"You have to muscle your way back in somehow."
"It won't matter either way. Even if they let me in, I won't have any influence. This will be a joint investigation, involving assets that nobody cares to admit still exist."
"My team is still working this. If your people find Reznikov, it sounds like they'll kill him on the spot. I want a fighting chance to grab him first," Berg said.
"I'm sure they will. Let me put some thought into this. I have a very dangerous idea forming," Kaparov said.
"I like the sound of that. In the meantime, I'll keep you posted on my team's progress. If we work together, we can accomplish both countries' goals and avoid a nightmare. Do you know what type of virus we're up against?"
"Well, you and I have previously discussed what he tried to steal from the lab several years ago," Kaparov said.
"Partially weaponized encephalitis samples?"
"Hmm. Partially," he mumbled, not willing to say everything he had heard recently.
"What am I missing, Alexei?"
"Have you ever heard of the Lithuanian film director Jurgis Meras?"
"No. Dare I ask how this is related?"
"On November 3rd, 1969, Jurgis Meras was found in a park on the outskirts of Vilnius, with his throat slit from ear to ear. He lived with his parents, who disappeared that same night, leaving a ransacked apartment behind. Meras was a popular underground director, who didn't waste his talents producing seditious material like too many others. He stayed off mother Russia's radar for the most part. In early October of '69, one of his films became wildly popular in Vilnius, attracting the wrong kind of attention. According to my sources, the film was named "Ghouls of Vilnius" and it depicted a zombie outbreak. Not surprisingly, Meras was a big fan of American movies and had a sizeable collection of American film magazines to prove it."
"Alexei, I'm sort of following you on this, but I need you to get to the point."
"A lot of people connected to Meras vanished without a trace over the next few days, from Lithuania to Moscow, and it was no secret that the KGB had a hand in it."
"I'm sure he wasn't killed because he violated international copyright laws…"
"Of course not, but word of the movie had spread farther and wider than anyone had expected, and it obviously made somebody very nervous. These were some of the most paranoid times in our history, and our nation's bioweapons program was in full swing.
"Do you know what scientists at VECTOR informally called the weaponized encephalitis virus? Zoja. Zoja is the Russian phonetic military equivalent of your Zulu. I think we are looking at a virus that targets the temporal lobe and causes a rabies-like aggressive behavior. Meras's zombie hit a little too close to home in the Kremlin and triggered a violent response from Lubyanka Square. I'm afraid the government is preparing to do the same with the entire city of Monchegorsk. The initial hospital reports out of Monchegorsk are consistent with this. Starts with a fever and flu-like symptoms, and as the disease destroys the temporal lobe, unpredictable violent behavior ensues. This was the hallmark of certain encephalitis cases."
"This is worse than I imagined. If Al Qaeda is sitting on a stockpile of this stuff, we are all in deep shit, my friend."
"I agree. Unfortunately, I have no eyes on the ground in Monchegorsk, and the analysis of the samples our people brought back from Reznikov's lab is being withheld from me."
"I'm working on a plan to change all of that. I have a sample in the air as we speak, which will be in one of our labs by dawn. I also have a team approaching Monchegorsk. I should have a solid picture of what we're up against by late tomorrow evening my time," Berg said.
"I'll give my idea a shot over here and call you back later this afternoon with some new phone numbers to use. I don't trust anyone at this point. I've come too far along to end up feeding the fish."
"They still have fish in that river?" Berg said.
"The fish are making a comeback. Lots of bodies to keep them fat throughout the winter. I'll be in touch."
Kaparov wondered exactly how robust the FSB Special Operations Division internal security might be and knew exactly who to ask for this information. Then it would be up to Prerovsky. He would have to convince his lady friend to spy on her own people. This might be the biggest long shot he ever played, but it was worth the risk. He had always put mother Russian ahead of his own interests and this instinct had served him well. He wasn't about to make any changes to these guiding principles. He threw the exhausted cigarette stub to the pavement and walked back to the headquarters building, hopeful that Prerovsky wouldn't turn him over to Internal Affairs on the spot.
Chapter 29
Kristin Flaherty checked her watch again and took another sip of her lukewarm coffee. She had been asked by the lab’s assistant director to report with another researcher at two in the morning to prepare a biological test panel for an incoming biological specimen. The center's Sample Receipt Facility (SRF) was still a few years away from completion, so they would run the panel in the Biosafety Level Three facility. She knew not to ask questions about the source of the specimen, and given the timing, she knew it must be important.
Gary Pierce had arrived thirty minutes ahead of her, and by two-thirty, they were ready to run a full battery of tests on whatever arrived. Four o'clock passed unceremoniously, stretching to five o'clock, and after two pots of coffee, the clock hit six without any sign of a courier delivery. She started to become annoyed at six-thirty, when a walk to the front lobby to check with the security guard showed sunlight peeking over the trees beyond the empty parking lot. At six-forty, she snapped.
"I think it's time to call the contact associated with the specimen. They should have been here nearly three hours ago," she said.
Gary yawned and nodded.
"Concur. Either way, they need to know it didn't arrive."
She picked up the clipboard with the classified order sheet and searched for the contact number. She was to only identify herself as "Edgewood Laboratory," using a predetermined and secure outside line. The contact would mention "Mount McKinley" in his first phrase, or she was to hang up and call her director. She walked over to the encrypted phone and dialed the number.
"Mount McKinley Dry Cleaning. How may I help you?" the voice answered.
"Good morning, this is Edgewood Laboratory. We have a slight problem," she said.
"Have you identified the sample?"
"No, it hasn't arrived. That's the problem."
"Are you absolutely sure the sample hasn't been delivered?"
"Absolutely. We've been here since one-thirty. Nothing arrived before us."
"Understood. You'll need to standby for instructions from your director."
"Do you know when that might be?" she pressed.
"I'll be in touch with him shortly."
The call was abruptly cut short, and Kristin glared at the phone. How about a little common courtesy?
"We're stuck here, and I get the feeling that we're the least of this guy's priorities right now."
"Wonderful. I'll grab some breakfast at McDonald's if you don't mind holding down the fort."
"Sounds like a plan," she said, "and grab me a large Diet Coke."
Karl Berg placed his cell phone on the desk.
"Damn it," he muttered.
This didn't bode well at all. The agent assigned to the flight had strict instructions to call him if anything changed regarding the flight's itinerary. He had access to the aircraft's satellite phone and had been issued a GSM enabled cell phone. The eight-hour, direct flight pushed up against the Gulfstream 550's cruising range of 7,500 miles, but they had been assured that the aircraft could continue on to Chicago without refueling. Why the fuck had they waited so long to call him? At least he was in the right place to make some calls.