by Radclyffe
"Walter Reed," Valerie announced,
"Let's go," Felicia said, starting toward the street.
"Wait a minute," Cam instructed. Both women looked at her in surprise as she removed her radio and clicked to a secure frequency. After a few seconds, she said, "This is Roberts. Are you in the loft? Okay, describe for me the location of the paintings.. .In what?.. .Which crate?.. .Okay, thanks."
She disconnected and turned to her team members. "The HAZMAT officer says the paintings came out of one of the crates labeled 9/6. That's the date of Blair's last show."
"Do you think the toxin was planted at the gallery opening?" Felicia asked, her face creased with concern.
"It's possible. Foster was there," Cam said grimly. "And the crates with the paintings that were sold that night are still there now, waiting to be inventoried and shipped."
"Oh my God," Valerie murmured. "Diane."
Felicia looked at her watch. "It's almost eleven. They'll be opening right about now."
Galvanized, Cam pointed to Blair's building. "Valerie, find Landers and have her dispatch another team to Diane's gallery. Felicia and I will head over there-—"
"No," Valerie said sharply. "I'm coming with you."
"Fine," Cam said, knowing there was no time to waste and that she would not be able to dissuade Valerie in any case. "Felicia, brief Landers."
"Got it, Commander."
*
The five-minute walk to where Cam had left her vehicle seemed to take an hour as they pushed and squeezed their way through the dense crowd. Once they were on their way, traffic forced Cam to drive at five miles an hour even when they were several blocks beyond the cordoned-off area.
"God," Valerie groaned, "I could walk there faster than this."
"It's unlikely that anyone will disturb those paintings," Cam observed, threading her car between two yellow cabs and earning irate oaths from both cabbies.
"Those bastards."
Cam glanced at Valerie, fairly certain that she hadn't meant the cab drivers. She could never remember hearing Valerie raise her voice before, let alone curse. She wondered if it was something more personal than the attacks earlier in the week that provoked her response. "Was Diane part of the plan?"
"God, no," Valerie answered quietly.
"But it wasn't an accident you were at the gallery opening." Cam glanced at her watch. It had only been eighteen minutes since they'd left Blair's building, but it felt like eighteen hours. And nothing she could do would get them to Diane's any faster. She doubted that even Landers's team could get there quickly, considering the state of traffic. "Did they tell you to establish a relationship with Blair's best friend?"
"Our orders are never as direct as that, and we often only get a clear picture of the greater plan after the operation has begun. Sometimes, not even then." Valerie stared ahead into the clogged Manhattan streets, her thoughts turned inward. "No. I was just as surprised as you were when I got the call to show up there."
"You hid it well."
"That's my job, don't forget," Valerie said in a slightly mocking tone.
"Are you really an art dealer?"
"As a matter of fact, I am."
Much to Cam's surprise, she realized that her initial resentment at discovering she had been the victim of an elaborate deception had turned now to a curious form of respect. Valerie was, very much like Cam, bound by duty. Both answered the call without question, often at significant cost to themselves and those who loved them. It was difficult for Cam to remain angry when she herself carried much of the same guilt.
"When did they recruit you?"
Valerie smiled softly at Cam. "Even sooner than you. I was a senior in high school."
"Jesus."
"I was bright and idealistic, and I came from a long line of patriots. Both my parents were career Navy."
"Do they know?"
She shook her head sadly. "No. And my father died thinking that I had tossed over the guiding principles they had taught me in favor of an extravagant lifestyle."
"I'm sorry," Cam said, meaning it.
"Well, I could have taken a more traditional route, but," she shrugged and laughed, "there was something about the secrecy that appealed to me."
"No regrets?"
A beat of silence passed, then Valerie answered quietly, "Only one."
"If it makes a difference," Cam said, "I understand."
"That means more than you'll ever know."
