by Vicki Hinze
Carl and Sissy Blake.
Where in the world had the three of them been to run into red clay?
“That’s it, Grayson. I’m going over your head. You have no right to usurp my authority here. I’ve got nearly fifty Covers in the hospital with EEE. We need that spray.”
“Go to anyone you like, Mayor.” Max squared off on him. “I issued the order to preserve the health and safety of Covers. It stands.”
Faulkner stared hard at Max, the veins in his neck raised like snakes crawling just beneath his skin. “Who exactly is your immediate supervisor?”
Max crossed his arms over his chest and lowered his voice to just above a whisper. “That would be Sybil Stone, the Vice President of the United States, sir.”
The wind collapsed from Faulkner’s sails. Clearly, it had dawned on him that far more was going on here than he realized. “You’ve got some explaining to do, Grayson. A lot of it.”
“In due time.” Max stood his ground. “I suggest you evacuate, Mayor. This park is in Area Three, and Area Three is contaminated.”
Gabby watched Faulkner’s face pale. But Carl Blake’s reaction was far more interesting. He turned red. Almost blue red. Gabby had never seen him look so angry. Carl was a physically nondescript man with a nondescript personality, but today he was furious. And Sissy had an unusual look to her, too. Rather than her controlled, calm, and serene presence, she looked afraid. Truly terrified.
Max’s cell phone rang. He answered it. “Grayson.”
“It’s Stan, Max. You’d better sit down for this one.”
Following Max’s motioning, Gabby got into the Jeep as Max climbed in the driver’s side. Faulkner, Blake, and Sissy all left together in the mayor’s sedan.
“A volunteer fireman called in. The truck was outfitted with dual tanks. The first tested negative, but the second tested positive. It’s not pesticide, Max. The samples are bloodred.”
“Z-4027,” he whispered to Gabby. “We missed this? Weren’t we testing both tanks?”
“According to the fireman, they’re not normal dual tanks. They aren’t mounted side by side or even vertically. They’re configured with the second tank inside the first.”
“Son of a bitch.” Max hung up, slammed a hand against the steering wheel, and then hooked a sharp left onto Highway 98.
Gabby lost her seat and slid into him. “Hey! Where are you going?”
“Logan Industries.” He shot her a glare. “David Erickson knows a lot more than he’s telling, and he is going to talk to us now.”
“I don’t think—”
“Blake’s trucks have tanks within tanks. They’re spraying Z-4027 selectively, Gabby.”
Mentally reviewing all the details Max had shared, she cringed, and a cold chill swept up her back. “Oh, my God, these heartless pigs honestly are doing trial studies on the public.”
“Which means someone’s black-marketing the Z-4027—”
She held on as he made a right into L.I.’s parking lot, circling the downed oak. “Or gathering the stats they need to market it.”
“It’s deliberate, Gabby. Americans doing this to Americans, and it’s deliberate.”
“I wish I could deny it.” God, did she wish it. “Erickson has to know more.”
“Yes, and he talks by whatever means are necessary.” Max’s jaw went tight. “Agreed?”
“Agreed.” Her stomach didn’t so much as flutter.
He pulled into the slot next to Erickson’s Volvo. “I don’t mean to push, but now would be a great time to remember where you stashed that evidence.”
“I’ve been wracking my mind, Max. I swear I have,” she said, letting him hear her apology in her tone. “I remember everything you’ve told me: all the mission details, the people involved, the goals here—all of it. I just don’t remember any of it on my own.”
“Nothing?”
“Just what you’ve told me.” Right now, personal flashes ranked insignificant and unworthy of mention. Only what impacted the crisis had priority.
He pulled the keys from the ignition. “Are you carrying?”
She smoothed her hair back from her face. “Carrying what?”
“Your gun, Gabby.” Max sighed. “If Erickson is up to his earlobes in this, he isn’t going to be exactly cooperative. He could have been the one to hire the Warriors to assassinate you.”
Her stomach lurched. “No, I’m not carrying.”
