He closed his eyes and slept.
A hand touched his shoulder. Miles opened his eyes. Victor sat, wheeled close to the bed.
Bad news, he mouthed. Let’s talk.
FIFTY-TWO
Victor’s office held a range of computers: two Linux-based workhorses, a gleaming Apple Macintosh, four beige-box PCs.
One monitor displayed a picture of Quantrill. The next of Sorenson, then one of Allison.
Groote stood by one screen, staring at the picture of Sorenson.
‘I haven’t found your daughter, Dennis, and I’m running into stone walls inquiring about government safe houses. Locations are closely guarded secrets. I’m going to have to use a roundabout approach, and that will take time.’
‘If they kill her because Dodd’s dead…’
‘I doubt it. Dodd’s death will freeze them up; they’ll need to regroup. You have to be hopeful,’ Victor said.
Groote sat, put his battered face in his hands, then stood. ‘So what does it buy me? A day, two? Even if we get Frost, I’m not sure how to contact whoever Dodd works for.’
‘I’ve put a couple of bullets in your gun, gentlemen. Or it’s evidence to help you decide either no way in hell you two move forward, or you lay low, or you go to the police right now.’
‘We’re listening,’ Miles said.
Victor gestured at Sorenson’s face on the screen. ‘James Sorenson. But before he was Pentagon, he was posted with the Foreign Service in Beijing. Before that, the army. Now he’s no longer on a government payroll – at least not one anyone will admit. I can find nothing else about him: family, academic background, zilch – those files are sealed. He’s quite the bureaucratic nomad. Usually a government lifer wriggles into a spot and holds on tight.’
‘Or he’s the hot potato, handed around, because he’s trouble,’ Miles said.
‘I have contacts in the army archives and at Defense trying to find out more, but nothing yet, other than one Pentagon friend telling me Sorenson was, and I quote, “a loose cannon, crazy, difficult to deal with.” Sorry, I don’t have a bridge into the Foreign Service; that’s a brick wall to me.’
‘Okay. Quantrill.’
‘I can tell you,’ Groote said, ‘he’s a corporate spy.’
‘More than that,’ Victor said. ‘A dot-com millionaire, moved his money before the Internet bubble broke. He owns a consulting firm that once was accused of corporate espionage, but the charges got dropped; I smell a payoff. He’s also linked to a number of companies that own other companies that own specialty hospitals, both here and overseas, or have contracts with the Veterans Administration.’
‘If he’s illegally testing drugs at one hospital, could he be doing it at another one?’ Groote said. ‘Maybe he and Dodd worked out a deal, to get Frost back from Sorenson – and Amanda’s at one of his hospitals…’
‘I can check, but I don’t think Dodd and Quantrill came to any understanding before Dodd died,’ Victor said. ‘Regarding the testing, I’m almost sure if he tested Frost at one, he might have tested it at others. His only health-care scandal was a VA hospital in Minneapolis accused of testing unapproved cancer medications on patients. Two doctors and an administrator were prosecuted. Another doctor ducked on not enough evidence. That doctor resigned from the VA and took a job with a hospital that Quantrill’s holding company owns in Florida. Otherwise Quantrill sticks to the shadows.’
‘Like Sorenson.’
‘Has it occurred to you Sorenson’s hunting just as hard for you? He’ll know by now his hit in Yosemite failed – and, better for him, he’ll know the government’s willing to lie to the media to cover up Dodd’s involvement. If you’re caught by the police, you’re on the news. You can wipe him out by going public.’
‘Unless he can reach Amanda and she dies if we talk,’ Groote said.
‘Even if he doesn’t, we go public, and the government shuts us up or discredits us, or we talk and we send Frost to pharmaceutical purgatory,’ Miles said. ‘It would kill public acceptance of the research, set it back for years. No. I have to get the formula and then get it to a company that’ll develop it responsibly.’ Miles stared at the photo of Sorenson on the computer screen. A nagging tugged at the back of his brain. The facts didn’t click together in sweet harmony; facts didn’t always; but he couldn’t put his hand on what bothered him.
‘This is a lot, man, thanks,’ Groote said.
Victor wheeled over to Groote. ‘Would you please excuse us, Dennis? I need to speak with Miles privately. Thank you.’
Groote stood and walked out the door without a word.
Victor waited until he heard Groote return to the backyard patio and close the sliding glass door. ‘You can’t trust him.’
‘I know. But I need him. I can’t fight Sorenson alone.’
‘Groote’s ex-FBI. He has a private security firm. You already know he’s not terribly interested in following the law.’
‘Despite his rough edges, he still has that federal air. It’s the only thing that gives me hope he might act decently in the end.’
‘He might need Frost,’ Victor said, ‘more than you or I do. Now… I know you’re angry with Nathan for not telling you the truth about Dodd. But you need to know Nathan’s story. A bit of careful cajoling and a promise of ten free hours of highly expensive database work got me his file via the Department of Defense.’
Miles held up a hand, stood. ‘Don’t tell me. I don’t care.’
Victor leaned forward, tapped Miles on the knee with his prosthetic arm. ‘You asked me to help you, eyes wide open. I’m telling you to listen, ears wide open.’
‘Tell me.’
‘Cleopatra,’ Victor called to one of the computers, ‘play Ruiz video file.’
Prompted by voice-activated software, the computer began to show a film. A nervous Nathan, clean, hair damp, but his nose broken, his eyes bruised, his face pitted and bandaged, sat staring into the camera.
The tape started with the interviewer identifying himself, the date, the location at a U.S. military base in Kuwait.
‘Sergeant Ruiz, I want to talk to you about the events of April second.’
‘Yes, sir.’ Nathan wiped a finger along his bottom lip, caught himself, sat upright. ‘Yes, sir.’
The interviewer summarized the approach Nathan’s artillery unit had taken as the American forces rolled toward Baghdad. Nathan agreed with each point.
‘And then, after you’d fired your missiles, you stopped to await further instructions.’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘And you performed an operational check to see if all systems were functioning properly.’
Nathan nodded. ‘Yes, sir, as always.’
‘And the results?’
‘All was well.’ Nathan swallowed.
‘The infrared beacon that would identify you as American forces was working?’ the interviewer said.
Nathan nodded.
‘I need a verbal answer, please.’
‘Sir, yes, sir, the fireflies – the infrared beacons – were working.’ His voice cracked at the end.
‘So then you stepped away from your post.’
‘Sir, yes, sir, but just a few feet…’
‘And during your absence the beacon failed.’
‘Yes, sir.’ Nathan’s voice stayed steady. ‘I assume so. The backup failed as well.’
‘And how long were you away from the equipment?’
‘Only a few minutes, sir, then I returned.’
‘You didn’t notice the fireflies had malfunctioned.’
Silence.
‘Did you hear the question, Sergeant?’
‘Sir, yes, sir, I heard you. I did not notice the beacon had failed.’
‘Do you only pay attention to the equipment during operational checks, Sergeant Ruiz?’
‘Sir, no, sir.’
‘But you failed to notice that the beacon failed, and the appropriate alarm also failed.’
Four beats of silence, and Nathan’s military impassivity faded into pure pain. He fought hard to put a calm expression back on his face. ‘Sir, yes, sir, but…’
‘But?’
‘Out in the field, sir, the unexpected happens. I don’t know why the system failed. It… just did.’