| |
––––––––
Michael opened his front door just as Blake was lifting his hand to press the bell and handed him a cold bottle of beer.
“A man with foresight and vision,” Blake said with a grin, stepping into the house.
“You're going to need it,” Michael retorted, taking the pizza box Blake was holding.
“Nothing new there,” Blake countered, sipping the beer and following Michael down the hallway to the kitchen. “I'm starting to think we should set up a bat signal. You know, you turn it on and I show up with food and hear about the latest plot intrigue.”
“You might be onto something there,” Michael grinned over his shoulder.
“We could set up a second one with a serpent’s head for your girlfriend,” Blake continued cheerfully. “You know, for when we need bad guys to disappear.”
“You're an ass,” Michael informed him, heading through the kitchen and straight for the door to the garage. “Grab my beer from the counter, will you?”
Blake grinned and swiped the almost-full beer bottle from the island as he passed, following Michael through the door and down the steps into the garage-come-wood shop.
“Of course, Master Wayne,” he said in a rather good attempt at a British accent.
The bookshelf in progress was propped up on low brackets off to the side, waiting to be stained, and a long piece of plywood lay across the saw horses. Michael set the pizza box down on it and turned to grab a stool from the work bench.
“Pull up a seat,” he said, flipping open the box and reaching in to pull out a slice loaded with pepperoni and sausage. “I'm hungry.”
Blake grabbed an extra stool from the corner near the steps and carried it over, handing Michael his beer as he joined him.
“Alright, who goes first?” he asked, reaching for a slice of pizza. “I've got news from Jersey.”
“I've got news from West Virginia,” Michael mumbled around a mouthful of meat, cheese and dough.
“West...hell, you go first,” Blake exclaimed. “I can't beat boondocks.”
“Don't be so sure of that,” Michael said more clearly after swallowing. He reached for his beer. “New Jersey's been interesting lately.”
“That's putting it mildly. You've got your girlfriend to thank for that.”
“So everyone keeps saying,” Michael muttered.
“So why the hell did you venture into West Virginia?” Blake demanded after a few moments of eating in silence. “What's there besides mountain men and moonshine?”
“The CDC,” Michael told him. “One of their headquarters is in Morganville.”
Blake stared at him for a minute, then popped the last piece of pizza crust into his mouth.
“You know, I really don't think I'm going to like what you have to say,” he muttered, reaching for his beer.
“I know you won't,” Michael agreed glumly before polishing off his slice of pizza.
“Alright,” Blake said after taking a long drink. “Let's have it.”
“You know my trip to Mexico?” Michael asked, reaching for a second slice. Blake nodded. “Viper had information that three men traveling under Turkish passports were in Cancun. She sent me down to check them out.”
“Three men traveling under a Turkish passport?” Blake interrupted. “You went all the way to Mexico over that?”
“If you'd shut up and let me talk, you'd understand,” Michael reproached.
Blake grinned and reached for another piece of pizza.
“Sorry. Go on.”
“You don't know her. She doesn't give information away,” Michael explained. “She doesn't give information, period. She leaves it to you to figure out. So, when she says go to Cancun to check it out, you know it's something worth checking out. You just don't know what you're walking into.”
“And what did you walk into?”
“Three men traveling under Turkish passports,” Michael replied dryly, sipping his beer, “and a dead undercover agent.”
“You think they're responsible for that?” Blake asked around a mouthful of pizza.
“I do. Paul was watching them. I think they slit his throat.”
“Why? Why take the risk?”
“Reading between the lines, and taking into account Viper's very real and active interest in them, I'm convinced they're terrorists,” Michael answered. “She won't tell me who they are or where they come from, but her interest pegs them as surely as if they were on the Most Wanted wall in Langley.”
Blake grunted in agreement.
“Ok. So then what?”
“When I got there, they were already gone, heading across the border,” Michael told him.
Blake stopped chewing and stared him.
“Across the...” he began, then hastily swallowed. “You mean, our border?”
“That's the only border worth mentioning.”
“You mean to tell me, three terrorists came over the border and no one stopped them?” Blake demanded.
“They didn't see them to stop them,” Michael told him with a shrug. “Border Patrol has no record of them passing through customs.”
“Then how do we know they're here?”
“They were spotted crossing the Mississippi and going into New Orleans,” Michael said. “I've got some friends in the CBP and they're tracking them. They're headed East. They may already be here.”
