by Doug Raber
“Holy shit! That’s a lot of money.” He picked up a packet of $50 bills, the packet from which Sarah had previously removed about half the cash, and did a quick count. There’s 40 or 50 bills here. That’s a couple of thousand dollars. And this stack of hundreds is worth twice as much. There’s probably five or 10 thousand dollars here, Sarah. How did you get this?”
“It’s more than 10 thousand dollars, something my father left for me. I’m really not sure why, but I found it last week, when I came out here. I think he was some sort of spy before he retired. I don’t know for sure, but there are a lot of clues. He also left me a prepaid Visa card that had a balance of another 10 thousand dollars. I was floored when I found it.”
“If you didn’t know about this stuff, how did you even know to look for it?”
“Last week, before I went out West, things started to get strange. I thought someone was following me, and I know for a fact that someone was in my apartment. So I called my dad for some advice, and he was strange on the phone, kind of guarded. Especially after I asked how I could make sure nobody would be able to track my phone conversations. That was when I first used a fake name to get a cell phone. My Dad said that in case I needed to travel, I should get my passport out of the file cabinet.”
“Doesn’t sound like a bad idea. I wish I had mine with me, the way things have been going.”
“Yeah, but the point is, he said to get it from the ‘file cabinet.’ I don’t even have a file cabinet.”
“I don’t understand. Then why would he say that?”
“It was a code. He was telling me to come out here. To check the safe out here. But he never called it a safe. He always called it his ‘file cabinet.’”
“So it was to get you out here and find the money?”
“Yeah, but that’s not all. Check this out.” Sarah took reached into the small pack she’d been carrying and slid the passport toward Jake.
He opened it and looked at the photograph of Sarah. “Okay, it’s your passport. What about it?”
“Look at the name, Jake.”
“Wallingford—who in hell is Sarah Wallingford?”
“It’s a fake passport, Jake. And look at this, a driver’s license, also for Sarah Wallingford, and with the same fake address.”
“He created a false identity for you? That’s fucking amazing. He was CIA or something? And he never told you?”
“I don’t know. He was a real businessman. But there was always a lot of travel to Eastern Bloc and to developing countries. So maybe he was part-time. It all fits. And the smallpox vaccination. Why did he have me get a smallpox vaccination in the late 1990s? I think he was worried about bioterrorism, even then.”
“But what about the money? And fake identity?”
“Somehow, he must have always been afraid that I’d have to go on the run, or maybe the whole family would. I don’t know why. But it was all in place when I needed help.”
“Jesus! I don’t even know what to think.”
“What to think about is a plan for getting us out of this jam. And not just us. A whole lot of other people, besides.”
“I was worrying about that all day on the plane. We have to get to the President. There’s no other way.”
“Jake, that’s ridiculous. What are you going to do, call up and say ‘Hello White House, could we please see the President, right away? We’ve got this really important information. And we’re not really nut cases, despite what it sounds like.’ They’d lock us both up, Jake. And they’d throw away the key.”
“That’s exactly the problem. We need to find someone who can get our information to the President. And it needs to be someone really high up. Who do you know in government circles? You’ve been in Washington for a few years now. You must know some people from working at the Post.”
“Nobody like that, Jake. Sure I’ve met some senior people, but that’s all it is. I shook a few hands, but I don’t know anybody well enough to call them. I certainly don’t know anyone in the national security area, and that’s who we need. You’d be better positioned to do that with your CDC connections. And you grew up in Maryland near D.C.”
“CDC has been compromised. When I called Frank Wirth yesterday to have him check on the potential smallpox victim in Maryland, he acted like I was from another planet. I don’t think there’s a chance in hell that I could get further up the chain.”
“Then we need to find somebody we could trust who’s directly tied to the national security enterprise.”
