by Cade Brogan
“In a way, I imagine that they did,” Rylee responded. “Don’t you think those guys know a bad actor when they meet up with one?”
“I do,” Claire said, “but I also think I may have been too quick to rule out Walt Mathews as a potential suspect.”
“Because he was close when the train thing came down?”
“Yeah,” Claire responded, “him sharing that in the meeting certainly got my attention. But also, because it was his group that named this thing the Armageddon Virus.” Her eyes widened. “Talk about having a crystal ball to predict the future.”
“Not sure I see it that way,” Rylee said thoughtfully. “The fact that he happened to be there kind of makes me feel better about him. I mean, he travels a lot, so him being at train stations and airports is kind of a given. If he’d been involved, I just don’t think he’d have been stupid enough to put himself a stone's throw away from the scene.”
“Maybe,” Claire said. “Or maybe he did it and couldn’t resist sticking around to watch the chaos. You know it happens.”
“Sure,” Rylee responded. “An arsonist stands behind a tree, licking his lips as the fire trucks arrive. A killer sits across the street, a passive participant in the funeral. Sure, it happens. I just don’t think Walt’s our doer.” She spotted golden arches as she prepared to hop onto the expressway. “Hey, you wanna pull through for a biscuit?”
“Yeah, sounds good,” Claire answered. “I didn’t take time for breakfast.”
“Me either,” Rylee said, reaching into her back pocket for her wallet. “I’m not that hungry, but I figure we should eat while we have the chance.”
“Yep,” Claire answered. “Got this feeling we’re in for another long day.” She handed Rylee a five. “So, I’m gonna run down that bowl,” she continued, “you know the one on the Marsh woman’s counter? I’m not sure why, but I can’t shake this feeling that it’ll lead to something.”
“Maybe we’ll get lucky,” Rylee said, glancing her way, “find that she got it near that cave.”
“That’d be nice,” Claire responded. “But it could also lead to a dead end. I hate wasting time when we don’t have time to waste—but I just can’t shake it.”
“So, you check it out,” Rylee said. “There’s no way to know if a lead’s gonna pay dividends until you run it down.” She lifted an eyebrow. “It’s no different with me,” she continued, “I’ve got this hunch about medical equipment.” She’d asked Ben for a list of the devices common to level four biological safety labs and the suppliers who handled them. “It might lead nowhere or to something, but I won’t know until I make the calls.” She pulled around, reading the menu, and ordering. “Two bacon, egg, and cheese biscuits and two hash browns.”
CHAPTER FORTY
PatientZero.com
DEATH TOLL SKYROCKETS AFTER KILLER TARGETS MASS TRANSIT SYSTEM
Authorities have confirmed that the Armageddon Killer has targeted the mass transit system, infecting three loaded train cars bound for O’Hare, killing all ninety-four passengers. And in an unfolding horror, all ninety-four managed to make their way into the international airport, infecting an unfathomable number, a number that continues to skyrocket. We have not been able to confirm information that the virus has spread throughout the country and the world. We have information that a recommendation not to travel will be forthcoming. Check back for updates.
CHAPTER FORTY-ONE
Dressed early, Elizabeth sat down in the worn upholstered chair waiting for the sun to rise; for the couple in the next room to stop screaming at one another; for their child to stop bawling; for the elevator to stop dinging; and for her workday to start and finish so that she could go home. With good fortune and God’s grace, she’d be back there by noon.
Granny’s ghost patted her arm. Cheer up, dear.
I’m not down, Elizabeth responded. I just didn’t sleep well.
I know, the spirit said softly, I was with you. It’s difficult being away from home.
I’m used to it, Elizabeth answered. It was the noise that was the problem. I hate cheap motels.
I shouldn’t have put you through this, the specter said. I shouldn’t have mentioned my trouble with the imposter. You’ve always been so good to look after me. If I hadn’t mentioned it, you wouldn’t have had a rough night.
