DB Carpenter

INFERTILE GROUNDS

Dedication: For Emily, your birth inspired me to write this and your life inspired me to publish it. Thanks!

DAY 1 – SUNDAY, JUNE 28

8:04 am St. Croix River, Aroostook County, Maine

If the plane had crashed thirty minutes earlier, Chris Foster would be dead. It would have plowed him into the underbrush along the edge of the river he loved, ending his life with an incredible, almost humorous bit of bad luck.

He was in the middle of a yearly, two-week sabbatical at his secluded cabin in Northern Maine – no computers, no employees, no wife, just his fishing rod and the last great wilderness on the east coast.

Everything was perfect until a small yellow plane careened around the lazy bend down-river and clipped the top of a massive pine tree protruding from the eroded bank at a forty-five-degree angle. The plane dove violently, missing the water by inches. The pilot regained control briefly until a three-foot piece of tree-damaged wing snapped off, sending the plane into an arcing barrel roll. It passed twenty feet over Chris’ head and slammed into the opposite river bank with a tremendous crash that silenced the engine’s sputtering whine.

The tranquility of the morning morphed into a post-near-death, eerie calm as Chris stared across the flowing water at the shattered wreckage. He had been standing in that exact spot just minutes ago. The combination of slippery river rocks, the current and his waders made it difficult to move quickly and he struggled up to the bend where the water was fast but shallow and he could easily cross over.

The forest was unnaturally quiet – no birds sang, even the gurgling of the river sounded muted – as if nature paid homage to the recently deceased pilot.

As he approached the twisted, crumpled fuselage Chris called out, “Hello.” No response. He expected none.

He ran his hand along the cool metal, probing small round holes punched through the yellow paint at irregular intervals. Maybe it was the fuel-fouled air, or a response to the intense adrenaline rush, or, more likely, it was knowing that he was about to come face to face with death – it was inches away, waiting to show him its glorious handiwork – but an overwhelming sense of panic gripped him. He leaned over, his lungs constricted, his heart pounding a frantic, out of control beat. The forest started a slow spin. He was going to pass out and he dropped to his knees. Bent at the waist, head down – as if he were on a mossy prayer mat worshipping Allah – an uncontrollable quaking coursed through his body as he struggled to regain control. He had never experienced anything like this before and had always thought panic attacks were simply psycho-babble-based excuses for people who couldn’t deal with life but now he understood just what it meant – how overwhelming it could be.

It took several minutes for the attack to pass and he slowly rose on unsteady feet. He peered into the cabin through the shattered pilot-side window and saw exactly what he had expected. The pilot’s bloody body was unnaturally wrapped around the dislocated engine block. He was motionless. Chris stared at the horrific scene for a long moment, examining the catastrophic damage to the plane and to its pilot’s mangled body. As he was about to turn away, the man eyes blinked open. His lips started to tremble.

“Oh my God,” Chris said as he wrenched the door open. “You’re alive?”

The pilot tried to speak, causing a rivulet of blood to dribble from the corner of his mouth. As Chris climbed into the crumpled compartment, the pilot slowly focused his gaze on him. Chris gave the man a quick once over – blood saturated his long sleeve denim shirt, and his hips were twisted around almost one-hundred-eighty degrees. He wouldn’t be alive for long.

“Jesus Christ.” Chris said, shocked at the level of trauma this man had somehow survived.

The dying man slowly opened and closed his mouth, struggling to get a breath before whispering, “Listen. I don’t…” A spasm racked his body, spurting fresh blood from his mouth but his gaze stayed focused. “…have much time.”

“Let me help you,” Chris pleaded, not able to just sit back and watch him die. He started unbuttoning the blood-soaked shirt. Maybe he could somehow stop the bleeding.

“Don’t bother,” the pilot said in a gurgling sigh. “I’m David Rose.”

Chris stopped fussing with his shirt and stared into his disturbingly calm, brown eyes.

“They’re coming after me,” David said softly.

“Who? Who’s coming after you?”

David’s ruggedly handsome face reddened. A vein bulged on his forehead. The tendons in his neck looked like wires ready to snap under his skin as he struggled to breathe. He finally managed to gulp some air before continuing. “They knew. You need to get out of here.”

“Who knew what? What’s going on?” Chris wondered if David was experiencing some sort of pre-death hallucination. He was obviously confused and undoubtedly concussed after what he had just gone through. Perhaps that, coupled with shock from the traumatic injuries was making him delusional.

“Sar–,” David grimaced as his eyes closed. “Sarah Burns.”

“Who is Sarah Burns? Why is she after you? Listen, just sit tight, let me go get some help.” Chris wondered how he was going to get help from this remote spot. It was impossible but he didn’t know what to say.

“No time,” David gasped pointing to his bloody chest. “She… shot… me.”

Chris tore open his shirt and stared at two swollen, oozing wounds – one just below his collarbone and the other several inches below his left nipple – undoubtedly bullet holes. David’s eyes opened again and he focused them intensely on Chris. “Do you have kids?”

“Huh?”

“Stop her….,” David said as his hand latched onto Chris’ wet, wader-covered calf and squeezed hard in a convulsive, pain-induced reaction. “Stop it.”

“It?”

“It can’t get out,” David said in soft, hitching breaths.

“What can’t get out? What are you talking about?”

David gasped, “The virus.” Tears welled up in his eyes, his lips quivered, struggling to produce words. “Soon, soon, very soon.”

“What virus? Who shot you? You’re not making any sense,” Chris said as he tried to process what he was hearing. This guy was borderline incoherent but who could have shot him? Who was this Sarah? None of this made sense and Chris was starting to panic again. He needed to do something, anything. David’s delusional rambling was unnerving.

“I loved her,” the pilot stuttered. “I believed but Engamy was scary. Engamy…”

“Engamy? What the fuck is Engamy?”

Another intense shudder tore through his body, his head drooped as he fell silent. His hand slid from Chris’ leg. Chris thought he had died right then and there but then David’s head snapped upright and he said, “She finally did it. She’s coming… you have to go, you have to stop her. Go!” His eyes pleaded with Chris.

Now it was Chris’ turn to shudder. The wrecked plane, his own near death, and the blood-covered dying man paled compared to David’s bizarre words. Was he in the throws of some sort of pre-death delirium or was he telling the truth? None of this made any sense and the panic within Chris was starting to take control.

Their gazes locked. Seeing Chris’ confusion, David nodded softly and said, “Stop the virus.”

“What can I—”

David’s eyes suddenly grew wide with fear. Chris cocked his head and listened to the faint, unmistakable hum of a small engine plane in the distance.

“Get out!” David said in his first words above a whisper. He grabbed Chris’ shirt with both hands, pulling him so their faces were inches apart and screamed in his last dying breath, “Run!”

He let Chris go as his head snapped back, and he started to shake violently. A thick glob of deep crimson blood oozed out of his mouth and he died in a slow exhalation – eyes wide open and mouth still formed around his final word that reverberated in Chris’ mind. Run! He scurried out of the cockpit and sprinted deeper into the woods where he lay down under some brush and watched the approaching plane through the forest canopy. It passed overhead, circled, and came back again. They had spotted the downed plane.

The plane approached, low and slow. As it crossed the river, a staccato burst of machine-gun fire rose over the throttled-back growl of the engine. The spray of bullets pummeled the fuselage, sounding like heavy hail hammering the metal roof of a building.

It passed unknowingly over his head and he lay motionless, listening as the monotonous drone of the engine faded into nothingness.

He was scared. His mind spinning from the surreal experience and consumed with trying to piece together David’s bizarre words. Given what had transpired, he had to get out of the woods.

As he made his way down the river to his camp, he again heard the sound of a plane approaching. It was following the river, just like David had done. It rounded the bend and to Chris’ horror, he saw that it was the plane that had strafed David’s.

6:17 pm Masardis, Aroostook County, Maine

It had taken unusually long to get down the eight miles of river because the water was low. The canoe was constantly getting hung up on the river rocks because Chris was on the lookout in case the plane made another reappearance and not focused on the river. After narrowly avoiding being seen by the first two fly bys, he wasn’t taking any chances. He stowed his canoe in the woods off the river bank and hiked up to his parked car.

After driving on the main road for about ten minutes, Chris pulled into the small general store. He checked his mobile phone but knew it was futile, there was no signal here.

He grabbed a Coke from the vintage 1930 cooler and walked up to the cash register. The aged proprietor sat in her usual spot, reading a romance novel. A tattered, hand-knitted shawl draped around her frail shoulders.

“Do you have a landline I can use?” He asked as he held up his mobile phone. “I got no signal.”

“No. The line was going out every time it rained so I finally said enough. Nobody calls me anyway. I hear you can get a signal a couple of miles up the road toward Ashland.”

“Damn it,” he said as he looked at the useless phone in his hand.

“Everything ok?”

“Fine,” he said as he crammed the phone into his pocket.

“How was the fishing?”

“Okay,” Chris replied, “Caught a few this morning.”

“Water’s been just right this year. Folk’s saying the fishing hasn’t been this good since ’96.” She brushed a strand of nicotine yellowed silver hair from her craggy face, tucking it behind her ear. “Leaving early, aren’t you? Something happen out there?” She looked curiously at him.

“I’ve got to get back to Boston. Something came up.” Chris decided to avoid her questioning.

“That’s too bad.”

“I think I’ll try and get up to do some hunting this fall.”

“We sell licenses you know. Anything you need. My son says it’s going to be good bear hunting this year.”

“Thanks,” Chris replied. “You wouldn’t know where I could find a state policeman, would you?”

Her head came up. “Something happened out there, didn’t it?”

“Everything’s fine. I just saw something this morning that I think should be brought to the attention of the authorities.” Chris still hadn’t come to terms with what happened this morning – the plane crash, the bullets and the dying man had shaken him at a sensory level but David’s unbelievable words got to him at a much deeper, more visceral one.

Chris knew there was something to David’s wild story. He had no idea who this Sarah woman was, or if she even really existed, but seeing the bullet wounds and narrowly missing being riddled with machine gun shots himself by whoever was in that second plane, something very bad was going down and the only thing he could think to do was take it to the authorities. Even if he ignored David’s crazy tale, there was the plane crash and murder to be reported but how could he tell the whole story without sounding crazy? These thoughts raced through his mind as he stared at the overly curious lady. He certainly wouldn’t be telling her anything about the most eventful morning of his life. It would be local news before he had breathed a word to the police. And right now he wasn’t sure he could trust anybody with what he had seen. He manufactured a story.

“What was it?” Her aged eyes, made grotesquely large by thick glasses, locked on his.

“Poachers. Up the river. They got a moose,” he said as he tried unsuccessfully to hold her intense stare.

“Is that so?” She said glancing at her watch. “Some folks poach because they need the meat. It ain’t sport. They do it to feed their own.”

“Well, that may be but poaching is poaching in my book,” he said after contemplating the woman’s words for a moment.

“Well, if that’s how you feel about it then you’d probably want to go to the Fish and Game station up in Ashland.”

Chris wondered if maybe she was worried it was her son doing the poaching. “No, I’d rather just deal with a cop and let him talk to the game wardens. Those Fish and Game guys are always,” he paused, searching for the right word. “…difficult.”

She chuckled. The Maine Fish and Game Department were considered the enemy by most locals who wanted to be free to live off the land and fish and hunt for their dinner when they wanted without paperwork and licenses and officials.

“Well, usually about this time of day, you can find Bert Nadeau grabbing some supper up at the Wild Bear hunting lodge. He’s the local law.”

“That the big log lodge about fifteen miles that way?” Chris asked, pointing north up route 11.

She nodded, still studying him queerly as he paid for the soda, winked and said, “Thanks. See you in the fall.”

“You will,” she said dryly, “I’m always here and if I’m not I’m probably dead.”

He could sense her watching him as he left the store for the short ride to the Wild Bear.

It was almost seven when he pulled off route 11, wound down a short, crushed-stone driveway, and stopped outside the main lodge. Several other vehicles sat parked on the lawn – none manufactured after 1995, except for the shiny, light-blue Crown Victoria Police Interceptor with the state of Maine emblem stuck proudly on the side of the door.

Chris climbed out of his car and stretched. He could feel the flabby looseness of his abdomen and chest as he jogged up the stairs. Too much sitting was making him soft. He wasn’t fat, yet. It was definitely time to start working out and watching what he ate. Flabby didn’t fit his self-description.

The main door opened into a large, well-lit room with two groups of men in it – one near the bar and the other gathered around a pool table in front of a massive stone fireplace.

The smell of the fireplace accented the warmth of the room. Underneath it, he could make out the homey aroma of a country kitchen – bacon, butter, beans and bread – mixed with a rich undertone of liquor and tobacco. It combined to create an air of relaxation, better than any homeopathic concoction Karen ever brought home. He could sense the ghost echoes of cards being dealt and hunter’s tall-tales being told as he strode into the room and shut the door.

The room fell silent. Everyone turned and stared as Chris scanned for the trooper. A lanky, grumpy looking man behind the bar said, “Can I help you?”

“I’m looking for Bert Nadeau,” Chris replied to the all-male audience. “The lady at the general store in Masardis said I could probably find him here.”

“That so?” The bartender said. “Hey, Bert. You here?”

A large, barrel-chested man, who had been leaning over the pool table lining up his next shot, stood upright and said, “I think so.”

Chris had been expecting a uniform, but hell, this was northern Maine. Flannel was a uniform.

“You’re a state cop?” Chris asked.

“I am,” he replied as he returned his attention to his shot.

As Chris walked across the room to the pool table, the silent stares continued. The man closest to him, clearly the oldest, wore a red and black checked wool jacket. Chris nodded at him, and he simply smiled back, baring a mouthful of gold teeth – several of which were missing, but those remaining were all gold. Bizarre.

“Nice teeth,” Chris said to him, after having just about enough of his annoying grin.

The old man brought up an arthritic finger and rapped on one of his canines with a thick, dirty fingernail. The disturbing tapping sound of fingernail on gold made Chris involuntarily grimace.

“That’s solid gold,” he said in a thick French-Canadian accent. “That damn dentist up in Presque Isle. He wanted to give me silver, but I said no. That silver’s poison and I know it. He was just trying to get rid of one more Frenchman. I told him to give me gold, or I’d take my sorry old ass someplace else.”