Max reached into the Jeep’s glove compartment and pulled out a second gun. “Take this. If you have to use it, don’t think. Just let your instincts take over.”
“You’re sure I know how to use it?” She wasn’t sure of anything herself. The alien feeling of the cold steel in her hand did nothing to reassure her.
“Trust me. You know how to use it. You’re an expert marksman.”
She cast him a blank look.
“A sharpshooter, Gabby,” he clarified. “You’re a sharpshooter.”
That should have reassured her. Instead, her stomach flipped and wound into knots.
“Let’s go chat with Erickson.”
She stuffed the gun into the waistband of her jeans. Oh, please, don’t make me have to use this thing. She left the Jeep. Please.
As she closed the door, she prayed again. But if I have to use it, God, let me be really good at it.
Chapter Thirty-two
Dr. Erickson was sitting at his desk in the lab, staring at a photo of his son, Jeremy, on his desk. His expression was solemn, somber.
When Gabby and Max walked in, Erickson didn’t look up, yet Gabby sensed he was aware of them. “I came to thank you,” she said.
He spared Gabby a glance; foggy and unfocused.
“For my life.” She smiled at him, hoping that she wouldn’t have to touch the gun now warmed by her body. She’d make nice with the devil himself to keep from putting her alleged skills to the test.
“Thank Keith Burke for that.” Erickson said the words, but his voice lacked conviction.
He was a horrible liar—actually, an obvious novice at it—and yet if Gabby hadn’t been watching for a telltale sign, she would have missed the flinch warning her of it. “No, I don’t.”
Their gazes locked.
When it became evident neither would break away, Max interceded. “We know you gave Candace and Gabby vaccine injections, David. We also know Keith Burke’s injections failed. Yours worked.”
He looked a little surprised. Gabby wasn’t sure what to make of that.
“That’s impossible,” he finally said. “Every trial done in the lab falls short. Every one.”
So he had given them injections. “Candace and I lived. So something you did worked, because what Keith had done alone did not. Don’t you have any idea of what it was?”
“No, I don’t.” His tone was blunt, sharp, and full of self-recrimination.
Obviously neither she nor Max would need a gun. Gabby lifted the photo of his son. “Jeremy was an adorable boy, David. Was he always full of mischief?”
“Yes.” Erickson seemed surprised by her observation. “But it was the kind that reminds you life isn’t all serious and critical. Sometimes it’s pure and simple and playful and fun. I loved that about him.”
“I can see why you would,” she said. “Even now his memory reminds you of all those things and all those special moments.” An odd catch in her voice betrayed her; her not having a Jeremy in her life hit too close to home. “That’s such a blessing.”
“Did you ever meet my son, Gabby?”
The wistfulness in his voice tempted her to lie. But she couldn’t. He was too raw and vulnerable. “No, I’m sorry to say I didn’t have that privilege.”
“Then how did you know that about him?”
“It’s in his eyes,” she explained. “Just as profound loss is in yours.” Gabby spoke softly. “I know the looks of grief and loss. And regret.” Boy, did she know regret.
He blinked hard.
Max softened his tone. “David, the
re are over forty people with Z-4027 infections just in Carnel Cove’s hospital. We’ve got three other states now reporting cases.”
“Three?”
“New York just recorded four. Texas and California are the other two. And we’ve got another outbreak in south Florida, in orange grove country,” Max disclosed. “Listen, you did something right. Whatever it was, it helped Candace and Gabby, and if you don’t do something right again, all of those other people are going to die.”
“I wish I could. But even if I knew what I’d done, there was only one vial of test vaccine. I used it on Candace and Gabby.” His Adam’s apple bobbed hard in his throat. “There isn’t any more.” He waved a hand at the destroyed lab. “And I don’t have the facilities to produce any more.”
“We can provide a facility,” Gabby said, and hoped to hell it was true.
“You don’t get it, do you?” Erickson grunted. “You don’t get any of it.”
“Any of what?” Max asked before Gabby could.
