Patient Zero jl-1

by Jonathan Maberry

  “Who has the other one?”

  “Aunt Sallie.”

  “Who?”

  Grace smiled. “Aunt Sallie is the DMS’s chief of operations. She runs the Hangar—our Brooklyn facility.”

  “And you call her ‘Aunt Sallie’? Kind of conjures an image of a blue-haired maiden aunt with too many cats. Should I assume that you believe this Aunt Sallie person is trustworthy and hasn’t left her scrambler lying in her knitting basket?”

  Dietrich smiled. “If you’re lucky, Captain, no one’ll ever tell her you said that.”

  Grace’s smile broadened and it youthened her, stripping away several layers of tension. Even Church looked amused, though with him it was harder to tell. “I think those of us who know her can safely vouch for Aunt Sallie’s integrity.”

  “What about force? Could someone have taken the scrambler from her?”

  “I would truly love to see someone try,” said Church. Across from him Dietrich was laughing quietly and nodding to himself, apparently visualizing the scenario.

  The laughter and smiles, however, died away. I glanced at Rudy, who was quietly observing everyone. I imagine that he, like I, realized that the laughter was a pressure valve. The enormity of what had happened in Room 12 loomed over us.

  Church’s phone rang and when he looked at the displayed number he held up a finger and took the call, speaking quietly for a couple of minutes. “Thanks for getting back to me so quickly,” he said. “Please keep me informed.” He clicked the phone off and laid it on the table and any trace of humor that had been on his face was completely gone now. “That was a contact of mine at the Atlanta office of the Bureau. Henry Cerescu, the engineer who designed the code scrambler, is dead. His body was found in his apartment this morning and he’d been dead for about thirty hours. Cleaning lady found him and called the police. No suspects, but the report says that Cerescu’s apartment, which doubles as his workshop, was trashed. A complete report will be faxed to us.”

  “Damn,” I said. “Sorry about your friend, Church, but I bet I can tell you what’ll be in that report. Most likely it’ll look like an ordinary break-in by a junkie. TV and DVD player will be gone, there’ll be lots of random damage, a big mess. The smartest way to hide a small crime is to make it look like a bigger one. I’ll bet Cerescu probably had the design schematics of his scrambler somewhere, maybe hard copy or on his computer. The hard drive will be gone, too, and most of his papers.”

  “Very likely,” Church said. He took another cookie and pushed the plate toward me. I poked through them and took an elephant and a monkey.

  “So where does that leave us?” Grace asked.

  “With the certain knowledge that we’ve been infiltrated by someone with an understanding of what the DMS is,” Church said. “And someone who knows me well enough to know how I obtain equipment.”

  “That can’t be a long list,” Rudy suggested.

  “It isn’t,” Church agreed, “and I’ll be taking a look at that list once this meeting is concluded.”

  “It still leaves one or more persons inside the DMS,” I said. “Inside this building.”

  “Excuse me,” Rudy said, “but am I to presume that if we are here in this room then we are not on the list of potential suspects?”

  Church leaned back in his chair and studied Rudy for a few moments, one index finger tracing a slow circle on the tabletop. “Dr. Sanchez, there are very few people I trust implicitly, and in each case that trust is based on many years of experience, opportunity, and evaluation. As for most of the people gathered here, my trust is based on more recent knowledge. You and Captain Ledger were in the science lab with me and were then escorted to your quarters. Major Courtland was with me and Sergeant Dietrich had just completed his rounds with two other officers. One of them walked him to his quarters.”

  “Okay, but doesn’t that indicate that we were not directly involved in opening the door? What makes you sure we’re not accomplices?”

  Church bit an edge off a cookie, munched it. “I haven’t said that I have cleared you of all suspicion, Dr. Sanchez, but as you already said, you can presume that if you’re in this room then you are not high on the list of suspects.”

  That seemed to satisfy Rudy, at least in part, because he gave a curt nod and lapsed back into observant silence.

