Waiting in the car outside Eastview Mall, Nate tapped the refresh button on the tracking monitor for the umpteenth time. The display redrew itself, showing the triangulated location of Dr. Chalmers’s cell phone “How long can this guy shop?” he grumbled.
Alex twisted her lithe frame in the passenger seat, cracking her back. “I still say we should just go in.”
“I told you, this place is swarming with people at this time of day. We’re better off waiting for him to go somewhere less crowded so we can pick him out.”
Alex pointed at the display. “The dot is moving!”
“Shit.” Nate brought his seat back to a more upright position and turned the ignition to the Chevy Suburban. The engine roared to life.
As Nate slowly weaved through the parking lot, Alex said, “It looks like he’s on Commons Blvd and… no, wait, he’s getting on NY-96 North.”
Nate hit the gas and maneuvered the car through traffic. “We’re looking for a black Mercedes, right?”
“Yes, black Mercedes.” Alex opened her notepad and flipped through the first couple pages until her finger lit on some hastily scribbled notes. “Right after he left his previous job, he dumped his old car and applied for tags for a brand-new Mercedes. Look for an S-series with temp tags.”
Nate scanned the heavy midday traffic and shook his head. “I don’t see anything yet.”
Alex tapped the refresh button. The flashing dot jumped ahead. “And he just took I-490 westbound.”
“Crap.” Nate spun the wheel hard to the right, barely sneaking onto the highway on-ramp.
His cell phone rang, and he answered with a tap of the phone icon on the steering wheel. “Carrington, what’s up?”
“Nate, it’s Bill Wallace.” Bill was the veteran agent in charge of maintaining watch on the doctor’s home. “I got a call from the eye in the sky. Evidently, soon after you left, the maid called our suspect. He knows someone’s hunting for him.”
“Well, Alex and I are on him. It looks like he’s heading back toward his house.”
“All right, we’ll keep an eye out.”
###
After nearly forty-five minutes of stop-and-go traffic, Nate’s patience was wearing thin. He glanced at the display and asked, “Are you sure he got off here?”
Alex pressed the “refresh” button once again. After a short delay, the flashing dot appeared on the map and she said, “Yes, it looks like he must have gotten off at exit 10.”
Nate veered off the highway and focused on the nearby cars as he headed toward the location on the map.
As they approached the signal, Alex hit “refresh” yet again and as the screen redrew the cell phone’s location, she concluded, “I think he’s stopped. The signal hasn’t moved at all.”
“I don’t see any damned Mercedes anywhere.”
“Turn right on Lyell Avenue.”
Nate flicked his attention back and forth between the street and the tracking display as they approached the cell phone’s location.
Alex pointed at a large parking lot. “The signal is coming from there.”
Nate turned into the lot. “I still don’t see his car.” He scanned the large expanse of asphalt and his stomach churned as he realized where he was. “What the hell is he doing at the US Postal Service’s processing center?”
Alex shook her head. “I have no idea.”
Nate pulled into a parking spot. “Let’s find out.”
###
They stepped into a warehouse that was clearly for employees only. Nate couldn’t help but think they’d made some kind of mistake.
One of the tractor trailers was unloading large baskets of mail for further processing. He approached a man wearing a US Postal Service uniform and flashed his badge. “I’m Special Agent Carrington with the FBI. I’m looking for a man who I believe just arrived here. He’s around forty-five, blond hair, six foot two, two hundred pounds. Have you seen anyone like that around? Name is Steve Chalmers.”
The rough-looking worker shook his head. “There’s definitely nobody by that name. I’d know. I’m the current shift’s processing manager.”
Nate panned his gaze across the warehouse and the countless stacks of mail waiting to be sorted. He frowned. “Did you by chance see a black Mercedes in the last ten to fifteen minutes?”
The manager gave a crooked smile. “We don’t see too many Mercedes around here. I’m pretty sure I’d have noticed one if it had come by.”
Feeling a strong sense of disgust, Nate wondered if the number they’d been tracking was wrong, or maybe the triangulation they’d been following was wholly inaccurate.
