“Jeffery,” she said as he walked in. “Mr. Damien and I are going out to lunch this afternoon. I’m supposed to pick, but I can’t decide. Which do you think? Violino or La Niçoise?”
Pointing at the paper, she added. “Violino has a ten percent off coupon, but La Niçoise has reduced corkage.”
Jeffery seemed momentarily at a loss for words. Finally, he said, “I’m sure the finances won’t be a problem. As to Mr. Damien’s preferences, he enjoys them both, equally.”
Even when caught off guard, he could be a smug son of a bitch. Helena smiled at him. “You’re not much help. You know that right?”
“May I ask what you’re doing in the library, miss?”
“Reading,” she said, rattling the newspaper. “How about you?”
The direct approach seemed to confuse him. The man didn’t have much of a sense of humor. She had only seen him smile once, and that was this morning.
“I’m looking for the list Mr. Damien gave me. I left without it,” he said.
“Try the sideboard in the dining room. I saw you make a note on it there.”
“Thank you,” Jeffery replied as he backed out of the room and closed the door.
As soon as he was gone, Helena pulled Damien’s laptop from under the newspaper, powered it down, and returned it to the safe.
CHAPTER 34
The second time his phone went off, Harvath gave up trying to sleep and got out of bed.
Walking downstairs to the kitchen, he put on some coffee, booted up his laptop, and turned on the TV. So far, there was nothing on the news.
Nicholas was tapped into the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention in Atlanta. He had hacked into the system and had been monitoring their Epi-X, or Epidemic Information Exchange. It was a password-protected area where local, county, state, and national public health officials could rapidly access and share disease outbreak surveillance information.
In the last twelve hours, two people — one in Chicago and one in Houston — had presented to their local emergency rooms with high fevers and flu-like symptoms. Each had rapidly deteriorated and bled out. They had bled from everywhere including their eyes, ears, nose, mouth, and gums. Any path the blood and liquefying organs could take to escape the body, it did. The ooze was so dark it was almost black. The ICU floors were covered with it and looked like something out of a horror movie.
Though the rapid test kits were not confirming it as Ebola, officials on Epi-X were already referring to it as “some form” of Hemorrhagic Fever. Samples had been dispatched to the CDC for analysis.
While Harvath wasn’t a doctor, he already knew what they were looking at. Weaponized African Hemorrhagic Fever had been set loose.
Once Nicholas had the names of the two patients, he began working up backgrounds on them. The sample was too small to prove a pattern, but Harvath was worried. Both were male and both had Muslim names. His gut told him this was going to get much worse.
Looking at his watch, he debated calling Carlton, but decided against it. He already knew the questions he was going to ask. Until he and Nicholas had more information, it didn’t make sense to wake him up.
Harvath also made a mental note to remember to thank him. It was Carlton who had invited Lara down from Boston so that she could be there when he got back from Congo. The Old Man knew Lara was special to him, and that she was someone he cared about.
While the blame wasn’t his to take for spoiling their vacation, he took it anyway. Harvath wasn’t quite sure what he had said to her, but it had gone a long way toward easing her disappointment over their trip.
Had she been upset? Absolutely. It was why she hadn’t replied to his text. But by the time Harvath had arrived home, all she wanted to do was put her arms around him.
When he tried to speak, she wouldn’t let him. They kissed and tumbled into bed.
Afterward, he drifted off to sleep exhausted. When he awoke, he opened his eyes and looked at her, hoping she was awake, but she wasn’t.
That was okay. It would keep.
Now, as he poured his coffee, he heard the sound of bare feet crossing the worn, wooden planks of his kitchen floor. He smiled.
Lara wrapped her arms around him and kissed his back. “Jet lag?” she asked.
“There’s a lot going on,” he replied, hugging her back. Turning, he kissed her. “It’s going to be a rough day.”
“Anything I can do?”
He shook his head. “You already did it. You’re here.”
It felt so damn good holding her there in his kitchen. It was something he could get used to, something he could learn to look forward to.
Lowering his forehead until it touched hers, he interlaced his fingers in the small of her back and closed his eyes. In all the craziness, it was an exquisite moment of peace. Maybe this was what it was all about. Maybe life was about nothing more than moments.
“Not a bad way to start the day,” she murmured.
“I know how we can make it even better,” he replied, lowering his hands.
Pressing herself even tighter against him, she kissed her way over to his ear and whispered, “Tell me.”
God, she was beautiful. And so sexy. He loved everything about her. She was tall, with amazing gold-flecked, green eyes and long brown hair that had kept its summer highlights. She was even still tan, something she attributed to the Brazilian DNA she received from her parents.
She so resembled one of the women from Victoria’s Secret that his buddies jokingly referred to her as the “underwear model.” It was a guy thing and actually an incredible compliment. They were jealous as hell of him. Not just because of how gorgeous Lara was, but also because of how happy the two of them were together — even if it was divided between Boston and D.C.
For Harvath, though, the way he felt about her went beyond her looks and how attracted he was to her. He loved how smart she was. She was off-the-charts brilliant. She also treated him better than anyone he had ever known.
Standing there in his kitchen, holding her, he realized that he loved her and wanted to tell her.
Gently, he pushed her back a step and looked into her eyes.
“What is it?” she asked.
He opened his lips to tell her, and his cell phone went off. He knew who it was by the ringtone.
The Old Man had been relegated to the classic ringing of an old school telephone, while Nicholas had chosen his own ringtone on Harvath’s phone — “Atomic Dog” by George Clinton.
Their mutual love of funk music had been one of the first things they had learned about each other as their friendship evolved.
Glancing at his phone on the counter, he saw the wild picture of George Clinton that Nicholas used as his avatar. He hated breaking away from Lara, but he had to.
“It’s okay,” she said, reading his thoughts. “Answer it. I’ll start breakfast.”
He gave her a quick kiss as he reached over and picked up the phone.
“What’s up?” he asked as he connected the call and lifted the phone to his ear.
“A third case has just been reported,” Nicholas replied.
“Where?”
“Detroit.”
“Same symptoms?” he asked.
“Unfortunately.”
“Do we know anything about the patient?”
Nicholas clicked a couple of keys on his end and read the information. “Male. Thirty-seven years old.”
“Name?”
“I was afraid you were going to ask that. Abdulraham Mafid Marzook.”
That made three. “I’m guessing we can rule out Dutch Reformed again,” said Harvath.
Nicholas let out a short laugh. Graveyard humor had always been part of their relationship. Without it, both men would have gone crazy a long time ago.