Nestled behind wooden panels in the walls of his richly appointed office were several different telecommunications devices, each capable of providing instant and absolutely secure communications. The panels were operated by a master control located on his desk. With everything shut, the office resembled what you would expect in a typical Fortune 500 CEO’s office – thick Oriental rugs, a heavy oak desk, real oil paintings of his FBI predecessors – including the great J. Edgar himself – a credenza with pictures of his wife, kids and grandchild. When he opened up all of the panels, it looked like mission control. He sat in front of the personal video-conferencing unit. Several lamps illuminated the office. The shades had been drawn, as they were most of the time. Why Executive Directors got offices with windows was beyond him. Spying wasn’t always high tech bugs, or moles, sometimes it was a simple set of binoculars. The view out his window wasn’t so great anyway – unless downtown DC could be considered scenic.
He entered his passcodes. The retinal scanner on top of the unit scanned his brown eyes, confirming his identity. The split-screen came up and he could see himself on one half. The other half was blank until he connected. There was an option to only view the person he was calling, but he liked being able to see himself. He stared into the tiny camera mounted on top of the monitor, and made sure that he looked presentable before selecting the remote unit for connection. His dark brown hair was starting to fleck grey. Time for another visit to his barber for some dye. It was a running joke at the Bureau – behind his back of course. Fifty–six-year-old men don’t naturally have thick, grey-free hair but then again, most men his age couldn’t bench press two hundred forty pounds.
He waited patiently while the link was established. Carl Moscovitz’s image appeared in a window on the blank side of the screen. The image froze until the ‘synched’ icon appeared at the bottom of the screen and Carl spoke. “Hi, Arthur. Sorry for the short notice.”
“That’s okay, Carl. What’s up?”
“Agent Paul Pelletier. We caught him last night. Actually, he showed up at a local emergency room. Wounded, damn near dead.”
“So did he shoot that cop?” Arthur received daily summaries of Bureau activity, ordered by importance from the bevy of analysts squirreled away on the second floor. He had read about agent Pelletier earlier this morning.
“Yeah.”
“Jesus Christ, how is he?”
“Pell?”
“No, the cop,” Arthur said. How the hell did one of his agents do something like this? He could see the headlines, “Rogue FBI agent shoots local cop.” More bad PR.
“He’ll make it. Probably get to take an early retirement,” Carl responded. “But it gets more bizarre.”
Arthur’s expression didn’t change. He had learned years ago to control his emotions. “Go on,” he said.
“The brains behind this virus, Sarah Burns, her college mentor lived in New Hampshire. That’s why Pell was there. He was the only lead we had. The old guy stroked out after Pell talked to him and before we could. He’s not going to make it. If he does, he’ll be a vegetable.”
Arthur shook his head. His empty stomach twisted – not from hunger.
Carl continued, blinking too frequently. “I think he told Pell something.”
“You’ve talked to Agent Pelletier?”
“Yes, we got a few minutes with him.”
“Did he say anything insightful?”
Carl’s normally nasally voice rose an octave. “While we were in his room with the doctors, Pell was babbling, in and out of consciousness. He blurted out bits and pieces of the story.”
“Bits and pieces of the story?” Arthur didn’t like the sound of this at all. Carl was obviously being evasive and in this business, evasive would lead to disaster because the truth always comes out. In this day and age, hiding the truth was damn near impossible. “Look, Carl, cut the bullshit. What exactly are you saying? Did the doctors hear anything?”
Carl swallowed hard. His eyes flicked away from the screen briefly and Arthur’s heart sank. This was about to go tits up. “Yes.”
“For fuck’s sake,” Arthur moaned as he pressed his hand to his forehead. “Spit it out.”
“When they heard the word virus, they wanted to start containment protocols. They were going to lock down the ward or even the hospital! I had to act fast or everything would have been exposed and we don’t even know if it’s real yet. Can you imagine that? Jesus, I had to contain the situation at all costs.”
“So how many people were in the room?”
“Excluding myself and an agent, two. Dr. Epstein, the Head of Critical Care and his intern.”
“And what did they hear?”
Carl recounted the conversation.
“And where are they now?”
“I assume they’re in the hospital.”
Arthur shook his head in disbelief. “You mean you just let them carry on with their day?”
“What was I supposed to do, Arthur? This guy is a senior staff member of a major medical institution. We detain him over something like this and we’ll have their lawyers all over us.”
“So what makes you think they’re going to keep their mouths shut?”
“I told them this is a national security matter. Any leaks could be considered treason. The Patriot Act is broad and sweeping, certainly nothing they want to get wrapped up in. I got the message across, loud and clear. They won’t talk.”
“And what if they do?”
“Then we bring them in immediately but they won’t.”
“You shouldn’t have done that, Carl.”
“I needed them to bring Pell around so we could properly debrief him but they weren’t budging, Arthur. Epstein is a tough bastard. We had to push him hard to get time with Pell. He almost threw us out. Duty to his patients and all of that righteous medical bullshit but I got him over the hump.”
“Okay, so we can’t undo it but I want those doctors to know that we’re serious. Have agents remind them, tail them, let them know we’re serious.”
“Already done,” Carl replied.
“So where does it stand now?”
“I’ve got a man stationed outside Pell’s door at the ready to speak to him if he comes around again.”
“Alright but, for the future, you should have called. I could have gotten to the director of the hospital through political channels and we could have achieved the same thing without having to involve anyone.”
“But Pell told them—”
“I don’t care about that. You should have called me.”
“I know, I know. There just wasn’t time. It’s not the way I wanted to do it but we needed to talk to Pell.”
“How many men do you have working on this?” Arthur asked.
“Right now, only three. I just sent one up to northern Maine to handle that end. I’m going to need to put more out there, but I wanted to talk it over with you first. We need to reprioritize and I’ll need bodies. Fast.”
“How do you know that this virus really exists?”
“I don’t. It’s a gut feeling, Arthur.”
“I don’t like gut feelings. I like facts.”
“You and me both but there’s just too many coincidences happening in a normally quiet state.”
“But where’s the proof of a connection? What ties them together?”
“Chris Foster.”
“Who is he?”
“The guy who saw the plane go down and who contacted the Bureau.”
“So maybe he’s up to something. Have you thought of that?”
“He’s just some guy. There’s no way he’s orchestrating all of this. What could he be up to?”
“How the fuck do I know? That’s your job. All I’m saying is that I’m not hearing anything that shows me this virus even exists,” Arthur said as he leaned back in his chair and stared at the SAC. It was a little interrogation trick he had learned years ago. Most people don’t like prolonged direct eye contact, particularly when there was nothing else happening. Getting people uncomfortable was always a good thing. He did it all the time, generally as a way to think something through. Why look at the ceiling or close your eyes – it was more effective to use the moment to unnerve your opponent while formulating your thoughts. “Okay, Carl. This is what I want you to do. We don’t want to put too many agents on this thing until we get more solid corroboration because the word would get out. If the press gets a hold of this…”