“Shit!”
Cain slammed his palm into the wall, punching a hole in the plaster. He’d missed them again. His head throbbed. The pressure was building, the pain intense. This was his last chance and he’d blown it. He took a deep breath to regain his composure.
“Get out of here.” His voice was a forced calm. “Search the house for any clues. They can’t be gone long. I’ll get the story from these two.”
He waited a second for Ortman to leave, then turned back to the injured man. He spoke softly, trying to control his anger.
"I don't have time to waste. It looks like my rabbit fucked you up. What I want to know is where did he go and how did he get there. You understand? How long has he been gone?”
“I don’t know, maybe twenty minutes,” he moaned. “I don’t know. You got to get me to a doctor.”
“You’re not getting this, my friend. I need your help and I need precise answers. Where did they go?”
“I don’t know, they just went, man. You got to help me.” There was panic in the man’s voice.
Cain spun around and grabbed Jelly by the front of his shirt. “How ‘bout you, fat boy? Where did they go?”
“I don’t know.”
Cain felt like an overfilled balloon. His head throbbed and his eyes ached from the pressure. The anger and frustration of the hunt had reached a peak. He’d exercised control, he’d maintained discipline for so long. And for what? The rabbit had defeated him—these two morons in the hallway were a reminder of that. He reached down to the ground and picked up the fireplace poker. He gripped it tight, and in one fast move, swung it hard into Jelly’s jaw.
Jelly screamed in pain and tried to stand. But with his arms behind his back and all his weight on his knees, he couldn’t. Cain swung again, downward this time, bringing the poker down hard on the top of the head. Jelly fell to the ground like a bag of rocks.
“Last chance if you want your friend to live!” Cain yelled. “Where the fuck are they?”
The injured man was sobbing. “I don’t know! I just don’t know!”
Cain swung again. The poker came down hard on the top of Jelly’s head and split the skull this time. But Cain didn’t care. He swung again and again. The poker made a squishing sound like a shovel hitting wet cement. After a dozen swings, Cain stopped. Blood splattered the walls. He was breathing hard and his wrists were sore. But the pressure in his head was gone. In a way, he felt better.
He turned back to the injured man, who was now sobbing on the ground.
“Where did they go?” Once again, Cain’s voice was low and in control.
The man didn’t answer. He huddled with his head down like he was trying to disappear. Cain drew out the Glock, swung the barrel over to the man’s forehead, and pulled the trigger. Thwack. The top of the man’s head was reduced to a red mist.
He put the gun back in his holster and took a deep breath. Now he’d done it. He’d crossed over the line. Before, whenever he’d killed a man, it had always been controlled and thought out. Necessary operations carried out with strict discipline. And always under mandate from the colonel. These were different. These just made a messy situation messier.
Cain stepped over the bodies and made his way down the hallway and up the stairs in search of his men. A thought occurred to him. After this fiasco, he was as good as finished at the Installation. Maybe he should make the best of a bad deal. There were only three men with him—it would be easy enough to take out the three of them—they were no match for him. Then he could disappear. A man of his skills could do well. There were other organizations that would pay highly for his services. He gripped the butt of the gun as he walked up the stairs.
He found Ortman and the blonde sergeant in a room across the landing at the top of the stairs. They looked at him nervously as he moved into the room. Cain stroked the gun’s handle.
“Um, uh, Captain? I think we found something,” Ortman said.
Cain hesitated, “What?”
“It’s right here on the computer.” He jumped aside to let Cain see the screen.
Cain quickly read the words on the monitor. He let go of the gun as he smiled.
“They’re goin’ to Washington.”
21
It was dark when they pulled off the road. After driving the back roads through Ohio and Pennsylvania all day, they were exhausted and needed a place to sleep. They were in deep hilly country, miles from the nearest town. Ramon turned off on a dirt road. It looked like an old access road, maybe something used by hunters, but it was overgrown and didn't look like it got much use.
Ramon drove in further and stopped the car under a grove of trees. They were hidden from the road here, virtually invisible. He shut off the engine and they sat still with the windows open, listening. It was quiet; the only sound the hum of the cicadas in the distance.
"We can stay her for a while," he said. "We'll go before it's light."
Lena nodded.
They got out of the car and walked to a clearing. The grass was lush and long. They had to step high to get through it. A slight chill was in the air. Lena crossed her arms and hugged herself to stay warm. They found an area where the grass was flattened down by the wind. Without talking, they lay down, lying close to share their warmth.
For a long time, they lay together, so close he could feel her breath on his skin. It felt so normal, though. After all they'd been through, they had a connection. He couldn't imagine what his life would be like without her. After a while, Lena's breath became slow and steady. Ramon thought she might have fallen asleep. He turned to look at her and was surprised to see her eyes were wide open. She smiled.
"I thought you were asleep," he said.
"No." She raised herself up on an elbow. "Do you think we'll get out of this?"
Ramon thought for a moment. "I don't know. I'm not sure how we've made it this far."
