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Michael glanced at his watch and looked around the wide entryway to the restaurant. Chris called him about an hour before, interrupting his research on Trasker, and invited him to brunch. That in itself was unusual, but even more suspect was the fact that Chris practically ordered Michael to accept.
The aroma of maple syrup, pancakes and coffee surrounded him and Michael's stomach rumbled in response. While he'd easily drunk an entire pot of coffee so far today, food had completely slipped his mind. Perhaps it was a good thing Chris strong-armed him into coming to brunch.
“Mike!”
Michael turned his head toward the sound to see Chris waving to him from the dining room. He was seated at a round table with another man, dressed in slacks and a casual polo shirt. Michael lifted his hand in acknowledgement and began weaving his way through tables covered with white cloths and sporting china place settings.
“Thanks for coming,” Chris greeted him as Michael approached the table, standing and holding out his hand. “Mike, this is Simon Peters, an old friend of mine.”
Simon Peters was around the same age as Chris, with salt-and-pepper hair that curled at his temples. As Chris introduced them, he stood up and held out a tanned hand.
“Nice to meet you,” he said, shaking Michael's hand firmly. “I'm glad you could make it.”
“I hope you weren't waiting long,” Michael said, seating himself next to Chris.
“Not at all,” Chris said, reaching for a pot of coffee in the center of the table. “We just got here ourselves a few minutes ago. Coffee?”
“Thanks.”
“Chris was just telling me you make furniture in your spare time,” Simon said as Chris filled Michael's cup. “Are you working on something now?”
“A bookcase,” Michael answered with a nod.
“That's really amazing,” Simon told him, sipping his own coffee. “Where did you learn to do that?”
“I took a class in high school and learned I love working with wood,” Michael answered readily. “When I got out of the Marines, I picked it up again. It's therapeutic.”
“He made his dining room table last year,” Chris told Simon, handing Michael his coffee. “It's a farmhouse style. It's outstanding.”
“My wife wants a farmhouse table for our dining room,” Simon reflected. “The one she showed me was over two grand.”
“That's why I made it myself,” Michael said with a laugh. “I made it for less than two hundred and it's nicer than anything I could find when I was looking.”
“You're in the wrong line of work,” Simon told him with a grin. “You could be making a fortune. Hell, I'd pay you to make one for me.”
“Don't go trying to talk him into a different line of work,” Chris warned good-naturedly. “I'm not letting him go.”
“I'm not telling him to quit his job,” Simon retorted. “I'm just saying he can make some extra money for what he already does for fun. Don't tell me you haven't said the same thing.”
“He has,” Michael confirmed with a grin. “Repeatedly.”
“That's what I thought,” Simon laughed, standing. “I'm going to get my food. Chris, I know you said you wanted to talk work with him, so I'll give you a few minutes alone. But that's it! You two are crazy for working on the weekend, and while I'm here, you're going to relax and enjoy one of the best brunch buffets in DC!”
Simon headed off towards the buffet lining the side of the dining room and Chris looked at Michael.
“Sorry for dragging you away, but it's worth it, I promise,” he said, sipping his coffee.
“I assumed so when you practically forced me to come,” Michael replied. “What's going on?”
“Last night, I was thinking about this mess we're in, and I suddenly remembered Simon. We’ve been friends since college. He works for Trasker!”
“What?!”
“Yes!” Chris nodded, clearly pleased with himself. “He started out as a rep and worked his way up. Last year, he moved into an executive position with the company. I called him and suggested we meet for brunch.”
“Have you told him anything?”
“No, I'll leave it to you to handle,” Chris said. “Tell him as much as you feel necessary. I've known him a long time and one thing I can guarantee; if he knows about the antidote, he believes it's exactly what Trasker says it is. Simon's always been doggedly honest, sometimes uncomfortably so.”
Michael nodded slowly, then stood up.
“Let's go get food,” he said. “I'll tackle him while we're eating. Thanks, Chris.”
Chris nodded and stood with him.
“I'm just glad I remembered all this last night,” he replied. “Anything new with your Black Widow yet?”