“Jesus Christ,” the burly, red-haired man across the room said. “Alby’s going to tell us about his teeth again.”

Several of the other men chuckled.

“Alby. We heard about your teeth before, and I’m sure this guy ain’t too interested,” a man who looked like Jerry Garcia, only maybe a little dumber and shorter and definitely less successful, said.

The sharp snap of two balls colliding silenced the men.

“Damn,” Bert said as the ten ball came to a stop on the lip of the side pocket. “Hey, Fern. You want to finish my game here?”

“Sure,” the Jerry Garcia want-to-be said as he did a well-practiced slide from his barstool and sauntered over to the table.

Bert walked over with his hand outstretched. “Bert Nadeau,” he said cordially.

“Chris Foster.” They shook. As Chris would have expected from his size, he had a grip like a vise. At six-two and about two-twenty, Chris had always considered himself big but he found himself looking up at this man who had at least four inches and a hundred pounds on him.

“What can I do you for?” Bert asked.

Everyone in the room watched intently. Apparently, Chris was the most interesting person to come in here in a while. Actually, that this lodge was even open in late June surprised him. Hunting season didn’t start for another few months. These guys were undoubtedly all locals with nothing better to do than hang out drinking, shooting pool and passing time until they can go out in the woods and legally shoot something else.

What he wanted to talk to Bert about would certainly liven up their night.

“Is there someplace we can talk in private?”

Bert furrowed his brow, rubbed his hands down his face and slapped them together before saying, “Sure, let’s go out onto the porch.”

As Chris shut the outside door the conversation inside started up again. He was surely the main topic.

“So, what’s going on, Chris?” Bert asked as he sat down in one of the well-used bentwood chairs lined up on the large rectangular porch. Before he could reply, Bert said, “You’re from Massachusetts.”

He followed Bert’s gaze, which was directed at his new Toyota Prius. One thing he’d learned over the years was that people in Maine, particularly this part of the state, didn’t hold people from Massachusetts in the highest regards. They thought all people from Massachusetts lived in downtown Boston and when not fighting off marauding gangs of ethnically diverse murderers and rapists, they were generally overpaid, arrogant asses – also known as, Mass-holes.

“Yes,” Chris replied, not wanting to get caught in that trap. “I inherited a small camp up on the St. Croix fifteen years ago from my grandfather. I usually spend two weeks a year up here fishing and unwinding.”

“How far up the river is it?”

“About eight miles.”

“Rust-colored?”

“Yeah, you’ve been that far up the river?” Chris asked. In all of his years coming here, he had only seen a handful of people actually that far up the river. It was a long haul. The water was usually too low to use a motor and sometimes even paddling was difficult. He preferred to pole – that was the best way to make good time in a river such as the St. Croix.

Bert nodded. “Nice little place. Good fishin’ up the other side of that creek.”

“It certainly is,” Chris replied, happy that Bert not only knew but appreciated what it was. “I’ve pulled a lot of trout out of that water.”

“Well, if you want to get away from it all, you’re not going to find a better spot than that.”

“If I couldn’t get up here for a couple weeks a year, I’d lose my mind.”

“That one of them hybrids?” Bert asked, nodding toward the car.

Chris looked over at the shiny white car. Up until four months ago he had driven a Jeep Wrangler but Karen had nagged him into going green. He had finally caved in, sold the Jeep and bought a Prius but had felt emasculated ever since. The self-righteous piousness he thought was exhibited by most hybrid owners eluded him. Maybe because he understood that the manufacturing process to make the batteries for them created more greenhouse gases then driving a traditional car for a hundred thousand miles and the metals and chemicals leftover after the batteries died were a toxic nightmare, or maybe because he truly loved the environment at a spiritual level, not at a “look at me, I care” one. That’s actually why he liked coming up here – to commune with nature, to reconnect.

“Yeah, the wife made me buy it,” Chris said. “Frankly, I hate the thing but it does get good mileage and it shut her up.”

Bert snorted as he pulled a pouch of Bugler tobacco out of his pocket and started rolling a cigarette. His meaty fingers nimbly performed the delicate task.

“The reason that I needed to talk to you privately is actually kind of incredible. I’m not sure I’d believe it myself if I didn’t see it with my own eyes”

Bert licked the paper and gave the cigarette a final spin. He looked up as he struck a blue-tip match on the arm of his chair.

Chris glanced inside and saw that the other men had returned to what they had been doing. The bartender was on the phone.

“So let’s hear it?” Bert asked.

Chris paused for a moment and stared at Mt. Katahdin looming majestically in the distance. The setting sun illuminated its jagged, mile-high stone edge, giving it the breathtaking appearance of a massive stone temple.

When he turned back, he saw that Bert was looking inside the lodge and he followed his stare. As he did so, the bartender turned his back to them. Bert dragged on his cigarette, coolly turning his gaze to Chris. His deep set, brown eyes sparkled as he said, “Go on.”

In the lodge the bartender was hanging up the phone. Considering the events of the day, Chris was naturally on edge. He reflected on everything that had happened and whether or not he should just blurt the whole story out. Partly because he didn’t want to come across as a lunatic but he was also starting to consider who he could trust. Bullet riddled pilots, people in planes with machine guns, viruses and this woman, Sarah Burns, were the unnerving makings of a great movie but as David Rose’s death proved, it was deadly real.

If they had killed David, they certainly wouldn’t think twice about doing the same to Chris. But who were they? Northern Maine was a vast wilderness but a small world and he had no idea who in that small world was wrapped up in whatever the hell was going on. He decided to test the water first without necessarily revealing the entire conversation or what had happened afterward.

“Well, this morning I was fishing a few yards above that little stream that you were just talking about…”

He paced the porch as he told Bert about the plane crash but didn’t mention the bullet wounds, the pursuing plane opening fire or David’s incredible words.

“Hot damn,” Bert said. “What happened to the pilot?”

“When I got to the plane and looked inside I thought he was dead, but it turned out that he was alive.”

“Really?”

“He was a mess,” Chris replied. “Covered in blood, the engine was pushed into the cockpit and it was crushing him but he was still breathing. I tried to get him to talk to me. He managed to tell me that his name was David something. I couldn’t understand exactly what he said. He was in rough shape. It sounded like Roll, or something like that.”

“Did he say anything else?”

“No, not really. He was babbling about something that I couldn’t understand. He kept on saying someone was after him. And then he died. Blood was pouring out of his mouth the whole time. I can’t believe he was even alive.” He clenched his teeth as he recalled David’s last moments.

“That’s it?” Bert asked.

Chris nodded.

“The body’s still in the plane?”

“It is.”

“Well. It’s too late to go up there and get it tonight. I’ll make some calls. See if any planes are missing.”

“I just wanted to tell the law about it because I have to be getting back home tonight.”

“You ain’t going no place. Not tonight at least. You need to give a statement to the FAA, or the NTSB or whoever ultimately has jurisdiction about this tomorrow morning after we go up to the crash site.”

“I wish I could but I can’t. I have to be back in Boston for an important meeting tomorrow afternoon at three.”

“Sorry, plane crashes are federal jurisdiction. If you leave without the proper people interviewing you, it’s going to be my ass. I like my ass just the way it is, comprendé?”

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” Chris said, briefly wishing he had just driven straight home and forgotten all about the plane crash and David Rose. But how could he do that after having experienced the ultimate results of a violent murder which left a man lying dead in a plane up the river. He was the lone witness and, granted he didn’t owe David anything, someone had to represent the dead man, to give him a living voice in the search for justice.

“I’m not,” Bert replied as he pinched the end of the cigarette between his thumb and forefinger, held it for a second to make sure it was fully extinguished and then flicked it over the railing.

Chris took a deep breath and slowly cracked each knuckle. Maybe it was the crazy events of the morning making him paranoid but Chris couldn’t shake the feeling that he needed to be careful who he trusted around here. Going to the state police had seemed like the most sensible thing to do, but now that he was here, he couldn’t help thinking perhaps Bert wasn’t the right person to be investigating this type of crime.

He was probably a fine cop, just doing his job, and clearly enjoying the fact that he had a Mass-hole in a bind and wasn’t going to bend the rules the least bit. In and of itself, that wasn’t really that strange for people up here. But the gooseflesh on Chris’ arms and the nervy twisting in his gut was keeping him on edge.

“You tell anyone else about this?” Bert asked as he hoisted his bulk out of the chair and stood next to him.

Chris shook his head.

“Come on inside. I’ll get Stu to set you up with a room, and you can make some calls if you have to. Your cell phone isn’t going to work up here.”

Chris glanced at his phone and sure enough, no signal. He grudgingly followed Bert. Fleeting thoughts of making a break for his car, escaping this fucked up situation and heading back home to forget the whole incident raced through his mind, but only one road led out of the woods and Bert would surely be able to catch him – his cruiser undoubtedly a little faster than the Prius. Now that he had involved the authorities, he was caught in their machine and he, unfortunately, had to comply.

Once inside, Bert said to the bartender, “Stu, set Chris here up with a room for tonight. Bill me for it.”

“No problem, Bert,” Stu replied. “Everything okay?”

“Yeah. He saw a plane crash up the St. Croix. Let me use the phone, will you?”

Stu slid the phone across the bar to Bert, who started to make calls to see if anyone knew about missing planes.

“So what happened?” Stu asked as soon as Bert started to dial the first number.

“It’s a long story,” Chris said. “Could I get a beer and some food first?”

“Sure.” Stu said. “About all we got for food is some of my wife’s rabbit stew, or I could get her to do a burger for you.” He was already popping the top off a Bud. To men like Stu there was only one beer, and Chris would be willing to bet that the refrigerator was Budweiser only, particularly at this time of year.

“I’ll try some rabbit stew, Stu,” Chris said, smiling at the sound of it.

“You won’t be disappointed,” he replied, not looking nearly as grumpy for some reason.

As he ate, the other men finished their game of pool and congregated around him as if he was a preacher come to town to deliver the sermon that was going to save their souls.

Chris wiped the last of the rabbit stew from his lips and said, “Your wife’s a real catch, Stu. Anyone who can make a rabbit taste that good ought to be anointed.”

Stu smiled proudly. “We’ve owned this place for twenty years and not one person’s stayed here who didn’t compliment her cooking. So what’s with this plane crash?”

Chris regurgitated the slightly modified story once again.

Just as he finished, Bert said from the other side of the bar, “I think I found it.”

“Really?” Chris replied.

“The plane was old and yellow, right?”

Chris nodded, “Yes.”

Bert spoke into the handset of the phone, “Yeah, that sounds like the one all right.”

As he listened, he nodded while rolling his eyes and making a hurry-up-already motion with his hand. “Okay. We’ll be there about eight tomorrow morning. See you then.”

He hung up the phone and slid it across the bar to Stu. Then ran his fingers through his wavy black hair and slowly shook his head as he said, “It sounds like a plane from Great Northern. It was supposed to bring some supplies in to a crew up in the Allagash but never showed up.”

“How about that,” Stu said as he cleared away the dishes and fastidiously wiped the shiny wooden bar. “If you hadn’t seen him go down, it could have been years before they found him, if ever.”

“That’s for sure,” Bert said. “We’ll meet the FAA guys up in Ashland tomorrow morning. They’ll have a chopper, and we’ll fly in to the crash site.”

Chris’s mind raced as he, drank and ate. Why would a lumber camp delivery plane and pilot be shot up? And why would it have been pursued and riddled with bullets again? David’s final word echoed in Chris’ mind, “Run!” There was nothing more he would have liked to do right now. But how?

“Sounds good,” Chris said. “I’m spent. Where’s my room, Stu?”

Stu walked out from the other side of the bar, glanced at Bert and said, “Follow me.”

They crossed the great room and climbed the stairs. At the top was a corridor lined with three doors on each side.

“We’re empty this time of year, so I’ll put you up in the Guide Room.”

“Sounds great,” Chris replied, suddenly exhausted. He didn’t care if Stu put him in the attic on the floor. He needed some sleep.

Stu opened the door to a small but comfortable room.

“Bathroom’s at the end of the hall,” he said. “You need anything, just dial 0 on that phone and either me or Annie’ll pick up.”

“Thanks.”

“Enjoy it. Ain’t often the State picks up the tab. The only thing they ever give me is a big fat tax bill.”

Stu left the room and shut the door. His footsteps faded down the hall. Chris lay down on the bed, trying to force himself to sleep. He was certainly physically and emotionally tired enough after the long day but his mind was racing uncontrollably. He stood up and paced the small room, reliving the events of the day, trying to rationalize everything that had happened. Replaying David’s words over and over again, trying to think if he had missed anything and most importantly, trying to decide if David had been telling the truth. That was the real wildcard. Not that it had been a particularly coherent or lucid conversation, snippets, words, only a few actual phrases but when he put them all together, they painted an ominous picture. But no matter how many times he turned the words over in his mind, he came back to the hard fact that David had been shot. That was an indisputable reality.

He glanced at his watch. It was almost eleven. He’d been driving himself crazy for the better part of two hours and no matter how he looked at it, nothing lined up. He needed to get out of the room and get some fresh air to try to clear his mind.

The door opened silently and he slipped out into the dark hall and listened. The lodge was quiet. Walking to the top of the stairs he peered down through the balusters at the dimly lit bar where Stu sat alone, drinking a beer. The phone rang and he snatched it up before the first ring was complete.

As Chris started down the stairs, he could hear Stu speaking, his voice soft and low. The words of the very short conversation essentially indecipherable except for two that made Chris’ heart skip a beat and his knees buckle. “…Sarah Burns…”

DAY 2 – MONDAY, JUNE 29

1:34 am Route 11, Aroostook County, Maine

The rusty old IH Scout rattled to a stop in the rest area next to the shiny Crown Victoria. The driver’s side doors next to each other, windows down so Bert and Seth could talk.

“Evening, Bert,” Seth said.

“How do?” Bert replied.

“This is a mess.”

“You got that right.”

“So what do you think? Did David tell this guy anything?”

“Hard to tell.”

“So who is he?”

“Name’s Chris Foster. From down around Boston. He’s got a camp up the St. Croix. He was out fishing and the plane damn near killed him when it crashed.”

Seth shook his head, “What are the fucking odds?”

“Very slim I’d say but that don’t matter, does it?”