Erickson again let his gaze slide to Jeremy’s photo. Resignation turned to resolve in his eyes. “Dr. Swift has shut down my program. There will never be any more vaccine.”
Gabby cut a look at Max who was clearly just as surprised by this news. “Whatever for?”
“A lack of funding.”
“That’s not true,” Max disagreed. “The funding is available under federal grants.”
A cold, hard knot of certainty settled in Gabby’s chest. It infuriated and relieved her. Finally, she was getting a grip on this situation. “Swift has the vaccine now. He doesn’t need David anymore, so he’s cut the program. Swift can develop and market it without David.”
“Marcus Swift is a peon,” David said. “You really don’t understand a thing.”
Frustrated, he stood up and paced, window to sink, cupping a hand to his skull. “Swift isn’t running this show, and the people who are running it obviously don’t want to market the vaccine to the public.” David paused, stared at the ceiling for a long moment, perceptibly debating the wisdom of saying any more.
“David, please,” Gabby urged him. “People are going to die. They’re all someone’s son or wife or daughter or mother. If you can do anything, please!”
“I can’t tell you, don’t you see that?” He glared at Gabby. “Since Jeremy died, finding a cure for EEE has been my life’s work. Something that I did in conjunction with whatever Keith Burke did cured you and Candace. But I won’t know what until I confer with Keith, and if I tell you what I know about this whole situation, that conference will never happen.”
“Why not?” Gabby asked.
“Because I’ll be dead.”
Gabby stepped closer to him. “Who’s going to kill you, David? Dr. Swift?”
“No.” He let out a rush of breath ripe with irritation. “I told you, he’s a peon.”
“David,” Max interceded. “Peon or not, if Marcus Swift and the mysterious ‘they’ who are in control are through with you, you’re a dead man anyway.”
Erickson stilled, blinked hard, and the truth dawned in his eyes. “Yes, I suppose I am.”
“So help us.” Gabby clasped his upper arm. “Please, David. Help us. Who does Swift work for? And who’s manipulating events?”
He sat back down. “The Consortium.”
That disclosure meant nothing to Gabby. She looked to Max, but his nearly indecipherable shrug proved this was a new name to him, too.
“It doesn’t want to market the vaccine publicly. It wants to black-market the superbug and then pick and choose its buyers for the vaccine and the pesticide.” Erickson looked up at them. “The Consortium is playing God, choosing what crops survive and fail and who lives and dies. It’s all about economics. Money and power.”
Which equates to governmental control. The economy going south always took the stability of the government with it. Gabby frowned, certain he was telling the truth. “Who, what, is the Consortium?”
He cocked his head. “You do not know how badly I wish I couldn’t answer that.”
“But you can,” Max prodded, leaning a hip on the edge of Erickson’s desk.
“Yeah.” He rocked back in his desk chair. “At least, part of it. I only know what Marcus Swift has told me about it, which isn’t a lot.”
“Who’s involved?” Gabby asked, trying to get David focused.
“It’s a small group of wealthy businessmen here in the Cove. They make things happen that they want to happen, using whatever means are necessary.”
“The Consortium is located here, in Carnel Cove?” Gabby slid Max a glance and saw in his eyes they were thinking the same thing. Suddenly, Conlee’s having an SDU sleeper cell in Carnel Cove, moving Home Base here, made more than perfect sense.
“That’s my understanding. The Consortium arranged for Candace Burke to buy Logan Industries and Marcus Swift to run it—they made sure no one else qualified applied, so I wasn’t sure if Candace was one of them or not. She’s a financial whiz, no doubt about it.”
“You weren’t sure if she was one of them,” Gabby said. “Does that mean you are now?”
“She can’t be involved. Candace doesn’t know anything about what we do here. It was a good investment and she made it. Then she did what she always does in her business ventures—at least in the ones I’ve researched trying to figure this out. She hires an excellent manager to run operations for her, and a kick-ass compliance auditor like Carl Blake to keep everyone walking the straight and narrow. But until the lab incident, I still wasn’t really sure.” He blinked hard. “She put her life on the line to protect the Covers. That tells me she didn’t cause the problem. You don’t sacrifice your life to prevent infections you’re causing.”