Blake reached for his beer and drained it, then stood up and held up his empty bottle questioningly. Michael nodded and Blake turned wordlessly to go back into the house for refills. Michael finished his pizza while Blake was gone, reflecting that his old friend was taking the news rather well. The real test would come when he told him about the Anthrax antidote.
Blake returned with the whole six pack from the fridge and set it on the plywood table next to the pizza box.
“Tell me your girlfriend has a plan for this,” he said, sitting back down on his stool and popping open another bottle.
“I'm sure she does, but she's not sharing,” Michael replied, reaching for a fresh beer. “It gets better. Remember our old friend Sgt Curtis?”
“Vividly.”
“POTUS wants a meeting and press conference with him,” Michael told him, taking a sip of cold beer. “Viper was adamant about making sure that didn't happen. I talked to Chris and we stalled, and now I'm glad we did. Viper found out what some of your precision drivers were hauling.”
Blake looked at him sharply.
“What?” he demanded.
“Bomb parts,” Michael told him bluntly. “They're moving bomb parts up and down the East coast.”
Blake swore and got up to take an impatient turn around their make-shift table.
“The bomb on John's car,” he said after a moment. “Is that how she found out?”
“I don't know,” Michael answered truthfully. “I didn't know about that until you told me. It gets worse, though.”
“How can it get any worse than three terrorists and an unknown number of bombs?” Blake demanded, stopping by his stool.
“They're biological weapons.”
He stared at Michael for a long, silent moment before sinking onto the stool and drinking half his beer in one gulp.
“You're right,” he finally said after a long burp. “That's worse.”
“Viper and her people are handling the immediate biological threat, though God alone knows how and I'm not sure I want to,” Michael continued, setting down his beer and reaching for a third piece of pizza. “In the meantime, I went to see Patrick Traeborne. Remember him?”
“Yeah, I remember the doc,” Blake said, setting his beer down and rubbing his neck. “How's he doing?”
“He's doing well. He works at Mercy General now. He told me all the local hospitals are stocking up on a new antidote,” Michael said.
Blake looked at him apprehensively.
“I can see where this is headed,” he muttered. “Antidote for what?”
“Anthrax,” Michael replied, then hastened to continue as Blake looked to be in danger of exploding again. “Only it's not. It's not an antidote for Anthrax at all.”
“Well, thank God for small mercies,” Blake said in relief. “What is it?”
“I went to West Virginia with a sample to find out,” Michael said, taking a big bite of pizza. He chewed for a moment, swallowed, then continued. “There's a Dr. Krupp out there who was on the ground in Africa during that Ebola outbreak a couple years ago. He's a genius, and a biochemical engineer.”
“I'm sorry, did you say Ebola outbreak?” Blake repeated.
Michael shrugged.
“I told you it wasn't Anthrax,” he reminded him.
“Oh, Ebola is much better!” Blake exploded. “Are you out of your mind?!”
“Ebola’s not confirmed yet,” Michael said, trying to be positive. “He has a lot of testing to do.”
“I'm sure he gave you some initial thoughts,” Blake retorted. “Geniuses are like that. He probably started running tests while you were there! What did he say?”
“He believes the antidote is for some kind of mutated form of Ebola,” Michael conceded, finishing his pizza. “He's still working on it.”
“Jesus, Mary and Joseph,” Blake muttered, getting up again. This time he took his beer with him as he began to circle the table. “Someone expects an Ebola outbreak on the East coast. Who's the company behind the antidote?”
“Trasker Pharmaceuticals,” Michael said. “I'm already on it. If nothing else, I should be able to find a money trail.”
“So, let me make sure I've got this right,” Blake said, sipping his beer as he paced. “You're working on the assumption that three terrorists made it over the border—”
“Unprotected border,” Michael interjected.
“—and are coming to the East coast to execute an attack with bombs armed with Ebola.”
“Something like that, yeah.”
“But...Ebola isn't airborne,” Blake told him. “It's spread through body fluids.”
“Well, that's where Dr. Krupp comes in,” Michael murmured.
Blake stared at him.
“Mutated form? That's what he said?” he asked. Michael nodded and Blake swore under his breath. “And we think Sgt Curtis was going to attack POTUS with it?”
“Yes. I think Viper's running assumption is that Sgt Curtis engineered the weapon,” Michael replied, lifting his beer. “He was with the enemy for five years. If they provided the lab, who knows what he could have done.”
“And that's why your girlfriend didn't want him anywhere near the President,” Blake concluded.