They were silent again for a time. The air was still. A lone cricket chirped nearby. Ramon relaxed and looked up at the sky. It was awash with stars, faint pinpricks of white splattered against the darkness. It reminded Ramon of his boyhood in Texas, far from the lights of the city. Looking at the heavens, feeling the calm, it was hard to imagine they were hunted. Staring at the stars, their troubles seemed far away.
Lena moved closer beside him. "What will you do if we make it out of this?"
"I don't know. I can't even think about it. I just want to be free, somehow." He looked into her eyes. He felt her warmth and he longed for her but felt overcome with regret too. "Look, I'm sorry. I'm sorry I got you into this."
Lena shook her head. "Shhhh. Don't."
Ramon reached over and softly touched her face and ran his fingers down her neck. She sighed, reached out, and touched him back. The simple contact sent an electric buzz up his spine. Her eyes were bright and clear. Her soft hair glistened in the pale light. Her lips parted slightly and then his mouth closed over hers. The kiss started gently but quickly built in intensity. Their tongues met and he tasted her. Their hands flew over each other, groping under the clothes in the urgency to touch skin. It was as if all they had been through together had brought them to this moment, this affirmation of life, of sharing something other than danger. Ramon slid his hands under her blouse, feeling her smooth skin, and cupped her breast in his hand.
"I've wanted you for so long," he said.
"I know," she replied.
She pulled at his clothes, and he unbuttoned her blouse and slid her skirt down past her hips. Her soft skin yielding to his touch, he kissed her neck, her ears, her lips. He slid his hand down between her legs and she moaned. He breathed in her scent and it felt so right. She pulled him toward her, and then he was inside her. Together, they moved in rhythm, fast and hard with a savage intensity.
When it was over, he held her tight as their breathing fell into a perfectly synchronized pattern.
The sky was overcast and gray as they drove into town. Lena thought of how different this was from the last time she’d been in Washing
ton. It was just weeks ago, but the situation was so different then. She’d been about to start a new phase in her life, as the Capitol correspondent for the Austin Star. That was going to be the springboard to her career, taking her away from local news and putting her on the national scene. As she came off the plane that day, the sky was a clear, optimistic blue, the sun dazzling in its intensity. The day was as bright as her prospects. So much had changed since then.
She looked away from the window and fought back a yawn as the fatigue began to overwhelm her. After leaving Philip’s, they knew they had to go to Washington. It was the only real option. Washington was the source of power. If anyone could help them, this was the place. Besides, that was where the missing files were. There was some connection between Colonel Pope and the restricted file. If they could find it, then they would find the answer to the puzzle and maybe a way out of their trouble.
They’d been extra careful on their way to Washington. Driving the back roads and secondary routes, it took them two full days to get there. Lena was tired and hungry. The thought of a soft bed with fresh clean sheets was an appealing fantasy. But the despair she felt was now gone. She was just glad she wasn’t alone.
Ramon, sensing her thoughts, glanced over. “Everything okay?”
She smiled. “Yeah. I’m fine.”
He reached across and took hold of her hand. She gave a soft squeeze and held on as he turned his attention back to driving.
She looked down to the file folder on her lap. The long drive gave her a chance to continue the investigation. She’d read through the files that Philip took from the computer tape. The file was huge. Printed out it was a great mass of paper now separated into piles on the floor and in the back seat. A lot of what she guessed was now confirmed. It was clear the primary objective of the Installation was the development of vaccines. There were vaccines listed for a number of the more common BW agents.
And her guess about a super toxin was also right. It appeared the Installation had come upon a microbe, an agent that went beyond any other for use in germ warfare. The virus was code named CX471, and their tests showed a kill rate of almost 99%. It was for this toxin that they’d been trying to develop a vaccine over the last three years. The records clearly showed several hundred subjects had died, been murdered, in the vaccine’s testing and development. This was the same vaccine that had finally worked in Ramon.
But what was their plan? Why was it so important to have a vaccine for this virus? Were they developing this as a weapon of last resort? Something that would be put on the shelf and never used? Or were they really planning on using this toxin in battle conditions? If it was as deadly and communicable in the field as it was in the lab, they were truly playing with fire.
There was something else in the files that didn’t make sense. It was under the code name Phoenix. The section was over a hundred pages, set in small type. It was a list—several lists, really. Each one was headed by a city or location name, then a series of people’s names and addresses were listed below. For each name, there were a number of columns: occupation, age, health status, and IQ were all noted. Between all the lists, Lena estimated there were several thousand people accounted for. It didn’t make sense. There was no pattern here. What did these people have to do with Pope and the Installation? These were civilians—doctors, farmers, artists, technicians. Seemingly normal people. She saw nothing that tied them into the plot. Another question without an answer.
Lena shifted in her seat. The car radio was tuned to an oldies station. An old Motown song came on. Lena turned the volume up and nodded along with the rhythm. The familiar sounds lifted her spirits. They’d come so far. It seemed that they should be close to the answer, but the full story still eluded her. They rounded a corner and the city came into view. Up ahead, the Washington Monument rose up white and tall against the dirty gray sky.
Ramon looked over again. “We’re here. What do we do now?”
