The Ares Virus

by A P Bateman

  They had been interviewed by the Vermont State Police, who in turn, were being aided by the FBI as various crimes in the same case had crossed state lines. Stone had used his authorization from the White House to deliver the salient facts and keep them from being detained for too long. The FBI case officer had spoken to the New York FBI field office and an interview for the next morning had been arranged. Elizabeth Delaney and David Stein's involvement had been accounted for, and highly commended by Stone, and he agreed that he would put their names forward for a posthumous award from Washington. The interview had taken almost two hours, far longer than Stone could have argued for, but for the sake of professional courtesy, he had not objected. Isobel had answered for her actions with the FBI and an interview had been set for the government select committee that was charged with the overseeing of bioresearch and all other research and development facilities under their control. Stone had volunteered his presence during her interview, but she had declined it vehemently. She would argue her reasons for taking the drives, but would do so on her own. The select committee merely had to cover themselves in case of repercussions, and as long as the information on ARES and APHRODITE were safe and the FBI corroborated her story, then she would be back at work at bioresearch as soon as she was ready, after a two-week vacation. There had even been the murmurs of a promotion. Stone too, was granted a leave of absence and what started out as a flippant comment from Stone about disappearing together for a week or two was taken seriously and warmly by Isobel. Almost at once had come a wave of awkward silences as each other thought about the coming days, and nights ahead. It wasn’t going to be all pleasurable though, as both decided mutually to attend both David Stein’s and Elizabeth Delaney’s funeral services later in the week. Isobel sipped the frothy cappuccino and wiped the whipped cream from her top lip with

  the paper napkin. “What I don't understand is why you started to believe that Professor Leipzig was still alive,” she mused. “When did you guess?”

  “I never truly did know for sure,” Stone said. '”But it was in my mind, just a musing, from the first time I met with Sheriff Harper. He took me up to the spot where the truck went off and pointed out that it could not have been an accident. After studying the site, I was in full agreement.” He sipped some of his drink, and Isobel laughed. She reached forwards and dabbed some cream off the end of his nose. “Thanks,” he said coyly. “The next thing was the coroner. I mean, what were the chances of that? He was the link to the verdict on Leipzig’s death. That got me thinking, but still only along the lines that the death was no accident. However, while I was in Captain Dolbeck's office in Montpelier, he was talking about how busy he was and that some hobo had come in asking about his friend. I mean, how do you find a missing person when they're already homeless? What was the bigger question was: who was ever going to miss a homeless guy?”

  “Joe Carver did,” Isobel said blankly.

  “Right.”

  “So that was their mistake?”

  “One of them,” Stone nodded. “But that report had a long list of missing persons; a strip dancer come suspected prostitute from Montpelier, a couple of young teenagers, a dentist from Montpelier and a hobo from South Chesterton, barely ten miles from Deal. And although I ignored the missing dentist at first, I just couldn't ignore the death of the coroner or the unexplained disappearance of the tramp. The coroner got curious, probably raised the wrong questions and was taken care of.”

  “So what about the dentist?”

  “I've told Chief Dolbeck and he's confirmed that the dentist is still missing. He’s ordering a search of the lake where the coroner was discovered,” he paused. “Regardless, we've got the body of Leipzig to prove that he faked his own death and the false teeth will corroborate the fact. They match records held at the missing dentist’s practice. It’s hopefully only a matter of time before they find his body. He had a wife and two kids, so they really need some closure.”

  Isobel nodded somberly. “So what now?”

  “Well, the FBI will be looking in to Morgan-Klein, the pharmaceutical company. There’s an element there who were willing to deal with Hardy and McCray. In doing so, they would have been involved in the release of ARES and the deaths of thousands. Once they start going through Hardy’s computers they’ll uncover something, I’m sure. As for this end of the investigation, well the drives are safe with the FBI and you've got to answer to the select committee, which I know will be just fine. But after that?” He leaned forward across the table and kissed her on the mouth. She responded, shyly at first, then a little more intimately. They broke apart and looked at each other intently. Stone smiled, “I'm looking forward to a break. Some good food, different scenery, good company ...”

  “Well, I can't cook and I can't help the scenery, but I can provide the company.” She smiled at him, reached over the table and took his hand in hers. “Thank you,” she said warmly. “Thank you for being there and helping me.”

  Stone smiled. “You know, I don't think you really needed any help, you seemed to do just fine by yourself.” He looked at her, but she looked away and released his hand from hers. She had been withdrawn since the incident in the log cabin, and he knew from experience that killing a man is easy enough, but living with it is hard for the ethical person. He reached across and took up her hand and cursed inwardly as his cell phone started to chime. He took it out of his pocket and pressed the answer key.

  “Stone here.”

  “Agent Stone, this is Sheriff Harper.”

  “Hi Sheriff, what can I do for you?'” He was curt, wanted to get back to Isobel.

