The Omega Covenant

by Richard Holcroft

  “Well, this Delfino guy claims he wasn’t part of any of that but says Gautreaux may have been. After a long discussion, he told us Gautreaux bragged the whole time they were together about a Texas group he was working with that had a score to settle with you and Shannon. They were paying him big bucks to get even, and he needed help–someone to drive the car.”

  “How’d they find this guy? I mean, it’s not like you advertise your services in the Yellow Pages as a driver for hit men.”

  “Don’t know. He won’t talk about that.”

  “And why do it on Kauai? They had plenty of opportunities to kill me in Texas if they wanted.”

  “Don’t know the answer to that, either. Maybe because we have a small police force here with limited resources,” Kalani said, “lowering the odds they’d get caught. Or that no one would be concerned enough here to investigate your death. Plus, Kauai has a lot of rugged territory–easy for accidents to happen.”

  Marchetti shook his head, not buying any of the possibilities. “Did Gautreaux say who he was working for?”

  “That’s one thing we’re still trying to get from him.”

  “Work on him, Sergeant. Creeps like that are usually willing to give up whoever’s paying them if you make it worthwhile.”

  “Don’t tell me how to do my job, Marchetti. You’re damn lucky I told you anything.” There was a long pause before he continued, “I haven’t talked to the DA’s office about it yet, but I’m willing to bet they’ll offer him a deal if he’ll come clean on details of the shooting. So far, however, he’s said nothing.”

  After thinking for a moment about Tom’s comments regarding Kalani’s personality, Marchetti managed a brief thank you for his information about Delfino. “He might actually be telling the truth about not knowing the others involved. If Gautreaux hired Delfino merely to drive the car and nothing more, there’d be no need for him to know additional details of why they were doing it, or who was behind it.”

  “You may be right,” Kalani said. “But my guess is, it’s simpler than that: He’s dead if he talks.”

  25

  Tom followed the directions Janine gave him, which took him west of Lihue on the Kaumualii Highway, then off the main highway north toward the Ekahi Reservoir.

  He spotted the sugar cane acreage in front of the Plantation House and admired the wrought iron fence surrounding the wood shingled residence Brad had identified in his notes.

  Tom expected the gates to be closed and locked. But workmen were busy transplanting trees and had left the gates open for shuttling loads of topsoil and soil conditioner in to beds on either side of the driveway. He slowed and pulled his car through the massive gates, then followed the circular drive around to the main entrance.

  He got out and scanned the grounds. The six-foot fence with spiked stanchions and ornate crests completely surrounded the residence, giving it an elegant, Provencal estate appearance. Varieties of red ginger, bougainvillea, snowbush, and fern adorned the perimeter of the property and driveway. Even the dense grass close to the county road appeared robust and neatly manicured.

  He took one more look around and rang the doorbell. After a couple of minutes, he rang again. He heard heavy steps approaching the door.

  A short, graying, fiftyish man opened it. “May I help you?” he said, with a British accent and an unwelcoming tone.

  Tom introduced himself and asked if Mr. Hollingsworth was in.

  “Sorry, he can’t be disturbed,” the man said, obviously annoyed. “I’m the house manager. How did you get–?” He looked at the landscapers and the wide-open gate and shook his head. “They shouldn’t have done that.” He motioned to a man standing idly by at the far end of the driveway wearing a pistol on his hip to join him at the front step. “I’ll have the guard close it behind you. But I insist you leave now.”

  “How about tomorrow?” Tom asked.

  He shook his head. “Sorry, Mr. Hollingsworth’s a very busy man.”

  “I won’t take much of his time. Just a couple of questions.”

  “No, it’s not possible. I will tell him you came by, though. That was…?”

  “Shannon, Tom Shannon.”

  “Right.” He closed the door with a bang.

