have to be, really. It’s their job to shield their clients.”

  “Do you think she’d loosen up if it was you who needed the information?”

  “Probably. How about you send me the photo and I’ll see what I can do.”

  Banner sent it from his computer. “It’s done.”

  “That was fast. How soon do you need this?”

  “Yesterday.”

  “Hold tight.”

  Twenty minutes later, Banner’s phone rang. The screen registered an “out of area” number. He picked it up and identified himself. A man’s voice, thick with an English accent, came over the phone.

  “I’m Richard Carrow, the lead singer for Rex Rain. I got a call. Said you needed some information about the guy in the photograph?”

  Banner was impressed with her mojo. Not only did she get access to the band in minutes flat, but the lead singer, no less. Banner poured a cup of coffee that he’d just made in the hotel-room coffeepot. “Yes, thanks. Is that your band’s tee shirt that he’s wearing?”

  “Yes. We sell them at the concerts. Why?”

  “We’re trying to figure out if this guy attended one here in the States, and where.”

  “He was in Phoenix. He acted as a substitute technician for one of the shows.”

  Banner was in the middle of taking a sip of coffee and he almost spit it out. “You know this guy?”

  “Yeah. That’s Oswald Kroger. Nice guy. We have a regular computer tech that tours with us, but he took sick when we reached Arizona and Oz subbed for him. He really helped tune up the sound, and for the first time I didn’t have to scream to be heard. I thanked him personally. Saved my voice.”

  “You know where he might be now?”

  “No. Our regular tech got better and we continued on.”

  Banner thanked the singer, hung up, and dialed Sumner. “The band guy is Oswald Kroger, a computer tech in Phoenix. I don’t suppose your guys at the ATD program can muscle up some background?”

  “We’ll get on him and the Mexican guy. And my rogue pilot’s back on radar and nearby. I’m getting ready to fly out.”

  “Go get him,” Banner said.

  “I will,” Sumner replied.

  Chapter 27

  At four o’clock in the morning, Emma, Oz, and Mono pulled into an RV trailer park and proceeded to a secluded tree-lined area. Two RVs of different models sat next to each other. Mono instructed Oz to park the Escalade near the second, much smaller, RV. Emma saw the ambulance parked about fifty feet away, near an old silver Airstream. She crawled out of the SUV and stretched with a groan. Oz exited slowly. He’d wrapped gauze around the sores on his hand and Emma noted that the area of the punch biopsy was stained red. He was bleeding again.

  The lights on the largest RV sprang on. Emma heard movement from the inside, and a few seconds later, the door swung open. Light splayed across the grass. A person stood in the doorway, but Emma couldn’t make out the features because the light was shining from behind. From the shape she assumed it was Serena.

  “You found the answer?” she said.

  Emma paused. “I’m closer.”

  “Come inside. All of you.” Serena stepped back into the trailer.

  Emma felt exhaustion claw at her, but she fought it off and did her best to stay on her feet without swaying. She followed Oz into the trailer. Mono was at her back. His gun was in his hand.

  The trailer surprised Emma with its spacious interior and expensive appointments. The galley kitchen area had stainless-steel appliances and expensive countertops that looked like granite, but that Emma assumed were Corian or some other lighter substance. The living room area had a plush sectional couch and a flat-screen television. At the far end of the vehicle was a screen that Emma assumed retracted to reveal a bedroom.

  Serena walked to the living area and turned toward them, slowly. Emma gasped when she saw her. The sores covered both her arms, and looked like they were migrating to her face. Her hands were curling into claws, the fingers forming rigid C shapes and they, too, oozed with scales and sores. Emma heard Mono make an inarticulate noise. He bolted out of the door, slamming it behind him.

  Serena started to cry. “I don’t know if I can stand it.”

  Emma glanced at Oz, who stared at Serena in horror. She could imagine what he was thinking, that this was his future. Emma took a step toward the woman.

  “You have to go to the hospital. There’s no reason for this. It’s time.”

  Serena shook her head. “I won’t. You must cure me. I must be cured and free. The hospital may not cure me, but they will put me in jail. Please, did you find an answer?”

  The door to the RV opened and Raoul and La Valle stepped in. Both had grim expressions. La Valle looked stricken as he stared at Serena. He turned to Emma, and his stricken look turned to one of fury.

  “You have any answers? Look at her! And now Raoul has it!” Raoul threw up his hand. Sores covered one third of it.

  Emma took a deep breath. “It’s caused by a bacteria. I started to stain them to see if they were acid fast, and I think they were. There are several that can cause some of the symptoms she has, but not all of them.”

  “What can it be?” La Valle said.

  “Tuberculosis, anthrax.”

  Serena started keening, Oz gasped and stumbled back onto a nearby chair, Raoul gaped at Serena, and La Valle stilled. He took three steps to the ki
tchen area, picked up a tumbler from the counter, and threw it against the wall. It shattered and sprayed bits of glass everywhere. Serena cried harder. La Valle stayed in the kitchen, breathing in and out. Emma could see his mind turn. His small dark eyes didn’t register as much surprise as she had expected from this revelation. She watched as first his neck, then his face, flushed red. Emma tensed. A gun was attached to his belt in a holster and she didn’t trust him not to begin killing them all in a fit of rage. Serena’s sobs were the only sound in the room.

  “Do the sores hurt?” Emma asked. Serena kept moaning, her body rocking back and forth and tears streaming down her cheeks. She didn’t respond, and Emma doubted that she even registered the question. Emma stepped closer. Although she was focused on Serena, she saw Raoul slip out of the RV. Coward, she thought. “Do the sores hurt?” she asked again. Serena inhaled, clearly trying to gain control of herself, but failing. After a moment, she shook her head.

  “They’re numb.” She moved to a nearby couch and fell down onto it, grabbed a towel off an end table and buried her face in the cloth. Emma could see that the towel and some gauze were placed there for a reason. Serena didn’t want to spread the sores from her hands to her face.

  The memory, still elusive, skittered across Emma’s mind.

  “Anthrax can be cured?” La Valle said, a hopeful note in his voice.

  Emma didn’t think either Serena or Oz had a chance to be cured at the late stages that they appeared to be experiencing. She didn’t want to say this, though. La Valle would probably kill her on the spot, and she couldn’t face Oz after she revealed her true thoughts. Emma decided to ignore the question and focus on Serena.

  “Were you digging in the dirt back at the compound?”

  Serena looked up from the towel. “Not at all. Why would I dig in the dirt?”