Relieved, Gabby nodded. “Did Candace hire you, then?”
“No. Swift brought me in to develop the vaccine. I’d been working on an EEE vaccine for over a year—ever since Jeremy died.” David let out a self-depreciating laugh. “I was in up to my earlobes before I even knew the Consortium existed. Once you’re in, you can’t get out.”
“Who’s in this Consortium?” Max asked.
“I don’t know. I wish I did. I’d kill the bastard leeches myself. They’ll do anything—I mean anything—for money. But I don’t know exactly who they are.”
Hoping something David said would trigger her memory, Gabby paid close attention, but still she recalled nothing of value and came up dry. Profoundly disappointed, she gave in to sheer frustration and plopped down in a chair across from David’s desk.
“Talk to me about the black-banded canister,” Max said. “The one you and Swift were arguing about when I came into the lab.”
David looked up at Max, the light from his desk lamp streaking the shadows across his face. “It was Z-4027. Access to it was highly restricted, of course.”
Which made Gabby wonder why Home Base hadn’t picked up on the problem. Or maybe it had. Maybe Commander Conlee had been aware of that and that’s why he had activated Max when Gabby had put in the request.
Erickson continued. “I was ready to do some studies on a prototype vaccine. So I pulled a few samples from the canister—all documented, just as they’re supposed to be. But when I tested the vials, there was no Z-4027 present.”
“Someone had switched the bands,” Max said.
David nodded. “That’s what I thought, so I reported it to Marcus Swift.”
“Did he report it to the CDC and DOD?” Max asked.
Gabby scanned a mental list of the acronyms Max had shared with her—Centers for Disease Control and Department of Defense—then continued tracking the conversation.
“No, he didn’t.” Erickson swallowed hard and his gaze slid to his desktop, as if what he next had to say embarrassed and shamed him. “That wasn’t the first time Z-4027 security had been breached, Max.” His eyes looked haunted in his gaunt face. “It was the third.”
“The third?” Gabby reacted before she checked herself. “When were the other two?”
> “The first was in January,” Erickson admitted. “The second, the last day of June.”
“And Marcus Swift refused to report both incidents?” Max asked.
Again, David nodded. “He also ordered me to forget about the breaches. I insisted I was going to the DOD with it. That’s when he told me about the Consortium and that, if I went up the chain of command, they would kill us both.”
Gabby made the connections. The first had been stolen right before Judge Powell’s death; the second, right before the July 4 incidents. She risked a glance at Max and knew he’d connected the dots, too.
“Marcus Swift says the Consortium hires Global Warriors to assassinate anyone who gets in its way. They’re mercenaries. Apparently, very successful ones, or Swift wouldn’t be terrified of them. And he is terrified of them.”
“You saw these Warriors?”
“No. But I found a U.S. flag pin at the base of the canister, when I pulled the vials for the studies. Marcus freaked out when he saw it. I don’t know for fact what it meant, but he knew.” David paused, remembering. “I think that pin was a signal, and that’s why he wouldn’t report the security breaches.”
Gabby sifted through all Max had told her and concluded that David Erickson was right. It had to have been her running tests on Powell’s tissue samples that had the Global Warriors attempting to assassinate her. The timing of the breaches fit perfectly with events. They must have caused Powell’s death, and the New York incident as well as the July 4 “natural outbreaks.” It seemed amazing that a small group of businessmen in Carnel Cove could have such far-reaching impact on the U.S. economy, but after the events of September 11, it didn’t take a genius to know a small group could cause a lot of death and damage. Give them significant resources, and of course they could manipulate the economy.
“I wanted to live to continue my work,” Erickson said simply. “So I forgot about the pin and the canister—until people started dying. Then, I had to do something, so I went to Judge Powell. Everyone in the Cove knew he was a man worth trusting.”