“Not yet,” Michael answered. “I have a feeling that when I get pulled into that particular battle, it will already be game time.”
Chris glanced at him.
“Better hope you're suited up.”
Blake glanced at the license plate on the shiny, black Scion FR-S and turned to look back at his Challenger. He nodded imperceptibly to Stephanie and she nodded back. Continuing past the lowered sports car, he stepped onto the pavement outside Wawa and opened the door, disappearing into the convenience store.
After leaving the bar last night, he and Stephanie spent half the night looking up every Ricardo Martinez in South Jersey. There were quite a few and it took a few hours to narrow down the possibilities. Eventually, Blake simply pulled the registrations for the final twenty that made their cut. Only two owned vehicles that could be considered racing appropriate, and of those, only one had multiple speeding violations and a record of racing illegally.
This morning, Stephanie had come back from the store with half and half and informed him that she didn't think it was a good idea to confront Ricardo just yet. Blake shook his head and walked past the registers, his eyes moving around the store, looking for the racer. She didn't want to spook Ricardo and run the risk of them losing the only lead they had. While he supposed he could understand that reasoning, Blake wasn't sure he agreed. He was more confrontational in his style of investigation. Give him a good brawl over politics any day. After a lively argument, however, he gave in. It was only then Stephanie told him she had a plan.
When she told him about the tracking device she planned to install on Ricardo's car, he stared at her for a full minute before laughing. Naturally, she hadn't been amused. Blake's lips twitched now at the memory. How could he explain his surprise that Ms. Walker, Agent-By-The-Book, was prepared to install a tracking device without a warrant and without probable cause? Hell, Blake wasn't even sure how he felt about the move, but he was game to do it. At this point, what did they have to lose? His career was already over if the Bureau ever found out that he had knowledge of evidence removed from their lab by one of their own employees. What difference would an illegal tracking device make?
When Ricardo left his apartment, Blake and Stephanie were waiting for him.
Blake caught sight of him in the back at the refrigerators, pulling out a couple of cans of Red Bull. He strode towards him purposefully, turning his head away to look at something in the front of the store.
“Umph!”
Ricardo grunted as Blake plowed into him, knocking the cans of energy drink out of his hands and onto the floor.
“What the hell, man!” Ricardo exploded, his dark eyes flaring.
“Oh man, I'm sorry,” Blake exclaimed, bending to pick up one of the cans rolling away. “I didn't even see you.”
Ricardo picked up the other can and took the one Blake was holding out to him.
“Try opening your eyes.”
“Yeah, sorry.”
Blake moved out of the way and Ricardo went past him, heading toward the registers. Opening one of the glass doors to the refrigerator, he pulled out two bottles of Pepsi and turned to follow Ricardo. He glanced out the windows at the front of the store, his eyes going straight to the Scion parked in front of the door. There was no sign of Stephanie. Blake got into line at the register, one customer back from Ricardo, and looked further down to his Challenger. She wasn't there either.
“Two packs of Newport,” Ricardo told the cashier ahead of him, “and a pack of Black and Mild.”
Blake's brows came together in a frown. Where the hell was she? Was she still installing the tracker? Ricardo was paying now and would be out the door in less than a minute. Blake glanced around, thinking quickly. On the counter next to him was a heating unit with sandwiches wrapped in foil sitting under the lights. Next to it was a wire basket filled with soft pretzels in clear plastic bags. Reaching over, he grabbed one of the two-packs of soft pretzels, knocking the woman in front of him intentionally. The fountain soda she was holding slipped out of her hand and fell to the floor. The top popped off and Sprite and ice splashed everywhere. Letting out an un-naturally high-pitched squeal, the woman jumped back away from the soda. Her foot slipped in the ice and she crashed into Blake, pushing him backwards.
“Ooof!”
Blake tried to catch her, but her momentum carried them backwards and down they both went, Blake taking all her weight on himself as they hit the floor.
“Oh my God!” The cashier stopped mid-payment with Ricardo to lean over the counter. “Are you alright?!”