“Nope,” Seth replied as he squeezed the steering wheel tightly in his hands. “So what do you think? Gut feel?”

“He seemed real skittish. Five’ll get you ten David told him a lot more than he was telling me.”

“Did he mention anything about seeing anyone shooting at the plane after it crashed?” Seth asked.

Bert shook his head, “Nope. Just said it crashed and the pilot died from his injuries shortly thereafter.”

Seth sighed as he stared out the front windshield at the swath of dirt and woods that his headlights illuminated. Obviously, Chris Foster wasn’t telling Bert everything. It was no more than fifteen minutes from when David crashed to when the plane was strafed. Chris would have undoubtedly heard and, more than likely, seen that.

“Son of a bitch,” Seth said. “Stu’s got him locked up?”

“He does. Go in the back, he’s waiting for you,” Bert replied.

“Good job, Bert,” Seth said as he ground the stick shift into reverse and backed out of the rest area.

“Well, it seems like we lucked out,” said the woman in the rear seat who sat up as Seth headed south in the direction of the Wild Bear Inn.

“It would appear so,” Seth replied.

“I should have trusted my instincts about David,” Sarah said through a sigh. She had loved David, but two years ago decided that there was no room for love in what they were doing. It was too distracting, and, now that they were on the brink of achieving their goal, she knew she had made the right choice even though it had been a painful one. David had been special. More than just a lover. More than just a friend. He was someone she could have envisioned herself settling down with for the duration. They had connected so well – good in bed and good in the head, she had always said. But a part of her would forever regret it. She looked at Seth who returned her stare briefly in the rear view mirror.

“Don’t say that,” he said. “We all missed it. You’d think that after eighteen years we would have known him well enough to see that he’d lost his commitment, but we didn’t. Hell, if we were to act on every suspicion we had, it’d be just you and me. And we’d be a long way from where we are today.”

“You’re right. It’s just not a good time – not when we’re trying to tie up all the loose ends.”

“I know, but that’s all it is, another loose end. Jerry and the guys rented a chopper and are up at the crash site right now cleaning up. When they get done, there’ll be no traces of a crash, and in a few minutes we’ll have the only witness.”

“Speaking of loose ends, you’re going to have to pay Bert a visit soon,” she said as she undid the tight bun that frequently knotted her long brown hair.

“I know,” he replied as he stared intensely at her in the mirror. He knew that Sarah enjoyed but also resented his infatuation with her as she looked away dismissively. He couldn’t help it. He had made passes at her over the years, particularly after her and David broke up but they were all rebuked, some respectfully, others not so much so. But for some reason he couldn’t stop himself from trying. He considered her to be the perfect woman. Out of his league for sure but why not aim high? As the lottery commercials said, “You can’t win if you don’t play.”

Seth moved his head from side to side, cracking the phantom crick in his neck that manifested itself whenever he was agitated.

“Let’s just get this over with,” she said.

2:07 am Wild Bear Lodge, Aroostook County, Maine

Tap, tap, tap.

The sound was coming from the windows. Chris sat on the edge of the bed facing the door. After hearing Stu say “Sarah Burns” he had hightailed it back to his room and had been trying to figure out what his next step should be when he drifted into a sort of stupor. He turned to identify the source of the sound. To his surprise, he saw the outline of a man’s head silhouetted against the half moon. The man rapped on the window again.

Chris rose from the squeaky spring bed and walked over to the window. It was the guy with the gold teeth. He held a finger to his mouth.

Chris unlatched the window and slid it up. “What the hell—”

“Did that guy in the plane tell you anything else?” The man hissed.

“What?”

“If you don’t get out of here right now, you’re dead.”

Chris stared back at him stupidly. The cobwebs of sleep still clogged his mind, and he had a hard time processing what the bizarre, old Frenchman said.

“Well, if he did, it was true. If you don’t know what I’m talking about, it don’t matter ’cause they think you do. They’re coming here right now. You’ll see.”

Mr. Goldteeth scanned the moonlit, shadow filled grounds as he squatted on the narrow ledge of roof. Outbuildings, trees and woods lurked in every direction – each a potential hiding spot. The crunch of tires on crushed stone drifted through the air.

“They’re here,” he whispered. “We got to go.”

The old man turned and moved nimbly down the eve. Chris didn’t hesitate. He had been looking for a way out and here it was. He climbed out onto the ledge, shut the window, and followed. What was going on? Why did the old man want to help him?

At the corner of the lodge, the man stopped and motioned for Chris to look.

He peeked around the corner – two people were in the lot, one of them was in his car going through the glove compartment. His escort turned with a wide, maniacal smile. Even in the dim moonlight his gold teeth glistened.

“I told you,” he said as he tapped his chest. “They need to find out who you are, then they’re going to shut you up. Permanently.”

Chris tried to process what was happening. Following this guy was his only real option right now. They climbed from the roof of the main house onto the roof of a little shack. From there they jumped down to the ground, ran across the back yard, and into the dense woods.

After a few minutes of trotting along a trail, Chris tripped over a rock hidden in the shadows and tumbled to the ground. He lay there for a minute collecting himself. Goldteeth came back and stood above him.

“Who are you?” Chris asked as he rubbed his ankle, which was tight – probably a slight sprain.

“Name’s Alby Fournier,” he replied in a comical accent. He sounded like that French prospector on Bugs Bunny.

“Why’re you helping me?”

“They think I don’t understand. They think that all Alby’s good for is splitting wood or gutting deer, but I understand it all. Those people, they’re all crazy. She got ’em brainwashed.”

“Brainwashed? Who?”

He held out his hand to help Chris up and said simply, “Sarah.”

Chris shuddered as he repeated the name that seemed to be dogging him at every turn. First David, then Stu and now this guy. Sarah, Sarah, Sarah. Who was this Sarah Burns and what was she doing?

“You’ve got to explain this all to me, Alby?” Chris said as they started walking again. His ankle loosened with each step. “Who is Sarah Burns and what is she up to?”

“Trying to save the world,” Alby replied over his shoulder. He said it the same way Chris would have told his wife he was going to the store to pick up some milk.

“Save the world from what? What the hell is going on here? Did she kill David Rose this morning?”

“Dunno if she killed him. Wouldn’t surprise me if she did,” Alby said as he hurried on ahead. “She’s gonna kill you, that’s for sure.”

Chris lurched forward, grabbed Alby’s shoulder and spun him around. “Why’s she going to kill me? I haven’t done anything. Jesus Christ, I was—”

“Don’t you use the Lord’s name in vain,” Alby said.

“What?”

“I won’t have it.”

Chris didn’t know what to say but he knew instinctively that Alby was telling him the truth and, apparently, a true believer. “Sorry, Alby. I’m just stressed out. I’ve never been hunted before.”

“Sure. Fine. But don’t be bringing Him into your problems.”

“What can I do?”

“You’ve got to get out of here and don’t come back. She’s on a mission. Nothing’s going to stop her.” Alby shook free of Chris’ grip and started trotting down the trail again. Chris followed silently for a few minutes until Alby came to a halt at the side of a logging road.

“Is this something to do with a virus? David mentioned a virus this morning but I didn’t understand what he was trying to tell me. He said I had to stop it,” Chris said.

“This is where we split,” Alby said. “Go down this road for a couple of miles, you’ll come to a logging camp. You can get a ride out there. If I was you, I’d get the hell out of Aroostook County. Go down to Bangor or Portland and find some help there.”

“But what about this woman, Sarah?” Chris said. “What about this virus? I need to know what’s going on.”

Alby scratched at his chin for a moment and then said, “You don’t need to know.”

“No, I do.”

Alby shook his head. “You don’t know what you’re getting yourself into.”

“Is this virus real?”

“It’s real alright.”

“Are you sure?”

“Absolutely, Alby replied. “Sarah thinks she’s saving the world. She thinks she’s God. She ain’t no God and I can tell you straight up, I don’t want to be around to see the results of what she’s trying to do.”

“Look, if there’s some kind of virus about to be released, I want to know about it!” Chris said. “After what I saw this morning and now being on the run for my life, I deserve to know what the hell is going on.”

“You think you deserve it? Really?”

“Absolutely.”

“Well, you don’t.”

“Come on, Alby. Stop it with this bullshit. What the fuck is going on? Who the hell is Sarah?”

“I only know what I’ve overheard.”

Chris was exasperated. Trying to get information out of this guy was like pulling teeth. “And what was that?”

“They’re like a cult. Not religious. None of them’s ever held the Good Book, let alone read it. It’s a cult of her, a cult of Sarah.”

“A cult of Sarah,” Chris echoed this line, trying to wrap his head around what it meant.

“She’s smart, smarter than anyone should be but she runs that place with an iron fist. Don’t take no shit and she knows what she wants.”

“What does she want, Alby? What is it?”

“She’s a bitch and a devil too.”

“But what does she want?”

“To play God.”

“I know, you said that already but what does it mean? Stop dancing around it and just tell me.”

“Like I said, I only know what I heard. Sometimes people talk around me thinking I’m not listening or that—”

“I get it, you already said that too. What does Sarah want?”

“Far as I can tell, she’s come up with a way to stop unwanted pregnancies.”

“What?”

“That’s what the virus does, makes sperm stupid, so they can’t do what they’re supposed to do. Abstinence would be—”

“Impossible,” Chris said. “That can’t be!”

Alby looked Chris squarely in the eyes and said, “It can be and it is. Exactly that.”

Chris stared at the man in shocked disbelief. He had so many questions but his mouth, and brain for that matter, was frozen by the incredible plot Alby had just explained.

Alby continued, “The whole lot of them believe overpopulation is going to lead to the end of the world.”

Chris shook his head. This was too much to take in. “This doesn’t make any sense? Where is she going to release it? How could she have possibly created this virus? How do we know it works?” Chris needed answers, but he had far too many questions.

“I don’t know none of that. Engamy worked and now they’re ready to let it out.”

“Jes—,” Chris caught himself. “It’s unbelievable. We’ve got to do something.”

“There’s nothing you or I can do.”

“There’s got to be something. We can’t let it happen!”

“All I know is you need to get out of here, right now if you know what’s good for you. Head south as fast as you can. Don’t trust anyone from the County,” the old man said before disappearing into the dark forest.

3:13 am Wild Bear Lodge, Aroostook County, Maine

“Hi, Stu,” Seth said as the door swung open. Sarah lurked behind him.

“He’s upstairs,” Stu replied.

Sarah stepped past Seth and stood in front of Stu. She was tall for a woman and since learning at an early age to ignore the other kid’s wicked comments – the least of which were about her then beanpole physique – she had figured out how to use her height to her advantage. Now, at five feet eleven inches tall with proportional, womanly shapeliness, she could have used her body to manipulate men – but that would be too… typical. Her one personally allowed physical influencer was looking eye to eye or preferably eye to top of the head. She looked down at the wiry, visibly trembling man. “Let’s go,” she said.

“Which side of the room is the bed on,” Seth asked as he pulled out his pistol in the dark hall.

“The right,” Stu answered.

Seth grasped the knob and swung the door open. Each of the three booming shots that followed made Stu jump.

After a moment, Seth appeared at the door. “He’s not here,” he spat.

“That’s impossible,” Stu replied as he flicked on the hall light and walked into the room to check for himself. “I’ve been watching the room all night.”

Stu walked over to the window. The latch was undone. He lifted it up and stuck out his head. Chris Foster was long gone.

“He must’ve climbed out the window,” Stu said, pulling his head back inside.

Sarah loomed in the doorway, casting a shadow across the floor that climbed to Stu’s shaky chest. “I thought you had him locked up?”

“I did. I don’t understand how he could have known that something was up?”

Seth and Sarah exchanged glances.

“Search the grounds,” she said and left the room.

After ten minutes of looking in the outbuildings and around the property, they congregated on the porch and concluded that he had gotten away.

“You better call Bert, Seth. Tell him to find this guy. Now,” Sarah said. Seth ran into the lodge as she turned and glared at Stu, locking her grey eyes on his with a predator’s unblinking intensity. Then she stormed off to the Scout.

Annie emerged from the lodge and stood next to her husband. “How’d he get away?” She asked.

“Out the window,” Stu replied.

“I told you from day one not to get involved with them. It was bad news from the start,” Annie said.

“Damn it, Annie. Now’s not the time for this. And besides, you didn’t have a hard time spending the cash, did you?”

“That’s not fair, Stewart! I’ve been doing—”

Seth came out of the lodge. “This isn’t good,” he said as he ran past them to the truck.

“Let them get inside,” Sarah said as Seth climbed into the cab of the truck.

Seth drove the truck across the dew covered lawn and up onto the road. As they hit the tar, Annie and Stu disappeared into the lodge. Seth popped the vehicle into second gear and slammed his fist onto the detonator on the dash causing a massive fireball to erupt from the building, hurling thirty-foot logs into the air like flaming Popsicle sticks. They drove down the road in silence.

“We’ll find him, Sarah,” he said as he picked up his two-way radio transmitter and radioed back to the base camp for help.

Sarah stared at the dark woods whizzing by her window in the hopes that Chris might be stupid enough to be walking along the main road. Probably not, though. If he was smart enough to get out of the Wild Bear, they weren’t going to find him sauntering down the street.

5:14 am Millinocket, Maine

Chris let out a long, slow exhalation as the heavily loaded lumber truck ground to a halt at a truck stop. It had been a nerve racking two-hour drive. Every car they passed could have contained people looking for him and he had inspected each with appropriate fear and concern.

“This is where I go to the mill,” the truck driver said, pointing up a road. “You can find a ride to Bangor inside.”

Chris thanked him for the ride, climbed out, and walked toward the diner. He scanned the parking lot for suspicious vehicles or people, convinced that whoever these people were, they were everywhere. He could feel the tension in his neck and shoulders and the dull throbs of a headache began thumping in the recesses of his brain.

Once inside, he sat down in a booth facing the door and a waitress came over. She looked tough, hardened by life – probably from a few too many men, a few too many kids and too few breaks.

“What can I get you?” She asked as she munched on a wad of gum.

Chris felt sick to his stomach with worry and panic but the intense breakfast aromas threw him back to the Sunday mornings of his childhood. Mom had her one day off a week and she loved to cook for her men – five sons and a husband. She always doted on Chris. A few extra strips of bacon, the last sausage – it was a perk of being the baby of the family. A melancholy fell over him as it always did when he thought about his now long dead family.