“It's pretty crazy, but she thinks he infected himself,” Michael said. “He came down with flu symptoms and she's convinced he doesn't have the flu.”
“What are the symptoms for Ebola? Flu-like symptoms?”
“Bingo.”
Blake was silent while he finished his beer and then he went back to his stool again.
“You realize he could have infected most of the President's entourage?” he asked softly. “Hell, he could have infected most of the cabinet and press!”
“Oh, I know,” Michael agreed soberly. He set his empty bottle on the table. “Trust me, we dodged a bullet on this one, and it was only thanks to Viper.”
“So, now what?” Blake asked after a minute. “Where do we stand now?”
“I'm still trying to find those travelers, and she's dealing with the bombs,” Michael answered. “You're trying to find the drivers and now you know what you're dealing with, and Dr. Krupp is trying to determine just what, exactly, we're dealing with inside the weapon.”
“And we have no idea where the bombs are being assembled or where they're going to be placed?”
“None.”
“It's impossible!” Blake exclaimed. “We're trying to find invisible targets!”
“I know. That's what I told Viper,” Michael agreed glumly.
“And what did she say?”
“Welcome to her world.”
Blake let out a short bark of laughter and Michael grinned reluctantly.
“She's got a point,” Blake admitted. “This is business as usual for her.”
“Tell me about Jersey,” Michael said, standing up and stretching. “What's going on there?”
“Nothing compared to what you just told me,” Blake replied. “Stephanie is helping track down the drivers as best as she can. I think she knows about the bombs,” he added thoughtfully. “She's keeping something from me, something she said could end my career. I'm meeting her for breakfast tomorrow.”
“That's it?” Michael asked incredulously. “That's all you've got?”
“Well, nothing can follow your lead-in,” Blake protested. “It sure does fill in a lot of holes, though. Now I know what they're moving and why. We caught one of the Cartel members and he dropped a name up in Jersey, Dominic DiBarcoli. He runs the drivers out of Atlantic City.”
“I know that name,” Michael said with a frown. “Why do I know that name?”
“He owns the raceway up there,” Blake said helpfully.
“No. I don't know it from New Jersey,” Michael murmured, shaking his head. “I don't know. It'll come to me. So where did that lead you?”
“I spent last night in Atlantic City, doing some leg-work,” Blake told him. “I'm going back up tomorrow. I'll visit Dominic and see what I can shake loose. That is, if he's still alive.”
“Why wouldn't he be?” Michael asked, raising an eyebrow.
Blake reached into the pizza box and pulled out another slice.
“Because your girlfriend introduced herself to him.”
“Come again?”
“Stephanie and your Black Widow went to John's condo last night to look for any notes he might have made about what he was on to,” Blake explained before taking a large bite of pizza.
“Did they find anything?”
“His laptop,” Blake answered, swallowing. “Apparently, that's all they had time to get before Dominic showed up. Your girlfriend took care of him while Stephanie ran away with the laptop.”
Michael's lips twitched.
“Of course she did,” he murmured.
“Don't laugh yet,” Blake told him. “Someone torched the place a few minutes after they all left.”
“WHAT!?” Michael roared.
Blake nodded, satisfied that he'd been the one to ruffle Michael's calm this time.
“Whatever John discovered, it was worth burning half the building to the ground,” he said. “Someone doesn't want something to be found.”
“And John?” Michael demanded.
“Stephanie said this morning he was doing well,” Blake assured him. “I hope he pulls through. She'll be devastated if he doesn't make it.”
Michael's brows furrowed into a frown. Stephanie would be devastated, but how would Lina react? She was holding her emotions on a very tight reign, he had seen that when they met this morning. Would she be devastated? Something told him she would use fury to mask any emotion she might feel if her old flame died.
“Dominic wouldn't set fire to the place before he had a chance to search it,” Blake continued, unaware of his friend's thoughts. “Knowing your girlfriend, she didn't leave him capable of returning before it went up in flames. So who else would want what John found to stay hidden?”
Michael looked up and their eyes met.
“That's a great question,” Michael murmured.
Before Blake could respond, Michael's cell phone began ringing stridently. He frowned and dug it out of his pocket, glancing at the screen. His eyebrows snapped together at the name on the caller ID.
“Hello?”
“Did you find your doctor?” Viper asked, getting straight to the point.
“No, he wasn't home,” Michael said. “Why?”
“I have Dr. Krupp,” she informed him.
“What?!”
“I had no choice. I went to see him and while I was there, they came for him.”
