“Good. My mother-in-law’s in town, so she and Louella went shopping, and I got to watch the Falcons.” He sobered. “Damn shame about all those girls in Boston, isn’t it?”
Julie nodded. “Yes. I saw the news at lunch.”
What had stunned her hadn’t been the deaths, although those had been shocking. It had been staring into Trevor’s eyes as he faced the hostile press. He’d looked different, older than he’d looked on Saturday. Could a man really age that much in twenty-four hours? No, older wasn’t the right word—worn out, exhausted, demoralized—any one of those fit better. As usual, he’d been impeccably dressed, but the shadows under his eyes aged him. He’d worn his old familiar horn-rimmed glasses again and he needed a haircut. She hadn’t noticed that the other day.
She’d felt sorry for him. The reporters had badgered him mercilessly, barely giving him time to answer one question before pouncing with another. The case wasn’t going well, and someone had hung him out to dry for it. The brass wouldn’t care that he’d feel responsible for these new deaths. They’d want someone swinging in the wind, taking the heat for them. Ten young women dead for no reason other than the fact that a madman who called himself the Prophet, a man with his own agenda, was determined to destroy those who didn’t believe in his cruel, vengeful god.
“That mess makes the number of school killings this year well over twenty-five again,” Leon said. “Damn shame. What’s wrong with people?”
“I wish I knew, Leon. I really wish I knew.”
Julie looked at her watch. After six. Lenore had classes until 7:30 on Mondays, so Julie would stop for Chinese on the way home the way she did every Monday.
Good old predictable me. Maybe I should do something wild and crazy, like order delivery pizza instead.
Swiping her ID card in the lock, Julie hurried down the hallway. Nelson had confirmed the president would appoint a new director next week, and from the way he said it, he’d either been told the job was his or he was on the short list. She’d heard a few other names bandied about, but no one she recognized, and no one she considered capable of dealing with a pandemic. Whether she wanted to or not, she couldn’t stop thinking about those two missing vials. This year’s flu vaccine would be ineffective against them, and if someone knew enough about microbiology to bioengineer them … Once a person had his or her own samples, they could study the pathogens and do whatever they wanted with them at length.
Deep in thought, she was startled by the sound of a phone ringing. She looked up, realizing the ring came from her old office, an office she hadn’t used since the accident. Reaching into her pocket, she pulled out the key, unlocked the door, and hurried to the phone on the dust-covered desk.
“Dr. Swift,” she said, praying that whoever had been on the other end was still there.
“Julie? It’s Miles Logan. Glad I caught you. I was about to hang up and try your home number. Not surprised you’re still at work. You were dedication personified.”
“Miles, my God, what’s it been? Two years? You’re lucky you caught me. I don’t use this line much anymore.”
“Since you picked up, this must be my lucky day. I haven’t seen you since your grandmother’s funeral. I was sorry to hear about Ellie. I hope you got the flowers we sent.”
“I did, thank you. They were beautiful.”
“You know, Cassie and I are hurt. We expected an invitation to your wedding. What did you two do, elope?”
“No, we didn’t, but don’t feel badly,” she answered and chuckled bitterly. “As things turned out, there wasn’t any wedding. Trevor and I decided to call it off.”
“Shit. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to dredge up bad memories. I was sure you two would’ve patched it up when you got back. I liked him. He made you laugh.”
And cry.
“Miles, don’t worry about it. It’s all water under the bridge as they say. Trevor’s a wonderful man, but we don’t look at life the same way. He’s dedicated to his job, and while I can appreciate that, I couldn’t accept that it had to come first all the time. So, how long are you in town?”
“Not in town, sorry if I misled you. I’m in Alaska studying volcanoes. I persuaded my lovely wife that she and our daughter would love it here and so far she’s happy, but we’ll be moving to Hawaii for the winter, where I’ll be studying Kilauea. Cassie’s been helping out the medical staff here. In fact, she’s the reason I called.”