“You want me to come back,” the waitress said as she tapped a pencil on her order pad.

“No, I’ll have three sunny side up eggs, bacon, toast, orange juice and coffee,” he said, knowing he should try to eat something, if he could keep it down.

She must have seen some hint of his sullen reminiscence and offered him a small, understanding smile before turning and going about her business.

For a little past five a.m. this place was swinging. Most of the blue-collar logging crowd sat alone at their tables. Apart from the truckers, there were those that probably worked at the mill or in the woods – looked like a couple a farmers were in the mix for good country measure. A friendly air permeated the place, even though little talking occurred – as if they all knew each other well enough that a simple look or nod said it all. Chris studied each face, trying to decide if anyone was paying particular attention to him.

He picked at his breakfast, in no mood for eating after the events of the night. The waitress refilled his coffee cup as he pushed his plate away half-eaten. “Can I get you anything else?”

“No thanks,” he mumbled.

She started to walk away when he said, “Excuse me.”

She turned and raised her penciled eyebrows. “Yes.”

“I need a ride to Bangor. Do you know if any of these guys are going that way?”

She gave him another quick little smile and said, “Let’s find out.” Then she said in a much louder voice, “Any of you boys heading south today?”

Some heads lifted to look at her. Finally, a stocky man wearing suspenders on the other side of the room said, “I’ll go anywhere with you, darling.”

“I’ll tell your wife that, Sid.” This brought out a few chuckles.

“I’m going to Portland as soon as I finish breakfast,” a bearded man two tables over said.

The waitress looked at Chris. “There you go.”

Chris walked over to his table. “Do you think you could give me a lift to Bangor?”

He slowly ran a napkin through his gnarly beard, silently studying Chris. “You don’t have a car?”

“It broke down in the woods up near Masardis.”

The man nodded, obviously sensing a bullshit story. After a minute of awkward silence, he asked Chris to sit down.

Chris tried to ignore the noxious stench of the unwashed man and his soiled clothes. The man continued to eat without paying him much attention.

“So what are you going to do in Bangor?” He finally asked as he reached for his wallet.

“Let me pick up your meal,” Chris said as he snatched up the tab, threw enough money down to cover it and his own and give the waitress the best tip she would get all day.

“Thanks,” he said. His eyes narrowed as he looked from the money on the table to Chris.

“My brother lives there. I’m going to borrow his pickup,” Chris said. A lie, of course, but what did it matter? All he wanted was to put some miles between himself and the people back at the Wild Bear.

The man stood up and said, “Let’s go.”

Chris rose and let the man pass. He walked with a pronounced limp and was only about five two or so. Chris felt like a giant as he followed him out and across the parking lot to his beat-up Oldsmobile Delta 88, probably a ’74 or ’75. The material that had once covered the back half of the roof hung in tatters, some of it haphazardly secured with duct tape – the redneck mechanic’s cure all.

“Something wrong?”

“No. I was just checking out your car.”

The chauffeur mumbled something unintelligible as he opened the door and flopped in.

Chris slid into the passenger seat and said, “I’m Chris Foster.” He extended his hand toward the man.

The man sized him up and then said, “Charlie Martin.”

They shook.

“Pleased to meet you, Charlie,” Chris said as they pulled out of the parking lot.

6:24 am Approaching Bangor International Airport, Bangor, Maine

“Any luck?” Sarah said into the microphone. The radio encryption system, necessity that it was, made it difficult to hear over the roar of the airplane engine – even with headphones on.

“Nothing yet,” Seth replied.

“Have you heard from Bert?”

“He hasn’t found anything either. It’s like the guy vanished.”

“Damn it!” Silence ensued for a minute before she said, “If you can’t find him by tomorrow morning, I want you to evacuate the base.”

“Are you sure? We don’t even know if David told this guy anything.”

She shook her head. Why was she surrounded by morons? Was she the only one capable of thought? “If he didn’t know anything, why would he run? And why would he lie to Bert?”

Seth didn’t respond.

“It’s not so bad anyway,” she continued. “We’re just pushing up the date for getting out of Maine. Everything else stays the same.”

“True,” Seth replied. “I still think we’re going to pick up this guy’s trail, but if we don’t—”

“Just do it like we planned. Make sure that there’s nothing incriminating left here. Especially the lab. There can’t be anything to raise any suspicions.”

“So, we’re sticking with July 4th?” Seth asked.

“I don’t see why not. It’s the perfect day. Besides, all the logistics for the Carriers are based on starting then. I don’t want to have to change everything now. I’ll call you when I get to Camilla’s.”

“Have a good trip.”

Good trip? Was he nuts? She was exhausted, stressed and very nervous about meeting her benefactors. She wasn’t going off on holiday.

Jerry brought the plane down gently on runway 33 and taxied to the general aviation apron of Bangor International Airport, stopping at the waiting Lear Jet.

The Lear pilot met them on the tarmac and said, “Good morning, Ms. Burns. I’ll be flying you to Malibu. Ms. Haywood has asked me to look after you.”

“Thanks,” Sarah replied as Jerry put her bags in the jet and walked back over to her. “How long is the flight?”

“I’ll have you in Malibu in just over five hours,” he replied confidently.

“I’m going to head back up north,” Jerry said. “I’ve got a lot to do.”

She turned from the pilot and said, “I’ll call tonight. I’m going to want an update. If the time has come, then it’s come.”

“Don’t worry.”

She gave him an empty smile before saying, “I know. It’s just that we’re so close.”

“Seth’ll get things straightened out.”

She did a nod-shrug. Seth was very competent but not being there to keep an eye on things didn’t sit well with her. She watched Jerry climb into his plane and taxi back toward the runway.

Sarah said, “Let’s go. We don’t want to keep Camilla waiting.”

The pilot led her into the plane where she settled into a luxurious leather seat and started to recite her speech over and over in her mind, refining the key points. This day had been a long time in the making. She was about to finally meet the people who had funded the research and development effort. To her credit, Camilla had refused to divulge any information about them until Gen96 was ready and Sarah could make the trip to sit down face to face with them.

The news from Ngamiland would be the hit of the speech. As she had predicted, everything had worked perfectly. Goddamn, she was good. They sped down the runway and soared effortlessly into the clear blue mid-morning sky.

She watched out the windows as the busy streets and suburban houses of the mid-state metropolis quickly turned to empty country roads, forests and farmlands as they gained altitude and speed – heading due west. This was her first trip in a private jet, and it was wonderful – much better than that cattle-car feeling of commercial airliners.

9:00 am Bethesda, Maryland

“Good morning, sir,” the FBI agent-chauffeur said as Arthur Kent emerged from his brownstone and climbed into the discreetly armored car.

Arthur didn’t respond. It wasn’t a good morning.

“Headquarters?” The agent asked.

“The Hill,” Arthur replied. Starting the day with meetings around the Bureau’s new role made his head ache. He took a swig of piping hot coffee from the waiting travel mug nestled in the console as they pulled away from the curb and headed into DC.

Since 9/11 it seemed he had done nothing but meet with finger-pointing, blame deflecting, predominately stupid-ass politicians. Everyone wanted to take a swipe at the FBI. The despicable vultures had been circling for years and now they were on the ground, nibbling at the extremities, seeing how much life was left, getting ready to pounce and deliver the deathblow before settling in for the feast but he wouldn’t let that happen – not on his watch.

Two years ago he would have said that things could never have been worse than the first half of the 90’s – Ruby Ridge, the World Trade Center bombing, Waco, and then Oklahoma City, four bungled ops in just as many years. He couldn’t complain though. He was fifty-six and held the number three, and arguably most powerful, position in the Bureau – courtesy of the events of the early 90’s. Back then, it had been open season on the Bureau but those all paled to the bellyaching he was enduring now on a daily basis.

He rubbed his temples.

“I need a vacation,” he said.

“Want me to take you to Reagan National? Hop a plane to the Caribbean maybe,” the agent said as he glanced into the rearview mirror, offering a slight smirk.

“Virginia to do some deer hunting sounds more like it. Get out of DC for a while. Christ, I’d rather be back walking point then going up on The Hill.”

The chauffeur was silent for a moment then said, “So a little old lady called 911. When the operator answered she yelled, ‘Help! Send the police to my house right now! There’s a damn Democrat on my front porch and he’s jerking off.’

‘What?’ the operator exclaimed.

‘I said there’s a damn Democrat on my front porch diddling himself and he’s weird. I don’t know him and I’m scared! Please send the police now!’ the little old lady repeated.

‘Well, now, how do you know he’s a Democrat???’

‘Because, you damn fool, if he were a Republican, he’d be screwing somebody!’”

Arthur chuckled – stupid joke to start another stupid day.

10:45 am FBI Field Office, Bangor, Maine

Inside the nondescript, two-story brick office building, Chris found a small directory informing him that the FBI was in suite 220 and it looked like the rest of the building was empty. He climbed the stairs and walked into the office.

For some reason, he had assumed an FBI office would be much grander than this. The reception desk had the FBI seal on the front of it and a fifty-something, expansively hipped woman behind it doing a Sudoku puzzle.

She looked up slowly, as if her puzzle was at least as important to her as he was and asked, “Can I help you?”

“I need to talk to an agent.”

“What’s this regarding?”

“Nothing personal,” he glanced at the nameplate on her desk, “…Margaret, but I’d rather not say anything until I speak to an agent.”

“Do you want to report a federal crime, or do you want to talk to someone about an existing investigation?” She replied pulling out a form and a pen.

“I need to report a federal crime,” Chris explained. “But I don’t want to give any further information until I see an agent.”

“They’re all out in the field right now. Take a seat over there and I’ll find out when someone will be back.”

After a few minutes, Margaret informed him that agent Paul Pelletier would return in about an hour.

“Thanks,” Chris said.

She nodded cordially and returned to her Sudoku. He tried to sit in a reception room chair but kept fidgeting so he got up and paced. Margaret glanced at him, maybe he was making her a little nervous but he didn’t really care.

After a little more than fifty minutes, an overweight man in a rumpled brown suit came through the door. He and Margaret exchanged curt greetings and she pointed him toward Chris.

“I’m agent Paul Pelletier,” he said as he approached Chris, his hand out in introduction.

“Chris Foster.”

“Pleased to meet you, Chris. Margaret tells me that you want to report a federal crime.”

Chris nodded, he was wired from coffee and adrenaline but his brain felt a little fuzzy from having missed a night’s sleep. As he released the agent’s hand, he caught a faint whiff of liquor. He glanced at his watch, 11:37. Too early for boozing, he must have been mistaken.

“What can I do for you?”

“Can we talk in private, sir?”

“Sure. Follow me.”

He turned and lumbered down the hallway with Chris in tow.

“You can start by calling me Pell,” agent Pelletier said over his broad yet hunched shoulders as he turned into a doorway. “Can I get you a drink?”

“Sure.”

Pell grabbed a couple of sodas from a small refrigerator in the corner and returned to the table.

“So what’s up?” He asked as he sat down on the opposite side of the table and took a swig.

Chris chewed his lower lip and stared at the ceiling for a minute. Just over twenty-four hours ago, he had been enjoying a relaxing fishing trip – the only thing on his mind was trying to catch his breakfast. Today he was in an FBI office after spending the night running for his life. Everything was happening too fast. He hadn’t had time to digest any of this.

He tore his gaze from the ceiling and stared into Pell’s pink rimmed, blue eyes. Where to start? How to not sound like a lunatic? He drummed his fingers on the table, searching for the words.

“I’m not from Maine, I live in Quincy, Mass, just south of Boston,” Chris said.

“I know where it is,” Pell said. “I spent my first two years in the Boston office before I got transferred up here.”

Pell’s brow furrowed and he opened his mouth as if he was going to say something else but he didn’t. Instead, he started twisting the kinky hair of one of his long, graying sideburns between his thumb and forefinger.

“Great,” Chris replied, not that it mattered. “I run a small web development company.”

“Web development?”

“We help build websites. Not the pages you see on your browser but the back end stuff – database access, secure store fronts, stuff like that.”

“Is it good business?”

Chris nodded. “Business has boomed in the past three years. We’ve got a couple hundred customers now. It’s become much more successful – much more work – than I ever imagined.”

“Congratulations,” Pell said with a nod as he threw his empty can across the room into the trashcan in the corner. Drips of leftover soda dribbled onto the table and he swept them away with his hairy hand, which he wiped on his pants. “I bought some dot com stocks in August 2000. I should have just burned my money, at least I would have got some heat out of it.”

“Well, anyway, back to why I’m here,” Chris said and he proceeded to describe his camp.

“Sounds nice,” Pell said, glancing at his wristwatch. “Now has this all got something to do with a crime you want to report?”

“It’s my little slice of heaven,” Chris replied. “At least it was until yesterday morning.”

“What happened?”

“I was fishing…”

He told Pell everything from the initial crash to being snuck out of The Wild Bear by a gold-toothed Frenchman and making his way ultimately to this chair.

“…and that’s why I decided to come to the FBI. I didn’t know what else to do.”

Pell looked at him from across the table. His thick eyebrows arched, causing wrinkles of flesh to roll up his forehead like the planted rows of a furrowed field and his mouth puckered, as if he had just licked a lemon wedge. He skimmed the yellow legal pad that he had scribbled notes on.

After a moment, he shook his head and let out a low, slow whistle. “So what do you want me to do?”

“What do you mean? You need to figure out if this guy, David Rose, was telling the truth, and if he was, you need to stop them. At the very least the guy was murdered. That’s got to be worth an investigation of its own, right?”

“Uh-huh,” Pell grunted.

“Look, I know that it sounds unbelievable, but why would I make it up? What would be my motivation? Run a check on me – I’ve got nothing to hide. There’s absolutely no reason for me to lie.”

“I’ll be right back.”

His absence gave Chris the opportunity to look around. This place was actually a dump. The rug was worn and stained. The well-used conference room table and chairs were of the office-furniture-bargain-store variety.

He stretched, trying to shake the throbbing in his lower back that had been haunting him on and off for the past few years. He was carrying a little too much weight and spent most of his time sitting in front of a computer screen. His body was starting to rebel.

Pell walked back into the room carrying a notebook computer.

