Liz took a swallow of beer, then set it down. “How’s your knee? Are you on pain medication?”
“You’re drinking it,” he said.
“Oh. Well… I wanted to know… I mean, I know some of what happened, but not all of it.”
He took a long swallow of beer, thought for a moment, then told her. He left out a few details that needed to be kept secret for national security reasons, but otherwise he told her as much as he could.
They had not found Richard Coffee. He disappeared. Irina Khournikova — the real Irina Khournikova — disappeared as well, though everyone knew she had disappeared back into the T Directorate in Moscow.
The Coke can had been analyzed at USAMRIID and it contained aerosolized Chimera.
“What are you going to do now?” she asked when he finished his recitation.
He looked at her. “Did Johnston send you over here?”
Her face flushed pink. “Well, Sharon Jaxon asked me to, and so did Cindy Black.”
Cindy Black, the helicopter pilot, was still in the hospital. Her testimony to Aaron Pilcher cleared Derek of any connection to Sam Dalton. Derek felt he owed her for that; and owed Pilcher for keeping an open mind and for staying by her bedside until she became conscious.
Derek visited her every day. She had a broken back, fractured pelvis and assorted other injuries. She would be able to walk someday, but her career in the Coast Guard was probably over.
“I haven’t changed my mind,” he said.
Johnston had been reinstated as Secretary of the Department of Homeland Security, a national hero. He wanted Derek to come aboard as his Deputy Director. Derek told him no. What he actually said was, “You’re fucking crazy. No fucking way.” Then he turned in his resignation as a troubleshooter. Johnston said he’d keep his resignation in mind.
Derek hadn’t changed his mind. But he did have a plan.
“So what will you do?” she asked again.
He shrugged. “I’ve got a couple ideas. How about you?”
“They’ve invited me to work at USAMRIID. I’m thinking about it. But I might just look for a job in academia.”
He smiled. “I might, too. Or, I might just retire. Or, I’m thinking some travel might be in order.”
There was something about the way he said it. She looked at him closely, wondering. They sat in silence, enjoying the sun. She said, “What do you think happened to Richard Coffee?”
He looked at her for a long moment. Then he reached over to the paperback novel he had been reading off and on, and pulled out a postcard and handed it to her. “Got this in the mail yesterday,” he said. “I haven’t shown it to Johnston yet. You know, the Department of Homeland Security only has jurisdiction here in the United States.”
She studied the postcard. On the front was a picture of a devil holding a pitchfork. Turning it over, she saw it said: “See you soon, Derek. Count on it.” The postmark was from Mexico City.
She looked at him. “You’re thinking of travel?”
“Haven’t been to Mexico in a while,” Derek said, tipping his beer at her. “Maybe I’ll start there.”
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
I would like to acknowledge the various people who assisted me in this novel. My wife, Leanne, and my sons, Ian and Sean. My agent, Irene Kraas. Judy Bullard for her outstanding cover art and Natasha Fondren assistance with all things HTML and format-related. Various unnamed folks involved with the field of microbiology, and the staff at USAMRIID, as well as Rchard Preston, author of The Hot Zone and Demons in the Freezer, both books that might be of interest to readers of The Devil's Pitchfork who wish to know more about the amazing and important work done by the CDC and USAMRIID in the fight against bioterrorism and emerging infections, as well as the long and never-ending battle against pandemics.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Mark Terry is the bestselling author of the Derek Stillwater thrillers, THE DEVIL’S PITCHFORK, THE SERPENT’S KISS, and THE FALLEN, as well as several standalone thrillers, including DIRTY DEEDS, CATFISH GURU, and DANCING IN THE DARK. Born in Flint, Michigan in 1964, he graduated from Michigan State University with a degree in microbiology and public health, which has informed his Derek Stillwater thrillers and other fiction. After spending 18 years working in clinical genetics, he turned to writing full time. When not writing or reading, Mark Terry is a gym rat, lifting weights, biking, running, kayaking, studying Sanchin-Ryu karate, and playing the guitar. Otherwise he spends his time with his wife and two sons in Michigan. Visit him on the web at www.markterrybooks.com.