  On his way back to the car, Tom glanced toward the rear of the property. Jutting out from behind the house sat a dark car of indeterminate make. He hadn’t noticed it when he pulled up, but now he could see a portion of what appeared to be a foreign-made, black four-door sedan.

  As he maneuvered his 4Runner around the tight driveway, he backed up far enough to get a good look at the rear windshield and license plate. He jotted down the plate number, then looked to see if the guard was still standing by the front entry door.

  Relieved the guard had his back to him, Tom climbed out of his car and moved closer to the sedan he confirmed to be a Kia Cadenza. He examined a blue, official-looking sticker pasted above the windshield registration on the driver’s side. P.M.R.F. Barking Sands, Kauai, it read in bold letters, with an identification number and US Navy seal on it.

  Interesting, he thought. Not a car he expected to find parked at Hollingsworth’s estate–this far from the naval base.

  26

  Dr. Andrea Hartwell, from CDC in Atlanta, and FBI Special Agent Frank Capozzi, with the bureau’s Honolulu office, waited in the Tropic Star Lines operations office for the company representative to arrive.

  A model of the Fair Winds sat on a bookcase near the entry door. Numerous framed photographs of scenic spots on the islands adorned the four walls. A certificate of appreciation from the Honolulu Chamber of Commerce occupied a prominent spot on the wall behind the representative’s desk.

  Fifteen minutes later, a tanned, thirtyish woman in blue nautical blouse and khaki shorts rushed through the door, with an apologetic look on her face.

  “So sorry to keep you waiting,” she said. “I’m Randi Engstrom, Tropic Star’s assistant manager here at the pier.”

  “Quite all right,” Dr. Hartwell said and smiled.

  “Our cruise departed late today. One of the harbor tugs had an engine problem, which took some time to get fixed. So it’s been hectic.”

  Hartwell and Capozzi introduced themselves to the diminutive Ms. Engstrom and took seats in front of her gray metal desk.

  “Appreciate your time,” Agent Capozzi said. “We have just a few questions.”

  She nodded. “That’s what I’m here for.”

  “As I’m sure you’ve heard, there’s been an outbreak of smallpox on the mainland. Unheard of for more than thirty years, and then it reappears.”

  “We have reason to believe first contact originated in the Hawaiian Islands,” Dr. Hartwell added, “with a good chance it was on your ship, the Fair Winds.”

  Engstrom’s lips parted for a moment. “Are you sure?”

  “Fairly certain.”

  “But that can’t be. We’ve never–”

  “Our job is to find the source of the virus and locate all persons who may have been infected, or came in contact with the infected person. We believe at least four and possibly more were on your seven-day, inter-island cruise that departed June 11th.”

  Engstrom glanced at her desk calendar and scanned a page. “I can’t believe–”

  “Would it be possible to get a passenger manifest for that cruise, to cross-reference it with our list of cases?”

  She sat back in a daze. “Of course,” she said. “I’ll print it out.” As she typed in the necessary code, she added, “The names are in alphabetical order, with contact information and cabin numbers, to be treated as confidential, of course.”

  Capozzi nodded. “I’ll cover you with an administrative subpoena so we’re both protected.”

  She collected pages from the printer tray and handed each of them a copy. “We had 934 passengers that day and 450 crewmembers, for a total of 1,384 on board. Several of the crewmembers rotated out in Hilo for some reason the sixth day of the cruise. I’ll find out more a
bout that if you wish.”

  “Thank you,” Hartwell said. “That’d be helpful.”

  Agent Capozzi started comparing their list of victims and patients with names on the manifest. “There’s one right here on the first page,” Capozzi said. “Helen Seitz from New York.”

  “And Robert Todd, age thirteen from New Orleans, on the second,” Hartwell said.

  The agent and doctor continued flipping through pages until they were satisfied they had all of them: six female, four male passengers, including children.

  Dr. Hartwell turned to Capozzi and said, “So they started the cruise on June eleventh, and Ms. Seitz shows up at a hospital in New York with symptoms on July first. Nineteen days, which could be right if they contracted the virus either in Honolulu or at the beginning of the cruise.”