Alex nudged Nate and whispered, “Why don’t we just call Chalmers and see if we can flush him out?”
Nate sighed. “Not like there’s anything to lose at this stage.” He pulled out his cell phone and dialed the doctor’s number.
Putting the phone against his ear, he heard a ring, followed by another.
One of the men in the warehouse yelled, “Hey boss! We’ve got a package that’s buzzing.”
The man’s words played slowly in Nate’s mind.
Oh no.
Nate hung up and sprinted to the man who’d just yelled. “Which package?”
The mail processor pointed at a small Priority Mail shipping box. It was addressed to Tops Pharmacy in Hamlin, New York.
With a bad feeling, Nate hit redial on his phone.
The box immediately began to vibrate.
“Son of a bitch!” Nate grabbed the box from the processing line.
“You’re not allowed to open that without a subpoena!” the boss yelled, rushing toward them.
Alex showed the manager a photocopy of the court order while Nate ripped open the box.
Gritting his teeth, Nate peered into the box and spied a smartphone.
They’d been had.
###
Dr. Al-Siddiqui entered the examination room and gave Kathy a friendly smile. “Good afternoon, Miss O’Reilly. I hope you had a good winter break.”
Kathy shrugged. “It was certainly an eventful one.” That was an understatement.
The doctor opened her chart. “Let’s see, we’re following up on your fatigue and anemia, is that correct?”
“Yes, but…” The truth was, Kathy felt great. No fatigue at all. She’d considered canceling the follow-up appointment, but felt like she should check in just to be sure. “I actually feel fine. No fatigue at all.”
“Well, that’s fantastic.” Dr. Al-Siddiqui pulled down the wall-mounted otoscope. “Let’s just do a basic exam and get you on your way.”
The doctor checked her ears, listened to her breathing, shone a light in her eyes, took her blood pressure, and measured her temperature.
“Your temperature is 100.2,” he said. “You don’t feel any symptoms of a slight fever?”
“Really? No, I feel really good. Better than I’ve felt in months.”
“Well, it’s not so high that I’m particularly concerned.” He flipped a page in her chart. “Seems like you were running a low-grade fever last time you were here as well. Perhaps you just have a high baseline temperature. Some people do.” He scribbled something in her chart, then looked up. “Well, everything looks fine, so if you’re feeling great, then I recommend you just keep doing whatever you’re doing.”
As Kathy left the clinic, she realized he was right—she must be doing something correctly, because she’d never felt such a satisfying energy coursing through her limbs. She felt like… like a new person.
She smiled and wondered if she’d brought any of her running gear to school.
###
The private jet accelerated down the runway, pressing Nate against his seat. Gripping the leather-wrapped armrests, he felt his insides shift as the jet climbed away from Dulles International Airport.
The speaker overhead crackled and the captain’s voice broadcast through the otherwise empty cabin.
“Special Agents Carrington and Ragheb, we just received clearance for a change in flight plan. Instead of landing at McCarran International in Las Vegas, we’ll be flying into Homey Airport.
“FBI personnel will be waiting to take both of you from the Groom Lake facility directly to the incident area.
“That should shave about ten minutes from our flight. The expected touchdown will be approximately 3:45 p.m., four hours and twelve minutes from now.”
“Groom Lake?” said Alex. “Isn’t that where Area 51 is supposed to be?”
“I’ve been there,” Nate said. “Didn’t see any aliens.”
They’d received a directive two hours earlier. A biological hazard had been uncovered outside of Ash Springs, Nevada, and the local FBI investigators had requested help processing the scene. He couldn’t help but wonder if it was connected with his last visit to the area.
“Well, aliens or not,” Alex said, “you know if it was some run-of-the-mill chemical spill or something, they’d be calling out the FEMA folks, not us. Our guys on the ground must suspect criminal activity.”
Nate shrugged. “I just hope they also called FEMA. Because I didn’t sign up for clean-up duty.”
The speaker above their seats crackled again. “One more thing, agents. We just received a priority communication from the Deputy Director. Be advised that there are fatalities on the scene. Level-four containment procedures will be required for all gathered evidence.”