“There was a guy who lived across the street from my parents, back when they still lived in Bethesda. He was an FBI agent, but I haven’t seen him for years. He was a deputy something, back then. If he’s still at the FBI, he’d have to be pretty high up by now. He might talk to me, though. But I’m just some kid who lived in the neighborhood, so it’s a long shot.”
“How do we find out what he’s doing now? Can you call him?”
“I don’t even know his number.
“We can’t call directory assistance. It would be a link to us. To where we are now. “
“You think they might know about this house?”
“We can’t be too careful, Jake.”
“What about the computer?”
“The last time I was here, I used the library in Romney to buy plane tickets online. But if we’re just looking up some names and addresses, it shouldn’t be a problem. And it’s pretty clear that they don’t have this location under actual surveillance, or they would have arrested us by now. Let’s try it.”
In just a few minutes, with Jake at the keyboard, they were on the FBI’s website looking at a list of senior FBI executives. “There he is! Carter Fitzgerald Jennings, III. He’s the Executive Assistant Director of the National Security Branch. He may be high enough up to help. Now we just need to get through to him.”
Jake went to an online telephone directory and searched for ‘Jennings.’ “There it is,” said Sarah, leaning over Jake’s shoulder. She grabbed her ever-present notebook and wrote down the phone number. “Is it the same address as before?”
“Yes. Westmoreland Hills. It’s in Maryland, just a few hundred yards from the D.C. line. What do you think? Should I try to call him tonight?”
“Not the land line. Way too risky. And it could link you to the ‘Lockford’ name. I was already being watched last week. We need to wait until morning and look for a pay phone. There used to be one across from the fire station on our way out of town. If not, we could try a cell phone on the way back toward D.C. It would be harder for them to find us if we’re moving, wouldn’t it? But even then, it might help them link our names. It would blow Sarah Wallingford out of the water, and they could trace my flights to Cortez and everything.”
“Then tomorrow morning it is. Let’s get some sleep now. Is there anything else we need to do first?”
A sly smile came across Sarah’s face, and a few minutes later, they were again lying on the blanket by the fireplace. Jake took Sarah in his arms and kissed her softly.
“It’s nice and warm here, Jake. Warm enough to take off these sweatpants. They’d just be in the way.”
* * *
Day 33: Making Contact
Part way through their breakfast, Sarah put down her coffee cup. “Something I can’t figure out. How do we prove that the smallpox outbreak in Farmington came from the slides we found at the elementary school?”
“I’ve been thinking about that, too. If I could get to my lab, it would only take a couple of hours. We don’t need the complete gene sequence, only the key portions.”
“You know they’re watching your lab. Is there anybody at Fort Detrick who could help? It’s only an hour from Washington.”
“Not anybody we could trust at this point. But you know who we could ask? Charles Evans. We need to get a sample to him in Atlanta.”
“The labs at Emory can’t handle something like smallpox. He couldn’t help.”
“Yes he could. He’s got a joint appointmen
t at Georgia State now, and their Viral Immunology Center was added as one of the few level-4 biosafety labs a few years ago.”
“And he’s been doing gene-sequencing?”
“Yeah, it would just be a question of getting him the sample.”
“Maybe I could go down there. Oh shit, Jake! We don’t have to do that. Where’s my notebook? This might work.” Sarah jumped up from the table and went to get her backpack.
“What are you talking about?”
“Charles. I told you I saw him in Atlanta, and he said he had a trip to D.C. this week.” She opened her notebook. “Here it is. He’s still here, Jake! Until tomorrow.”
“How do we contact him? And how do we get him the slides?”
“All I know for sure is that we can’t call him from here. It’s too risky. After you call the FBI guy, we can try Charles. Then maybe meet him somewhere with the slides. We just have to keep a really low profile until you get the facts to the right people.”
They reached the intersection by the fire station in Levels at 7:00 a.m. “We’re in luck, Jake. The pay phone is still here.”
Jake stopped the truck and took the handful of quarters that Sarah had found at the cabin. Sarah read off the phone number for Carter Jennings, and Jake dialed.