  “The same with Corrine Alberts, also from New York,” Capozzi said.

  Hartwell stared at the names a few minutes longer. “How do you know these people are who they say they are?” she asked.

  “When they book with us–by travel agent, phone, or online–they pay a deposit by credit card. In addition, they must furnish a photo ID and driver’s license number. Then when they show up here the day of departure, our representative at the gangplank checks their government-issued ID against names on the manifest, much like at an airport. He also takes an ID photo at that time, and they’re issued what’s called a ‘C-Pass’ to be used throughout the cruise for drinks, gifts, and other items. If they depart the ship for any reason, they swipe the card in a reader; when they return, they do the same.”

  “So you keep close track on them.”

  “Right.”

  “On what area of the ship would the passengers most likely be in close proximity to each other?” Hartwell asked.

  Engstrom shrugged. “Hard to tell, any number of places. A cruise ship is a very social environment, which is why they’re there. The dining area would be one, of course, plus the various tours ashore, which usually leave in groups of forty or fifty. It also gets tight on the dance floor at times and at the shows.”

  She and Capozzi made a few more notes.

  “About dining,” Capozzi asked. “Do passengers normally eat with the same people every night?”

  “Not necessarily,” Engstrom said. “A group of six may eat every meal together the whole week; others eat when they want to, at whatever table is available. It varies.”

  “Are the kitchen or dining areas what you might call ‘secure areas’–in other words, could passengers walk through or sit down at a table without having a reservation for dinner?”

  “Walk through, of course; it’s not that controlled. But they couldn’t just come in and sit down, if that’s what you mean.”

  “How about during off hours–between meals?”

  She thought about it. “Oh, I suppose so. No one’s going to disturb them if they’re just reading or something like that. Passengers usually do those sorts of things on deck or in their cabins, but I suppose they could use the dining room if they preferred.”

  “Regarding day trips,” Hartwell asked, “I assume most passengers take advantage of onshore excursions?”

  “Oh, certainly. There’d be little reason to go on a cruise otherwise,” Engstrom replied. “They could just stay ashore and go to the mall, or sit by the hotel pool, if that’s what they wanted.”

  “Can we tell from the manifest which passengers went on which excursions?”

  She nodded. “If they’d booked through us, yes. But if they went ashore and then signed up with a tour operator, or rented a car from one of the representatives in the harbor, then no–we would have no idea.”

  “Then excuse another dumb question, but what if someone leaves the ship for a day trip on one of the islands and doesn’t return?”

  “Before we depart, someone from the crew will make an announcement inquiring about Ms. So-and-so being onboard prior to departure, in case they somehow missed her at the gangplank. If, after several attempts to contact her, she’s not confirmed onboard, we’d leave without her, and it’d be her responsibility to rejoin the ship at the next port of call.”

  Capozzi made a few more notes and thought for a moment. “Would the company notify anyone–some person or authority–if one of their passengers never returned to the ship at a port of call? What if she’s in an accident while ashore, for example, and ends up in the hospital?”

  “Or thrown in jail,” Engstrom answered, authoritatively, as if it’d happened before. “If she doesn’t return at our next stop, we’d notify the local police as more-or-less a formality. What the police do with the information would be up to them, of course, but in my experience, providing that information is a big step in their investigation. If a crime had been committed, they’d know a particular person was ashore at that time and not on the boat.”

  “How often does it happen that the ship leaves port without a passenger who failed to show at departure?”

  “It’s extremely rare–three times, maybe, in the two years I’ve been assistant manager here.”

  Dr. Hartwell asked, “Do you keep information–ship doctor’s notes or phone calls, for example–about whether anyone on the cruise complained about being sick, or had been treated in any way, either on the ship or ashore?”

