It was too cruel.
Chapter 16
Joe Connelly returned to the president’s office with the latest news.
“The FBI want to see John Lee’s e-mails,” he announced.
From behind her desk, Yelena looked up without expression. “What a surprise.”
“What do you say? Should we cooperate?” the security chief asked.
“No, Joe. If the feds want Lee’s e-mails, let them get a subpoena.”
Chapter 17
Today was definitely a day to lunch at Michael’s, but not because of the California-sunny decor or the mouthwatering menu. The restaurant was a media hangout, known for the power lunching that went on within its spacious layout.
The KEY to America executive producer and his lunch companion were shown to a table near the front of the room. Linus enjoyed being up front. This way everyone who entered or exited the restaurant had to pass by, nodding acknowledgment or stopping to exchange pleasantries. They had arrived later than usual today, but there still were enough diners willing to pay homage.
“Helluva job with that anthrax story this morning, Linus.”
“Way to go, buddy. That was damn fine television.”
“Congratulations to both of you. You really provided a public service.”
Linus basked in the praise as the salads arrived at the table.
“You see, John? You’re a hero. Maybe these guys didn’t know who you were before, but you’ve made a name for yourself now.”
Lee took a sip from his wineglass. “I’m not feeling like a hero after that meeting with Yelena.”
“Don’t worry about Yelena. She’ll come around when she sees that this was all good for KEY News.”
“I’d feel better if you told her the truth, Linus.”
The executive producer frowned. “Hey, we agreed, didn’t we? I had to veto the plan in front of her at the meeting. If I had gone to Yelena ahead of time and told her what we were going to do, there was no guarantee she would have gone for it. It was good for the show and good for your career, and that’s all we have to concern ourselves with.”
“Still, I wish you would have told her that you knew about everything beforehand.”
If wishes were horses, beggars would ride. The old adage flew through Linus’s mind. No, he was glad everything had played out exactly as he had planned.
Linus speared a piece of blackened chicken with his fork. “Let’s not send each other any more e-mails on this subject, John. We can’t be too careful. From now on, we’ll only talk about this face-to-face.”
Chapter 18
The emergency room doctor placed his stethoscope on Jerome’s back. “Deep breath,” he commanded.
The intake of air collapsed into repetitive coughing.
“Do you have a runny nose?”
Jerome shook his head groggily. “No. Just the fever and the body-and headaches, and now I’m having trouble breathing. And I’m very, very tired.”
“Okay, we’re going to get a blood test done and do a chest X ray.”
This wasn’t a common cold gone bad.
“What do you do for a living, Mr. Henning?” the doctor asked as he made notations on his chart.
“I’m a producer at KEY News, on KEY to America.”
“Really? I watch the show almost every morning.”
“I do the book segments.”
“Interesting.”
The doctor’s mind was not on the latest best-seller being hawked. It was on this morning’s anthrax story, which everyone was talking about.
After September 11, he had done extensive reading on biological and chemical agents, but this couldn’t be happening right before his eyes, could it?
Chapter 19
The FBI was finally getting around to questioning her.
“I feel like I should have a lawyer or something,” Annabelle said as she indicated that the agents should take a seat.
“That’s your prerogative, of course,” answered the female agent, “but you aren’t being accused of anything here. We just have some general questions we’d like to ask you.”
“All right.”
“You were the producer of Dr. Lee’s piece this morning, correct?”
“Yes, that’s right.”
“And we’ve been told that you knew nothing of Dr. Lee’s intention to obtain anthrax and bring it into this building. Is that also correct?”
“Yes, it is. He had talked once about the idea, but I never thought he would actually do it, especially after Linus Nazareth told him not to.”
“When did Nazareth say that?”
“At a staff meeting one morning last week.”
The FBI agent made a notation.
“Do you have any idea how he got the anthrax?”
Annabelle paused before answering. “I would imagine he obtained it from the lab where part of the piece was shot, but I don’t know for sure.”
“Were you with Dr. Lee at the lab?”
For once, Annabelle was glad that KEY News was under such strict budget constrictions. Beth Terry, the unit manager, had approved the travel expenses for only the medical correspondent to fly out to the lab. Annabelle had set up the lab shoot and arranged for a local camera crew over the telephone but hadn’t actually flown to the site.
“No, I wasn’t.”
“So you don’t know who Dr. Lee may have had contact with once he was at the lab?”
“That’s correct.”
As the agents were rising to leave, Annabelle glanced at her computer screen and clicked on the message directed to all personnel. Yelena Gregory was going to do a closed-circuit broadcast to the employees to announce the good news. Preliminary tests showed no trace of anthrax in the Broadcast Center. With a sigh of relief, Annabelle checked her phone messages, learned that she would be lunching alone, and headed for the cafeteria.