  “We’ve brought a lot of people on board in the last couple of days,” Dietrich said. “The movers, more than half the security team, the decorators, some new lab techs.” He paused and looked directly at me. “And all of Echo Team.”

  “How good was the screening for all of these people?” I asked.

  Grace said, “We have three FBI agents on loan to us working as screeners. You’ve met them, Joe. Agents Simchek, Andrews, and McNeill—the agents who picked you up in Ocean City.”

  Buckethead and his cronies, I thought. “Okay, but who screens the screeners?”

  “I do,” Grace admitted, and I could see a troubled look in her eyes. She knew that I had to be thinking about her oversight with the task force logs regarding me and the second panel truck. She’d been under tremendous stress since the massacre at St. Michael’s. Stress isn’t conducive to a calm and meticulous approach. I kept that to myself for now and I think I caught a flicker of a grateful nod from her.

  “I’ve been supervising the actual screens, though,” added Dietrich. “If this is someone who slipped through because of sloppy work then it’s on me.” I liked that he made no attempt to weasel out of anything. Dietrich was Church’s pet bulldog and he seemed blunt and honest. I liked him, and he was low on my personal list of suspects.

  “Another question,” I said. “Where are we recruiting from? You gave me files on the Echo Team guys, along with a big stack of other possible candidates. Some of those are generic folders—off the shelf from Staples—but some were FBI, a few were military, a couple were even marked “top secret.” Am I right in assuming that you’re recruiting from all of the military and federal agencies?”

  “And law enforcement,” Dietrich added with a nod in my direction.

  “How? I thought you guys were secret.”

  “Secrecy is conditional, Captain,” Church said. “We all have to answer to someone, and the DMS answers directly to the President.” He paused, then added, “A few days ago I met with the Joint Chiefs and the heads of the FBI, CIA, ATF, NSA, and several other branches. I was asked by the President to give a brief description of the DMS and its mission, and to then make requests that each department or branch of service provide me with a list of candidates for inclusion in the DMS. The files were sent to us, and Agent Simchek and his team of screeners did evaluations and ran each candidate through MindReader. Anyone with even a twitch in his or her records was discounted. I will admit, however, that there was a bias toward individuals with skill sets that are appropriate to the current crisis, and that may be our hole. Simchek and his team may have somehow erred on the side of immediate need. That… or the traitor has a spotless record and rang no alarms.”

  “If he was black ops or Delta Force,” Grace offered, “then his records might have been altered or sealed. Field agents’ names are often deleted from records of actions, especially when the agent is active military and the action technically illegal. Assassinations and infiltrations over enemy lines. It’s all plausible deniability, which means this bugger could hide even from MindReader.”

  “What kind of person are we looking for?” Rudy asked. “A rogue government agent, a terrorist sympathizer…?”

  “Unknown,” Grace said. “All we know is that this person, or persons, unlocked Room Twelve for reasons unknown.”

  Church nodded. “This impacts you most of all, Captain. We don’t know how, or even if, this relates to the planned raid on the crab plant. Before the meeting Major Courtland advised me to push it back; Sergeant Dietrich wants to hit it with all the troops and go for a clean sweep. The mission is yours to call, however.”

  “Jesus Christ,” Rudy said, “he just
came out of a combat situation. Two combat situations—”

  I touched his arm to stop him. “No, Rudy. You can get me on the couch later, but right now I can hear the clock ticking big time. If what happened in Room Twelve is not directly related to the crab plant then I’ll eat Sergeant Dietrich’s gym socks.”

  “I’ll cook them for you,” said Dietrich.

  “Church,” I said. “About hitting the crab plant at dawn?”

  “Yes?”

  “Fuck that. I want to hit it right now.”

  Rudy gasped, but Church nodded. “I figured you would. Choppers are on deck and my computer team is getting your communications gear ready.”

  I grinned at him.

  “Joe,” said Grace, “are you sure about this?”

  “Sure? No. I’d rather hit that place with a five-hundred-pound bomb and scratch them off the to-do list; but now more than ever we need to go soft and see about nabbing some prisoners. I think we should plan immediate interrogations, though.”