“We’re going to go over your story again but before we do that, I just need to take a few more details about you, Chris,” Pell said, booting up the machine and handing Chris a form to complete. “Just fill out your personal details on here for me.”

Chris sat at the corner of the table completing the form, watching Pell open a terminal session and sign into a mainframe computer somewhere. A text-only screen of the FBI logo came up.

“That’s throwback,” Chris said.

Pell grinned. “We’re just happy that they remember to send us our pay.”

“How many agents are in this office?”

“Three of us.”

“You been here long?”

He stopped typing, looked over at Chris, and said solemnly, “Since ’88.”

“That’s a long time,” Chris replied sliding the paperwork across the desk to Pell. Pell typed in his name and social security number, hit a few function keys, and the word ‘Searching…’ appeared at the bottom of the screen.

He turned back and said, “It’s not so bad up here. I’ve gotten used to the slow pace. I’m too old for the shoot-em-up stuff anymore, anyway.”

Once again, Pell’s mouth opened, as if he was going to say more – something important – but his eyes clouded over and he grimaced at some unseen pain before sheepishly looking back at the static computer screen. He closed his mouth without uttering a word. He had a story to tell – probably a depressing one – and since they were waiting for the archaic computer, “So how’d you end up here, Pell?” Chris asked. He wondered whether this was where they sent the burnt out agents who couldn’t operate effectively anymore. That would be just his luck, reporting all this to some incompetent, has-been agent who was going to do diddly squat with it.

Pell leaned back in his creaky chair and did a funny little half-whistle, half-hiss – a histle – to some unrecognizable tune as he studied the intricate pattern of the stained and sagging drop-ceiling tiles. Sitting back upright, he said, “Right now I want to talk about you, Chris. I need to go over some of these details with you if you don’t mind.” He looked down at his notepad.

“Okay. What do you want to know?”

“You never saw this guy in the plane before, right?”

“Never.”

“And this Alby character mentioned engamy. What do you think he meant by that?”

8:45 am PDT Malibu, California

Sarah’s jet touched down at a small airport just outside of Malibu. The pilot taxied and parked in a row of comparable jets.

Once the plane came to a stop, the pilot came back into the cabin. “Smooth flight, wouldn’t you say?”

“And fast,” Sarah replied.

The door opened from the outside, and a stocky, bald man stuck his head in. If he wore a yellow shirt with a black zigzag instead of the expensive dark blue suit he would have looked like a late middle aged Charlie Brown. “Ms. Burns?” He asked.

“That’s me.”

“You can come with me, please.”

She was about to pick up her bags when the suited gentleman pointed to the pilot and said, “He’ll get those for you.”

She glanced at the pilot in time to see him shooting a dirty look at this man.

“Okay,” Sarah said. “Is Camilla here?”

“She’s at the beach house,” the shiny-headed man said as he guided her to a limo parked in front of the plane. “I am Albert James Winslow. At your service ma’am.”

She smiled. He was a classically trained butler, or probably in more modern lingo, a personal assistant. His speech and mannerisms fit the cliché.

“Thank you, Albert. I’m Sarah.” She extended her hand for a shake, and he responded by cupping her hand gently in his and bowing ever so slightly. She could get used to having someone like this around.

She slid into the posh, air-conditioned limo and Albert shut the door. The driver’s seat wasn’t visible through the privacy shield. As the car started to move, Albert’s voice came over some speakers. “You’ll be at the house in twenty-five minutes. If you want something to drink, there’s a wet bar on the left side.”

“Thank you,” she replied. The butterflies that had been snoozing in her stomach started to awaken. She had never met any of the philanthropic financiers that were waiting for her at Camilla’s. She didn’t even know how many there were. What she did know was that they had deep pockets and open minds and had funded this entire endeavor. Now, as she was about to announce to them, their investment had finally paid off.

They rounded a corner and a magnificent azure expanse of the Pacific came into view separated from the road by an enormous swath of white sand dotted with early morning walkers and joggers. She rolled down the window to get a better look, letting in the warm salt and sand tinted air. She breathed deep and shut her eyes, picturing herself lounging on the beach – it had been too long since she had given herself time off to relax. The sparkling ocean called to her like a now forgotten but once all-consuming lover. Her mouth opened to tell Albert to pull over. Let her out. Fifteen minutes was all she needed – feel the water, the sand between her toes – reconnect with life outside of the sterile lab in dreary northern Maine – but no words came out.

Her mind wandered back to college, to Camilla – beautiful, rich, academically challenged and oh so vulnerable. Her parents had been public people; glitterati to a fault – stunning physical beauty, fabulous wealth, turbulent relationship, tabloid-people – their violent deaths had been fodder for countless media pieces, as had Camilla’s grieving process. Somehow, Camilla had made it through that emotionally charged period of her life and now was on top of the world. A leading actress – she had her pick of what she worked on. Her latest role had Oscar written all over it. Sarah let out a soft chuckle. She had helped Camilla evolve, to cope with her parent’s horrific deaths and to focus her limitless energy on something worthwhile. Or had it been the other way around? It didn’t matter now. As Sarah was about to inform everyone present, the puzzle was finally complete. A couple of pieces were still in her hands but she knew where they went. It was just a matter of placing them in their spots and then stepping back to admire their long-time-coming masterpiece.

Harvard seemed a million miles and a thousand years away. Sarah had been on a full-boat scholarship. With an IQ of two-hundred-forty-five, her passion for the sciences had been insatiable, particularly biology. Camilla had gotten into the prestigious school not for any academic prowess but through personal connections.

Thinking back on it, Sarah recalled how annoyed she had been that even at Harvard, who you knew was just as important, maybe even more important, than what you were capable of knowing, of learning. But if Camilla hadn’t gotten in, they would never have been on this precipice – ready to change the course of mankind forever, or at least the foreseeable future.

A smile crossed her face – eighteen years. She had single-handedly managed to engineer a virus that would attack and destroy a specific function of the human body. To her knowledge, nobody else had ever accomplished this. Lots of hype and millions of venture-capital dollars flowed to start-ups, many of which said that they were on the brink of doing something similar, but she had done it. Nature created things like this, not people.

“Amazing,” she muttered. The butterflies were gone. All she had to do was appreciate herself – genius wasn’t always self-evident and certainly not self-appreciated.

They drove up the steep, lush hills that lined the ocean. Spectacular homes perched on concrete and steel stilts peered over the treetops. They all had magnificently constructed heavily glassed walls that offered their occupants incredible panoramic ocean views.

“Let’s go,” she muttered, wanting to get to the beach house as soon as possible.

Albert could either hear her, or it was a coincidence, as he said over the speaker, “We’ll be there in a couple of minutes, Ms. Burns.”

The limo pulled off the main road and stopped in front of an ornate iron gate that slowly swung open. They proceeded up the winding floral-garden-lined driveway until they were in front of Camilla’s stunning, Spanish influenced mansion. Thick stucco walls supported the terra cotta roof that contrasted beautifully with the blue sky.

Once they stopped, Albert rushed around the car to help her, but she had already let herself out. She looked at her watch and to her surprise saw that it was only a little after noon back in Maine.

She stared at the water fountain in the center of the driveway next to her. Nude figures nestled in the corners of the intricately carved stone spat streams of water from their mouths into a coy filled pool. She inhaled the sweet California air and held it inside her lungs, savoring it. Camilla snuck up behind her.

“Sarah, darling, so glad you’re here!”

“Camilla!” Sarah said with equal excitement as she turned around. “How are you? You look amazing.”

“I feel amazing! Now how are you? It’s been so long.”

“I’m great,” she replied. “This place is beautiful.”

“Thank you. How was your trip? You must be exhausted.”

“Everything was perfect. I’m never going to want to travel coach again.”

“If you’re going to tell us what I hope you are, your days of traveling coach are over,” Camilla beamed as the two women hugged.

“So, are they here yet?” Sarah asked in a more somber tone as she glanced at the house.

“They?” Camilla asked.

“The investors.”

Camilla glanced at the house and said, “I haven’t been able to tell you anything until now, Sarah. I wanted to but couldn’t. He wouldn’t let me. There’s so much you don’t know.”

“He?”

Camilla opened her mouth to speak and then stopped. “You’ll see,” she replied as she led Sarah inside.

They wound through the lavishly decorated house – every nook occupied by an eclectic mix of art, furniture and mementos from Camilla’s frequent world travels – emerging in an expansive great room. A lone man stood with his back to them in front of the glass west-wall – silhouetted against the living Pacific mural. Camilla rested a hand on Sarah’s forearm, stopping her from walking further. The old man didn’t turn around for a moment and when he did, Sarah instantly recognized him.

12:13 pm FBI Field Office, Bangor, Maine

Chris tapped his fingers on his bouncing knee for a minute and then shook his head as he said, “I don’t know. It sounded like it was a place – a place where they were experimenting with this virus. You don’t know anything about this group of people up in Aroostook County?”

“Not to be accusatory but that’s why I have a hard time buying your story. If something like this was going on, you’d think that we’d have heard something about it. Everything that’s worth looking into from here to Canada comes through this office. If some weird cult had set up a lab and planned to change the world, I’d think that I would have heard something. Maybe not the details, but at least a rumor or something – anything.”

“I can’t explain it, all I know is that it happened,” Chris said shaking his head. A thought occurred to him. “The plane!”

“What?”

“The plane’s got to be there. Let’s go up there and see it. Then at least you can see that I’m telling the truth about that. It’s all shot up.”

“Yeah, we could do that, but I want to get some more details before we do anything.”

The computer screen went blank. Then a form came up and information about Chris filled in the blanks. Watching as his personal history appeared on the computer screen from an even larger computer that was lurking elsewhere in the country, gobbling up information about people and storing it for later regurgitation on request to some bureaucrat, gave him the creeps.

He leaned closer so that he could see the information but Pell spun the screen away from him.

“What’s your social security number again?” He asked.

Chris repeated it and he nodded.

“Address?”

Chris told him and he confirmed it.

“What’s your ex-wife’s name?”

This question caught him off guard. Why would they have that in there? He’d been married for six months, ten years ago.

“Jessie, why?”

“I’m just confirming that you’re really who you said you are, Chris.”

“What else is in there?” Chris asked as he stood up. Privacy in the twenty-first century was impossible.

“Sit down,” Pell said with surprising force. “This is confidential information.”

“Yeah, it’s confidential to me.”

“Don’t let it bother you. We know about everybody. You should know that – being in the information business that is.”

Chris dropped back down into his chair and began gnawing on his vacation-regrown thumbnail.

“So you were arrested for selling pot, huh?” Pell said matter-of-factly.

“When I was nineteen.”

“Why were you dealing?”

“I was a confused kid. It was something to do,” Chris said.

“You smoke it too?”

“No, never,” Chris replied sarcastically. “Of course, it was one of the perks.”

“Jesus Christ, sorry about your family,” Pell said as he scrolled down the screen. “A natural gas explosion?”

Chris nodded and managed a simple, “Yeah.” Time had helped but little things, like the smell in the diner this morning, brought it back – sometimes worse than others. It wasn’t a question of did it hurt, it was how much did it hurt today.

“What happened?”

He didn’t want to talk about it. He had learned on that beautiful autumn Sunday in 1991, or really over the weeks, months and years that followed, to let things go – the past was only trouble, no good could come from dwelling there.

He and his family had lived on L Street in South Boston – Southie, a triple decker. They were squeezed into the top two floors with his grandparents on the street level. It was Sunday morning and Mom needed eggs. When he went to get them he walked right by the city crew working on a busted water main. It looked like they were taking their sweet ass double-time time. The store was busy and he waited in line to pay when a massive explosion blew in the windows, knocking everyone and most of the merchandise onto the floor with an incomprehensible, ground-shaking roar.

Chaos followed, people moaning and screaming. The woman lying in the debris next to him had blood gushing from a gash in her neck. He should have stayed, helped but he was confused and scared. He ran out of the store. The street was filled with smoke and people – some dazed, others moving with purpose. He saw a woman on her knees tearing at her long blonde hair as she pulled her head back and screamed, a small child dressed in his Sunday best lay lifeless in front of her. His ruptured eardrums thankfully muted her pain-filled wails. He ran down the street toward his house but it was gone. All that remained was a smoking mound of rubble. The piece of the heavy equipment that had been working on the water main was tossed onto the smoldering mound as if a giant spoiled child had thrown a fit, destroying his playhouse with his Tonka toy.

The rest was a fog – eighteen dead, thirty-four seriously injured, countless bruised, battered and shaken. Three generations of his family tree had been culled in one instant. He was all that was left. Fifteen and alone in the world. Coping was something he had been forced to learn, and to cope he moved on. Today and tomorrow mattered – not yesterday.

“You know Southie?” Chris told the painful story.

“I’m sorry,” Pell said.

Chris shrugged.

“Well, I guess you are Chris Foster,” Pell said matter-of-factly.

“I told you that an hour ago. I’m not the problem here. I’m just the unlucky bastard who happened to have his long-awaited and well-deserved vacation shot to hell because I was in the wrong place at the wrong time. I don’t know why you’re treating me like I’m some kind of whacko.”

“You need to calm down, right now,” Pell said.

“I don’t care! I know that there is one way for sure that we can find out whether or not I’m lying. Let’s take a ride up to the St. Croix River, and you can see the plane for yourself.”

“Don’t get yourself all worked up,” Pell said in a calm, professional voice. “I’ll tell you what I can do. Let me make a few calls. Hopefully, I can scrounge up a chopper, and we’ll send someone up there to take a look.”

He patted Chris on the shoulder and took on a more sympathetic tone as he said, “Wait here. I’ll be back in a few.”

Chris realized he had yet to speak to Karen about any of this. He reached for his mobile phone but remembered it was still in his room at the Wild Bear. Damn. “Can I use the phone?” He called to Pell. “I need to call my wife.”

“Help yourself.”

He picked up the receiver and dialed home. When Karen answered, he hung up. For reasons he didn’t quite understand, he decided that maybe she didn’t need to know about this after all. Hell, he was supposed to be up on the river for five more days. No need to worry her about this and besides, it would be nice to surprise her when he got home early. Maybe they could spend a few days alone together.

Pell dropped into the worn chair behind his desk and grabbed his rolodex. He could use his computer but for some reason he liked a good old fashioned Rolodex. He flipped through it until he found the number for the FAA and dialed it up.