“Mr. Jennings? Carter Jennings?”
“Speaking.”
“Sir, this is Jake … Jake Overman. My parents used to live across the street from …”
“Yes, Jake. Of course, I remember you. How are you, son? It’s good to hear from you. But it’s Sunday morning. Is something wrong? Are your parents okay?”
“Yes sir, we’re okay. No, wait. Actually, I’m not. I need to talk to you, sir. It’s really important.”
“Then go ahead and talk, Jake. I’m listening. Are you still working at CDC?”
“Yes I am, but I can’t talk about this over the phone. It’s a national security issue.”
The tone changed. “Jake, you should be calling your superiors at the CDC. Or if it’s some sort of emergency, you should go through regular channels at the Bureau. Our families are long-time friends, but that’s social, not business.”
“Mr. Jennings, this is more serious, and more important, than you could possibly imagine. Please see me sir. I won’t take up much of your time. I think you’ll understand why we need to talk. Why I need your help.”
There was a pause before Jennings spoke again. “All right, Jake. If it’s that important, I’ll see you. Can you come to my office tomorrow morning?”
“No sir, I can’t do that. It might be too late. And besides, I need to see you in a more private location. Your house would be much better.”
Another pause. “When can you be here?”
“This morning. We’re a couple … I’m a couple of hours away.” He glanced at the note Sarah had scribbled. “I can be there by 10:00. There’s something I need to show you, sir. You’ll understand when you see it.”
“Ten o’clock, then.” The line went dead.
“That didn’t sound too good. Maybe it’ll go better with Charles.”
“I hope so. Christ, that conversation started off cold and went downhill. But at least he said he’d see us. Let’s call Charles now.”
Sarah read off the number for Charles’s cell phone, and Jake dialed. After a few moments, Jake shook his head. “No answer.” Then he suddenly held up his hand. “Hello, Chuck!” Charles Evans detested the nickname, and Jake hoped it would put him on alert. “Chuck,” he continued, “my girlfriend told me you were coming up to D.C. Maybe we could get together.”
There was a pause, followed by an initially hesitant reply. “Uh yeah, how are you, buddy? What’s up? It’s like you’ve just disappeared lately?”
It was clear that they understood each other. “Sorry, Chuck. I’ve just been working kind of hard. Look, I know you’re heading out this afternoon, but we’d love to see you. And Angie has something she wants to give you before you leave. Something special.”
“I’m leaving pretty soon. Where do you want to meet?”
Jake looked at another word Sarah had scribbled in the notebook. “Airport.”
“The best bet would be the airport, Chuck.” Sarah and Jake had already outlined a possible plan during their short drive from the cabin. “If we don’t catch you beforehand, Angie will see you at the departure gate. I’ve got some conflicts, but she’s got a ticket on the same airline. It’s Delta, right?”
“Yeah, it’s Delta. Okay, my friend. I’ll look forward to it. See you at about noon.”
“That’s good, Chuck. And remember, this is my girlfriend, so be discreet.”
“Sure … No problem. You can count on me. She and I know how to be discreet. See ya.”
Jake smiled as they rung off. “We’re making progress. Let’s go visit the nation’s capital.”
They got back in the truck and began driving to their meeting with Jennings. “He’s our only hope, Sarah.”
* * *
Chapter 31
Sarah and Jake
Federal law enforcement attempts to use cell phones as tracking devices were rebuked twice this month by lower court judges, who say the government cannot get real time tracking information on citizens without showing probable cause.
—Wired, 2005‡
Day 33: Bethesda
It was 9:45 a.m. when Jake and Sarah exited the Beltway, the ring of Interstate highways that encircles Washington, D.C. and its closest suburbs in Maryland and Virginia. They were on the Clara Barton Parkway, driving along the Potomac River. Jake took the Glen Echo exit and turned onto Macarthur Boulevard. “We’re almost there.”
