“Eh, Doctor? Do you believe in America? Is that why you resist me? Fighting me for God and country? You understand that America is dying tonight. We almost got your President. We nearly decapitated your government. We took out very many of your generals and your bureaucratic directors. We have Dalton to thank for that, even if his prime target managed to escape.”
Ling looked closely at Derek, at the tightening around his patient’s eyes, at the sudden interest and glitter in his eyes. “You did not know?” he asked softly.
Derek said, “You’re lying.” His brain was in turmoil. It was a psychological ploy. Ling was telling him stories to confuse him, to make him give up hope.
“Ah,” said Ling. “You do not know.” He finished with his medical handiwork and looked down at Derek Stillwater. “Samuel Dalton released a canister of VX gas into the White House last evening. It was timed to coincide with a high-level emergency cabinet meeting. It killed the director of the FBI, the CIA, the director of Health and Human Services, the director of the Center for Disease Control and Prevention. It killed the National Security Advisor and your military Joint Chiefs of Staff. It decimated a large majority of the Administrative Branch of the United States government, Dr. Stillwater. It is only through luck and quick reflexes that the President survived. Your President survived along with a James Johnston and a Benjamin Zataki. Johnston, I believe, was the Secretary of Homeland Security.”
“Was?” Derek croaked in disbelief.
What might have passed for a smile crossed Ling’s face. “It is my understanding that your President demanded Johnston’s resignation. He could not be trusted when his Deputy Director turned out to be a terrorist. This Zataki I do not know. A military man, I believe? In your Army?”
Derek said nothing.
“Of course, Doctor,” Ling continued. “They also believe that you are working for The Fallen Angels.” He gazed at Stillwater. “Perhaps you will. Perhaps Fallen will recruit you, bring you in with us. Especially now that your own government believes you are a traitor. Hmmm? What do you think, Doctor Stillwater?”
Derek’s brain raced. Was this true? Had Dalton set off VX in the White House? He thought of all the helicopters, all the military and police traffic in the city. He initially thought it was because of the attack on U.S. Immuno, the heightened alert. But… had he somehow known that things had gotten worse?
What had Dalton said?
In Rock Creek Park, Derek had said, “Semantics. You’re playing word games and your own head’s on the block. You’re going in. If you cooperate, tell us where Fallen is, where Coffee is, things might go easier on you.”
Dalton laughed as if he knew something Derek did not. He said, “You are full of shit. Full of shit and uninformed, pal. There isn’t a plea deal in the whole universe for me.”
With a chill he realized that Ling was probably telling the truth. Derek said, “When you throw in with madmen like Coffee—”
”Fallen!”
“Yeah, right. Fallen. When you team up with him, you have to realize how expendable you are. Look at what he did to Dalton. See how he repays loyalty? I’d watch your back.”
Ling looked amused. “If you were lying about the woman you call Irina, Doctor Stillwater, and Fallen finds out, then it is you who must watch out. But I do not see you becoming one of us. I think you will die here tonight or die out in the greater world later when we release Chimera.”
“So you are going to release.”
Ling fastidiously rearranged his instruments of torture. “Yes, Doctor. We most certainly are going to release it.”
Derek stared at his torturer. Such madness. Didn’t they realize… of course they did. “And the White House attack was the first part of your plan.”
“Almost completely successful, but alas, not completely.”
“You’re declaring war on America,” Derek said, trying to hide the sound of desperation that entered his voice.
“No, Doctor,” Ling said. “We are declaring war on the world.”
The door to the trailer opened and Richard Coffee stepped in, his face a mask of conflicting emotions. “Are we done here, Ling?”
“Yes, I have done all that can be done in the short time available.”
“And he told you…”
“He remained consistent with his story. He subdued Irina and turned her over to the FBI for questioning.”
Coffee nodded. “Release him, please.”
Ling nodded and unbound Derek’s hands and feet. Derek slowly sat up, massaging his wrists.
Coffee said, “Give him scrubs. I think that will do.”
Ling nodded and removed a pair of green surgical scrubs from a cabinet and handed them to Derek, who slowly pulled them on. As he stood he staggered against Ling’s tray, knocking the surgical instruments and acupuncture needles to the floor with a loud clatter. The two guards jumped back, as did Ling.
Coffee, in a move as swift as lightning, had his semi-automatic up in both hands, aimed directly at Derek’s face. His voice rough with emotion, he said, “Don’t try anything, Derek. You don’t want to get cute with me right now. Yes, Nadia was at FBI Headquarters, as you said. But I planned to have children with her. She is my wife. You have forced me to have her eliminated by our mole at the bureau. She knows too much. She would have willingly sacrificed for our cause, but it’s because of you that I have to sacrifice her. And for this you’ll pay.”
Derek didn’t move. Nadia? Nadia was Irina? Was that why Ling kept referring to her as the one you call Irina? A sense of horror crept over him as he stared into the barrel of Coffee’s gun, realizing what a knife-edge he had been blindly walking. If Coffee confirmed it, then someone named Irina Khournikova — the real Irina Khournikova? — was being held at FBI Headquarters. They weren’t holding the woman he referred to as Nadia because Nadia, who had been posing at Irina Khournikova, was dead. He had tortured her to death. But who was the real Irina Khournikova?
Derek expected Coffee to gun him down right here. He saw the mad light in his eyes, the way his finger pressed on the trigger.
Then Coffee laughed, a wild, joyous burst of laughter. He put the gun down, spinning it on his finger like a gunslinger and slipping it into his holster. “C’mon, man. Get dressed. Time to give you a tour of the facility. You’re gonna love it.”
Derek carefully got dressed. Carefully, because the acupuncture needle he had palmed from the table was inserted in the waist of the scrub pants.
42
Aaron Pilcher showed his ID badge to the cops who had cordoned off the parking lot near the park. The cop directed him to park his car to one side. Pilcher did so, climbing slowly out of the car, his energy nearly gone. His body was once again soaked in sweat from his nightmarish trip through the White House, fear and stress leaching from his pores. He would have to take a break soon, get a couple hours of sleep, but first Spigotta had told him to run over here, check on things. There were reports of shootings and then an explosion…
What he saw was the burning wreckage of two vehicles and a helicopter. The area was lit up in flashing red and blue and white. The stench of burning fuel permeated the air. Heat baked off the wreckage. Half a dozen police cars, two fire trucks, a swarm of firemen and cops. He gaped at the helicopter. Was it…?
He looked around for the person in charge and located a bulky man shouting through a bullhorn at rescue workers. Pilcher strode over, ID ready. He introduced himself. The man’s jacket indicated he was with the fire department. He glanced at the ID and said, “Probably need NTSB, too. Looks like somebody shot down a Coast Guard helicopter. Blew up a couple trucks. There’s a two dead guys, too. One over there and one over…”