After a quick conversation, he was assured that nobody had reported any downed or missing airplanes in the past few days. He churned this information over as he hung up the phone. Chris said that the state cop had called the FAA and arranged a meeting for this morning, and yet, as he had just found out, they knew absolutely nothing about it. Something wasn’t adding up. On the outside, Chris Foster seemed like a perfectly rational, normal person but perhaps there was more going on inside that Pell needed to explore.

Why would this apparently straight-laced guy fake a story like this? In his years with the Bureau, he had seen his share of weirdoes, and he knew better than most people that anything was possible. People are just bizarre sometimes, trying to figure out why was a useless exercise.

He picked up the phone again and made a call to the State Police barracks in Houlton. He knew the commander well. Over the years they had worked on numerous cases together.

“Peter Clemens, please,” Pell said.

“Can I tell him who’s calling?” The receptionist asked.

“Agent Paul Pelletier.”

After a brief pause Peter came on the line. “Pell, how the hell are you?”

“I’m doing well, Peter. How about you?”

“No complaints. The goddamn Customs Agents aren’t happy about being part of Homeland Security and have been doing work stoppages for a few days. My men have to cover for them.”

“It’s the same old story, isn’t it?” Pell said.

“Between you and me, I’m sick of it. They’re all a bunch of candy asses over there in Customs. Hell, they ought to have to deal with the crap I do. Maybe then they’d see how good they’ve got it.”

Pell chuckled. “Whip their lazy asses in line.”

“I wish I could,” Pete replied. “Well, enough of that. My blood pressure is going up just talking about it. What’s up?”

“Not much really. You know a trooper named Bert Nadeau? Works route eleven.”

“Sure. He’s a good man, why?”

“I’m not sure. I’m working on something, and his name came up. That’s all.”

Silence came from the other side of the phone until Pell asked, “Have you heard of anything happening up in that area?”

“Like what?”

“Cult activity, suspicious groups, anything like that?”

“Cults? Hell no. It’s all the usual stuff out there – poaching, drinking, domestic shit. I talked to Bert two days ago, and he didn’t say anything. Can you tell me more?”

“I wish I could but it’s probably just a wild goose chase. If anything comes of it, I’ll be sure to give you a call.”

“I’d appreciate that.”

“Thanks for the information, Pete. I’ll be in touch.” He hung up the phone. Chris Foster’s story was sounding fishier by the minute.

He got up and shut the door to his office. He walked back to his desk, sat down, and pulled a bottle of vodka out of the locked bottom drawer of his desk. Mild tremors shook his fingers as he put the bottle to his lips and took a drink.

The warmth and bite of the vodka made him see things a little more clearly, and he decided to do what Chris had suggested. Booze always made him more decisive, at least in his opinion. He arranged for a chopper to fly them up north.

After another gulp and a quick blast of breath freshener, he was on his way back to tell Chris what they were going to do.

10:05 am PDT Malibu, California

Phillip G. Spencer II – one of the most respected economists in the country, an American rags-to-riches success story, a living legend in the investment community, a confidant to presidents and Fed chairmen, and a goddamn billionaire. And, he was also Camilla’s quasi-adopted father. So that explains why money was never a problem.

“Phillip Spencer,” Sarah said, her breath caught in her tightening throat.

“I am him,” he replied cordially as he hobbled over to the two women flashing a slight, self-effacing smile. “And you are the brilliant Sarah Burns.”

Thoughts raced through her mind as he clasped her hand in his and stared into her eyes, his arthritic hands quaked mildly. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Spencer.”

“Please, call me Phillip and the pleasure really is all mine. I’ve been waiting for this day for a long time,” he said with a soft Arkansas twang, still clutching her hand. “A long time.”

Sarah glanced at Camilla who said, “Let’s sit down. Get comfortable.”

Three chairs surrounded an ornately carved, oriental coffee table. The thick glass top offered a view of an exquisitely detailed, three dimensional battle scene carved in the dark wood. Samurais fought and died in front of a large Pagoda, tiny bonsai trees lined the square, a lone man sat on a mat at the top of the stairs calmly surveying the vicious sword battle. As they sat down, she noticed in the shadows of the Pagoda porch, behind the seated figure, a man with a raised sword, poised to jump out and strike a fatal, probably decapitating, blow. Was he a traitor or an enemy? Sarah couldn’t help but wonder if her own battle was finally over or if it was just beginning. Was someone lurking in the shadows, waiting to shatter her peace? Albert came into the room and asked Camilla if he could get anything for her guests. She requested a pitcher of lemonade, and he disappeared into the kitchen to make it.

With some effort, Phillip crossed his bony legs then flipped his long hair over the bald spot that covered the front half of his head. His complexion was ruddy and he looked to be in decent shape – a bit lame maybe but, considering he had to be pushing ninety, that wasn’t so bad. His eyes were bright, alert – no signs of the rheumy confusion that plagued many his age.

“Phillip’s got limited time so why don’t we just get down to business,” Camilla said. “I hope you’ve come here to tell us what we’ve been waiting to hear. It’s been difficult, excruciating actually, not to get over-anxious. I’ve been looking forward to this day since that night in Calcutta when we first had the idea. Remember?”

Sarah nodded and smiled coyly at Camilla. She remembered that night very well – for that and other more lustful reasons. Camilla shot her a soft wink

Phillip’s face darkened for a moment and then he said, “I’ve been waiting for this since June 14, 1986, the first anniversary of my son’s death.”

“I remember,” Camilla said.

Sarah watched the two of them lock eyes for a long moment – undoubtedly reliving their uniquely shared pain – before he turned to Sarah and said, “Have you done it?”

“Yes,” she blurted, wanting to say more but biting her tongue.

He let out a long, slow exhalation and tilted his head back until he was staring at the ceiling. His comb-over flopped to the right side of his head giving him a disheveled genius appearance.

“I knew you would. From the moment I read the draft of your thesis I knew you were special, gifted. Christ, what you’ve done will change the world for ever. could make us a fortune if we were interested in that.”

“My thesis?” Sarah asked. How’d he get a copy? She never even finished the damn thing. “How—”

“I was given a private sneak peek from your mentor, Maurice Andleman.”

“What?” Sarah exclaimed. “Maurice gave you my work? I don’t believe it.”

“It was brilliant, Sarah.”

Sarah’s face flushed. This certainly wasn’t how she anticipated this meeting going. Her instinct as a scientist was to get angry, her privacy had been violated, her not-fully-formed intellectual ramblings stripped naked for an outsider to peruse and lay some sort of half-ass claim to.

“You were going in a radical new direction. I could see it. It was rough, raw but fantastically stimulating. The solution I sought was buried in your work. What you needed was time, money and the freedom to work it out.”

“Why did Maurice give it to you?”

“Maurice was, is, a good man. One of the best at the University and he liked you, Sarah. No, let me take that back – it was more than that. He loved you, your intellect. He repeatedly expressed just how rare a mind like yours was – free-thinking, unbounded, preconception wasn’t part of your makeup, a pure scientist – like Oppenheimer. And beyond that, you understood the practical applications of the technology. Your computer model blew me away. The simulation showed just how far off the current aid efforts were but no one would buy into it. You would have been labeled a nut or worse if you’d taken it public. The culture of the aid organizations is too entrenched across political and religious spectrums. They’re perceived as above analysis, above reproach because of their goody good intentions—”

“You saw my model too?” Sarah tried to stay calm but couldn’t. “I don’t understand, Camilla. What’s going on here?”

“Cool down, Sarah, this all happened a long time ago. Phillip saw what he saw but that’s why we’re here – plain and simple. I understand what you’re feeling but at this point it’s all water under the bridge.”

Sarah seethed. Maurice, the one man she trusted unequivocally back then had betrayed her. Son of a bitch! The model was brilliant, as was her thesis but it was not finished and she had not wanted it made public until she had fully completed it and earned her doctorial. Maurice had repeatedly pushed her to publish it as it was, but she hadn’t been ready. There had been more work to do, much more research before it was ready to be laid bare. To find out he had shared it after all was a complete betrayal of trust.

The conversation paused as Albert walked in and served the drinks – his stare darting from the pouring liquid to Sarah in spastic flits. His face looked strained, as if the lemonade pitcher weighed a lot. Sweat beaded up on his bald scalp. He glided out of the room once all of the glasses were filled.

“I’m sorry if this is upsetting you, Sarah,” Phillip said as he took a sip from the glass. “Maurice was under intense pressure to show me a reason why creating a twenty-five-million-dollar endowment in the name of Phil Junior was a good idea. I almost pulled out. I wanted to see the value; just like I do in any business venture and you were it.”

“So it was for money,” Sarah said.

Phillip studied the distressed woman until she met his gaze, then he turned away. Silence filled the room. Sarah was untangling the different scenarios presented by this surprising bit of information and the big one that jumped out at her was Camilla. Her relationship with Phillip’s son was well known. She was certainly not the only young woman who fell under Phillip Junior’s well-practiced charms.

It had been the savage murders of Phillip’s twenty-four-year-old son and Camilla’s idealistic parents, the public faces of Phillip G. Spencer III’s upstart foundation, that had brought these two together – him out of guilt and her out of a completely understandable desire for sanity under insane circumstances.

Phil Junior’s foundation, In Your Hands, had been his brain child, his passion and his way to give back some of his vast privilege to the world. IYH was solely dedicated to providing reproductive services to the developing world – a nontrivial task given the political, religious and cultural considerations but Phil Junior wasn’t the type to back away from a challenge, particularly one he was passionate about.

Philip Junior had been smart and very well connected and he knew that sharp, crisp and culturally sensitive marketing coupled with recognizable and beautiful figureheads were critical to the sustainability of any charity. He very pragmatically used his connections to win over the support of Camilla’s parents who were Hollywood royalty and instantly recognizable around the world. He offered them seats on the Board and the opportunity to churn out what, for the very volatile couple, would be supremely positive PR in return for the relatively simple contribution of their faces and little snippets of their time.

One of the first of these snippets was for the gala grand opening of the first IYH field office on the African continent in Abuja, Nigeria, ground zero in the population explosion on the continent and a conflicting religious environment with almost an even split between Christians and Muslims. Phil Junior couldn’t have picked a more challenging country but he believed deeply in what he was doing. The well refined message, the noble reasoning and the opportunity to nudge the nation toward manageability and sustainability. He had done his homework, had all the facts and figures, had the money and the plan but he dramatically underestimated the reaction on the ground.

That night after the celebration, Camilla’s mother, father and Phil Junior had been kidnapped from their hotel rooms and ultimately hacked to death in a remote field by unknown assailants. Their naked bodies hadn’t been found for four days. The viciousness of the attack and the ever-present four-legged African scavengers had ensured a horrifically gory scene.

The murderers were never caught, although rumors and conspiracy theories ran rampant about who had done it – the nastiest of which ended up on the doorstep of the Vatican. That theory always sounded far-fetched but there was no shortage of freaks convinced that giving women personal control over their reproductive systems was a terrible thing. She had always suspected that it had been Muslim fanatics – jihad peddling, Insh’Allah chanting hate mongers with apparently limitless sexual issues.

But if Phillip knew about Sarah’s work before Camilla had come to school… Sarah turned to Camilla, “You were sent to recruit me?” She exclaimed. “You conniving—”

1:15 pm Over Aroostook County, Maine

The state police chopper was airborne in a matter of minutes. The dark stone peak of Mt. Katahdin was immediately visible, jutting out of the hilly timberland like a stone schooner under full sail on the horizon, and they raced toward it as if it were their destination. Pell sat up front with the pilot, and Chris was in the backseat enjoying his second helicopter ride ever. He had always loved to fly. One of the items on his do-before-I-die list was take pilot lessons and own a private plane. He had the cash for both now but not the time.

“Is he going to be able to set this thing down in the river?” Chris asked Pell who turned to the grizzled pilot and repeated the question.

“Shouldn’t be a problem. I’ve done some hairy LZs before. How far up the river did you say it was from route eleven?”

“About seven miles,” Chris replied.

Forty-five minutes after leaving the airport the ground below them became familiar. Instead of flying up the river, as he had expected, the pilot had simply cut over the forest to just below his cabin.

“That’s my camp,” he said pointing out the window. “It’s up the river about a quarter mile.”

The pilot slowed the chopper, and they descended as they came around the bend in the river that David had rounded just over twenty-four hours ago. As they cruised up the waterway, Chris looked for a place to land while the two men up front scanned for the crash site.

“Are you sure that this is where it was?” Pell yelled over the thump, thump, thump of the rotor.

“What?” Chris asked.

“The plane,” the pilot said. “Are you sure that this is where it went down?”

“Yes, I’m sure. It was right back there, you must have missed it.”

The pilot and Pell exchanged glances.

“We need to turn around?” Chris said. “Somehow we’ve gone right over it.”

The pilot banked the chopper around, and they eased down the river.

“It’s going to be there on the left,” Chris said. As the chopper hovered exactly above where the plane should have been, there was nothing below them but nature.

Pell glared at Chris, his eyes narrowing to angry slits before he turned around and grumbled something to the pilot.

“I don’t understand,” Chris shouted into the microphone on his headset. “Someone must have moved it. I’m telling you it was right there.”

“So what do you want to do?” The pilot asked Pell.

“Let’s land,” Chris pleaded. “They must have removed the wreckage, but they couldn’t have totally cleaned up the mess. There’s got to be some tell-tale signs down there.”

Pell looked out the window again, scanning the area. “I don’t see anything. Nothing! Let’s get the fuck out of here,” he said to the pilot, who rolled his eyes.

“Wait a second!” Chris screamed. “I’m telling you that a plane went down right there not twenty-four hours ago.”

“I know what you told me, Chris. I believed you, that’s why I’m out here on this wild goose chase,” Pell snapped as he turned and made a quick motion with his head that said ‘fly’ to the pilot.

The pilot pulled back on the stick, and the chopper started to rise. Before Chris could think about what he was doing, he swung open his door, unbuckled his seat belt, and jumped out, falling the twenty or so feet into the river with a scream.

10:21 am PDT Malibu, California

Camilla shook her head violently, “No, it wasn’t like that, Sarah.”