Chapter 20
Usually, it was hard to go anywhere without being noticed. But today staffers were paying more attention to the hazardous-material personnel milling about and less to people they saw all the time. At lunchtime it wasn’t difficult to slip into Annabelle’s office and shut the door. Standing right behind the closed door ensured no detection from the window to the hallway.
Just a minute. That was all the time that was needed.
The protective gloves were pulled over quivering hands. Steady. Steady.
If anyone walked in, there was an explanation all planned.
Annabelle had lent a few dollars to a colleague when the downstairs ATM machine was broken, and now the money was being repaid. That was, after all, true. The money had been loaned, and now it was being tucked in the pocket of the worn navy wool coat that hung on the back of Annabelle’s door. A twenty-dollar bill along with a tissue coated with the finest dusting of white powder. Annabelle would surely use it.
It was cold outside, and runny noses were the norm.
Chapter 21
The afternoon mail had brought quite a nice haul. Four new CDs from the music companies, three DVDs of major movies that were being released at Christmastime, and two computer games, all sent to the KEY to America entertainment correspondent in hopes of getting some free publicity on the morning show.
Russ stuffed the CDs and DVDs in his attaché case and tossed the computer games aside. He had no desire to play around on the computer. His time was much too valuable for that. He had concerts and Broadway shows to enjoy, cocktail parties and galas to attend. Better for him to rub elbows with actors, directors, and the titans of the entertainment industry at movie openings than while away the hours clicking on a computer mouse at home.
Russ ran a hand through his dark, curly hair. He’d knock off work early this afternoon so that he could pick up his dinner jacket at the dry cleaner’s and stop for a haircut on the way home to change for tonight’s affair, a movie screening followed by a party at the Copacabana. Free eats and drinks and a chance to do some networking and score some coke. What could be bad? With a little lu
ck, he would be out of there by ten o’clock.
He was a guest of the producers of Icicle, the soon-to-be-released flick that had cost multimillions to make but, from the clip he had already seen, was destined to be a flop. Russ knew that the invitation was an attempt to persuade him to go easy on his review.
It would take more than dinner and drinks to make that happen.
Chapter 22
The white blood cell count was high, and there was no increase in lymphocytes. People with infections such as the flu usually had low white blood cell counts and increased lymphocyte counts. That, along with the abnormalities in the chest X ray, had the doctor worried.
“Mr. Henning, we’re going to do a CT scan and a blood culture.”
“Jesus, Doc, you’re scaring me,” Jerome whispered as he lay in the hospital bed. The discomfort in his chest was getting worse.
“Don’t worry, Mr. Henning. We’re going to get you started on an antibiotic to knock whatever it is out of your system.”
Out in the hallway, the doctor instructed the nurse. “Let’s get him started on ciprofloxacin.”
“Cipro?”
The doctor nodded. “Normally, the odds are one in three hundred million that this could be anthrax. But I’m not taking any chances.”
He had to call the health department.
Chapter 23
What a day he’d had. Suffering through Lauren Adams most of the day only to be followed by Gavin Winston. B.J. couldn’t wait to finish shooting this interview, pack up his camera gear, and get the hell home.
It was distasteful to watch, really. While waiting for the official to arrive in the NASDAQ interview area, Gavin was working hard to impress that little intern. The poor kid didn’t know what to do. She was trying to be polite, laughing at the geezer’s pathetic attempts at humor, attempting to ignore the innuendos the old coot tossed her way. B.J. had half a mind to report Gavin’s behavior to Yelena Gregory.
Finally, the financial spokesman arrived, cutting short for the moment Gavin’s macho performance. The business correspondent instantly and artfully switched gears, asking professional, well-informed questions about the state of the stock market and the outlook for technology stocks. The guy may be a lech, but B.J. had to give credit where credit was due. Gavin knew his stuff.
The interview took all of ten minutes. As B.J. broke down his lights and started wrapping up the extension wires, he pretended not to hear Gavin ask the intern out for a drink.
“Gee, I’m sorry, Mr. Winston, but I can’t. I already have plans,” answered the young woman.
Gavin was undeterred. “Just a quick one, Lily. I’d like to talk to you about your career plans. And it’s Gavin, remember?”
Chapter 24
It was a nuisance more than anything else. The U.S. attorney had easily obtained the subpoena for access to Dr. Lee’s e-mails.
Special Agent McGillicuddy read through the hard copies.
“Well, we already knew that Linus Nazareth is an ass; now we know that he’s a liar too,” he said, passing the message to his partner. “A smart liar, though, covering himself by denouncing Lee’s plan in front of everyone at that staff meeting.”
Agent Lyons read the correspondence between Lee and Nazareth, which confirmed that both parties had planned the anthrax episode.
“Think we should tell Yelena Gregory and Joe Connelly?” Lyons asked.
Still annoyed that he’d had to bother with getting a subpoena, McGillicuddy was in no mood to share anything with the news folks. He shook his head and frowned. “No. Let them figure it out for themselves.”