“Who came for him?” Michael demanded, standing up abruptly.
“I don't know,” Alina answered grimly, “but I'm going to find out. They came in heavy.”
“They were armed?!” Michael exclaimed. “Where are you now?”
“Getting him somewhere safe,” she replied obscurely. “If they want him, they'll have to come through me.”
Michael started to respond, but then he realized she was speaking for anyone who may be listening to the conversation. His puzzled frown turned into a grudging grin. She was using him to send a message to the enemy.
“What can I do?” he asked instead.
“Find your doctor,” Viper told him shortly. “If he's still alive, keep him that way.”
She disconnected and Michael lowered the phone slowly, his mind spinning.
“What's going on?” Blake asked, eyeing him with misgiving. “Who was that?”
“Viper,” Michael replied slowly. “She went to see Dr. Krupp and while she was there, someone came for him.”
“What do you mean, someone came for him?” Blake repeated. “What the hell does that mean?”
“They were armed and not friendly,” Michael told him. “That's all she said.”
Blake stared at him, his lips pressed together grimly.
“You mean, someone sent a... a.... hit team?!” he finally got out.
“It sounds like it,” Michael nodded, bemused. “She's got him safe for now. She wants me to find Patrick.”
“Hell, Mike, if they found Krupp, then they found Patrick!” Blake exclaimed, the pizza and beer forgotten.
“Yeah,” Michael agreed, turning toward the door, “and they won't wait to see what he knows.”
Alina hung up with Michael and set the phone on the small vanity in the bathroom. The soothing hum of the jet engines was constant and she sighed, allowing herself to begin to relax. The flight through the streets toward the promised Charger had been hair-raising, to say the least. Each time she thought they were ahead of their pursuers, she caught sound of them one or two backyards away. When she finally spotted the Charger, Viper wasted no time getting Dr. Krupp into it and getting them the hell out of there. She called ahead to the airport as she drove, ordering the small, private jet that brought her to be fueled and ready for take-off. They were in the air forty minutes later.
She glanced in the mirror and grimaced before turning her attention to her arm. It was throbbing with dull pain and Viper shook her head. Hawk would have a fit if he knew she'd been shot again while he was gone. This happened the last time he left her alone for a couple days in New Jersey. It was becoming an unpleasant trend.
While she and Dr. Krupp were running through backyards, she managed to snag a pillowcase off a drying line to wrap around her arm in a make-shift bandage to stop the bleeding. With Krupp's help, she tied a tight knot that held fast. Now, it was time to see the damage. With another sigh, Alina began untying the knot in the fabric, reflecting on the multitude of benefits of keeping a private transportation company on her list of assets. The thought of doing this on-board a commercial flight made her shudder.
The knot came free and she let the blood-stained pillowcase fall into the sink. The sleeve of her jacket was ripped where the bullet had torn through and blood soaked the fabric all down her arm, plastering it to her skin. Alina shrugged her right arm out of its sleeve and then grimaced as she gingerly peeled the jacket away from the wound on her left arm. She was wearing a black tank-top under the jacket and for that, she was thankful. The less layers to remove from the wound, the better off she would be. The jacket joined the pillowcase in the sink and Alina pursed her lips, staring down at her bicep. Blood had started to congeal around the wound, but now it was seeping sluggishly.
She reached for one of the thick, paper hand cloths stacked neatly in a basket on the vanity and ran it under some water from the tap. She was gently cleaning around the wound so she could get a better look at it when there was a knock on the door.
“Ms. Woods?” Dr. Krupp called. “Are you alright?”
“Fine!” she called over her shoulder.
“I am a doctor,” he reminded her. “I can look at it for you.”
“You have a PhD in biochemical engineering,” Alina retorted. “Hardly emergency care training.”
“True, but it's another pair of hands,” he offered.
Alina sighed and dropped the paper towel into the sink.
“I'll come get you if I need you,” she promised.
Now that the area around the wound was clean, Alina held her arm up and turned it so she could get a good look at the damage. As she twisted the bicep, pain shot down her arm and fresh blood surged out of the wound, but she ignored both. After a minute of close examination, she breathed a sigh of relief. There were two holes. The bullet caught the outer flesh, entering the back of her arm and exiting out the front side. She didn't have to go digging for a bullet.
Alina reached for another paper towel and cleaned off the fresh blood before turning to open the cabinet under the vanity. She pulled out a first aid box and flipped it open. Five minutes later, her arm was cleaned and bandaged. Gathering all the debris from the sink, she stuffed it into a plastic bag and left the bathroom, carrying the bag with her.