“Wasn’t like what? I always wondered how you managed to get into Harvard with your grades. You bought her way in, didn’t you, Phillip? Was that part of your endowment deal too? Get her in, get her close to me, take me on a world tour over that summer that just happens to pass through the most desperate shit-holes in the world, indoctrinate me good. Is that what it was? Fuck!”

The more she spoke, the more pieces fell into place. Sarah had been used from the beginning. Her guts twisted into a knot and she resisted the temptation to hurl her glass at the massive window.

“Camilla, can you excuse us for a minute?” Phillip said. His voice was smooth, his tone even. Phillip G. Spencer II did not get rattled easily.

Camilla opened her mouth to say something but then closed it again as she rose and left the room without looking at Sarah who leveled her hard stare at Phillip. Billionaire be damned. He was a bastard.

“I knew you’d figure this all out. I wanted you to,” Phillip said. “Now that you’ve done it and we’re finally ready to move forward, we don’t need any skeletons in the closet. We have to own up to our past, clear the air and move forward as a team. I don’t want to spend my last days on the run or in jail and you’ve got more days left than I do.”

Sarah pursed her lips and crossed her arms on her heaving chest. She did not like Mr. Spencer and her opinion was going downhill each time he parted his wrinkly, prune lips.

“You’ve got a right to be pissed off. I did send Camilla to find you, to recruit you, although I’d argue that those words are pejorative, but I can tell you right now, without any doubts or reservations, she fell in love with you. That wasn’t in my plan. It worked, granted, but it wasn’t part of the deal. She’s motivated just like I am. Her parents truly believed in Phil’s vision, they might not have believed enough to put their lives on the line but shit happens, even to the beautiful people, and they did sacrifice and so did Camilla and so did my son. Phil was brilliant. I can only imagine what he could have accomplished through his natural philanthropic leaning.”

“He wanted to make a difference. If I were completely honest, I’d say his motivation was me. Don’t’ get me wrong, I wasn’t an inspiration, he was doing it to make amends for how I’ve lived my life.”

“Oh, come one,” Camilla said. “That’s a bit harsh.”

“I don’t think so but we’ll never know will we?” Phillip licked his lips and was clearly upset but he continued. “He’d seen it all. Christ, he traveled to more countries than I can count. He truly believed that if we could control the population, we could give these places an opportunity to dig themselves out of their holes.”

“Like I started to say earlier, on the one-year anniversary of his death I was standing at his grave when I had an epiphany – hit me like a vision from the bible. His death opened my eyes to what’s really important. Too late for sure but I finally understood that money isn’t the be all and end all. I picked up Phil’s cause and carried it forward, not in the public way he did but in my own way. I did it because he was my son but also because I believe. I’ve spent a lifetime studying the dynamics of economies – micro and macro – and I know that the only way to move the entire world forward is to address the fundamental issue of overpopulation. It’s an inescapable trap for the third world – an uncontrollable, self-sustaining cycle that will keep them down forever.”

“When I saw that your simulation proved eradicating the bacterial and viral diseases plaguing the third world actually compounded their problems in the mid-term, I knew you were the one. You got it. Christ, how many people would understand that death by disease is necessary – particularly in the third world – it’s natural selection, nature taking care of business – unpleasant as that business may be.”

“I know Camilla came to the same conclusions. Her parents gave their all, willingly or unwillingly – it doesn’t matter – and she’s fulfilling their dreams. Her job was simply to see if you would be willing to work with us. She did much more than that and what she did, she did on her own. Talk to her about it. She has no regrets and neither do I. So many things happened to get us to where we are today. Some bad, some good, some calculating and some naïve but we can’t change any of it. If some sick sons of bitches hadn’t murdered Phil and the Haywood’s, we damn sure wouldn’t be sitting here right now and I most certainly wouldn’t have poured thirty-five million dollars into a high-risk project like this.”

He paused to take a drink. His gaze locked on Sarah as he raised the glass in a toast, “And here we sit. Salut.”

Sarah stood up, stomped over to the window and stared off beyond the horizon, through the atmosphere and into deep space. She felt like she had been sucker-punched. Everything she had believed was now in question – the fundamental thought process that had spawned The Cause and the relationship that had changed her forever. A shudder rolled down her body as she rested her forehead against the window. She shut her eyes and let her mind follow the many thought threads. Why? Why now? How had she missed it? Had it been love?

It was over-whelming but she kept coming back to Phillip’s speech – ‘we have to move forward as a team.’ It rang true. He was sincere but that didn’t mean that it didn’t still hurt. Her first true love – the first to show Sarah the previously hidden path to the beauty and power of opening yourself up totally to someone, the first to show her the capabilities of her own sexuality, the first in so many wonderful ways – but Camilla had been a plant, a Trojan Horse, or a Trojan Whore, snuck inside Sarah’s carefully constructed emotional walls for nefarious purposes.

Sarah turned from the window to find Camilla sitting quietly back in her chair. She had no idea how long she had been standing against the window. Camilla looked at her as she always did, she had nothing to hide – she was who she was, who she always had been. She offered Sarah a somewhat sheepish smile and raised her eyebrows as if to say ‘Well?’

Sarah sat down again and said, “Any more bombshells?”

1:47 pm Over Aroostook County, Maine

The depth of the river varied from under a foot too much deeper, and, fortunately, he landed in a spot that was about ten feet deep. He still hit the bottom, but had lost enough momentum to avoid getting hurt. When he broke the surface, he saw the chopper hovering down the river. Pell’s and the pilot’s headphone-encased faces were visible in the window staring down at him.

He waved to them and then swam toward the bank. The chopper rose above the trees and descended into a clearing in the woods.

Climbing out of the water and into the woods, he was relieved to see that there were irrefutable signs of a plane crash. Someone had done a decent job of cleaning up the mess so that it couldn’t be easily spotted from the air, but they couldn’t fix the broken tree limbs and other indications of the crash, particularly the smell of fuel. Chris looked under bushes for a piece of solid evidence as he listened to Pell plowing through the woods like an enraged bear.

“Foster!” Pell yelled as he got closer.

His search became more frantic as Pell approached. Finally, under a bush, stuck into the ground, he found what he was looking for – a large piece of the prop that had broken off. He grabbed onto it and yanked it out of the ground like King Arthur pulling Excalibur from the stone. Holding it up, he turned to Pell who was now just a few feet away.

“What do you call this?” He asked as he waved the piece of metal in the air.

Pell’s scowl fell away, his fists unclenched and his jaw dropped open as he stopped and stared at the piece of prop.

“Look at this, Pell,” Chris said. “The thing isn’t even rusted. I’m telling you the truth about what happened, and the fact that whoever these people are removed the wreckage tells me that they want to keep their secret.”

Pell nodded as he reached out and took the prop. He held it and looked around at the trees and ground.

“Look at all of this,” Chris said as he pointed out broken limbs and a massive gouge out of the trunk of a tree. “Can you smell the fuel? Do you believe me now?”

Pell let out a long slow whistle as his gaze drifted from the physical evidence of the crash back to the piece of metal in his hands. He sniffed at the air. “What the hell is going on? Where’s the plane?”

“It was a small plane,” Chris said. “I bet the chopper that flew us in here could have lifted it out.”

The helicopter pilot joined them. He looked at the prop and said, “That came from a real small plane. With a few good men, you could probably hump it out of here.” He surveyed the crash site thoughtfully. “No doubt there’s been a crash here in the last few days. This is all fresh.”

“Could your chopper lift a plane this size?” Chris asked.

“If you chopped it in a few pieces it would easy. Fly it into the woods in any direction, dump it, and we’d probably never find it. So who would go through this kind of trouble?” The pilot asked.

“Look at this,” Chris pointed to bullet holes in a nearby tree trunk. “They must have been when they strafed the plane, look there’s more over there.”

Pell looked where Chris was pointing then said, “Let’s gather what evidence we can, take some photos and get back. I’m starting to believe this crazy story of yours.”

11:41 am PDT Malibu, California

Sarah’s thought train had been derailed by the previous discussion and she collected herself for a moment before beginning. She wanted to speak slowly, but the words rushed uncontrollably out of her mouth. “The final test started just under a year ago in a remote part of sub-Saharan Africa called Ngamiland in Botswana. The word from the field last week confirmed it – there has been a dramatic drop in the number of births in the past couple of months.”

“How many –” Phillip began.

“I think that the best thing is for you to hold your questions until I finish. I’ve got a lot to say, and I’ll cover most of your questions in the process,” she said.

“We chose Ngamiland because of its remoteness. It has an under-developed infrastructure and sporadic medical resources. We needed to find somewhere that had primary healthcare services with a majority of the population accessing them so that we could accurately monitor the birthrates, but also the medical services needed to have limited organizational effectiveness so that there would be less chance of discovery,” Sarah explained.

“We also needed an environment where the majority of the population had access to piped or tapped water. If we had released the virus into surface water, rivers and boreholes, it would have been extremely difficult to quantify the results. Over seventy-five percent of the population has access to piped or tapped water in Ngamiland so it was the perfect test environment. We systematically introduced a derivative of the virus into the major water supplies in the region for a three-month period just under a year ago and the results are about what I expected, maybe even better.”

“To net it out, two years ago, in the only hospital in Ngamiland there were approximately sixty-five births a month with seasonal ups and downs but these were minor deviations. Last month there were seven and right now there isn’t a single pregnancy in the region.”

“Has anyone put together what’s going on?” Phillip asked.

“There were obviously questions floating around the maternity ward from the doctors and staff but they aren’t sophisticated enough to do any real analysis or science on the root cause. The World Health Organization is there now trying to figure it out now but they don’t know what to make of it. The fact that it is so localized is throwing them for a loop.”

Camilla and Phillip sat silently as Sarah paused to take a long drink from the moisture-coated, air bubble permeated glass. Camilla reached over and grabbed Phillip’s hand and squeezed it. Then she let go and started clapping. He joined her.

Sarah smiled and nodded. This was her time – the culmination of a lifetime’s work. She hadn’t realized until now that she had needed some positive affirmations, and this spontaneous applause hit the spot.

“Bravo!” Camilla squealed.

“Thank you,” Sarah said. “It wasn’t just me, though. Seth and the guys back in Maine and you two. Without your money and patience, I never would have been able to do it. It was far more difficult than I ever imagined it would be when we thought this all up.”

Camilla leaned over and gave her a hug. “I knew you could do it, Sarah,” Camilla whispered into her ear. “I just knew it.”

Phillip asked, “So when are we going to release it?”

“On the fourth of July,” Sarah replied.

As they contemplated the symbolism, a handsome man with a well-groomed beard and frighteningly white teeth entered the room. Sarah noticed Phillip offer the man an almost imperceptible nod.

Camilla turned and smiled as the man said, “Sorry I’m late, I got caught up in traffic. Did I miss anything?”

“No,” Camilla replied as she stood. “We were just really getting started.”

The man paused as he past Camilla and then turned to Sarah, “You must be Sarah. I’m Mike Kemper. It’s a pleasure to finally meet you. Camilla has told me so much about you that I feel like I already know you well.”

He walked over to Sarah and extended his hand. His name sounded vaguely familiar. Maybe Camilla had mentioned him. Something about him was tremendously attractive. She couldn’t put her hands on exactly what it was – handsome, physically fit, undoubtedly rich, the obvious ones but it was more than that. He oozed manliness. She blushed as his intelligent blue eyes locked confidently on hers.

“Hi, Phillip,” Mike said getting a disinterested grunt in return.

“Mike’s a friend, Sarah. Beyond your crew back in Maine, we’re the only others who know about our plans,” Camilla said.

“A friend?” Sarah said as she extracted her hand from Mike’s a-bit-too-long shake.

“Well, more than just a friend. We’ve known each other for ten years or so,” Camilla said offering a slight smile.

Sarah arched her eyebrows. Why was she just hearing about him now? She and Camilla talked frequently, either on Skype or through e-mail. More secrets.

“And I’ve kicked in some of the cash for this project,” Mike said as he grabbed another chair, spun it up to the table and sat down before saying to Camilla, “So, did she do it?”

Camilla offered a quick recap of what they had discussed so far.

Phillip appeared somewhat agitated as he squirmed uncomfortably in his chair. “So, it’s distributed through water supplies?” Mike asked when Camilla had finished.

“For the Beta test in Ngami it was, but that’s because of how I needed the test to go. I couldn’t just let an untested, full-blown version of the virus out. God only knows what would have happened. I chose Ngami because it’s extremely isolated, there’s one common water source and essentially no homogeneous medical infrastructure to detect what was going on. It was the perfect site. The real virus is a highly communicable, air-borne one. Once someone has it, he’ll spread it just by breathing. I actually used the tuberculosis virus as a base for development of the transmission mechanism.”

Mike scratched lightly at his beard and looked out at the ocean. “Just because it worked in water, does that necessarily mean that it’ll work as an air-borne virus?”

“I looked at every type of transmission from water to intercourse. I finally decided that air-borne was the way to go. It was much more difficult to develop, but it was definitely worth the extra effort. I call the virus Genesis 96, Gen96 for short.”

“Why?” Phillip asked.

“Because it was in 1996 that I had the major breakthrough, when it really started to become what it is today.”

“So how does it work?” Camilla asked.

“Once someone gets exposed, Gen96 is latent for about sixty days. In women it will exist forever, but because of a lack of specific triggering hormones, it’s inert. In men, however, after a few weeks of hormonal exposure, Gen96 wakes up.”

“It finds its home in the scrotum and does two things that ultimately result in infertility. First, it disables the sweat glands in the sack, and secondly, it causes a slight inflammation of the veins in the testes. The combination of these two essentially unnoticeable events causes the temperature in the scrotum to rise above what sperm can successfully be produced in.”

Mike squirmed in his chair as he grimaced noticeably.

“Does the infected person feel anything?” Phillip asked.

Sarah shook her head back and forth. “It’s only a couple of degrees. That’s why you have a scrotum in the first place. Keeping the temperature down is its sole function. Men who use hot tubs frequently have low sperm counts. Any kind of excess heat is a bad thing for the little guys.”

“Are they going to be able to come up with a cure?” Phillip asked.

This was the question she had been waiting for – the Big One. As Phillip had already made her aware, he had given her somewhere in the neighborhood of thirty-five million dollars, and for that money he undoubtedly expected perfection. But perfection in something like this is impossible and definitely undesirable since the goal wasn’t to wipe out the human race completely here.

