A. Archer—RS: Bio: “What? I don’t see how that can be possible.”
K. Immel—RS: Physical: “Think of us not as thieves, but as illusionists. It’s a matter of redirecting your target’s attention. Like when I lifted your wallet in the Public Garden… while you were gawking at Albane’s tits. Or, a minute ago, when I lifted your phone while I was arguing with VanCleave.”
A. Archer—RS: Bio: “How do you do that?”
K. Immel—RS: Physical: “It’s called practice. With time, your talents will blossom too.”
A. Mesnil—RS: Social: “Kalen, how long do you need to prep?”
K. Immel—RS: Physicaclass="underline" “For which scenario?”
A. Mesnil—RS: Social: “I was thinking Bravo Eight Delta.”
K. Immel—RS: Physicaclass="underline" “Not bad. But I was thinking more along the lines of Bravo Fourteen Echo.”
A. Mesnil—RS: Social: “Interesting. I like it. VanCleave?”
E. VanCleave—RS: Technical: “Too dangerous. Archer has no training for an Echo scenario. I recommend Bravo Fourteen Delta.”
A. Mesnil—RS: Social: “Mr. Parish, your thoughts on executing Sampling Scenario Bravo Fourteen Delta?”
R. Parish—RS: Coordinator: “I concur with Bravo Fourteen Delta.”
A. Mesnil—RS: Social: “Kalen, how long do you need to prep?”
K. Immel—RS: Physicaclass="underline" “Ninety minutes to wheels up, assuming VanCleave can be ready in time.”
E. VanCleave—RS: Technical: “Of course I’ll be ready.”
A. Mesnil—RS: Social: “We’ll need paperwork.”
V. Viskaya—EMBED: Czech Ministry of Health: “I’ll take care of that.”
A. Mesnil—RS: Social: “And an Electrician.”
R. Parish—Coordinator: “We have two in Prague. I’ll make the calls.”
A. Mesnil—RS: Social: “We’ll probably need an ambulance too.”
K. Immel—RS: Physical: “We’ll definitely need an ambulance.”
R. Parish—Coordinator: “Understood.”
A. Mesnil—RS: Social: “Okay, then it’s decided, we prep and wait for the green light from Nicolora. Any questions?”
A. Archer—RS: Bio: “Um guys, could somebody please explain to me what a Bravo Fourteen Delta is?”
Chapter Twenty-One
Will woke in Julie’s bed, alone. He checked the clock on the bedside table. It read 10:47 AM. He did not hear Julie leave and had no idea what time to expect her return. She had not left a note, but he assumed she had gone to her lab to analyze his blood sample as they had agreed. He swung his legs off the side of the bed, stretched, and cracked his back. He took a hot shower and dressed grudgingly back in the same tired, dirty clothes he had worn since Miss Sophie’s.
He wandered into the kitchen and poured himself a small glass of orange juice. He sat down at the tiny kitchen table and considered his predicament. Even with Julie’s help, he still had plenty to worry about. His biggest problem was that he did not have any leverage over his adversaries. Nothing to level the playing field. He needed a bargaining chip. Something to trade besides just his body.
He retrieved the glass vial of synthesized product from of his pocket and held it between his thumb and index finger. This, he thought staring at it, could be the last of its kind. He had destroyed the rest of the inventory the night he escaped. However, for the sample to be effective leverage, he needed to find a safe place to hide it. That way, if he were captured, the sample would still be at large. The hiding place needed to be secure and yet easily accessible. He brainstormed, trying to imagine where such an oxymoronic place might exist:
Bank safety deposit box?
Banks had security cameras, restrictive hours, and would demand him to provide ID and paperwork. Strike one.
Post office box?
P.O. boxes aren’t like mailboxes; they’re unidirectional. He could place the vial in a self-addressed envelope and leave it inside. No one would take it out but him. Unfortunately, the postal service was a federal entity, and he was certain they would require ID and paperwork just like a bank. Strike two.
Julie’s apartment?
Easily accessible yes, but not particularly secure. Eventually his enemies would make the connection, and Julie’s apartment would be the first place they would look for him. Strike three.
Dread washed over him. He’d put Julie and her roommate at terrible risk by staying in the apartment, and it was tying his stomach in knots. He needed fresh air and decided to go for a walk. Although it galled him to do it, he left the apartment door unlocked so that he could get back in if he returned before Julie.
As he walked the streets of the embassy district, he scanned the landscape, hoping a survey of the surroundings would coax an idea. Rising skyward from behind a nearby building, he noticed twin spires and a green-tarnished copper cupola topped with a gold cross. He smiled. A church. A church met both of his criteria: freely accessible, yet ironically secure. He would find a dark inconspicuous place to hide the vial. Perhaps inside a confessional, or simply taped underneath a pew. With renewed spirit in his stride, he set off toward the nearby church.
“I was getting worried, you’ve been gone awhile,” Will said to Julie as she stepped across the threshold into the apartment. He glanced at a nearby wall clock. It was twelve thirty; she had been gone the entire morning. “How did it go?”
She shut the apartment door, leaned back against it, and exhaled deeply.
“Will, there is some really weird shit going on inside that body of yours.”
“Tell me something I don’t know,” he said. “What did you find? Were you able to figure out what they injected me with? Am I infected? Am I contagious?”
“The tests show that your blood is packed with antibodies.”
“What does that mean?”
“It means that you’ve been exposed to many different pathogens.” Julie handed him a printout.
He scanned the list, aghast.
“Anthrax, smallpox, tularemia… I’ll be damned.”
“I know,” she said and then, echoing Jon Henning’s words added, “Your blood panel looks like a sample from either a special forces operative or a test monkey in a BSL-4 lab.”
Will spied an entry on the list that made him blanch. Yersinia pestis. That was the name written on the vial that Rutgers broke at Miss Sophie’s. He had forgotten the Latin name until now.
“What is this one?” he asked, pointing at the list.
She craned her neck to read the entry by his index finger. “Yersinia pestis, that’s bubonic plague.”
“Bubonic plague?”
She nodded.
“Everything on this list is something that I’m infected with?”
She smiled. “No Will, I wouldn’t be sitting at this table with you if you were infected with all of these horrible diseases.”
He cocked his head at her. “I thought you said all these pathogens were in my blood?”
“No. What I said was that you have antibodies in your blood for these pathogens.”
“So, I’m not infected or contagious right now?”
“No. In fact, if this analysis is correct, you are probably the least contagious person on Earth, because your immune system is primed to eradicate every disease on this list. But there’s more.” She spread out the SEM images on the table.