1:03 p.m. (Local Time)
London, England
Hamilton opened the lid on a hinged plastic container; empty, except for the dark gray foam insert with fifty holes in it, arranged in five rows of ten. She stuck a finger into one of them. “The lab guys say they’re the perfect size for vials.”
Hardy hesitated. “Are you sure this is safe to touch?”
“The experts have used their sophisticated equipment,” she waved a hand, “all over. No threats of Anthrax.”
He examined the specimen holder. “This makes it a strong possibility that the virus was here.” He pitched his head backward at the man Hardy had shot. “Has he told us anything?”
“Not yet,” she waited a beat, “but he will. We’ve got skilled people questioning him right now.”
Hardy did not doubt her, but he was better acquainted with the effectiveness of his own interrogation skills. “Mind if I have a go at him?”
Cruz spun her head toward him. She had witnessed Hardy question a suspect before. While his tactics had elicited information that led to finding a kidnapped victim, she was uncomfortable with him employing those methods. She frowned. There has to be another way.
Hamilton saw Cruz’s twisted face, stiff posture, and made an educated guess about what the woman was thinking. “I’ve seen you in action.” She slowly shook her head. “Let’s see what my people come up with first before we go down that road.” The women exchanged knowing glances. “By the way,” Hamilton closed the lid and motioned toward a technician, who came and took the container, “I specifically remember telling you that not everyone has to be shot.” She gazed at him, brows lifted high.
He glimpsed Cruz. “When they’re charging toward one of my people, they most certainly do. Besides, I only shot him in the knee,” he held up an index finger, “one time.” He flashed a grin. “I don’t think Sheriff Stone would have stopped at just one.”
Hamilton chuckled. “Relax. I’m not mad. As far as I’m concerned,” she jerked a thumb toward the only other woman around, “he’s lucky Cruz didn’t put one in his chest.”
An NCA officer fast walked to the trio. “He talked.” The officer beckoned them. “You’re going to want to hear this for yourself.”
...
Through an interpreter, the man in custody retold his story to the three newcomers—half of the warehouse had been used for storing Anthrax, while the other half had been turned into a makeshift laboratory, sealed off from the rest of the building. Experiments had been conducted inside the lab. The man did not know what the experiments were about, only that they involved the mixing of several different types of viruses.
Hardy held up a hand. “Wait a minute.” He eyed Officer Thomas, the interpreter. “Are you sure you got that right…viruses…plural?”
“Yes, sir.”
“We were told only one virus, Anthrax, was involved.”
Hamilton nodded. “That’s the story I received too.”
The suspect continued and Thomas translated.
“There was another area, upstairs,” said Thomas, “where live animals were kept, separated from everyone else.”
The Middle Eastern man motioned.
Thomas: “The animals were brought downstairs to the lab…some were taken back to their cages upstairs…while others were taken away.”
“That explains the cages up there,” said Hardy. “Ask him what happened to the animals?”
Thomas: “madha hadath lilhayawanat?”
The seated man replied, “mayit,” and drew a finger across his neck.
Thomas faced Hardy. “He said—”
Hardy raised a hand. “I got it.”
The man spoke and Thomas translated: “He says he’s been at this place for more than four months, but thinks it’s been operating for longer than that. Everything was up and running when he got here…animals come in…carcasses go out…all day every day for many months.”
“Ayn dhahab aljmye? mataa ghadiruu? – Where did everybody go? When did they leave?” asked Hamilton, who spoke the language.
She got an answer and turned toward Hardy and Cruz. “He says two days ago everything was dismantled and hauled away in big trucks.” She pointed in two directions. “The lab and the area upstairs were sanitized.” She paused. “The only reason he was here was he lost his cell phone and came back to look for it.”
Hardy breathed deeply and recognized the scent of bleach. He jabbed a finger at the man who was too forthcoming with answers. “I know he’s not running the show.”
Hamilton: “liman taemalu? aetani asma – Who do you work for? Give me a name.”
Suspect: “rajul yudeaa Matin…Matin Ghali.”
“A man named—” Hamilton stopped and listened when the accused added more. “He says he was hired by a man named Matin Ghali, but that Ghali took orders from another man, someone in a,” the suspect ran his hands down the length of his body, “long white coat.”
Cruz whipped her head toward Hardy. “A doctor…he must’ve been the one performing the experiments.” She spun back toward Hamilton and stuck out her chin toward the terrorist. “Does he remember the man’s name?”
After another short exchange with the prisoner, Hamilton observed Hardy and Cruz. “He says it was a German-sounding name. Heimer, Himmler, Kimmler.”
Hardy dug out his phone. “Well, it’s a start.” He spied Hamilton. “See what your agency can come up with,” he held up the mobile, “while I check with my specialist.”
Cruz stepped forward. “Does he know what the man in white looked like? We can get a sketch artist to come up with a drawing.” She faced Hamilton. “I’m sure the NCA must have those.”
Hamilton nodded, “That’s a good idea,” and nodded at her fellow officer.
Thomas retrieved his cell. “I’m on it, ma’am.”
Hardy turned his back on the women and tapped Charity’s speed dial number. She answered on the third ring. “Cherry, it’s Hardy. Are you near your laptop? I’ll be sending you some names and possibly a sketch. I need you to—”
Charity’s high-pitched voice ripped through the mobile’s speaker, “Oh my…no, no, no,” before the line went dead.
Hardy frowned at the device.
Hearing Charity’s panic-stricken voice, Cruz squared her shoulders with him. “What’s wrong?”
He shook his head. “I don’t know. She was there…and then she wasn’t.” He stared at the screen. Three bars. “Try Dahlia,” he brought the phone to his face, “while I’ll call Cherry again.” He made three unsuccessful attempts to reach her.
Standing in front of him, Cruz looked up. “Dahlia’s keeps going to voicemail.”