The woman made an unintelligible noise and tried to scramble up off of Blake. Her right elbow nailed him in the stomach and Blake grunted.
“Oh, I'm sorry!” she exclaimed, trying again to get up. The Vans on her feet were soaked from the soda, however, and she kept slipping and falling back down on top of him. “Oh my God!”
“Here, grab my hand,” Ricardo offered, stepping over the huge puddle of ice and Sprite and holding out his hand.
The woman took it thankfully and he pulled her off Blake, only slipping once on the ice.
“Thank you!” she said, gaining her feet. “How embarrassing!” She turned to look down at Blake. “Are you OK? Oh God, I didn't hurt you, did I?”
“I don't think so,” Blake replied, pushing himself up off his back and getting to his feet. “Are you alright?”
“Fine,” she assured them. “Just mortified. I don't know what happened!”
“Joe!” The cashier yelled toward the deli counter. “We need a mop and bucket out here!”
“I think I might have knocked you,” Blake told her apologetically. “I was getting some pretzels for my girlfriend. She's due in a couple days and all she wants are carbs,” he added with a laugh.
They all looked down at the pretzels laying in the middle of the lake of soda.
“Dude, you gotta pay more attention to what's going on around you,” Ricardo told him, shaking his head. “Is it your first?”
“Yeah,” Blake replied. “I guess I'm a little distracted.”
“Well, that's not gonna help your girl,” Ricardo informed him. “Trust me. They're stronger than they look. She'll be fine.”
“Yeah, thanks,” Blake said. “I'm sorry about your soda,” he added to the woman.
“It's OK,” she said, turning away to head toward the fountain sodas. “I'll just get another one. Good luck with the baby!”
“Thanks.”
Blake watched as Ricardo turned back to the cashier and finished his transaction. A minute later, he was out the door and Blake was paying for two new pretzels and two shaken up bottles of Pepsi. A quick glance out the window revealed Stephanie back in his passenger seat.
“Sorry about the mess,” he said to the cashier.
The young man shook his head with a grin.
“Don't worry about it,” he said, handing Blake his change. “Happens all the time. I'm used to it.”
Blake nodded and turned to leave the store. As he stepped out of the door, the Scion pulled out of the parking lot, Ricardo's powerful engine anti-climatically making a muzzled noise reminiscent of a lawn mower. Blake shook his head and headed for his muscle car.
“Imports,” he muttered.
A minute later, he slid behind the wheel and handed Stephanie the pretzels.
“Are we good?” he asked.
“Yep.” Stephanie took the soft pretzels with a raised eyebrow. “I thought we were going to breakfast?”
“We are,” Blake replied, starting the engine. “Those are for my pregnant girlfriend.”
Stephanie looked at him.
“Excuse me?”
Blake grinned and winked.
“Congratulations, by the way,” he said, putting the car in gear. “You're due in a couple of days.”
Stephanie blinked.
“I am?”
“Yep.”
Blake pulled out of the parking spot and rolled towards the exit.
“You could have at least bought me dinner first.”
Blake grinned and glanced at her.
“How about breakfast?” he asked.
Stephanie laughed.
“Deal,” she agreed, swiping the tablet in her hands.
He stopped at the exit and glanced at the screen in her hands.
“Is it working?”
“We've got him,” Stephanie replied, watching a red dot on a map.
“Fantastic.” Blake pulled out into the road. “Are we sure it will hold?”
“Lina says it will,” she said, looking up from the tablet. “I put it high up in the wheel well.”
“I hope she's right. If not, we lose our only lead to those bombs.”
Michael unlocked the front door to his house and stepped inside, his mind still reeling. Between his seemingly innocent questions regarding Simon's work and Chris's skillful guidance of the conversation, they managed to get quite a bit of information out of the unsuspecting Simon Peters. By the end of his first plate of egg whites and turkey bacon, he was talking animatedly about Trasker's newest and greatest antidote. According to Simon, it was a game changer.
Michael closed the door behind himself and shook his head. It was certainly that, but not quite the way Simon envisioned.