Cam finally turned onto the street where Diane's gallery was located, swerved into an illegal parking place in front of a fire hydrant, and cut the engine. As they hurried up the street, she said, "I want you to get Diane and the rest of the employees out of the gallery. If they haven't moved the paintings, there is no reason at this point to believe any of them have been contaminated. You take Diane home while I wait for Landers's team to show up and secure the space."
"She might be more cooperative if you—"
"Someone needs to stay in Manhattan. We need the intelligence on what happened at Blair's. And we need to know if there's anything at the gallery. I'm leaving as soon as I can for Walter Reed."
"Then Felicia or Savard—"
Cam shook her head as she reached the front door to Diane's gallery. "No. I need them working on the attack on the Aerie. You're going to take the lead on the bioweapons end of things, at least until we find out where it's going."
Valerie had no further chance to argue, because as they stepped into the spacious gallery, which was divided at irregular intervals by half walls covered with paintings, Diane rose from behind a pedestal desk, a pen in one hand and a shocked expression on her face.
"Valerie?"
Cam hurried toward the back of the building where Diane stored artwork in a climate-controlled annex, while Valerie approached Diane.
"Are you here alone?" Valerie asked.
"What?" Diane shook her head, confused. "Why are you here? I don't understand what you're doing."
"I'll explain as soon as I can. I promise." Valerie took Diane's hand and held it gently. "Has anyone been here this morning? Employees or clients?"
"No. I.. .I don't officially open until noon today. I was just doing the books."
"What about earlier in the week?"
Again Diane indicated no. "I've been closed since the show."
"No one's been in since then?" Valerie leaned over the desk, her palms flat on the surface. "You're sure?"
"Yes, I'm certain. What's going on?"
Cam walked back into the room. "Looks to be all clear. The crates are there, and they all appear to be intact. If there's anything inside, it hasn't been disturbed."
"Good," Valerie said.
Cam's phone rang and she pulled it from her belt. "Roberts.. .All right, go ahead." As she listened, her jaw tightened. "I'm on my way there now. No, I need you with Felicia..." She stopped and took a long breath. "All right. I'll see you there." She closed the connection and looked at Valerie. "You and Felicia will stay here and work the computers and any sources you can. There was a similar incident yesterday in New Jersey."
"Was that Savard?" Valerie asked.
"Yes. She's heading to DC too."
"Of course she is."
Diane, still holding Valerie's hand, pulled on her arm sharply. "Will one of you please tell me what is going on here? Has something happened to Blair?"
Valerie squeezed her hand and then let go. "There's been an incident at Blair's." At Diane's quick gasp, she hastened to add, "She's not hurt. I'll explain after I take you home."
"And if I don't want to go home?" Diane looked from Cam to Valerie. "Do I have a choice in the matter?"
"I'm sorry, no," Valerie answered.
"I didn't think so." Diane turned stiffly away and gathered her purse and jacket. She crossed the gallery and walked outside without looking at either of the agents.
"Well," Valerie said quietly. "I'll see that she gets home."
"Stay there until I call you."
; "Yes. Please let me know how Blair is doing."
Cam heard sirens approaching and felt some of the tightness in her chest ease. At that moment, she wasn't interested in national security or bioterrorism. All she wanted was to see Blair. And this time, no one was going to stop her.
Chapter Eighteen
T he hallways were brightly lit, eerily quiet, and totally empty. Captain Andrews led the way with Demetri following closely behind Blair and Stark, who walked side by side in silence. The rooms lining either side of the passageway were closed, their windowless doors un-numbered. The air carried a faint antiseptic smell. After a twenty-five minute ride to a small airstrip in Queens and another two hours in a helicopter, they'd landed on the rooftop of a building in the sprawling complex that housed Walter Reed Army Hospital. Blair didn't recognize their location and suspected it was a research wing, given the nature of their situation. She'd considered asking, and then realized that in all likelihood she wouldn't get an answer. The whine of the helicopter rotors had precluded any real conversation, even with the White House, other than a terse update and ETA in DC relayed via Grau to, Blair presumed, Lucinda. Now, however, she was besieged by a deep sense of unease. She had a terrible feeling that if she stepped behind one of those closed doors, she might never emerge. She made the one request she didn't think they'd be able to refuse.