That’s not something you need to worry about, Elizabeth responded, mentally squeezing her hand. It’s done now and time to move on.
You should go on home, the ghost urged. Don’t trouble yourself with settling the score.
Are you kidding? Elizabeth reacted. I have to settle it.
But you don’t, dear. I was an old woman. I’d have been gone in a few months.
No, a bargain is a bargain, Elizabeth responded. I’ll be expected to finish what I’ve started.
You always did have an impeccable work ethic, the ghost said. Even as a child.
Elizabeth turned on her phone, checking for a voicemail from the nursing home. They’ll find your body before long.
The spirit folded her hands on her lap. I suppose they will. It’s almost breakfast time.
I’ll make arrangements for Pastor Mark to conduct your service, Elizabeth continued, and Owen Funeral Home to prepare your body for burial. My choices were limited, especially with regard to morticians. As you know, I had to be able to make the arrangements online. Not all businesses provide that service. Do you have any problem with burial at that little cemetery near the nursing home?
No, dear, the ghost answered. Whatever arrangements you make will be wonderful.
And, Elizabeth went on, you understand that I won’t be able to attend your service in person?
Yes, dear, the ghost answered. But you’ll have a video from the funeral home, so that’ll be almost like you’re there. She smiled softly, palming her granddaughter’s cheek. I’d never want you to risk your freedom on my account.
The Rational One pinched her brow, nodding toward the cell phone. So, this can’t wait until you get home?
No, Elizabeth responded firmly, it can’t. I need to return their call promptly. She took and released a breath. You worry too much. No one is going to check my GPS signal. And, even if they did, in this motel, miles from my dispatches, what difference would it make to anyone if they discovered I was here?
None if you think only in terms of a criminal investigation, the Rational One answered. But what about Claire? What if she happened to learn where you were? You know what she’d think, don’t you? She’d think you slipped off last night to have sex with someone in this rat trap motel. But I suppose that wouldn’t make any difference to you.
Elizabeth huffed, switching off her device. I suppose calling them back this afternoon would be soon enough.
Or on your way home, the Rational One suggested. That way if Claire happened to come home for lunch, you’d be available.
Yes, Elizabeth responded. I’ll call them back on my way home.
*
Claire searched the internet, eating her biscuit, and drinking her first cup of coffee. By the time she refilled her mug, she’d found images and links to bead bowls similar to Addison Marsh’s. A Silicon Valley entrepreneur had raised millions to fund a project that linked consumers to poor rural areas using mobile technology. Eating a donut, she spoke with a shopkeeper in West Africa who’d sold many such bowls through the years. He promised to connect her with the local artist, quite possibly the dear friend of Addison Marsh, as soon as he could locate him. Sipping her third cup of coffee, she got her callback.
Rylee hung up her phone, settling back in her chair, having spoken with her fourth or fifth medical equipment company.
Claire tapped her pen on her desk, catching her eye. “I’m sorry,” she said, “I didn’t quite understand. Could you repeat that for me?” She pressed the button on her desk phone, activating the speaker.
The man broke into his native language—Swahili, maybe—agitated. “Chochote cha kufanya na hayo,” he yelled. “Nothing to do w
ith it.”
“The cave I was asking about?” Claire clarified. “You had nothing to do with it.” She lifted an eyebrow, looking at Rylee. “I’m sorry. I’m not sure that I understand what you mean.” She spoke slowly, enunciating her words. “I was asking if you knew the location of the cave that Gordon Voss and Addison Marsh went to, the one where they hunted bats. The location, I need the location.”
“Chochote cha kufanya na hayo!”
“English, please,” Claire said. “I only speak English.”
“Nothing to do with it,” the man screamed. “Done talking. Don’t call me no more.”
CLICK.
Claire looked up. “Are you thinking what I’m thinking?”
“That something happened to Gordon Voss?” Rylee answered. “That one reason he could’ve dropped out of sight could be that he’s at the bottom of that cave in West Africa? Oh yeah, I’m thinking exactly what you’re thinking.”