“Shit,” Nate muttered. “What the hell are we getting ourselves into?”
###
A half dozen FBI agents were waiting on the tarmac as Nate and Alex stepped off the plane. As several of them set to work loading Nate and Alex’s supplies in an SUV, the local agent in charge introduced himself as Agent Mark Cross.
The agent leading the group shook hands with Nate and motioned to the other local agents. “Team, this is Nate Carrington. He’ll be leading the investigation for this incident.” He turned toward Alex and said, “I’m sorry, ma’am, I didn’t receive notice of your arrival, who—”
“This is Special Agent Alex Ragheb.” Nate motioned toward Alex. “She’s a biological weapons expert with a PhD in molecular biology.”
The local agent shook hands with Alex. “Nice to meet you, ma’am. I suspect your background will be particularly useful on this.”
Alex shook hands with the rest of the team and asked, “So, what are we dealing with? The directive we received was really light on details.”
Nate motioned toward the black SUVs and said, “Let’s talk and move at the same time.”
Within minutes, they were racing toward Ash Springs.
Alex repeated her question. “So, what are we dealing with?”
Cross shook his head. “It started when a local rancher reported that his entire herd of cattle died overnight. The county sheriff—”
“Wait,” Nate cut in. “You’re telling me we’re investigating dead cattle now?” Nate said. “Probably some local rancher taking out the competition.”
“That was my first thought too. But three people who went near the scene have already been hospitalized. The first was the local vet. The rancher called him in to check out the herd, and after going near the cattle, he got violently ill. An ambulance was called in, and the sheriff was notified. I knew it was something more than your run-of-the-mill water poisoning or some such.”
Alex leaned forward and asked, “So, what did you see when you got there?”
The local agent’s face held a haunted expression. “When we got to the scene, the ambulance was pulling away with two of the sheriff’s men. It seems as though one calf had survived the death of the rest of the herd, but was trapped under one of the dead animals. Some foolish officer went into the pasture to try to help the calf, and from what we’re told, as soon as he got near it, he yelled something about his eyes burning and he began going into convulsions. His partner ran in and dragged him out of the pasture, but then he, too, began showing signs of illness.”
Nate glanced at Alex as she chewed her lower lip in concentration.
“Anything else?” she asked.
“The calf ended up dying anyway. It freed itself and started stumbling toward the police, so someone put it down with a rifle shot. Anyway, after all that, you can understand why they brought us in.”
Nate frowned. “What’s the current status of the vet and the two officers?”
Cross shook his head. “The vet didn’t make it. Died in the ambulance on the way to the hospital. One of the officers is in a coma. I’m not sure the status of the other.”
“Wow, this is ugly,” Nate muttered. “I’m assuming you’ve got the area cordoned off.”
“The cops did that before we arrived. Set up a hundred-foot buffer all around the pasture.”
“That’s good.” Nate turned to Alex. “Thoughts?”
She shrugged. “Could be a chemical agent. A highly volatile nerve agent such as sarin, tabun, or even soman could spread over an area, killing the herd. But I can only speculate for now. I need to look at the animals before I can say anything definitive.”
Nate asked, “How long until we get there?”
“We’re five minutes out,” one of the agents in the front passenger seat responded.
Nate leaned back against the leather seat and focused on the mission. “Alex, you and I will gear up and go in. Our suits and breathing gear are good for thirty minutes of exposure. Let’s make the best of it. I’ll take soil samples every twenty feet. We’ll need samples from several of the animals. I’ll especially want biological samples of the calf. Depending on how big this area is, we may need to split up. Use the standard hazardous-material protocol. We’ll seal the gathered samples on the site, seal them again just outside the site, and then a third time to ensure we don’t have any issues. All of this goes back to the level-4 containment area back in Quantico. Any questions before we get there?”
“Just one,” said Alex. “If this is some kind of nerve agent, how the hell did it get there?”
Nate frowned. “I have no idea.”
###
As Juan walked into a seedy lounge at the outskirts of Arlington, the thick aroma of greasy fried food and beer reminded him of his college days. A welcome reminder of less-troubled times.
