”Bubonic plague,” Derek said. “A bacterium.” He didn’t turn from the window.
“Yes,” Halloran said. “We decided it should have the infectious properties of Ebola — and the hemorrhagic qualities, as well — yet still be transmissible as an aerosol. Weaponizable, in other words.”
“And you succeeded?” Spigotta asked, dropping into a chair. He looked as if they had hit him in the forehead with a ball peen hammer.
“Yes. We succeeded.”
“Do you have an antidote for it. Antibiotics?”
Derek spoke up. “We’re back to basic vocabulary again. It’s a virus. It doesn’t respond to antibiotics. Does it respond to protease inhibitors or any of the anti-virals?”
“No,” Halloran said. “As far as we know it doesn’t respond to anything. Bleach can kill it. That’s it. It’s highly infectious, can be transmitted through the air, in water, on food, by touch. It remains alive and active on plain surfaces like a counter top for as long as six days. From infection to first symptoms it’s twelve hours, sometimes less. Around twelve hours the subjects develop internal bleeding, usually bloody noses which rapidly progresses to bleeding from the ears and the rectum. Within another six hours the internal organs are so compromised that soft tissue — eyes, mouth, gums, penis, vagina and bruised skin are bleeding uncontrollably… eventually even the skin deteriorates, but by that time most hosts are essentially dead.”
“Death occurs within twenty-four hours?” Derek asked.
“As early as eighteen hours, depending on where the infection site is,” Liz Vargas said.
“And this is what a bunch of terrorists stole?” Spigotta’s voice had risen in anger and disbelief. “You invented this… this Chimera just to prove it could be done, then you kept it?! Why in God’s name didn’t you destroy it?! Whatever possessed you to put it in cold storage!? Why in hell did you save it?!”
Still looking out the window, Derek muttered, “The devil’s pitchfork.”
Halloran looked startled. Spigotta snarled, “What did you say?”
Derek turned from the window, his expression grim. “When human beings steal the devil’s pitchfork, they don’t destroy it. They think by stealing it they’ve stopped the devil.” His gaze rested on Frank Halloran. “Instead, you’ve become the devil.” He swallowed, his Adam’s apple bobbing. “Congratulations.”
4
The man they called Fallen stepped out of the white van, looked around and took in the surroundings. They had parked the three vans on the second level of the Frederick Municipal Airport parking garage. He spotted the security cameras and turned, acting as if he did not notice; acting as if he were just an average businessman heading out of town. He and the rest of his people had rid themselves of their white Tyvek suits and their biological hazard masks after Lee had transferred the transport container into another double-lined completely sealable container. They now wore nondescript slacks and shirts, their Colt XM-177s stowed in gym bags and suitcases.
A private jet, a Lear, he thought, roared down the runway and leapt into the sky. Once the decibels diminished, he looked to Lee and asked him in Korean if the samples were safe.
Lee, who had gone into the hot zone with him, just nodded.
His men all looked at him, waiting for direction. Fallen had recruited them from various countries, specialists in a wide assortment of military and espionage skills. They were all warriors of one sort or another who had fallen from their government’s graces. Fallen had offered them money first, then he had offered them a sense of belonging. Finally, he had offered them a sense of mission. They were fanatically loyal to him, to his vision.
Fallen’s face split into a wicked grin. “Comrades,” he said. “That went perfectly. On to the next stage of the operation.”
They dispersed, all except one of the men, a short, wiry man with curly hair the color of weak tea cut close to his scalp.
“Dieter?” Fallen said, slipping into German. “Was machst du da?” (What are you doing there?)
Dieter stepped out of one of the vans and carefully shut the panel door, then turned to Fallen. He described the presents he had left in the vans.
Fallen was impressed. Dieter had special skills. He had simply told him to sabotage the vans for when the authorities had found them. But Dieter, like so many of his people, had surpassed his expectations.
“Dieter, du bist ein Klugscheißer!” (You are a clever shit.)
Dieter crawled into the second van, his thick voice wafting out of the door. “Ich bin ein tödlich Scheißer.” (I am a deadly shit.)
“Gut,” Fallen said. “Das ist gut.”
Once Dieter was done with all three vans, he followed Fallen from the second level to the first where the rest of his people waited. As he walked, Fallen pulled out a cellular telephone and placed a call. It was answered by a woman.
“Nadia,” Fallen said, and spoke in Russian. “Dushka, the operation has gone perfectly.”
“You are safe?”
“We all are. Have you been tracking the enemy?”
“Da. The FBI, led by a Richard Spigotta. And the Department of Homeland Security, a Dr. Derek Stillwater.”
Fallen’s hand gripped the cellular telephone. “Who?”
“Dr. Derek Stillwater.”
Fallen’s eyes flashed and for a moment he felt a rage that threatened to engulf him. He whispered, a harsh voice, “I was promised. I was promised!”
“Fallen…”
“No,” Fallen whispered into the phone. “No. I need you for this. You and only you. You must track this Derek Stillwater. Where is he now?”
“Probably at U.S. Immunological Research.”
“Pick him up there if you can. Then get back with me immediately. Have them pull his records so you can identify him. Follow him.”
“Yes. Be careful.”
“You, too, Dushka. You too.” Dushka. Darling.
Fallen clicked off the telephone, the anger clear on his face. His men watched him carefully. He took a deep breath, thinking of empty promises and of betrayal. He thought of things that might go wrong, on the uncontrollable elements of any operation.
Einstein had said that God did not play dice with the universe.
Fallen was certain that Einstein had been wrong. God routinely played dice with the universe and took great pleasure in unexpected turns of chance.
Derek Stillwater was an unexpected problem.
He paused, thinking, then climbed into one of the waiting vehicles, a black Mercedes sport utility vehicle.
Derek Stillwater could be an asset. Or Derek Stillwater could be a major problem.
Thinking of divine powers and plans, Fallen wondered which Derek Stillwater would turn out to be. He wondered if he would be forced to kill Derek Stillwater.
He wondered when he would be forced to kill Derek Stillwater.
And he imagined dice rolling across the sky and knew that he was the one who was flinging them.
5
Derek stood front-and-center. “Okay. I’m going into HL4. Who’s qualified to go in with me?” He let his gaze settle on Halloran and Vargas.
“I will,” Liz said. She swallowed hard, looking ill.
“Now wait a minute,” Halloran said. “Who are you? Nobody goes in the hot zone unless they’re—”