  “I just thought you'd like to know, we headed up into the hills, up to Beaumont Ridge. Everything was like you said. We recovered the weapons and saw your handiwork with the traps. Big Red Anderson came up there with us. He’s a local hunter and expert tracker. We used his dogs to follow your scent. Now he's a trapper, and he said that they were damn fine examples of mantraps. Best he’d ever seen.”

  “Thanks Sheriff,” Stone paused. Isobel had looked away and was studying the Statue of Liberty in the distance. “What's your point?”

  “Well hold on there, Agent Stone. We found everything like you said. Except we didn't find anybody in the trap.”

  Stone tensed rigid. He pushed the cell phone closer to his ear and turned side on. “What the hell do you mean?” he asked, then watched as Isobel got up from her seat and walked over and leaned against the metal railings. He turned away from her and listened to the sheriff.

  “Like I said, we got the rifle and the big bowie knife, found your handgun and all, and we found the traps. And plenty of blood on the spikes in the pitfall trap, so there's no doubt you got him.”

  “I know I got him sheriff! I threw my knife into his chest and bludgeoned him with the butt of a rifle. I watched him die! Now listen to me, you get up into those hills and start looking. Maybe he was taken by a bear?”

  “You sure know nothing about bears, Agent Stone. Now we get a few big black bears up here. And they wouldn’t hesitate taking a wounded or dead man in a trap. Kind of like a buffet to them. But they'd be drag marks and pieces of him all over the place. Bears are lazy, they eat their food where they find it or kill it. They don't go dragging it back to some cave. Hell, they usually just sleep where it's warm and keep on roaming around. Especially the big males. And it’s a big male most likely to drag a guy weighing two hundred and fifty pounds or so out of a trap.”

  Stone watched Isobel lean over the railings and look down at the sea birds below. Children were feeding them with pieces of hotdog bread and potato chips. He looked down at the ground near his feet. It was blurry, like his eyes had trouble focusing. “So what are you saying, sheriff?”

  “Well, I'm saying that we found nothing. Big Red got his dogs on some scent, but we lost it after a mile or so and had to give up on it. Hell, we'll go back out there if you want, but the guy's gone. Period. He must have been one tough son of a bitch. You knocked him out, but he mu
st have come round again. Either way, he wasn't there. He walked out of there on his own two feet. Lord only knows where he is now. Big Red said he was favoring a leg, like he was wounded. The track depression was deeper on one side. No, he definitely walked out of their Agent Stone and he sure as Hell didn't get dragged out of there by some hairy assed bear.”

  Stone cut the connection and switched off the cell phone. He got up from the table and walked over towards Isobel. She looked up and smiled. He placed his hands on her shoulders and gripped firmly. She turned around and hugged him, resting her head heavily on his chest.

  “I can't believe this is all over,” she said dreamily.

  Stone glanced around, watched the gathering of people at the quay waiting for the boat to return. He looked at a man on his own at the end of the walkway. He looked at the parked van on the private roadway delivering bread to a restaurant. Everywhere he looked he saw a possible threat, somewhere for an assassin to hide and take aim. As a bodyguard he knew more than most that a highly motivated individual willing to trade their life in order to kill was an impossible threat to counter.

  He looked back at Isobel and forced a smile. “No,” he said flatly. “I can't either.”

  SIXTY FIVE

  Six months later…

  In his New York office at the Centre for Virus Control, a department within the World Health Organization (WHO) Fernando Rodriguez continued to work through his in tray and sort the paperwork accordingly. He had recently returned from the Ivory Coast where Ebola was spreading throughout the West African countries. Angola, Senegal and Liberia had all reported cases in the hundreds and a continental pandemic was being prepared for by both WHO, the United Nations and a task force of the wealthiest world governments.

  Rodriguez was a leading authority in his field and had recently written a paper on the spread of Ebola and the resistance the virus displayed to drugs and treatment. In research he had shown a clear indication that Ebola had mutated between African countries, the strain in Liberia proving harder to treat than the strain in Sierra Leone. Although identical in structure, there was evidence that treatment was becoming more difficult as the virus spread. It was the publication of this paper that most of his correspondence was in reply to.

  The package intrigued him. It had been opened, resealed and stamped with the security clearance seal that WHO employed as standard operating procedure. It was a thickly padded brown envelope addressed to him personally. He knew security procedures would dictate a check, so he was not offended in any way. A white extremist group had once tried to send Anthrax in a bid to shut WHO down. Lord only knew their intent. He slit the tape with a craft knife and tipped the contents onto the desk in front of him. The two shiny USB flash drives caught the light, glistening. A single folded sheet of paper dropped out of the envelope. He unfolded it and frowned as he read. He picked up the first USB and slipped it into his laptop’s drive. As he clicked to open the file he looked down again at the sheet of handwritten paper. It simply read: So you can do the right thing.