“How is it?” Dr. Krupp asked, looking up as she walked into the cabin where he was sitting in a recliner, sipping club soda.
“Just a scratch,” she told him, dropping the bag of blood-stained trash into the corner near the door. “It's fine.”
“Where are we going?”
“Right now we're heading to Philadelphia,” Alina said, sinking into the opposite recliner. She reached for the unopened bottle of water set out on the side table for her, alongside a rocks glass. The steward had flown with her before and remembered her preferences. He also knew to keep himself scarce unless she called for him. “That is subject to change, however.”
“Ms. Woods.... what happened back there?” Krupp asked, leaning forward. “I don't understand.”
“Those men were sent to silence you,” she told him bluntly, pouring water into the glass. “You discovered their dirty little secret.”
“Did you know that was going to happen?” he demanded. “Is that why you came?”
“No.” Alina shook her head before draining the glass of water. She promptly refilled it. “I thought someone would come for you, but not quite that quickly. I was planning on inviting you to come with me, not pushing you out a window.”
He let out a short, strangled laugh.
“Come with you where?” he asked.
“That's what I'm waiting to find out,” she replied, glancing at her watch.
She sent Charlie an encrypted message through the new phone as they were boarding. Until she heard back from him, Viper honestly didn't know what to do with the doctor. She could put him in a safe house in Philadelphia, but even that was risky, not to mention unproductive. They needed him to finish his testing so they knew exactly what they were dealing with, and he couldn't do that in a luxury apartment in Old City.
“You want me to finish my work on the virus, don't you?” he asked, almost as if he had read her mind.
She smiled faintly.
“Yes.”
“You're not with the Secret Service, are you?”
“No.”
“I didn't think so.”
Dr. Krupp sat back and rubbed his eyes behind his glasses.
“What about Patrick?” he asked suddenly, dropping his hand and looking at her. “Is he OK?”
Alina looked at him in silence for a moment before setting her glass down.
“He's missing,” she told him quietly. “Michael O'Reilly is trying to locate him now.”
“Oh my God,” Dr. Krupp moaned, dropping his head into his hands.
Alina stood up and stretched, testing the mobility of her injured arm. It hurt like hell, but she had movement. She'd take it.
“I have faith in Michael,” she told him, dropping a hand on his shoulder briefly. “If Dr. Traeborne is out there, he'll find him.”
Dr. Krupp nodded and took a deep, shuddering breath, sitting back in the chair.
“Thank you for getting me away,” he said, his face suddenly tired and drawn. “If you hadn't been there...”
Alina nodded brusquely and turned away just as the phone in her pocket began vibrating. She pulled it out and swiped the screen, holding it up to her ear.
“Yes?”
“Where are you now?” Charlie asked briskly.
“Somewhere over Pennsylvania,” she answered, walking away from Dr. Krupp and toward the front of the cabin.
“You got him away clean?”
“Define clean,” Viper said dryly. “We lost them, but I left a body behind.”
“Anything else?”
“He has a lab at his house, out back. That's where he was doing his testing,” she added in a low voice. She reached the door to the short corridor that led to the bathroom and went through, closing it behind herself. “The antidote is still there.”
“Tell me what you know so far,” Charlie instructed.
Viper briefly explained how Dr. Krupp thought the virus worked and when she was finished, Charlie was silent for a long moment.
“And the other one? Sgt Curtis?” he finally asked.
“In a hospital at Quantico with flu-like symptoms,” she told him grimly. “If he infected himself, everyone who has had contact with him may now be infected. With your permission, I want to terminate him before it spreads any further.”
Charlie was quiet again. Viper moved her injured arm while she waited, keeping it loose. When Charlie finally spoke, there was a thread of iron in his voice and Viper unconsciously shivered.
“No. I'll take care of Curtis,” he told her. “I'm sending you coordinates to give the pilot. When you land, a car will be waiting on the runway. Put Dr. Krupp in it and get back on the plane. I'll take care of the doctor.”
“You...you're taking him?” she asked, shocked out of her legendary calm.
“We need him to continue his testing,” Charlie said. “I'll take it from here. Go home and wait for me to contact you.”
“You gave me three days to find out what they were planning, and I did,” Viper reminded him, a sharp note in her voice. “The longer we wait, the more those travelers can get done.”
“I haven't forgotten,” he replied. “You'll get your green light.”