Chapter 25
Relieving Mrs. Nuzzo, Annabelle arrived home with a pizza box in her hands. The kids were thrilled with the prospect of a gooey tomato-and-cheese dinner, but she guiltily peeled some carrots and sliced some celery sticks in an attempt to construct the semblance of a well-balanced meal.
“How was school today?” she asked as she poured the milk.
“Can’t we have ginger ale, Mommy?” implored Thomas.
“No, you can’t have ginger ale.”
“Ginger ale goes better with pizza,” declared Tara.
“Yeah, it does,” her brother seconded.
“Yes, it does,” corrected Annabelle. “But you have to have milk with your dinner.”
“The Pilgrims didn’t have milk with their dinner,” said Tara. “They had apple cider.”
“Well, you can be a Pilgrim next week. We’ll have apple cider on Thanksgiving. But if you want to go horseback riding on Saturday, you’re having milk tonight.”
Thanksgiving was a week away, and Annabelle dreamed of having the dinner delivered from Zabar’s. The thought of doing the shopping and all that cooking for just the four of them was a downer. Maybe she could make a streamlined Thanksgiving dinner this year, cook a turkey breast instead of a whole bird, do an instant stuffing, and open a can of cranberry sauce. As long as she made lots of mashed potatoes, the kids would be satisfied and, at this point, Mike certainly didn’t care. He rarely ate dinner with them anymore, preferring to close the door to the bedroom and lie on the bed, either in the dark or staring morosely at the portable television set.
She listened to Tara list the things that they were going to have at their classroom Thanksgiving feast. “We have to bring in pumpkin pie, Mommy.”
Good. That was easy enough. She could pick one up at the grocery store.
“We’re supposed to help you make it,” said Thomas.
Okay, a Mrs. Smith’s then. Together, they could open the box and stick the frozen pie in the oven.
While the kids were finishing up, Annabelle went to the bedroom. The room was dark.
“Mike?” she called softly.
No answer.
“Do you want some pizza, honey?”
Nothing.
Biting her lower lip to keep from screaming in frustration, she closed the bedroom door and walked to the bathroom. She turned the faucet on full force, squirted in the Mr. Bubble, and stared as the white froth spread across the tub. The baths had to be given, the teeth brushed, and the stories read. She hoped she could get to bed early herself, as she wanted to be at work by 6:00 A.M., in case there was anything to do for Dr. Lee’s interview on the show. If there was no other breaking news, Linus wanted Lee to lead the broadcast.
If she’d been assigned to one of the other correspondents, her workload would have been lighter. The good ones prided themselves on knowing their subject matter and doing their own writing. But Lee only loved being on television while leaving all the work that went on behind the scenes to Annabelle.
She suddenly remembered that she must call Jerome to see how he was doing. She should have done that hours ago. Great friend she was.
While the tub filled, she went out to the kitchen, pulled her cell phone from her tote bag, and punched in Jerome’s number.
The electronic ring of the cell phone was muffled in the pocket of the jacket that hung in the small closet of the hospital room. Outside, the doctor and nurses did what they had to, connecting Jerome to a ventilator.
Chapter 26
Maybe a commuter pass was in order. This was the second train ride in less than a week out to Maplewood.
Annabelle could be thanked for spreading the word around the office that Jerome was sick enough to go to the hospital, and a phone call confirmed he had been admitted. The green light for another trip to New Jersey. It had to be done tonight or it would be too late. Once the hospital figured out what was wrong with Jerome, the health department and the police would be called in, and surely Jerome’s house would be searched.
The path from the station to Highland Place was now a familiar one. The streets were quiet, and none of the few people passing by paid any attention to the visitor. Walking with assurance, as if belonging there, the visitor went around to the back of the unlit house. The first window was locked, but the second one slid right open.
Trusting fools, these suburbanites.
I
t was a struggle to get through the ground-floor window. The mask and gloves were donned as a precautionary measure. Though the tube in the coat pocket was carefully wrapped, there was no way of knowing exactly where Jerome had opened his cheery birthday card.
The flashlight cast its yellow glow around the kitchen, then into the dining room and through the living room. The beam led the way up the stairs to the small bedroom that served as an office. A computer sat amid the clutter on the desk. After it was switched on, it took only a few minutes to find the right file and just a little while longer to erase it. All that work, pages and pages of manuscript, obliterated with just the tapping of the Delete key.
Jerome must have printed out a hard copy as well—there it was in the top desk drawer. The folder was taken from its berth and replaced with the test tube.
The police would find the anthrax and think that Jerome had exposed himself.
How was anyone to know that a bit of the tube’s contents had been put aside just in case it was needed? You need so little to do so much damage.
Friday
November 21
Chapter 27
Joe Connelly spent the night in one of the soap opera dressing rooms, wanting to be nearby if the worst-case scenario played out and the preliminary tests were wrong. If it turned out that anthrax had contaminated any part of the Broadcast Center, he needed to be there to deal with it.
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