  “Okay,” Grace said. “My team will be ready to rush the door at the first sign of trouble. But if you want everyone else to remain back at an unobtrusive distance then it still leaves us with a five-to-ten-minute lag for a full-on attack.”

  “Joe… that’s suicide!” Rudy barked. “There’s no way that you could—”

  “It’s my call,” I said firmly. “And I can’t think of a better plan that we could put into action right now. The longer we wait the more time there is for the spy to get a message out.”

  “No messages are going out right now,” Church said. “We have jammers running everywhere in the building. However, we still have to consider the possibility that messages and intelligence may have been sent out before the lockdown.”

  I sat back and looked from face to face. “Okay, but we’re going to need a diversion. Here’s what I have in mind…”

  Part Three

  BEASTS

  Until the day of his death, no man can be sure of his courage.

  — JEAN ANOUILH

  Chapter Fifty-Six

  The DMS Warehouse, Baltimore / Tuesday, July 1; 12:59 A.M.

  ECHO TEAM CAME jogging into the big room at the warehouse looking very much awake. Wired, scared, and thoroughly pissed-off, but awake. I told them to gear up and they followed Gus Dietrich over to the arms locker. Alpha Team was already there.

  Rudy turned to Church. “This is killing you, isn’t it?”

  Church looked at him.

  Rudy said, “I don’t know you, Mr. Church. We’ve only had some weird little talks.” He waved a hand. “Zombies and all that. But since what happened in Room Twelve I’ve been thinking about this situation, about this organization you’ve constructed. I know only enough about the military to know that this isn’t the way things are done; and I do know enough about governments to know that the DMS operates on its own schedule. It’s virtually red-tape free. Lots of authority, and it’s shared.” He chewed his lip for a moment. “Your background has to include some training or practical experience either in psychology, therapy, or psychological manipulation. Maybe all three. You know how to set a mood and cultivate trust; you apparently care about the well-being of your staff. You like toys, and you pride yourself on having the best toys in the schoolyard. The labs here are bizarrely overdone. You have equipment I’ve never heard of let alone seen in actual use. Everyone I’ve met here has an above-average IQ. A lot of individuals, not a lot of team players.”

  “Your point being?” Church asked, though if he was impatient or unnerved it didn’t show.

  “What Joe and I are seeing is probably DMS lite. I’ll bet your Brooklyn hangar is ay-jay squared away. The tightest security, checks, and double checks; a lot of security redundancies. But down here you’ve had to put this facility together in days. Mind you, what you’ve accomplished in those days is incredible, and I frankly would never have thought it was possible to do. You’re a remarkable man, Mr. Church.”

  “I don’t need an ego-stroke, Doctor.”

  “Nor am I in the mood to give you one,” Rudy said with a touch of asperity in his voice. “My point is that out of necessity you’ve had to put this whole thing together too fast and under too much pressure. The Brooklyn model is probably a good one but for it to be as tight as you want it would require time. More time than you have. You’ve probably had to call in markers, ask for favors from other agencies; you’ve probably had to go through channels in ways you normally wouldn’t, and as a result the local reality of the DMS station here at the warehouse has holes in it. And as a result of that… people have died.”

  “Hey Rude, c’mon, man,” I said softly.

  He ignored me. “I’m not saying any of this to blame you, Mr. Church. Not at all. My point is that you are up against the wall, and all of the practiced cool in the world can’t change the effect that has on you as a physical being. Brain chemistry is only ever partially under our control. You are under tremendous physical and psychological strain… and right now you are probably tearing yourself up inside because of what happened in Room Twelve.”

  “I don’t think we really have time for this,” Church said, but his eyes never left Rudy’s face. I don’t think he even blinked.

  “We don’t have time for us to get into it as deeply as we need to,” Rudy said, “but we have to address it, in part, right now. My friend’s life is being put on the line. For the third time today. My own life is potentially in jeopardy as long as I’m in this facility and as long as there is a traitor here.”