They cut across to Massachusetts Avenue, and soon turned onto a side street. “That was my house, across the street. This is the Jennings house, and we’re exactly on time.”
Jennings answered the doorbell quickly and ushered them inside. Jake and Sarah were both struck by his demeanor. He was a large man, physically fit, and impeccably dressed. Jake was glad that he had shaved, but his casual clothing was no match for the suit and tie that Jennings wore. “My wife has left for church.”
There was something about his poise and military bearing along with a quiet strength that reminded Sarah of Colin Powell. She had always admired Powell, even when she was young, first as a general, then as a diplomat, and later as a statesman.
Jennings guided his visitors into the kitchen, where the table was set with plates, coffee, and breakfast pastries. “Please help yourselves.” Jennings poured more coffee into his own half-full mug. “There’s cream and sugar, if you’d like it.”
“Thank you for seeing us, Mr. Jennings. And by way of introductions, this is Sarah. We’ll make our explanation quickly. Everything that we’re going to tell you concerns an outbreak of smallpox that began last week in Farmington, New Mexico.”
Jennings slowly took a sip of his coffee. “That’s not possible, Jake. Don’t take me for a fool. You do realize that I’m now running the National Security Branch at the Bureau? If anything like that happened, I’d be one of the first to hear about it. And you, of all people, must be aware that CDC wrote the response policy. An outbreak of smallpox would automatically be interpreted as a terrorist attack. The Bureau would be a central element of any response.”
“That’s why we’re here. I was sent to Farmington to investigate what we first were told was an outbreak of chickenpox. When we got there, we learned that one of the local doctors had made a diagnosis of smallpox. And his diagnosis was correct. We confirmed that fairly quickly. So far, there have been only a few cases, all traced to the original infection of a small child. That first one was fatal, and the child’s father also died. The entire area has been sealed off.”
“I sincerely doubt your interpretation, Jake. But for the sake of argument, if what you’re saying were true, why wasn’t I notified? Why wasn’t the official policy followed?”
“Mr. Jennings? I think maybe your office, or at least some part of the FBI, did know about this. Last
week, my boss was confronted by one of your agents.” Sarah opened the notebook she’d removed from her pocket. “Joseph Silver, that’s the name he gave her. He wanted to know where I was, but he wouldn’t give her any information about why he was asking.”
“I don’t know an Agent Silver. I’ll check that name, but what you just told me doesn’t fit with the Bureau’s procedures.”
“That’s the disturbing part of all this,” Jake interrupted. “I didn’t even know that CDC policy, our official national policy, wasn’t being followed. I only found out four days ago, when Sarah came to Farmington.”
“What is your role in this, Sarah?”
“I have a friend out there, Mr. Jennings. She works with the woman whose child died, and she called me when she heard that they were about to shut down all telecommunications in the area. She thought I could help because of my job. I work at the Post—I’m a reporter.”
Jennings raised his hand in a signal to stop. He looked icily at Jake and then turned his glare to Sarah. “I don’t know what the two of you are up to, but if you had any thoughts that you could manipulate me, you’re going to be very sorry. If you wanted an interview, you should have asked for that in the first place. You may leave now. This discussion is over.”
Jake was stunned. “No! No! No sir! Please Mr. Jennings. That’s not what we’re trying to do.”
“We’re not here for me or for my newspaper, Mr. Jennings. Something horrible is happening in New Mexico. Something is really wrong out there. We won’t do anything that will compromise you. That’s a promise. This isn’t about us. Our country needs your help, sir. Please. We’re begging you.”
Jennings sat down again—very slowly, all business. “All right. So we know how you found out. How the hell did you get there, if all traffic and communications were blocked?”
“My friend has a contact in Colorado, about 50 miles north of Farmington. He brought me in the back way, mostly through the Indian reservations. The military personnel weren’t watching those roads.”
