Halloran reluctantly sat. To his credit, he didn’t ask what this was about.
Pilcher stared at him for a long moment. He said, “The Bureau has some questions.”
“I thought I answered all of them earlier.”
“We have more. Are you happily married, Doctor Halloran?”
Halloran raised an eyebrow. “Excuse me?”
“Are you happily married, Doctor Halloran?”
“Why are you asking that? What does that have to do with anything?”
“Answer the question!” Pilcher shouted.
Halloran jumped. “Jesus Christ! Yes. What’s your—”
”Do you love your children?”
“What? Now look—”
”Answer the question!”
“Yes.”
“Who are you having an affair with?”
Halloran squinted and leaned forward in his chair. “What?”
Voice cold, colder than ice, Pilcher said, “I asked you a question, Doctor Halloran. In the interest of national security, I want you to answer it.”
“National security?”
Pilcher stared at him. “Every Wednesday night for the last two months you have eaten dinner at a number of restaurants in the Baltimore area. After eating at those restaurants, you have checked into a variety of hotels nearby.”
“How—”
”Since this occurred two months prior to a terrorist assault on your facility resulting in the theft of a bioengineered germ that could cause a pandemic, it amazes me that you would be so stupid to think there’s no connection.”
Halloran’s face drained of color. His voice shook as he protested, “There isn’t.”
“Who is she?”
“A… just a friend. She’s not involved in this.”
Pilcher thought Halloran was an idiot. Voice dripping with ice, he said, “The Bureau will decide whether or not she is involved in this. We want a name. We want a telephone number. We want an address. If you have pictures, we want them. If you do not give us this information… immediately, I am authorized to take you into custody. We will be forced to ask your wife and your children questions… in the interest of national security… concerning your relationships. Do I make myself clear, Dr. Halloran?”
Obviously he was making himself crystal clear, because Halloran’s hands were shaking in his lap. He clutched the arms of the chair and shook his head. “No. No, my life… this… you… you’re ruining my life.”
“Name.” Pilcher intoned.
Halloran leaned forward and pressed his face into his hands. “Oh God. I can’t believe…” He fell silent, fingers pressing into his closed eyes. Finally: “She’s just a friend.”
“Phone number.”
“She’s married. I never called her. She called me.”
“Phone number.”
Halloran looked up. “I don’t have one.”
“Where does she live?”
Halloran shook his head. “Somewhere in D.C., but I don’t really know.”
“How did you meet her?”
Halloran sighed. “Dear God. She’s… she’s just a friend.”
Aaron Pilcher thought of the Scully family, of what had been done to them. He wondered if there was a connection. There probably was. “More than a friend. How did you meet her?”
“A talk I gave at… Georgetown University. She was in the audience. She’s adjunct faculty there. You know, she teaches but isn’t a member of the faculty. She taught microbiology. She has a masters degree in microbiology, taught a lot of laboratory courses.”
“How old?”
He shrugged. “Thirties, I guess.”
“Her name?” Pilcher waited.
Halloran said, “Look, she’s not involved in this. It was a—”
”When you met her for the first time, what did she say?”
“Well, uh, she said she liked my talk, thought it was really interesting, she’d like to know more about my work and the research we do.”
“And?”
“And what?” Halloran, the poor fool, looked utterly confused.
“And what? You offered to buy her a drink somewhere and talk about your work?”
“Well…” Halloran’s face grew red. “Yes. Exactly.”
“Or did she offer to buy you a drink and let you talk about your work?”
He shook his head. “I–I… no, I… I don’t remember.”
Pilcher stared. “What’s her name?”
“Look—”
Pilcher reached under his jacket and retrieved his handcuffs. “I’m really quite through with you, Doctor.”
Sweat beaded on Halloran’s forehead. “No, really. Her name… her name is Irina Khournikova.”
“Sounds Russian,” Pilcher said.
“It is. Her English is excellent. She’s been here in the U.S. for years, but she’s originally from Russia.”
“Adjunct faculty at Georgetown?”
“Yes.”
“Do you have any photographs?”
“N-no.”
“Describe her.”
“Well, mid-thirties, athletic, shoulder-length brown hair. Attractive. Very intelligent.”
She played you like a goddamned piano, Pilcher thought. He stood up. “I wouldn’t be surprised if someone comes back to discuss this with you again.” He walked past Halloran and was halfway out the door when Halloran said, “You… you think she’s involved in this, don’t you? In the theft of Chimera.”
Pilcher nodded and walked out of Halloran’s office. He was immediately on his cell phone, calling Spigotta, giving him the name and the information. Spigotta said, “Have you been in touch with Stillwater?”
“No.”
“Get hold of him. I want an update. Brief him on what we know.”
Pilcher clicked off and called Stillwater’s cell phone. Stillwater sounded cagey. “What have you got?” Pilcher asked.
“I’ve confirmed my theory.” He sounded like someone was in the room with him.
“Are you alone?”
“No.”
“Is Richard Coffee behind this like you think?”
“Yes. And others.”
“Okay. I’ve got a lead on somebody we can check on. A microbiology instructor at Georgetown U. Irina Khournikova—”
”Say that again.”
Pilcher did, wondering at Clearwater’s interruption.
“I’ll call you back,” Clearwater said, and clicked off.
“Wonder what that was about,” Pilcher said out loud. He turned to leave and was just walking around the corner when he heard a gunshot fired from behind him. He froze, then slowly turned back, heading toward Halloran’s office. The shot must have been heard throughout the building, because two soldiers swept past him at a dead run. He followed, reluctant to witness what he knew he was going to see.
Halloran had taken the time to get up from his chair, retrieve a Colt .45 service weapon from a desk drawer. Then he had sat down behind his desk, written on a piece of stationary merely the words, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. Then Halloran put the barrel of the gun in his mouth and pulled the trigger.
18
Derek Stillwater stared at the photograph of Richard Coffee and Kim Pak Lee, the Korean bioweapons expert. Then he slid it aside.
“How many in this organization?”
Irina Khournikova shrugged. “Estimates say as small as ten, as large as fifty. It may be that its size is fluid. I don’t have dossiers on all the members. Just a few confirmed cases.”
“Let’s see them.”
He followed her into the bedroom that apparently served as a makeshift office. She retrieved a handful of files and turned, seeing him standing close behind her. She moved around him without comment, but her expression said: You don’t trust me. That was okay by Derek. He didn’t trust her.