Lena thought for a moment before answering, “We need to find the archives.”
The song on the radio ended and the fanfare for the news came on.
“This just in,” the voice of the announcer spoke with a sense of urgency. “Two bodies were discovered today at a house in the suburbs of Milwaukee, Wisconsin. Authorities have identified the victims as Frank Abalone, age 26, and George Schmucker, 25. The men were brutally murdered. Investigators at the scene state there is evidence linking these killings to two Texas fugitives, suspected serial killer Hector Ramerez and his companion Lena Dryer…”
It was happening again.
Major Durmo stood outside the room, watching through a thick glass window as the technicians went about their work. The room on the third floor down was a pure pristine white, so bright it hurt the eyes. The technicians on this level all wore breathing apparatus and white Good Humor suits that blended in with their surroundings. The work here was physically easy but emotionally stressful. The lack of fresh air, repetitive work, and the monotony of the environment all took a toll. Requests for reassignment were more frequent here than anywhere else in the Johnson Installation.
Inside the room, four technicians were positioned at stainless steel tables. Each was working at a different piece of machinery. Durmo squinted, trying to see through the glare from the window. He studied each worker. He’d been told that Dr. Peterson, the project’s director, would be in the room today. But in their white coats and masks, the workers all looked alike. Durmo couldn’t tell one from another. He rapped his knuckles on the thick glass, trying to get their attention. No one looked up.
Durmo tugged on his ear and breathed out sharply. His stomach had been bothering him all day, it was churning now. He wasn’t sure if it was from something he ate or if it was his nerves. He’d been feeling more pressured lately. His plan was to take the day off and just relax, but this was too important to put off.
He rapped on the window again. This time, one of the technicians glanced up, made eye contact, but then went right back to his work. Durmo sighed. About half of the technicians were civilians, and sometimes he wasn’t shown the respect he deserved. Durmo looked around again and noticed an intercom panel between the window and the door to the room. He didn’t know how he had missed it before.
Durmo pressed the red button.
“Hello, hello, can you hear me?” There was no response, so he did it again. “Hello, can you hear me? Is Dr. Peterson in there?”
The technician who had looked over before, now turned around and pushed the inside intercom button. “What is it now, Major?” There was irritation in his voice.
“I’m sorry to bother you, doctor, but I was wondering how it was coming along.”
The doctor adjusted his cap. “You already asked me that once this morning. Do you really think it’s changed since then?”
“Well, no. I’m sure it hasn’t. And I am sorry to bother you, doctor, but I’m getting a lot of pressure from the colonel, and I was hoping you could get me some good news.”
The doctor stood for a moment, thinking. “Hold on a minute, Major. I’ll come out there.”
It took nearly five minutes for the doctor to come out. When he did, his facemask and hat were off and he smelled of fresh disinfectant. He came right to the point.
“You can tell the colonel that we’re on schedule. We’ll be finished packing the vaccine by tomorrow. Over half of it has already been shipped. We’re finishing the load for upstate New York now.”
Durmo smiled weakly. “Well, good. That means we’ll be done soon.”
“The toxin’s going to take longer. We’ve been growing the extra units and we’ll have enough there. But packaging the aerosols is tricky. I have a crew setting up a new safety procedure before we even start. That will take another week before we’re ready to run.”
“Another week?”
“Yes. But once that’s set up, we should finish quickly. I think we can finish everything in about ten days.”
“Well, good. I’m sure the colonel wil
l be pleased,” Durmo said, but now he really felt sick.
The archives were located in the basement of a federal office building down the street from the Capitol. Lena went inside the building while Ramon parked nearby and waited. Using a scarf and her makeup kit, she did her best to change her appearance. A quick glance at her reflection convinced her she looked older and more world weary than her usual self. She would pass a casual inspection. But if someone was looking for her, it would be all over. Was that possible? Could someone know where they were?
Lena took the elevator down to the basement and crossed the hallway to the archives. Her stomach was doing back flips. She felt naked and exposed as she entered the room. She tried to empty her mind, forget about the fear, the guilt, and the anger. She needed to focus on what she had to do.
The archives were kept in a large room cordoned off into two sections separated by a long counter. The section closest to the door had ropes in place to direct the line up to the counter. No one was waiting. To the side, taking up the most space, was an open area with tables scattered throughout. Behind the counter were row upon row of grey metal cabinets. The walls of the room were painted an industrial shade of green. The color was different, but for some reason, it reminded Lena of the prison down in Huntsville. A handful of people were at the tables. No one even looked up. Behind the counter, several employees stood back by themselves talking. One clerk leaned against the counter. Lena walked over to him.
“I’d like to see file…”
“You’ve got to fill out a request,” the clerk interrupted. He motioned down at a form on the counter.
“Oh… sure.” Lena picked up a pen and quickly filled out the form. She wrote down the file number, but in the section asking for her name, she wrote down Susan B. Anthony.
The clerk glanced down at the form. “I’ll be back in a minute.”
Lena glanced around the room nervously while she waited for him to come back. It took close to five minutes, but he returned with a small box.
Living Proof Page 26