He took a seat at the counter, and a middle-aged, large-breasted bartender flashed him a gap-toothed smile. “Anything you want, honey?”
“How about a Budweiser?”
“Coming right up.”
Juan stretched his arms toward the ceiling and heard his back crack as the tension slowly leaked out of him.
It was only five p.m., so unsurprisingly, the place was fairly empty—though Juan had no doubt that in a few hours, the place would fill with serious drinkers, raucous laughter, and maybe even the occasional fistfight. It was that kind of dive.
The door opened, and two men in suits walked in. The same men who’d been following Juan around all day. Or at least, he assumed they had. He’d only noticed them one other time, when he was getting gas. The guy with the close-cropped platinum-blond hair was hard to miss.
Juan’s guess was they were AgriMed security assigned to watch over him. He considered waving them over to join him at the bar, but figured they’d decline. They were probably supposed to keep their distance.
The bartender slid the beer over to Juan and asked, “Honey, did you want me to run you a tab? If not, that’ll be four dollars”
Juan sipped at the icy cold beer and laid a five-dollar bill on the counter. “Keep the change.”
She scooped up the money as Juan stared at soundless images on the screen.
As he was taking a sip, a “Breaking News” banner appeared on the TV hanging over the shelves of liquor, and a local reporter appeared, standing outside the coroner’s office. Juan read the closed-captioning text as it crawled across the screen.
“The coroner has determined that poisoning was the cause of death for the three people found dead on Tuesday at their home in Arlington.
“This reporter tried to get more from the Arlington PD, but they refused to comment on any pending cases.
“This comes on the heels of two other poison-related deaths reported in the DC metro area in the past two weeks. We will keep the public informed as we learn more.”
Juan turned away from the screen. He had enough on his mind without worrying about some local crime spree. Why would someone have broken into his apartment? What could people be doing with his work, and why did he need two men watching over him?
Taking a big swig of his beer, Juan glanced at the table where his observers had settled.
One of them seemed focused on the menu while the other lowered his gaze as soon as Juan turned in his direction.
Why do I get the sense that nobody I know is giving it to me straight?
###
“I have no idea what happened,” Frank said truthfully.
Two FBI agents sat at the dining room table with him and Megan. One, a man named Carrington, wore a serious expression and held himself up with a perfect posture, reminding Frank very much of a military man.
“All I know,” Frank continued, “is that when I hiked over to the pasture first thing in the morning, all of the breeding cattle were dead.”
“Breeding cattle?” the woman agent asked. Agent Ragheb. “Is that a special type of cattle?”
“No, dear,” Megan said with a smile. “He just means they were pregnant. They were due sometime in February.”
“But there was a calf with them,” Carrington said. “Did one give birth early?”
Frank nodded. A twinge of sadness hit him as he remembered the plaintive call of the calf earlier that morning. “It happens sometimes, though usually not this early. The calf wasn’t there yesterday, but I heard it crying this morning.”
The agent’s phone buzzed, and he pulled it from his pocket. “Carrington.”
Frank strained to hear the voice on the other end. “The EOD guys from Nellis are ready to blow the area, so I wanted to make sure you’re good with the samples you took.”
“Yup, we’ve got what we need. Make sure those guys realize that there’s a ranch house only a klick away.”
“Roger that, I’ll let them know.”
Carrington put his phone away. “Mr. and Mrs. O’Reilly, do you have any enemies? Anyone who would want to harm your cattle?”
Megan gasped, and Frank patted her thigh. “Agent Carrington,” he said, “we’re simple ranchers. I’ve got a daughter in college and I raise beef cattle for a living. That’s about it. If we want to have a rip-roaring time, me and some of the ranch hands might blow up some stumps with quarter-sticks of dynamite. That’s about it.”
Ragheb asked, “What about other ranchers? Any issues with them?”
“You mean, have they had cattle die-offs as well?” Frank asked.
“No.” She shook her head. “I mean, have you had any unpleasant interactions with the other local ranchers? Any conflicts?”