“So, what do we do?” Claire asked. “I don’t even know if they have local cops.” She shook her head, releasing a breath. “Or, if they do, how the hell I’d go about finding one.”
Rylee retrieved a reference listing international law enforcement agencies from her drawer. “Start here and keep going.”
“Thanks,” Claire said, taking, and opening it. “I think that Marsh woman’s involved.”
“Maybe, maybe not,” Rylee responded, getting up to retrieve a fax.
Claire dialed—and dialed—and dialed again, speaking with a man she had difficulty understanding. “Okay, so I’m not sure anything will happen,” she said, “but I spoke with someone who promised they’d look into the matter and get back to us.” She shook her head. “But I’m not gonna hold my breath waiting for it.”
“That’s good,” Rylee responded distractedly. “If we do hear back, it won’t be for a long time. Come here. I want to show you something.” She waited for Claire to walk around before continuing. “Look at this,” she said, pointing to a paper on her desk.
Claire looked. “A delivery to a local address, a local address close to where we have markers for the kids.”
“Yes,” Rylee responded, “and the building’s sucking down a slug of utilities. Power usage went off the chart about six months back,” she added, pointing again. “And, look at this.”
“Wow, that’s a lot of money,” Claire said, her brow furrowing as she counted. “And items. One-hundred-forty-six of whatever that is.” She picked up the paper, studying it in detail. “Delivered to different addresses in major cities around the globe, ten of ‘em in the U.S.”
“Disposable bioreactors,” Rylee continued. “According to Ben, a critical piece of equipment in viral labs. Interesting, huh?”
“Yeah, very,” Claire said. “Googling it. Says here there are two types, multi-use and disposable.” She looked up. “They’re used for virus production. One-hundred-forty-six sounds like a large operation.”
“Yep,” Rylee responded. “I’m gonna check with Ben, but I’ll bet that’s enough to process quite a stockpile.”
“Maybe enough for the world.”
“That’s my thought,” Rylee said, picking up her phone.
As she did, Claire checked the email associated with the order, finding that it was linked to several off-shore bank accounts, and further finding that checks from one of the accounts had paid rent for the building. “I think we’re onto something,” she said, her voice lowering.
“Yes, we are,” Rylee responded, hanging up. “Come on,” she added, checking her weapon as she moved toward the door. They planned their next steps, running to her vehicle. “Hop in. Let’s go.”
Claire fastened her seatbelt, making calls, and radioing for backup. “Cooperating agencies are responding. ETA forty-three minutes.”
Rylee switched on her lights and siren, burning rubber. “I hope they’re bringing suits for us.”
“They are,” Claire responded. “We’re changing in the back of the CDC’s truck.” She rattled off the address where they were to meet up, thinking about Elizabeth, and wishing she’d answer her phone. “You gonna call Kenzie?”
“When it’s over, I will.”
CHAPTER FORTY-TWO
Elizabeth adjusted her wig, sitting on the bench nearest the door of the building, marveling at the structure, at the architectural skill involved in designing a glass house that touched the clouds.
I thought you were going to dispatch Kenzie Bigham first, the Rational One said.
I changed my mind, Elizabeth responded.
See, that’s the problem, the Rational One answered. You do things impulsively.
I thought this was what you wanted, Elizabeth spat.
No, what I wanted was for you to fully consider your options.
Would you please go away? Please, just leave, and let me think my own thoughts.
As you wish, the Rational One responded. Good luck.
Elizabeth sat quietly, considering her plan, and watching pedestrians. She couldn’t do what she’d come to do without the assistance of a child. When a clean-cut boy, nine or ten years old, walked by, she called out to him. “Come here, young man. I have a job for you, an easy job that’ll pay well.”
He bit the inside of his lip, studying her.
“Don’t worry,” Elizabeth said, “you can trust me. You won’t have to go anywhere or do anything dangerous. I just need you to do something for me, something really easy, right here in this nice building.” She showed him a bouquet of roses—pink, red, white, and yellow—providing details of his assignment.