"I want to talk to my father."
Beside her, Stark muttered amen under her breath.
Captain Andrews continued her brisk stride forward. "The president is fully aware of your location, Ms. Powell. As soon as we complete our tests, you'll be free to call him. We'll bring a phone to your room."
"My room?" Blair stopped abruptly, aware of Captain Demetri's breath on the back of her neck. "My room, as in I'm staying here?"
"Temporarily, yes." Captain Andrews turned to face them, her expression serious, but also sympathetic. "Until we have the results of our cultures and other analyses, it's best to keep you under observation."
"Observation." Blair glanced at Stark, who looked grim. "Do I look like I've suddenly lost my ability to reason, Agent Stark?"
Stark's eyes brightened, and her mask moved as if she were silently laughing. "No, ma'am. You look fine to me."
"I actually feel fine too," Blair observed musingly. She pointed at Captain Andrews. "For some reason, you seem to think that I'm incapable of appreciating what's going on here. I understand that for security reasons you didn't want me talking to my father earlier, but you and I will get along a lot better if you start giving me the facts right now. I don't even require complete sentences."
"My apologies, Ms. Powell," Captain Andrews said smoothly, giving no hint of annoyance. "It's just that I have other priorities right now. I'll be happy to explain as soon as we have you in an isolation room and have completed our tests."
Blair ignored the rush of apprehension at the term isolation room. She wanted information and couldn't allow herself to be sidetracked by fear. "Now that's more like it. What kind of tests?"
"I'll explain while we walk." The Army medical doctor turned and started off, and when Blair and Stark followed, she said over her shoulder, "Skin, blood, sputum, and urine cultures. Blood chemistries and cell counts. Baseline chest x-ray. Electrocardiogram. A complete physical examination."
"You think we're going to get sick, don't you?"
"I don't know," Captain Andrews said. "It's possible that the substance in your apartment was completely harmless. But until we know, we're going to treat you aggressively."
They filed into a large room, and Blair noted several windows set into an interior wall behind partially closed curtains. She pointed. "That looks an awfully lot like an observation window."
"It is," Captain Andrews replied. "The nurses' station is just on the other side. The glass allows them to check on you without actually entering the room."
Blair shivered, although the room was warm. Two hospital beds stood side by side with matching institutional bedside dressers between them. A television was mounted on a metal bracket in the upper corner of the room opposite the beds. A bathroom was visible through an open door in one corner. There were no outside windows. The walls were completely bare. Royal blue surgical scrubs in plastic bags were laid out on each bed. "How do we communicate?"
"There's a two-way intercom just above your bed and one by the windows."
"Do those windows open?"
"No."
"Wonderful," Blair muttered. The lightweight EP suit she'd been provided outside her building zipped up the front and covered her from toe to neck. It was unexpectedly durable, but she still felt as if she were practically naked. She pointed to the clothes. "Can we change?"
"Yes. Once you have, I'll examine you both, draw your blood, instruct you in how to provide the other specimens, and then we'll see about your phone calls." Captain Andrews indicated the beds. "For now, why don't you just make yourselves comfortable there, and I'll be back as soon as I collect the necessary specimen containers."
As soon as the doctor left the room, Blair turned to Stark. "Do we have a choice here?"
Stark shook her head. "No."
"What do they think it is?"
"I don't know, I—".
"Bullshit," Blair said mildly. "I know you know, because Cam would know. And now, you're Cam."
Stark turned her back to open the plastic bags of clothing, knowing that if Blair continued to study her face, she'd discern the truth. "I haven't heard anything about something like this—"
"Paula," Blair said knowingly, "lying won't work. You're way too obvious. Now tell me what you know."
"I'm not sure—"
"Just tell me what you heard. God damn it, don't leave me in the dark."