Frank shook his head. “Ma’am, we private ranching folks consider ourselves a community. We can’t afford to hold grudges or be petty about stuff. In fact—”
Megan cut in. “Let me explain. All of the wives around here know each other. We exchange recipes, borrow cups of sugar, help each other out. It’s the only way to make ends meet. Us O’Reillys will gladly lend a bull to stud over at the Hanfords’, and they cut us a deal for fresh hay. Heck, we even make beef deals with the Glenfords who own the resort down in Coyote Springs so we can get access to their contacts for cheap corn. You see, we’re all small-business types who can’t afford to be bickering like you see on the TV. If you’re bickering and holding grudges, that means you don’t have enough work to do.”
Frank gave Megan’s knee a squeeze. “I love you, woman.”
Agent Ragheb smiled and scribbled something in her notebook. “Has anything unusual happened around here recently? Or have you seen anyone around that you might not know really well?”
Frank said no just as Megan said yes.
Megan reached over and rubbed Frank’s upper arm. “It’s just that, my husband’s been diagnosed with cancer and he’s being treated. That’s pretty unusual for us.”
Agent Carrington said somberly, “I’m very sorry you’re having to go through that.”
Frank waved away the words. “I don’t think about it much.” He hitched his thumb back toward Megan and smiled. “She worries plenty for the both of us. Besides, I’ve gotten treatment at the VA, and they’re doing a bang-up job.”
“You’re a veteran?” Carrington said.
“Yes, sir. I was an eleven bravo with the Twenty-Fourth Infantry out of Fort Stewart.” Frank allowed his mind to drift back to what seemed like a lifetime ago. “Back in Desert Storm, it was us and the Third Armored Cavalry in the Euphrates River Valley, cutting off part of Saddam’s army that had gone into Kuwait.”
“February 1991,” Carrington said. “I remember it well. I was in the area.”
“Oh?” Frank smiled. “What was your MOS?”
“Eighteen bravo.”
“Oh, damn.” Frank shook hands again with the agent. “It’s good to talk to someone who walked the same sand.”
Megan tapped Frank and whispered, “Eighteen bravo?”
“Special Forces,” he explained.
“Nate.” Ragheb turned to her partner. “Is there anything else you want to ask Mr. or Mrs. O’Reilly?”
“Not at this moment.” Carrington glanced at his watch. “Well, we’ve got EOD at the incident’s location—”
“Are they going to blow the pasture up?” Frank asked nervously.
“I’m not exactly sure. If it’s some kind of poison, the only way we can be sure to dispose of it is with very high heat. They might employ a series of explosions, fire, or both. But whatever they do, it’ll happen soon so don’t be alarmed if you hear something pretty darn loud.”
“Poor Doc Johnson.” Megan sighed.
The two agents stood, and Frank stood with them. “I’m really at a loss for words. I’m not ashamed to admit I’m scared shitless.” He glanced at Ragheb. “Sorry, ma’am. I’m just afraid that if we don’t figure out what killed the cattle, it could happen again.”
Agent Carrington shook his hand. “We’ll do our best to make sure that doesn’t happen.”
As Frank and Megan walked the agents out to the porch, the ground shook and the windows rattled with the boom of a distant explosion. A flash of light from the direction of the pasture was followed almost immediately by another loud boom.
Frank grabbed Megan’s hand and squeezed it lightly. “That wasn’t too bad—”
Another flash lit the horizon, and the sound of an even larger explosion ripped past the house, shattering one of the windows. Jasper, who was locked up in a bedroom, howled, and Megan cried out. It took a full fifteen seconds before the ringing in Frank’s ears subsided.
The radio on his belt vibrated and he heard Buck’s voice broadcast on the handheld unit’s speaker. “Mr. O’Reilly, did you hear some gosh darn loud explosion? The cattle are spooked as hell.”
Silently, Frank prayed that was it for the explosions.
Agent Carrington looked sheepishly at the broken window. “I’m sorry, sir. I’ll have one of the local FBI agents come by later. We’ll pay to get that fixed.”