Miles had been like a brother to her in high school. Not too many guys wanted to hang out with the “Queen of Geeks,” as they called her, but Miles, just as big a science nerd as she was, accepted only because he was the kicker on the football team, had been her standing date for significant events—that is, until he’d met Cassie Michaelson. The two had married right after graduation and went to USC together. Cassie studied family medicine while Miles went into geology, eventually becoming one of the world’s top volcanologists. Their daughter, Ariel, was twelve years old.
“Not that I’m not happy you called, but this must be costing a fortune. What’s up?”
“Some local fishermen pulled half a guy out of the water a couple of days ago. Cassie’s been helping out here and had a look at the poor bastard, but she can’t figure out what killed him—he was dead before whatever took a bite of him spit out the rest. She thought you might be able to help.”
“Sure. What’s the problem?” Julie sat in her chair and leaned back. God, she was tired. This paranoia was wearing her out. It would be nice to be with friends for a while—friends who had nothing to do with the CDC and disappearing and reappearing viruses.
Maybe she would take time off and go visit Miles and Cassie—and if she could help solve a mystery, all the better. By the time she got back, she wouldn’t be seeing imaginary spies and assassins in the bushes.
Chapter Seven
“So, tell me about this problem.”
“It’s not really a problem—more like a puzzle,” Miles said. “One of those 5,000-piece jobs, but there are pieces missing. A snow crab fishing boat disappeared a few weeks ago, and they think this guy might’ve been one of the men on board. They’re hoping she can figure out when he died and why. It might give them a lead on where the boat went down.”
“What’s she got?”
“She’s right here. Why don’t you talk to her? Get it straight from the horse’s mouth, so to speak.”
“Did you just call me a horse?” Cassie’s annoyed voice came over the phone even though she wasn’t speaking directly into it. Miles’s answer was muffled. He must’ve covered the mouthpiece.
“Hello, Julie. How are you?” Cassie said, moments later.
“I’m fine,” she answered, which was a lie. “Probably better than Miles will be when you get off the phone.” She chuckled.
“Yeah, he’s got some ’splaining to do,” Cassie answered in a Spanish accent.
“I’ll bet he does. Now, since this is your dime, Miles tells me you’ve got a puzzle.”
“I do. You know, this guy is like those damn math problems Mr. Howard used to give us—the ones without any easy solution. Despite the fact I’ve only got his top half, there’s a surprising amount of flesh on him. Man, this guy must’ve been cut. His muscle tone was excellent. I’ve gone over the body a dozen times, and I can’t figure it out. All signs point to a massive cytokine cascade. The problem is, I can’t find any evidence of what might’ve caused it. It makes no sense.”
A cytokine cascade, also called a cytokine storm or hypercytokinemia, was the body’s adverse reaction to an unknown pathogen. The healthier the host, the higher the danger of a feedback loop between the cytokines and the white blood cells. Put simply, the body overreacted to the disease. Julie swallowed the fear threatening to choke her. Cytokine cascades were common reactions to both of the missing viruses.
“Did you do an antibody test?”
“I did, and while the cytokine damage was obvious, there was no sign of a virus. I know those things become inert when they run out
of live cells to infect, but I’ve never seen them vanish so easily or quickly. I did a viral antigen detection test, too, with the same results. It might be there, but it’s so badly decayed, I can’t recognize it. I tried to do a viral culture, but since I can’t find the damn virus…”
“How can I get there?” Julie asked, unable to keep the concern out of her voice.
“You think it’s serious?”
“It could be. It’s definitely puzzling, and I could use a change of pace.”
“That’s great. You know, Miles was sure this would pique your interest. He’s already spoken to the Coast Guard commander. If you can get to Seattle, they’ll bring you the rest of the way. Pack your woolies. I know it’s only the first week of October, but it can get cold up here.”
“I will, and Cassie, isolate that body until I arrive.”