With a sigh, Stark dropped onto the side of one bed and unzipped her white coveralls, surprising Blair with her apparent unconcern for her nudity. Blair looked away, sensing that Stark was far more upset than she let on and would be embarrassed later. "What is it, Paula?" Blair questioned gently. "You can tell me. I'll be fine."
Stark pulled the scrub shirt over her head and sighed. "Every morning we get a copy of the Central Intelligence Report—that's the joint release from the CIA and FBI. Yesterday an envelope filled with white powder was delivered to a federal building in New Jersey. They suspect it might be anthrax."
Blair sat slowly on the bed, watching Stark's face carefully "Anthrax. Jesus. Do you think that's what that stuff was in my apartment?"
Stark squeezed her hands between her knees and shook her head. "I don't know. I think that's what these people think, though."
"What do the reports say about it? Just how dangerous is it?"
"It didn't go into detail. It's treatable, they said." Seventy percent mortality rate, they said. Stark indicated the clothing on the bed. "You should change before they come back. It feels better to have real clothes on."
"Yeah. Okay" Swiftly rising, Blair unzipped in the same motion and stepped free of the synthetic coveralls to stand nude by her bed. She ripped open the plastic bags and stepped into the surgical scrub bottoms and then pulled on the top. Barefoot, she stretched out on the bed to wait. If it was what they suspected, things were going to be bad. Very bad. "Paula?"
"Yeah?"
"It's not your fault."
Stark said nothing, unable to take solace in the kindness of what she knew to be a lie.
*
"Is Blair really all right?" Diane asked. She sat next to Valerie on the sofa in her living room where they had sat together barely a day before, but she felt now as if she were sitting beside a stranger. And of course, she was.
"Yes." Valerie swirled the white wine that Diane had poured for her when they'd both agreed upon arriving back at Diane's that a drink would be welcome. Their cab ride had been silent and awkward, just like the lie that hung in the air between them now. She sipped the wine and broke a cardinal rule. "There was a foreign substance in her apartment. We don't know what it is, and she's most likely been placed in isolat
ion until it can be determined."
Diane's fingers tightened on her glass, and she had to consciously force herself to relax her grip. "Like a poison?"
"That's unlikely, since she and the two agents with her appeared to be fine several hours after they were exposed. It's more apt to be an infectious agent of some kind, if it's anything."
"A.. .biological weapon?"
Valerie angled her body to look directly into Diane's face. "Possibly."
"Are you supposed to be telling me this?"
Valerie smiled wryly. "No."
"Right. Well." Diane held Valerie's gaze. "Who are you, Valerie?"
"I work for the government."
"Like Cam?"
"Something like that, yes."
"Is your name really Valerie?"
Valerie nodded.
"Did you come here to seduce me?"
"No. I came here to gather information. That's what I do." She leaned toward Diane, but did not touch her. "I didn't want to seduce you until after I'd been in the gallery for almost five minutes."
A smile played across Diane's mouth. "Oh, that was very smooth."
"And very true," Valerie said quietly. She put her glass down on the coffee table and took Diane's hand, ridiculously grateful when Diane did not pull away. "It wasn't my intention to lie to you. I didn't come here to use you."
"But you would have, if it would' ve gotten you what you needed, right?" Diane asked with an edge in her voice.
Valerie hesitated, then sighed. "Yes. If I'd had to, I would have."
"Do you also have sex with women to get what you want?" Diane stared at Valerie, demanding an answer, and saw the truth in her eyes. "My God. You do. Jesus."
Abruptly, Diane pulled her hand away and stood. She walked rapidly to the far side of the room and stood looking out through the glass doors, her arms wrapped tightly around her midsection. With her back to Valerie, she said, "How can they ask that of you?"
It wasn't the response that Valerie had expected. She stood, but was afraid to approach. She wanted to touch her, just enough so that she wouldn't feel the ache of loneliness that she'd carried with her since she'd left the apartment the morning before. "It's not so much different than expecting soldiers to put their lives on the line in battle. Everyone risks something."
