He stops walking and presses against her, kissing her deeply. She can feel him against her thigh and knows he is excited to be intimate with her after so long. Amanda presses her left hand against his butt, pulling him towards her. His hands begin to explore her breasts.
Amanda takes a step back from him and takes off her blouse. He lifts his shirt over his head and drops it on the blanket partially spread in the long grass. She begins unbuckling his belt and helps tugs his jeans down. They drop slowly to the blanket, facing each other, legs partly touching, her breasts pressing against his chest, hands and fingers caressing each other.
Once they are back in the SUV, Jonathan continues driving random back roads, confident that with the GPS on his phone, finding the way back will be easy.
“You can't mention a word about this to anyone. At least for the time being," Jonathan says.
"What do you think I'm gonna do, go on the internet and announce it?"
What does this mean about us anyway?"
"I don't know, what do you want it to mean?"
"I don't know. I mean, Amber and I have a good relationship."
Why do you like that backstabbing bitch? Amanda thinks, but decides to play nice. "How many days are you home for?"
Just a couple, I'll probably head back to school Sunday morning.
"Are you going to see David while you're here?"
"Yeah, we're supposed to get together Saturday."
"Are you going to tell him you saw me? I mean, you can tell him we had coffee. We’re pretty tight now, so I don't want to hide anything except, you know."
“Yeah, okay.”
"You've been dating Amber a long time. Do you think it's gonna last?"
"Who knows? Am I supposed to factor you into that equation now?"
"Good question. Let's just see."
Jonathan parks next to her car in the Café Loco lot. She leans from the passenger seat and kisses him deeply, pressing her tongue up and around his. He likes the way she smells, different from the scent Amber exudes.
As they separate he stares in her eyes.
“Hey, are you wearing tinted contact lenses now? Your eyes look more green.” He says.
“No. More green?”
“Well, they were always blue flecked with some green. But I would swear they are greener now.”
“I have no idea—….” Amanda says while getting out, when Jonathan asks, "Do you want to get together again before I go back?"
She pokes her head back in. "Maybe, text me. I enjoyed it."
She looks him in the eye for a moment before closing the door. A smile crosses his face as he shifts the SUV into drive.
Amanda walks away wondering about her and Jonathan. And about whether her eyes could really change colors.
Chapter 39
Zukoff Plans
Dr. Peter Larsen was personally selected by Zukoff to lead the development of the telomere bio-weapon based on Ron Michaels’ research. Boston born and bred, Harvard biology degree and medical school. Zukoff was impressed with Larsen’s take-charge approach from the first month he arrived at Sherwood.
Now, in turn, Larsen selects Dr. Kobi Albena, a brilliant magna cum laude med school graduate. A resident at Georgetown University Medical Center in Washington, Albena has assisted the U.S. government before, but is clueless about this current project.
Larsen ushers Albena into the spacious conference room at the CIA’s headquarters in Northern Virginia. Zukoff stands for the introduction. They all take their seats, and Larsen begins the meeting.
"Dr. Albena, have you ever read about renditions carried out by the CIA?"
"I’ve heard of rendition, the use of third parties or untrackable operatives to sweep up terrorists and take them to prisons operated outside the U.S. by our allies. That's about the extent of my knowledge."
Larsen nods at Zukoff to fill in the details. “We operate a classified facility in Mogadishu. The compound itself is maintained by Somalia's National Security Agency. They run and protect the building. We paid to build an entire underground prison and we control one runway tucked in a little corner at the Aden Adde Airport. Your mission involves being transferred there and overseeing medical trials we plan to begin. We need you to leave in three days."
"What about my fellowship?"
"It will be marked as complete, even though you're a couple months short. Our relationship with Harvard is solid.”
"We're going to give you a new name and back story, but you'll still be a doctor,” Larsen explains. “As you know, Somalia is a complete mess, no centralized government, terrorist cells all over the country, hostile groups control about half of the country. But we maintain a safe toehold in Mogadishu and we house some of the most high-value terrorists from Somalia, Yemen, and Syria there. Rather than extraditing them to be executed in their home countries, we keep them, or I should say the Somalis do, we have no verifiable presence. As for these terrorists, in their minds they're getting a reprieve by not being shot on day one, but these cretins are the ones who’ll be undergoing the medical testing."
Zukoff speaks up. "Dr. Albena, the most important thing I must impress upon you is anything you do has no connection to this agency. You will work for a proxy company, Somalian Essence Oils, Limited, to order any chemicals or supplies you need for the clinic. We're going to set up a special room in one area of the prison, right beside the existing clinic. The prisoners won’t know you’re conducting tests, only that you're the prison doctor."
"What kind of medical tests will I be performing?"
"No official records will be maintained. You’ll use a secure laptop to upload the results and they’ll be transmitted to us via satellite. You are not to identify any test subjects by name or communicate with me or with Director Zukoff while in Mogadishu. Do you understand?"
"Yeah, total secrecy, I get it. But you still didn't tell me what I’ll be testing.”