“Already done. I figured if the orcas and sharks didn’t finish him off, he had to have left a bad taste in their mouths, so I initiated all security protocols when I examined him, but I’m not sure he was bitten in the first place. I had the ship sanitized, and the men who found him are all in isolation. It’s been seventy-two hours, and so far they’re bitchy and annoyed, but not showing any signs of illness.”
“Keep them there until I arrive. The chances are they won’t get sick, but some viruses have longer incubation periods than others. It’s better to be safe than sorry.”
“But none of the blood tests showed any pathogens present, so this could be a short-lived one.”
“And that could be a problem in itself, especially if it spawns cytokine cascades. Just keep them isolated for now.”
“Will do. The word’s gone out to be on the lookout for dead whales, fish, and birds, just in case, but so far there’s been nothing. When can you get here?”
“I’m due some vacation time. I’ll let my boss know and get the first flight out tomorrow. I was thinking of a holiday with heat, but being with friends will be twice as nice.”
“That’s great. As soon as you have your flight time, call me at this number.”
Julie wrote down the information. “Will do. See you tomorrow.”
Hopefully, Cassie was wrong, but if she wasn’t, this could be the beginning of a nightmare.
Julie hung up the phone and pulled her laptop computer toward her. She hadn’t used the device in weeks, not since she’d set aside her work on HPAI, highly pathogenic avian influenza, doing a little bioengineering of her own, trying to figure out what whoever had taken those samples had been up to.
Opening the computer, she pressed the power button and closed her eyes while it booted up and went through its usual virus-scanning sequence. She rubbed the bridge of her nose. Most people didn’t understand exactly what viruses were. Even the scientific community was split on whether or not they were living organisms. One thing was agreed upon, though. Viruses infected healthy living cells, changing them, and rarely was this a good thing. Some worked for only a few days or weeks; others were lifelong, resulting in chronic suffering or death.
As soon as her computer was ready, she connected to the internal server and sent her vacation request to the acting director, citing exhaustion and poor health as the reasons she wanted time off, not specifying the length of time she intended to be away.
Picking up the phone once more, she called the airport to see when she could get a flight. The best one left Atlanta at 8:10 a.m. and arrived in Seattle at 10:30 a.m. If the Coast Guard could meet her flight, she’d be in Alaska by noon. She booked the ticket and then called Cassie once more.
After completing the second call, she flipped on the desk lamp and reached for the locket she always wore, removing a small brass key from it. She was about to unlock the bottom drawer, where she’d left her notes when Ellie had died, but stopped. Bathed in the light shed by the desk lamp, the faint imprint of finger and handprints showed in the dust. Someone had searched her office, not recently, but at some point between the time Ellie had died and maybe the last two weeks. The prints were covered in dust, but the dust was lighter over them than over the rest of the mahogany. No doubt, the culprit expected her office to be cleaned daily.
Her heartbeat thundered in her ears. Was she right? Had someone been following her? Had the person who’d searched this office rooted around in Ellie’s, too? She wouldn’t be able to tell, since she and her cousin had very different ways of keeping things organized. Julie hadn’t been able to get up the nerve to completely clean out Ellie’s desk. Emptying her loft had been hard enough. She’d taken the files she needed to complete Ellie’s research and left them in the in-basket where anyone could look at them.
She swallowed awkwardly, terror eating at her once more. Instead of unlocking the drawer, she opened the others. Since she was a neat freak, it didn’t take long to verify someone had rifled through her desk.
Getting down on her knees in front of the bottom drawer, she noticed the small marks, probably made by a letter opener, where someone had jimmied the drawer open. Since there didn’t appear to be any work-related material in it, whoever had searched her desk might not have found what she was certain they were looking for. She wasn’t hallucinating. The people following her were real, and she was in danger.