  “I don’t believe so, unless it was serious, but let me check.” She returned to her screen and appeared to scroll down through multiple pages. “I don’t see anything, but even if we did, I could only give you occurrences, not details–HIPAA requirements, you know, to protect a patient’s confidentiality.”

  “Right. We’d get a court order if it came to that.”

  Capozzi looked over at Dr. Hartwell, who nodded. “I guess that’s it for now,” he said. “We’ll call if we have anything further.”

  “Please do,” she said. “I’m around most of the time and always on Saturdays, which is when the Fair Winds departs and returns.”

  “Thank you for your cooperation,” they said and left the office.

  As they walked along the wharf, the two talked briefly about the size of the ships docked in harbor. Hartwell then asked, “What do you think about the situation now, based on Randi’s info?”

  Capozzi thought for a moment. “Why don’t we have a cup of coffee and have a serious look at the manifest. I’m willing to bet all our early patients were on that June 11th cruise.”

  “Me, too. Which raises the question of whether one or several of the passengers picked up the virus before boarding the ship, contracted it from a fellow passenger, or got it from someone already on board–a crewmember, for instance.”

  Capozzi said, “We may not find specific details for every passenger–where they went and what they did that week–but one way or another, I’m betting the Fair Winds was Ground Zero for exposure.”

  “And based on the dates symptoms started to appear, first exposure happened after they boarded here in Honolulu but before they got to Hilo.”

  27

  The White House, July 9th

  Secretary of State Nancy Glass and Prime Minister Daniel Jabarin of Israel had just left the Oval Office after a brief discussion with the president about ongoing skirmishes in the Golan Heights. It wasn’t often the American president and Israeli leader met face to face, and both of them considered it overdue in light of the volatile state of Middle East relations. The only parties remaining in the iconic office were President McHugh, Chief of Staff Donald Wright, and National Security Advisor Kenneth Wall.

  “I’d like to go over a few things while I’ve got you two together,” McHugh said, motioning for them to sit down.

  “Certainly, Mr. President,” Wall said. They took seats on two small divans and waited for McHugh to begin.

  “I spoke with Mike Knapp at Health and Human Services this morning. He’s informed me we now have fifty confirmed smallpox cases, mostly in the Northeast and Southeast, with a few starting to pop up in the Central states–Illinois and Iowa–and one in Montana.”


  “That’s what I got from CDC, as well,” Wall said.

  “In fact, the patient in Montana is one of our own people,” Wright said. “Sidney Ross, one of our new assistant secretaries at homeland security. He’d visited his daughter in New York and then flew to a friend’s ranch in Montana before anyone knew his daughter had been infected.”

  “How’s he doing?” the president asked.

  “Okay so far,” Wall said, “but the nearest, decent-sized hospital is in Billings, and they don’t have isolation capability. They’ll have to either create something on a temporary basis or airlift him to Salt Lake City or Denver.”

  “Why don’t we see if CDC can pick him up in their Gulfstream with the isolation pod and take him to Emory University Hospital?” Wright asked.

  “Good idea.”

  “Should we be alarmed about the extent of this?” McHugh asked with a worried look on his face.

  “Not yet,” Wright said. “I’m still optimistic we can contain it. We’ve got vaccine en route to every major city in the country, and everyone’s onboard with the plan: identify infected cases and their contacts; quarantine and vaccinate those who’ve come in contact with infected persons; and vaccinate others when we can. It’ll be the responsibility of the mayors of those cities to allocate resources and establish priorities for administering the vaccine.”

  Wall said, “CDC tells me it works best when we can identify the infected person and isolate him before he comes in contact with a significant number of other people, keeping the disease limited to a single geographical area. And that’s not the case here.”

  Wright said, “True, but we’re working hard on pinpointing its origin. Representatives from homeland security will be flying to Hawaii in the next day or two, since there seems to be a connection with a cruise that originated in Honolulu. That’s the favored theory, anyway, about where our victims contracted the virus.”