"You'll be testing how viruses affect some of the prisoners so we can develop vaccinations to counteract the viruses. The Russians and Chinese are developing viral bio-weapons and our intel indicates we are their intended target. We need to stay ahead of the curve by getting these tests rolling soon and making them completely untraceable. We’ll give you a series of instructions on how start the clinic, and an agent with the Somalian company I mentioned will communicate with you about transferring materials to be used for the tests. Your staff will include a nursing assistant who's also an agency operative. She's already in place."
Zukoff is anxious to wrap up the meeting before the doctor can ask any more questions. "Take a few days to get your affairs in order. We're counting on you Dr. Albena, this is an important mission. Thanks."
After the doctor exits the conference room and is led down the hall by Zukoff’s administrative assistant, the director looks at Larsen as they sit back down.
"Are you sure the virus delivery system is ready for us to begin actual human testing?”
"Absolutely, it's brilliant. We just studied Michaels’ research, and we know he's serious about it. Every other plan they've been working on requires stem cell therapy starting at birth or some other elaborate scheme. This is the only one that uses a small number of pills ingested within a short time, say a week. The viruses in the capsules clamp onto the human cells and generate more cells with the same DNA to replicate and lengthen each cell's telomeres. For us to utilize this same research in the opposite way—to make the cells go crazy and start a cancer-like process—is what we need to test.”
"What's your plan for infecting the prisoners without them knowing what’s going on? And to prevent contaminating someone else by accident? I’m assuming you won’t be using pills."
"We’re still working out those details. We'll probably deliver the virus on rice in sealed food containers given to the prisoners on a very controlled basis. You’re not going soft on me, are you? Remember, these are terrorists who have taken many innocent lives already.”
"I get that, I just want
to be sure our testing is secure, that the strictest controls are in place so no one is inadvertently infected."
"I'll travel down there myself and go over everything with Dr. Albena before they start the experiment. It will be a secret side trip so I don’t draw attention to the project."
Zukoff stares at Larsen, wondering if they’ll make the 18-month deadline the president demanded. Equally as important, he's going to make damn sure no one connects the dots back to his agency.
Chapter 40
For Charity
"Becca, you look smashing, but we’re late, and getting later by the minute. Are you almost done?"
Becca finishes applying her lipstick and sprays a touch of perfume along the nape of her neck. She walks out of the bathroom and Andy admires her powder-blue satin dress with its plunging neckline and spaghetti straps. The annual D.C. Bar American Cancer Society black tie fundraiser has long been the biggest charitable event for lawyers. This year, the bar selected the All Seasons Hotel as the venue with a casino night theme, featuring professional gaming tables and dealers.
“Do you have the tickets?” Becca asks Andy as they get in his car.
“Right here.” He indicates his inside tuxedo pocket.
The ballroom teems with hundreds of attorneys, spouses, and significant others. Andy takes the ticket from the coat check attendant and puts a couple dollar bills in her tip jar. He and Becca walk past a huge swan ice sculpture and stop at the first bar where Andy works his way to the front of the line while he and Becca exchange hellos with a number of lawyers and their wives. He notices a group nearby talking with Judge Easton, who handled the Hemispheres crash cases, but quickly decides not to try patronizing her tonight.
While a friend’s spouse engages Becca in a conversation about her store, gushing about how she just loves it, Andy slowly scans the large room of who’s who in the D.C. legal world. On the other side of the room he spots his ex-wife, Sarah, with Mark Roth, the lawyer she’s been dating for a year. She told him all about Mark when he finally gave in to her numerous text messages and they met for coffee the week before. It was quite pleasant chatting with her, although he would never breathe a word of it to Becca. In the back of his mind, he’s aware Sarah is toxic for him, but another part of him simply will not allow that door to completely close.
Later, he and Becca situate themselves at one of the blackjack tables and they gamble for various donated gifts. Andy gets up from the table to find another drink, and as he walks toward the bar, Cathi appears. His heart skips a few beats. How strange. No, she’s a court reporter, he reminds himself, so it makes sense for her to be here. She hasn't spotted him so he continues on his way, watching her out of the corner of his eye. She approaches a table and hovers behind someone. Andy pauses to take a closer look and sees that it’s Paul Franklin. His hatred for Franklin is boundless since the RICO suit was filed, and his teeth begin to clench. He takes a diagonal route for a better perspective. She leans in behind Franklin in a way only a girlfriend or a spouse does. Andy realizes he has never seen Franklin’s wife. His heart pounds. He is taking the new drink back to his own table when Cathi leaves and heads somewhere. Reversing direction, he sets the cocktail down on a table and takes up pursuit, assuming she is heading to the bar or the restroom. He’s just a few steps behind her and closing. She heads down the hall leading to the ladies’ room as he closes the gap and taps a little more than lightly on her left shoulder.
"Why? That's what I want to know!”
She turns toward Andy with a look of surprise on her face. “Why? Let me explain.”
Abruptly veering away from the restroom alcove, she grabs his hand on the way, and before he can resist she pushes open a gray metal door and tugs him several feet into the stairwell. Thankfully, Andy hears no alarm.