“And that’s all?” the boy asked. “That’s all I have to do for a hundred dollars?”
Elizabeth smiled warmly. “That’s it, just help me surprise my girlfriend on her birthday without giving me away, that’s all.”
“Cool, I’ll do it,” the boy said, accepting the crystal vase, and flowers.
“Cool,” Elizabeth echoed, smiling as he boldly stepped up to press the buzzer.
“Yes?”
“Special delivery for Addison Marsh.”
“From whom?”
“I don’t know, but it’s pretty.”
“Very well. I’ll buzz you in.”
“This is so exciting,” Elizabeth bubbled, stepping onto the elevator, and riding to the seventh floor with him. “Thank you for helping me.” She touched the boy’s shoulder. “So that you know, she’s in a wheelchair.” She met his eye. “So, I don’t want you to stare. You’ll make her uncomfortable.”
“I won’t.”
“And go all the way in,” Elizabeth continued, “so that you can set my vase by the window. She might tell you to leave it somewhere else, but if you manage to get it all the way in and set it by the window, I’ll pay you an extra hundred dollars.” She’d searched the Internet, finding pictures of Addison, past, and current, information on her company from years prior, details of her accident, and diagrams of her building. With a little more time, she’d have found information on her new company. Money had to be her motive for the killings. And selling vaccinations during a pandemic would provide a substantial payoff. She wished she’d have been able to locate her old partner, Gordon Voss. Probably changed his name. Probably running their manufacturing facility right under your nose. She resolved to keep looking and dispatch him on her next hunt.
Impulsive, the Rational One muttered. All of it, impulsive.
Shut up, Elizabeth said, knowing that she was right. She hadn’t taken the time necessary to connect all the dots. But she’d connected enough, enough to know that Addison Marsh was responsible for the death of her grandmother and to take her life.
The boy’s eyes widened. “An extra hundred dollars?”
“Yes,” Elizabeth answered, “for a total of two hundred. And all you have to do to earn the money is to do as I told you. That, and not linger. You are to leave at a run, running out of the building, and down the block. Got it?”
“Got it,” the boy answered with a firm nod.
“Good,
” Elizabeth responded, smiling. “You’ll find your payment right here.” She pointed to a spot where the carpet met the wall. She’d toyed with threatening him if he didn’t come through, but had decided not to, confident that God had set him in her path to use. She touched the tube-like weapon that she’d filled with poison. Today, with this killer, she’d use it differently. When she stepped three feet over, and against the wall, the boy knocked, and the lock clicked, unlocking.
“Come in,” the woman called out. “Leave whatever you have on the counter.”
The boy opened the door, dropping a bean bag to the floor to prevent it from closing, and walking toward her.
“Over there,” Addison called out, pointing toward her kitchen.
The boy kept walking, toward her, and toward the window.
“I want it on the counter,” Addison repeated, turning to follow him.
And when she did, Elizabeth slipped inside, crouching by the stove.
“Did you hear me?” Addison asked. “I told you I want it on my counter.”
“Sorry,” the boy responded, setting the large bouquet on her coffee table, turning back with a broad smile, and running. He kicked the bean bag into the hallway as he went out the door.
Addison touched her watch, wheeling closer to read the card.
Elizabeth stood, knowing the verse she’d written by heart—For the love of money is the root of all evil: which while some coveted after, they have erred from the faith, and pierced themselves through with many sorrows. — 1 Timothy 6:10 - King James Version of the Bible. She switched on her new gadget, a portable phone jammer, creating a quiet zone—no calls in and no calls out. Then, she lifted her blowpipe, targeting.
“Get out of here,” Addison screamed, fear robbing her lungs of oxygen. “My caregiver will be here any minute. I’m calling the cops.” She began to cry. “Who are you? What do you want?”
Elizabeth blew the dart—wh-ooo-t—her breath propelling it through the air, and into the neck of her target.