Blowing on her hands, trying to calm herself, she opened the drawer wider, pushed aside the pair of flats and the extra package of tights she kept in there, and removed the midsized cosmetic bag. She emptied the contents, which included an extra asthma inhaler and a tube of lipstick. Opening the lipstick, she breathed a sigh of relief when she flipped the false wax piece out of the way and revealed the miniature USB drive beneath it. The gadget had been a stocking stuffer from Trevor, given to her the only Christmas they’d been together. The little spy toy had been the perfect place to keep her notes when she’d decided to do a little work off the books.
Slipping the flash drive into the port, she called up the chart she’d made weeks ago, the one citing the similarities and differences between the two pathogens. The Spanish Flu of 1918 was the first major pandemic for the H1N1 virus. An estimated 5 percent of the world’s population at the time—fifty to 100 million people—died because of it. While some of the victims might have succumbed to aspirin poisoning, a problem caused by misuse of what was then a new drug, cytokine storms were believed responsible for the majority of the deaths. It was the same in 2009 for the H1N1 swine flu, and the H5N1 bird flu, although the numbers hadn’t been as extreme. With better health care and sanitation, the pandemics had been controlled, but healthy men, women, and children had died because their own immune systems had killed them. Cassie had said this man had probably been in great shape.
So how the hell does someone undergo a cytokine cascade without a pathogen present?
In every case Julie had come across, there had been enough of the virus in the cell tissue to identify it. Why not this time?
She erased the files from her computer, shut down the system, and packed it into its case before slipping the USB drive back into the lipstick tube and dropping it and the asthma pump into her skirt pocket, returning the other items to the cosmetic bag in the drawer. Using half a dozen tissues from the box on her credenza, she dusted the top of the desk, stuffing the dirty tissues in her pocket, ensuring no one would see her prints or anyone else’s. After dousing the light, she cracked open the door to make sure the corridor was empty. With trembling hands, she locked the door and walked quickly along the hallway to Ellie’s office, the one she’d been using these last months.
Once inside, she closed the door and leaned against it, trying to tamp down her terror and slow her breathing. Someone had searched her office. Were they monitoring her calls? Miles had called the private number directly, the one she hadn’t used since the accident. It dawned on her that, had he not reached her there, he wouldn’t have reached her at all. She’d changed carriers and numbers about a year ago. Since he hadn’t gone through the switchboard, there’d be no log of it, just as her own call to the airport shouldn’t be rec
orded anywhere. But what if it was?
What if whoever had taken the viruses was aware that it had been her and not Ellie who’d discovered their subterfuge? What if Ellie’s death hadn’t been an accident but had been made to look like one? How would she prove something like that? How far up the chain did this conspiracy go? The gag order had come from the president himself. Her chest clenched. There didn’t seem to be enough oxygen in the room.
Julie, stop this, the rational part of her brain screamed. A full-blown asthma attack is the last thing you need. The threat is real. What are you going to do? So far, no one’s come near you in weeks, and they’ve had plenty of chances.
Dropping into her desk chair, she reached for her inhaler, shook it, and took two puffs. Leaning back, she practiced the yoga breathing she’d learned years ago when an asthma attack threatened and she’d been in danger of hyperventilating. Sensing herself relax, she tried to look at the situation logically.
Since she’d used Ellie’s swipe card, unless someone had seen her enter the lab, there was no way they’d know it was her. She’d barely spoken to anyone since the funeral, but her gut warned caution, and if she’d learned anything from her liaison with an FBI agent, it was to listen to her instincts. Other than the usual sympathetic words, no one here had paid any more than cursory attention to her. Even the acting director didn’t ask if her cousin had confided in her. It was a good thing, because face-to-face she was, without a doubt, the world’s worst liar. It dawned on her that, unless the president or one of his advisors had told the acting director about the vials, the person in charge of the CDC probably didn’t have a clue what had happened.
Damn. Talk about drawing a bull’s-eye on my back.
She needed to leave here, get to Alaska, and figure out how that man had died. God help them all if her instincts were right.
And if they weren’t?
Then I need to go home and pull myself together before I go crazy.
The White Iris Page 9