  “We’re all at risk—”

  “No. That’s not what I mean, and I think you know that. I’m not asking you to open up to me, Church, not here and not ever unless you choose to; but what I am saying is you have to acknowledge that these events and the presence of the traitor are connected to actions you’ve taken.” He held up a finger to keep Church from interrupting him. “Actions you have had to take. If we could wind this back and start over again I don’t know if there is anything that could have been done differently. This may be an inevitable occurrence given the circumstances. Therefore you need to bear in mind that today’s events may have been beyond your control. Yes, you need to tighten security in any way you can. Hindsight advises that. Yes, you need to conduct your search for the traitor, leaving no stone unturned. Yes, you need to triple-check the backgrounds of every single person in the DMS, especially recent hires. But—and this is the real point—you have to keep focused, eyes on the prize, and not let guilt or anger deflect you from the primary purpose here, which is to stop the terrorists from launching this dreadful weapon. If today’s tragedy throws you off your game, then we could all die. My advice to you, Mr. Church, is to take your guilt and anger and put them on a shelf, at least until Joe and his team are back from the crab plant. Stay focused and stay in charge.”

  Church said nothing for maybe five seconds. “Do you think I’m unaware of these things, Doctor?”

  “I don’t know what you’re aware of, Mr. Church. You keep your emotions under check better than anyone I’ve ever met. But no matter how tough you are, and I imagine you are one very tough hombre, you are still human. Inside you might be seething with rage, and if God is kind I hope he never puts me in your path when you’re enraged. You and Joe are a lot alike in that. Controlled most of the time, but there is a point where control goes all to hell and what is left is pure, lethal rage. That’s all well and good if you find yourself—God forbid—in a room full of walkers; but I would not like to think that the man directing the subtleties of an operation of this kind is going on rage and looking for payback. The problem is that with you I can’t tell how close to a loss of control you are. You aren’t a robot, so you have to be suppressing your emotions. Just remember that suppressing emotions is not the same thing as actually removing emotions from your physiological makeup. If you’re as smart a man as I think you are then you’ll consider what I’ve said. You have to recognize distracting emotions and make very, very sure that they don’t a
ffect the decisions you make, and the time frame in which those decisions are made.”

  Rudy took a small half-step back. It was as if he diminished in size from a giant to an ordinary man in that subtle move. He switched off his perceptual X-ray, withdrew his own energy from the moment, and left a gap for Church to fill. How Church filled that gap would make all the difference, and I wished I could be inside Rudy’s head to see how he was measuring the moment.

  Church was silent for maybe fifteen seconds. I held my breath. Then Church gave one of his fractional smiles and a short nod. “I’ll take it under advisement.”

  Rudy studied him and he must have found something in the stone mask that was Church’s face, because he nodded in return. “Fair enough.”

  “Hey, guys,” I said, “I hate to break up this Dr. Phil moment but I kind have to go fight some zombies.”

  Rudy said something very foul in Spanish and Church turned away to assess the teams, though I think he really did it to hide a smile.

  Chapter Fifty-Seven

  The DMS Warehouse, Baltimore / Tuesday, July 1; 1:16 A.M.

  WE PILED INTO the helicopter, a SH-60 Seahawk fitted out with every kind of gunpod and missile launcher in the catalog. Once we were in and the door closed, we huddled down and switched to helmet mikes so everyone could hear above the rotor noise. Church joined us. He put an open pack of small high-protein cereal bars on one corner of the map. Combat version of cookies, I thought. Guy was a freak.

  When we’d boarded I pushed Rudy into a corner. “Sit tight, watch and listen,” I said. He nodded, looking scared. He was going only as far as the staging area, but I wanted him next to Church throughout.

  The Seahawk’s big T700-GE-701C engines roared and the bird lifted off and headed southeast at one hundred and fifty knots, with three other helos—two of them bearing Alpha Team and the other with support staff—in close formation.