"Are you crazy?" he protests as the door latches behind them.
"Sometimes."
She shoves him against the concrete wall. Her lips immediately find his as she leans into him. Her breasts momentarily press against his chest before he escapes her hungry kiss and forcibly pushes her away.
"You're not a court reporter. Your name probably isn't even Cathi. You’re Franklin’s wife!"
“You've restored my faith in your investigative skills, Attorney Michaels."
She advances again, passionately kissing him. Her mouth presses against his, and for some reason he responds, allowing her tongue to dart inside. There is that perfume again. He pulls away from her a second time.
"What’re you doing? I’m here with someone. And you’re married! Why?"
It takes every ounce of his willpower to pull away from her and open the door. She follows him through the door and back toward the party.
"I know who Rebecca is. But you must be the last to know about Paul and your paralegal, Angie."
Andy stops in his tracks, whirls around and glares at her.
"Angie? And Paul? What?"
"You can ask her yourself. That bastard will rot in hell, mark my words.”
With that, she sashays past him with some extra sway in her hips and disappears into the ladies’ room.
Andy’s mind is racing, and he takes three deep breaths to try to calm himself. Could Angie be sleeping with Franklin? Preposterous! No, could she be? No!
He feels drunk, but not from the alcohol. Instead it’s mental intoxication making him unsteady. He walks back across the room somehow and sits in his chair beside Becca.
“Where’ve you been? I had to fight off several lawyers.” She keeps her eyes on the table and her cards. “I’ll take a hit,” she tells the tuxedoed charity dealer.
“Just talking to a court reporter,” Andy replies, staring at nothing in particular, nearly in a state of apoplexy due to the throbbing in his brain.
“Here, you can have some of my chips, I can spare them.” She pushes a couple stacks toward him.
Well after midnight, after he and Becca make it into the bedroom back at his place, she turns and asks, "Can you unzip me please?"
Andy slides the tiny zipper down to the small of her back, and Becca seductively allows the dress to drop right to the carpeted floor, revealing her black lace bra and matching thong. She takes a step away from the gown, turns toward him and lays a long, romantic kiss on his lips. She begins to unbuckle his belt, but Andy suddenly backs away from her a couple steps.
"I've got to tell you. I can't think about anything else." He plops down on the corner of the bed. "I found out tonight Angie may be having an affair with Franklin. My brain is ready to explode."
"What? You don't believe it, do you? Who says?"
"Franklin's wife. She stopped me in the hall near the restrooms. She said she found out and I should confront Angie."
"Wait a second, his wife told you this? That doesn't make sense. Do you know her?"
"No. Not really. I mean, I’ve seen them together," he answers, tactfully leaving out a few things.
"What makes you think she's telling the truth? What if she's got some twisted reason to try to get back at her husband?"
"She didn't give me any details. What am I supposed to do, find her and say, ‘Hey, show me the videotape?’"
They both stare at each other, thinking. Becca picks up the gown, and carries it towards his walk-in closet.
When Becca re-enters the room, Andy hasn't moved, a dazed look is on his face, his mind somewhere else.
"So what are you going to do?"
"I don't know yet. But I’m going to proceed with caution, that’s for sure."
"You don't think it could've—”
“Made a difference on all the settlements?” He finishes her sentence. “I refuse to believe that for a second. For all I know she’s lying. I’m also wondering about her motives, I mean Franklin’s wife’s motives.”
Chapter 41
Blame Game
As the black SUV drives under the covered portico at the Chinese Embassy, two guards stand at attention at both sides of the entrance, below the waving Chinese flag
s. Several small glass globes unobtrusively record every movement from the portico ceiling. Stein's driver stays seated in the SUV when he exits from the passenger side.
On the steps stands Jang-Chung, the lead Chinese negotiator who worked to settle matters between the two countries relating to the Hemisphere's jet crash and the messy aftermath. The complicated deal involved body bags, an exchange of hostages and secret currency manipulations. After the perfunctory greetings are complete, the two make their way to a conference room on the first floor. A round table is set for four with a teapot and small cups. The Chinese ambassador, Lee-Chai, enters the room and the parties exchange pleasantries. A young woman pours the tea and the three wait until she finishes and exits the room.
"Thank you for coming today, Mr. Stein. I thought it would be best to discuss this lawsuit in person. We are concerned sensitive information, protected under our agreement, will be disclosed in the American press. Can you provide me assurances that this will not occur?"
"Well, you realize in the United States any attorney with a law license can file a civil lawsuit. But our courts recognize certain privileges, one of which prevents the disclosure of information pertaining to national security."
The ambassador stares coldly. "Why did you let this attorney file this court paper?"
Stein decides asking if he understands the freedoms on which the U.S. was founded would be a bit too condescending, so he recalibrates his answer. "Like I said, we can't stop the filing of the action, but we can file a motion in response to assert national security as a defense and prevent any of the witnesses from disclosing classified information. We believe everything relating to these allegations should not be made public."
Targeting the Telomeres, A Thriller Page 12