Chris was right about one thing: Simon was fully convinced the antidote was just what it said it was, an antidote for Anthrax. He spent a good ten minutes expounding on the amazing breakthrough that led to the discovery of the antitoxin that could successfully treat Anthrax spores that were inhaled even at advanced infectious stages. Michael now knew more than he ever really needed to know about the timing and severity of various Anthrax infections caused by inhaling the poison. If the antidote Simon was so proud of really did exist, and Michael had no doubt that it did, then the medical community had, indeed, gained a powerful tool in the fight against Anthrax. However, Michael didn't for one minute think the sample Patrick entrusted to his care was the same serum Simon was so passionate about. Somewhere along the line, someone switched the antidote for an infectious disease that had no cure.
Dropping his keys onto the hall table, Michael glanced at his watch. It was almost one in the afternoon. Brunch took much longer than he expected, but Chris was right. It was worth it. In his enthusiasm, Simon shared the metro areas that were the recipients of the first batch of the antidote. Michael's lips thinned grimly. He now had a pretty good idea of what cities were being targeted.
As he turned to go into the dining room, Michael thought briefly of trying to call Viper, but decided against it. She said she would contact him. He would have to wait to tell her his news.
As he was settling down in front of his laptop again, Michael's cell phone began to vibrate in his pocket. Pulling it out, he raised an eyebrow when he saw Blake's name.
“Hello?”
“Hello yourself,” Blake greeted him. “How goes it?”
“It goes,” Michael replied.
“How's your Saturday treating you?”
“Good. I just got back from brunch,” Michael said, wondering what Blake was up to. “How's yours?”
“Just finished breakfast myself,” Blake informed him cheerfully. “I gotta say, Mike, this place has great diners.”
Michael grinned and sat back in his chair.
“That it does,” he agreed. “How's it going up there?”
“Things are looking up,” Blake said. Then he cleared his throat. “Did you talk to Chris about getting a few days off like you were going to?”
Michael frowned. What the hell was Blake talking about?
“What?”
“You were saying the other night that you wanted a couple days off,” Blake said pointedly, “to go up and check in on your pop.”
Michael's eyes narrowed slightly.
“Yeah,” he went along. “Chris approved it. I'm just trying to wrap up a couple things before taking off,” he added, throwing it out there to see what Blake would do. While he wasn't exactly sure what Blake was driving at, clearly he was trying to get Michael to go somewhere.
“Well, if you hurry and get on the road, we can meet for dinner on your way up.”
There it was. Blake wanted him to go to Jersey. Michael glanced at his watch.
“I don't know how much longer this will take,” he murmured. “When were you thinking?”
“If you leave in the next hour, we can shoot for seven. Bring your laptop with you and finish up when you get here.”
Michael's frown grew. Blake was being adamant. What was going on up there?
“I'll see what I can do,” he said, leaning forward to log into his laptop. “Dinner sounds good.”
“Great!” Blake exclaimed a little too jovially. “I'll see you at seven.”
Michael disconnected and set the phone down next to his laptop. Chris was going to wonder what the hell was going on, but there was no help for it. He sent his boss an email, telling him he was heading up to Brooklyn to check on his dad, as they had discussed earlier. He worded the email as if this was something they already decided, and anyone reading it would be none the wiser. Michael had no doubt that Chris would put two and two together and come up with four, but he wished he could see his boss's face when he read the email.
After checking the rest of his inbox, Michael logged off the computer and shut it down. He glanced at his watch and picked up his phone, turning to head out of the dining room and upstairs to pack an overnight bag. He was half-way up the steps when he remembered Viper and her promise to check in later today. She couldn't do that with him on the road.
“Dammit.”
He hesitated, debating whether or not to risk texting her. Caution won out, however, and Michael continued up the stairs. There would be time enough to contact her when he got to Jersey. Right now he had to get moving. Blake wouldn't have called on a whim. If he wanted him up there, there had to be a good reason.
Michael just hoped that reason didn't involve any more dead bodies.