Whether from shock or coincidence, the rat squirmed at the sound of Dante’s voice, struggling mightily in Jasmijn’s hand. It flopped over to one side as Jasmijn glanced over for a split second at Dante. When she looked back down she was horrified to see the needle plowing through the thin latex of the glove into the palm of her hand.
She gave a little yelp of surprise on feeling the prick of the needle penetrating her skin and jumped, shaking her hand as if she could undo the needle stab. The rat went flying onto a lab bench and the coffee pot crashed to the floor as Dante drew his weapon, thinking that some kind of enemy tactic was playing out. Naomi and Stephen also raised their guns, heads on a swivel as they looked around for threats.
All three OUTCAST operators converged on Jasmijn, slowly circling her while she stared at her open palm. The syringe lay on the floor. Jasmijn’s mouth was slightly open, her eyes wide as she gaped at a tiny speck of blood that bloomed in the center of her left hand. Meanwhile, the rat scrabbled away on the lab bench.
“Do we need to get the rat? Is it contaminated?” Naomi asked.
“N-no.” Jasmijn stuttered, now holding her hand upside down and squeezing it. “I’m contaminated. I—” She couldn’t finish her sentence.
“You stuck yourself?” Stephen eyeballed the syringe on the floor. No fluid seemed to be leaking from it.
“Yes!”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes!”
“What can we do?” This from Dante.
No one said anything. At length, Stephen asked, “What’s the status of the antidote?”
She shook her head. “Not ready! This injection for the rat was supposed to be an intermediate step to clarify something by using injection rather than aerosol as the delivery method.”
The trio of operators stared at her, stymied. There was not a single person on the planet who could help her now, except possibly herself. Worse, from past STX exposure cases they knew that without a successful antidote she only had about ten minutes to live.
Just then Stephen’s earbud crackled with Danielle’s voice. “Situation developing in Boothbay Harbor, Maine. Tanner and Liam on scene. Small-scale STX attack confirmed. President Carmichael’s yacht as yet unharmed. Update only, no action required. Requesting Euro sitrep, over.”
Shah turned away from Jasmijn and spoke softly into his transmitter. He didn’t want his reply distracting her at this crucial moment — which may be one of her last.” Copy that, home base. Internal situation developing here, do not require assistance as of yet. Will report back, over.” It felt strange for him to say they didn’t need any help when a key member of their team was dying, but the sad truth was that no assistance could be provided for Jasmijn.
Dante implored the scientist with his eyes.” Dr. Rotmensen. You’ve got to try it anyway. There’s no other way.”
“You’re right.” She bent down to pick up the syringe but Naomi stopped her. “Doctor. Please. We can take care of that for you. Focus on administering yourself the antidote. Anything at all you can tell us to do — anything — just tell us and we’ll do it.”
“Okay.” Jasmijn moved to the spectrometer and eyed the readout. She took a deep but shaky breath. “I can feel it,” she said. “The STX taking effect.”
“Is your dose of antidote as ready as it can be?” Stephen asked.
The scientist shook her head, a gesture of helplessness. “No. But it’s already becoming harder to breathe. Legs feel wobbly…” She sat on a lab stool in front of her workstation. “I need to make it now and take it, while my symptoms are still manageable. Looks like injecting it rather than breathing it in didn’t slow the onset.”
“What can we do to help?” Naomi inquired.
She instructed the OUTCAST team on what equipment to gather in order to prepare the antidote shot. They moved efficiently and in three more minutes the dose was ready.
Dante handed Jasmijn the hypodermic and she took it, but her hand was shaking so badly that she couldn’t hold it steady.
“Let me give you the shot,” Naomi offered, taking the syringe.
Jasmijn bared her shoulder to her.
Naomi plunged the needle into her skin.
FORTY-FOUR
“Circle the yacht — give it a wide berth!” Tanner called over to Liam. They rode their waverunners only a few feet apart as they raced out into the harbor. They could already see the president’s ship just beyond the harbor in the bay. The cocktail party was in full swing on the main deck.
“Not too close, don’t want them to think we’re on offense!”
Tanner nodded his understanding and they jumped the wake of a passing motorboat. He was glad to see they weren’t they only jet-skis out on the water. They continued to ride out toward the harbor mouth. The sun was out, but the water that sprayed them wasn’t warm, and a light wind added to that chill factor. Still, the adrenaline pumping through Tanner’s system kept him from noticing. They looked around in all directions as they jetted toward the president’s yacht.
For all the pandemonium on land, out here there still seemed to be a lot of people having fun. They passed a pontoon boat filled with elderly people drinking wine and listening to Frank Sinatra doing it his way. Not far away a young woman wakeboarded behind a small boat, the occupants videotaping her and cheering her on. Beyond it all President Carmichael’s vessel still floated serenely at anchor, and still Tanner and Liam detected no threats.
As they pushed further out into the harbor, Tanner began to wonder if maybe they were making a mistake by coming out here. There was an actual attack, after all, right behind them on the waterfront. They were in fact running away from it. But years as a counter-terror agent had imbued him with a sort of sixth sense that told him when things weren’t quite right, and right now that sense bristled. The first attack was a distraction. It had to be. The logistics involved in transporting even a small amount of STX across state lines, the agents, the boat…it all seemed like way too much to do and far too much risk to assume not to try and hit Carmichael’s boat. He was the very man, after all, who had refused to grant their demands. The U.S. embassy in The Hague was still operational. And he floated right over there…Even an unsuccessful attempt of some kind on the yacht would generate international headlines for Hofstad, something that the low-key terror organization apparently desired, seeking to up their visibility.
They heard the blast of a large boat horn — low in pitch — carry across the water and tensed, white-knuckling the waverunner handlebars. Looking to their left they saw a ferry carrying passengers toward the dock. Tanner slowed to get a good look; it was only the captain being cautious, warning the small craft in its path that it was coming through.
Tanner resumed cruising speed and the pair of OUTCASTs plowed across the harbor. Before long the Lincoln loomed, and Tanner knew that at least one of the dozen or so vessels anchored within one hundred yards of it had to be Secret Service, watching for any vessel to breach an invisible perimeter. Get too close to the Lincoln, and action would be taken. He motioned to Liam that they should take an outer perimeter approach. They knew better than to take a direct route.
They fell into a long oval pattern that took them around the yacht. During the first trip around Tanner scouted the presidential asset for signs of trouble and saw none — no evidence of terrorism, and no indication that he and Liam had aroused sufficient suspicion to warrant action against them. That didn’t mean that they hadn’t been noticed, of course. There could well be a pair of marine binoculars focused on them now, not to mention video surveillance, and possibly even firearms. Tanner put on his best tourist-having-the-time-of-his-life grin as he banked into a sharp turn out in front of the yacht’s bow. The truth was that he disliked waverunners and jet-skis — the motorcycles of the sea, as he thought of them. They were loud and obnoxious, just large enough to sit on but not really relax. He’d much rather be on a boat, even a small one. But the skis were very fast and could fit into tight quarters if necessary.