Ben thought for a moment, then spoke. “Listen, Randolph, you’re going to be fine. You just —”
“Ben, listen. I didn’t call just to keep you in the loop. We’re in over our heads here. Two of my guys are already starting to hyperventilate, and there’s a doctor in here that’s checking everyone out. He pulled me aside an hour ago and told me it’s pretty grave. It’s some sort of viral infection, he thinks, and there’s nothing he can do for us without quarantine facilities and better supplies.
“I wanted to see how you were doing. I don’t know where you were when we brought Fuller in, but you might be safe from it. Did you get out of the park?”
“We did.”
“We?”
“I’m with Julie. Juliette Richardson, from the CDC.”
“Oh.” Randolph paused, taking a deep, raspy breath. “Okay, good. Well, stay away from the park, Ben. I’m not sure what’s going to come of this, but if we can keep the contagion isolated long enough, we might be able to get a jump on it and figure out what it is before anyone else…”
“Right. I’m headed to her office now. We’re outside of Red Lodge, Montana.” Ben stopped for a second, catching himself. “Randolph — George. I–I’m sorry…”
“Stop. Don’t worry about it. Stay with that CDC gal and help her do what she can to stop it. Oh, and there’s one more thing.”
“What’s that?”
“Fuller — Burt was his name. Fuller was at the lake when that bomb went off. He said he was close enough to feel the heat, and the pressure blast knocked him on his ass. But he wasn’t hurt badly, and started walking back to his cabin when he felt the itching start.
“All I’m saying is, I don’t know about that bomb, but I think it might have, uh, dispersed something into the air.”
“You mean the bomb released the virus?”
“He was the closest person to the explosion that we’ve talked to, and he’s the first person who’s died from that virus thing that we know about. It could be coincidence, but it still doesn’t explain where the virus came from.”
“Thanks, George,” Ben said. He considered apologizing again, but hesitated. What’s the point? he thought. They were already dead. He hoped they’d taken the time to call their families, wherever they may be.
He hung up the phone and turned to Julie.
“You might be out here to study that explosion, but I think this case of yours just got a lot more relevant to your line of work.”
He hammered on the gas pedal and aimed the truck down the long highway.
Chapter Sixteen
Francis Valère poked at the food in front him. One of Quebec’s finest restaurants, and he couldn’t get himself to eat.
Did killing Josh really have that much of an effect on him?
Of course. It needed to be done.
He wondered — again — if he needed to vomit. The nervousness had come immediately after his encounter on the golf course with his former employee. He forced his mind to push the thought away and looked down at the plate in front of him.
Lobster, filet mignon, and the most decadent-looking chocolate mousse he’d ever seen stared back up at him. Not a bite had been taken from the dishes. He used his fork to poke around the plate, pushing the meat to one side. He used another utensil to pile the lobster on the steak, forming a wall. It was a castle; a sanctuary now. If only he was small enough to fit inside…
“Are you alright, Valère?”
The voice snapped Valère back to the real world.
“Valère? Are you okay?” A second voice asked.
He was fine, but he needed them to assume he was struggling with his earlier decision. He had to hide the… nervousness. The nervousness that had plagued him since he was young.
Yes, I am okay, but I will play the role for as long as it is needed.
He looked up at his dinner guests sitting across from him. Roland and Emilio. He’d called the meeting on his drive back from the private golf course, suggesting this location for its world-renowned American cuisine, and for its semi-private rooms. One of his partners, Emilio Vasquez, the man now sitting across the table from him on his right, had called ahead and reserved the banquet room.
Even so, they’d chosen the table in the far back corner of the room. The waitress, a young blond woman in her thirties, had been instructed to enter the room only once every fifteen minutes. So far she’d performed well, never interrupting the men as they discussed the day’s events.
The man to Valère’s left didn’t wait for him to respond. “Everything is taken care of?”
Valère nodded and finally spoke. “Oui, everything was accomplished. I do apologize, gentlemen, I seem to have lost my appetite.”
Emilio smiled. “It is nothing, Francis. I remember the first time I, well, had to remove a component from a plan. It is never an easy task.”
Valère nodded once, accepting his friend’s gesture. “Nevertheless, it is time to move to the next phase of our plan. We need to inform the media channels of our intention, and what is at stake.”
The first man, Roland, swallowed loudly, trying to vie for their attention. While Valère hadn’t touched his meal, Roland was on his second plate of dessert. Rotund, with rosy-red cheeks and jowls that hung nearly to his chest, the man was loud, invasive, rude, and liked by his peers for one thing, and one thing alone: his money.
They looked toward him. “We will wait.”
Valère waited for him to explain. Never one to deny himself an opportunity to heighten the drama, Roland instead took a bite of a roll of bread that had somehow escaped earlier destruction. He chewed it no fewer than five times before speaking again. “We will wait to tell the media. We need to let the Yellowstone incident take center stage for a little longer. The news down there — hell, even here — is eating it up, and they’re not letting go of it soon.” His southern accent grew in strength, no doubt egged on by the three glasses of wine he’d already consumed, and he continued. “The more pressure that builds around this story in the States, the better off we’ll be.”
“We’ll lose our opportunity,” Emilio said. Valère nodded.
“No,” Roland continued, crumbs falling from the corners of his mouth. “We’ll benefit from this timeline. They have no idea what’s gone on there, and they won’t be able to get anything from the site without losing anyone they send in. We have the advantage of time, and we need to keep it.”
Valère frowned. “That wasn’t the plan. Why are we waiting? And what are we to do in the meantime?”
The fat man answered immediately, his mouth now full of vanilla pudding. “There are still loose ends to tie up. Something our contact at the CDC has informed me about. There’s a woman there, digging around. It’s nothing major, but she’s clever. More importantly, she’s persistent. We need to get a jump on it, and make sure she doesn’t talk.”
The man to Valère’s right looked upset. “No, we can’t. It’s too risky. Besides, the body count is rising, and for what? And what about the coins? I have heard that the students and that professor uncovered some of them.”
Valère pitched in. “The coins are beside the point, and there is nothing left of the group that found them. There is no way to tie them back to us. As for the body count, I understand your concern. Believe me, I do. But think of the end result: it is the same.”
“Then why the needless deaths? Won’t there be enough of that?”
“Yes, my friend,” Valère said. “But consider the alternative: we cannot let something leak before we’re ready. Remember the rules: we control the means, we control the end. Nothing less, nothing more.”