The world has too many brilliant scientists for Gen96 to remain untreatable for very long. It would take a long time to come up with a true, proper cure but treatment would be as simple as cooling the testes.

“I’m sure that someone will come up with a permanent cure. My guess is that it’ll take years, though.” She paused and took a shallow breath as she locked her gaze on Phillip. “But it can be treated by direct application of cooling agents.”

Phillip’s slight smile disappeared immediately. “You’ve got to be kidding me. If someone shoves an ice cube down their shorts Gen96 becomes ineffective. This is bullshit, Camilla.”

“Calm down. I’m hearing this for the first time too.” Camilla said. “Can you explain it in more detail, Sarah?”

Having expected this confrontation, she was prepared to diffuse it. “Let’s step back,” she said. “Gen96 is no little feat. It’s a completely revolutionary process. No other scientist has ever created a virus designed for a specific attack within the human body. People have found viruses that do it, and they’ve grown or mutated them, but nobody’s built one – that’s what I did. From the ground up, from scratch, however you want to put it. It’s debatable whether or not a virus is truly alive – I happen to fall into the camp that thinks they are – but either way, alive or just a strand of DNA, I created it.”

Phillip started to say something, but she cut him off.

“This is the deal. Gen96 is treatable, but the key is that men will have to proactively undergo a treatment regimen with the specific goal of reproducing. Keeping your balls cool for a couple of months is not an easy or comfortable proposition. Think about it. How many births are unplanned?”

Mike nodded. “So only people who really want to have a baby will be able to do so?”

“Exactly,” Sarah replied. “The actual introduction of Gen96 to the world on a global level will not take long – somewhere in the neighborhood of two to three months – probably significantly less. Look at how fast SARS moved a few years ago. We knew about it and tried to contain it but it still got out, jumping countries and continents in spite of aggressive efforts to limit its spread. Gen96 is going to be in stealth mode. Nobody’s going to know anything until it’s too late.”

“The drop in sperm counts will be obvious within four or five months and pregnancies will plummet between months thirteen and fifteen. People will be looking for a cause and, of course, a cure. But that could be years down the line. And even then they have to find a way to distribute the cure. They will never reach everyone, particularly in the areas we are focused on targeting. Ultimately, you’ll be happy, very happy with the results.”

She paused and let her words sink in.

“So if someone wants kids bad enough, they get treatment, otherwise, they’re sterile?” Mike asked.

“Exactly,” Sarah replied. “We don’t want one hundred percent in this. If we did, we would kill, instead of help, mankind.”

They all contemplated in silence.

“Excellent,” Camilla said. “Don’t you all agree?”

Mike looked non-committal. “So let me get this straight. Once the virus is out, within a matter of months everyone, every man in the world will become sterile? Including everyone around this table?”

Sarah nodded and said, “Absolutely.”

“I guess I never really thought about it. That means I get it, you’re going to get it Phillip. All of our male family and friends—”

“But there’s a cure,” Camilla said. “If you ever decide to have kids, you go through the regimen, get your little guys swimming again and find a lucky girl.”

Mike didn’t look convinced. How he had never contemplated this was a bit baffling for Sarah. Although, none of them new what the transmission mechanism was prior to today.

“Is there no way to contain this to a specific geography? Africa or India….South America say?”

“No. there’s no way to do that,” Sarah rolled her eyes. “We want this virus to be as effective as possible, it’s transmitted through Carriers and that means we can’t contain it to a country or a continent. People move around. They’ll spread the virus with them, that’s the whole point.”

“I’m not sure that’s what I was signing up to,” Mike shook his head.

“It’s exactly what we signed up to,” Phillip said. “But I’m not happy that it sounds like the cure for this is pretty simple. I didn’t invest millions for a virus that can be wiped out with an ice-cube.”

Sarah pushed her chair back and stood up, hands on the table she towered over her audience. “You’re just not getting it,” she said through clenched teeth. “What I have created here is truly genius. We need the virus to be as effective and far reaching as possible. Gen96 is all that. Yes, within months Gen96 could render every man in the world sterile. That’s how we control the population. The beauty is that I’ve created a virus for which there is a cure, but only those who really want a child, and make a conscious decision and put in the effort will be able to have a child. That’s the genius here. No more unwanted pregnancies, no more pregnancies due to ignorance or lack of main stream birth control. Only 30% of women use birth control in Africa, yet over 50% would use it if it were available. It’s not just availability – its religious control, spousal disapproval, misinformation, so many reasons. There’s over 220 million women in the world that are not able to access birth control, 53 million of these are in sub-Saharan Africa and 97 million in Asia. Gen96 will turn that on its head. Now everyone has birth control and the question becomes access to treatment to have a child, not to prevent a child. It’s brilliant don’t you see?”

Mike nodded slowly in agreement. Phillip nodded his head and mumbled an indistinguishable affirmative.

Frazzled from the stress of this meeting, Sarah asked Camilla, “Would you mind if we continue this conversation later after I freshen up a bit?”

“I’m sorry, Sarah. You’ve had a long trip, and we started in on you right away,” Camilla said as she stood. “Follow me.”

Once they were out of earshot of the others, Sarah said, “He’s a tough old bastard.”

“You don’t have to tell me. But that’s how he got to where he is. Don’t take it personally. He’s really a teddy bear, just blunt and direct. Once you get to know him you’ll see.”

“Teddy bear? He seems more like a prick,” Sarah said as she grabbed onto Camilla’s shoulder and spun her around. They were alone in a hallway and she paused for a moment, trying to put some sort of order to the raging jumble of thoughts racing through her mind. “I need to know the truth, did you use me from the beginning? Was I just an enabler for you and Phillip’s project? A means to an end?”

Camilla shook her head. “No, Sarah. It was—”

“You did. I can see it on your face.”

“No, it wasn’t like that. I told you.”

“Bullshit,” Sarah spat. She was furious. Her heart was sacred ground. Very few people had ever seen it and even fewer had touched it. And now, understanding that what she had considered to be one of the special few had actually been part of a cold, manipulative scheme, sent a shudder of rage down Sarah’s spine.

Camilla met Sarah’s angry glare and said, “I’m not going to say this again, Sarah. Recruiting you was the initial plan. Okay? Great. You figured it out. But I had no intention of falling in love with you. That wasn’t in the plan at all. I wouldn’t trade those memories for anything. Even if you hadn’t succeeded it wouldn’t change that. I loved you and I don’t love a lot of people like that.”

“That’s easy to say.”

“No it’s not,” Camilla snapped. “I knew you’d figure this out. That we’d have this fight at some point, but there’s no need. Everybody uses everybody, Sarah. This isn’t news. It’s the way the world works.”

“That may be but I thought we were … that what we had was real.”

“It was real. As real as any relationship I have ever had. Maybe even more so,” Camilla said. Her voice was pinched, tight. Tears welled up in her eyes. She was visibly trembling.

Sarah thought back on what they had been – lovers, friends, dreamers. It had been so emotionally consuming, so sexually freeing – all of it fueling Sarah’s intellect. The attraction had been so compelling and irresistible. She had never expected that type of a relationship and spent many hours contemplating it. Fate, destiny, words like that had no meaning to Sarah until she tried to reconcile her feelings for Camilla. They were too strong, too primal to have been faked. She had started out as a pawn but ended up as much more. Camilla was telling the truth. Lines had been crossed but the connection had been real and that’s what really mattered to Sarah. Her heart hadn’t been misappropriated.

Sarah flashed back to those days. On the surface of it, they were polar opposites. Sarah a nerdy, introverted scientist who at that time had led a very limited and somewhat forced heterosexual existence and Camilla, a free spirited, passionate, sexually liberal extrovert. No sane matchmaker would hook the two of them up. It could never work but it did and it did so on many levels. The more their friendship grew, Sarah was constantly confounded at the conflicting emotions she was experiencing and she set them aside, ascribing them to her own lack of social awareness and skills, and her persistent ability to misread interpersonal situations.

Their complementary senses of humor, Sarah’s ever present intellect and Camilla’s ditsyness – incompatibility and conflict at every turn but Sarah soon found herself looking forward to each encounter, knowing it was going to bring her joy on some level and Camilla rarely disappointed. Their first kiss had been late at night and after a few too many drinks at the Student Union under a street light in a summertime downpour. Camilla was leaning against the lamp post, the rain soaked her through and she was laughing, that infectious laugh that put a smile on anyone within earshot’s face. Her eyes were closed while she laughed and when she opened them, Sarah realized what had been happening to her. It hit her like a bolt of lightning. She was in love. For the first time in her life she felt what all those sappy love poems were about. The tingling, the expectation, the desire to know more, to know everything, to please, to have, to want more. Love entered her life in that downpour in Cambridge as if it were a discorporated piece of her soul finally rejoining her, making her whole for the first time ever.

She leaned forward and kissed Camilla who stopped laughing, wrapped her arms around Sarah’s neck and pulled her close. They kissed for some unquantifiable time and when they parted Camilla said, ‘It’s about fucking time.’

“You loved me?” Sarah asked.

“I did and I still do,” Camilla replied. “I’m sorry about not being completely up front with you back then.”

“I guess I understand.”

“You sure?”

Sarah nodded. As sure as she could be.

Camilla hugged Sarah to her. “Let’s not fight any more,” she said as she turned and opened a door that led into what could possibly have been the most beautiful bedroom Sarah had ever seen. Light flowed in through French doors that led to a small balcony overlooking the sail-dotted ocean. Sarah walked outside and leaned over the railing. She breathed in the ocean air and reveled in the beauty of the view from here. The blues of the ocean and sky, the green from the hills, the white sand – nature’s palette couldn’t have been better. It was a straight shot down the lush hill to the inviting beach. She raised her hands and tried to grab the sky. The stress of the past half hour flowed off her, carried away by the soft breeze like the petals of a turned flower.

Camilla walked up behind her and slid her arms around her waist.

“It’s so beautiful here,” Sarah said. Camilla’s arms felt foreign wrapped around her.

“You’ve done great,” Camilla smiled. “Don’t let Phillip upset you. He understands the complexities but he also wants results. He’s not getting younger. He wants to see it come to pass before he does.”

“I know that. I just need him to appreciate that at this point it’s almost unstoppable. Seth has mapped out our strategy for distribution, we’ve got everything in place and once we get the Carriers on their planes we’re essentially done.”

“Thank you,” Sarah said.

“I could never have done this without your support.”

“It was our dream, Sarah.”

She turned and hugged Camilla, burying her face in her old friend’s curly blond hair.

After a minute, she let go and said, “There is one thing.”

“What’s that?”

“We might have a little problem back at the lab.”

Camilla’s smile wavered and then disappeared altogether. “Really? What’s wrong?”

“You remember David don’t you?”

“Of course.”

“Well,” Sarah swallowed hard. “He kind of defected earlier this week.”

“Defected?”

“We got him back,” she paused and looked at Camilla.

“And?” Camilla prompted.

“We had to take him out.”

“Take him out?”

“We killed him.”

Camilla looked stunned, “Oh my God!”

“We couldn’t risk him exposing us,” Sarah explained. “But before he died, he managed to tell somebody about what we’re doing.”

“He what?” Camilla stepped back as if she had just been slapped in the face. “Someone knows all about this? How could you let this happen, Sarah? When Phillip hears this he’s going to be furious.”

“We know who he is, and we’re trying to find him. I’ll know more tonight after I call Seth, but as of eleven o’clock eastern time this morning, he had managed to elude us.”

Camilla dropped into a chair. “This isn’t good. We need to find this guy now. Hell, this could expose all of us. You should have been more careful, Sarah. Who is he? What are you doing about it?”

“I know this looks bad,” Sarah replied. “But we’ll find him. Seth’ll deal with it.”

Camilla looked up and said, “He better because if this guy gets to the law…I just don’t want to think what that could mean.” She got up and looked Sarah straight in the eye. “Sort it out, Sarah. I want to know this has been dealt with.”

Walking out of the room she stopped and said, “The bathroom’s over there. Why don’t you get freshened up and then come back downstairs?”

“Don’t tell them about what I just said, Camilla,” Sarah pleaded. She had no desire to have to explain this situation right now.

“I won’t,” she said as she turned and headed for the door. “Yet.”

The door closed. Sarah turned to take in the view one more time. A cloud passed in front of the sun casting a gloom across the beach, suppressing the vibrant colors as it raced up the hill – a shadowy apparition proceeded by an ominous wind. She stepped off the balcony and shut the door before it reached her.

3:50 pm Unorganized Township T8 R4, Aroostook County, Maine

“Do they know who gave him a ride?” Seth asked, frowning hard as he banged on the window to get Jerry’s attention outside.

Mark replied over the horrible cellular connection, “Yeah, but nobody knows where he went. All they said was that he was looking for a ride to Bangor, and this guy gave him a lift. Apparently he’s a regular at the diner but keeps to himself, no-one knows too much about him. We should be able to track him down and see if Foster told him anything or where he dropped him. We just need some time.”

“At least we know where he was headed. Bert can help us track down the guy who gave him a ride. Can you get a description of the car? Get down to Bangor and we’ll contact you as soon as we find out more.”

“Got it,” Mark replied.

“You know what’s at stake here, Mark. If you find this guy, Sarah is going to be happy – very happy.”

“You got it. I’ll call you when I get to Bangor.”

“So what’s happening?” Jerry asked as he ambled into the room. His slicked back jet black hair still wet from a shower.

Seth hung up the phone. “It looks like he got a ride to Bangor. Mark’s going down there to try to find him, but I’ll bet he’s long gone.”

“You think so?”

“Sure, why wouldn’t he be? He was from Massachusetts. I bet that’s where he’s heading,” Seth said as he flexed his arms and hands, twisting them in a martial-arts learned motion. Jerry’s lazy eye bugged the hell out of him. He never knew if the guy was looking at him or not. Maybe a roundhouse kick would knock that thing inline.

“Think about it,” Jerry said, his left eye staring at Seth and his right roaming over a topological map on the wall. “David told this guy something, probably everything, before he died. There’s no other explanation as to why he ran from the Wild Bear. He must know about Gen96, and he saw what happened to David. He knows we’re looking for him. If I were him, I’d be going to the authorities.”

Seth smiled. “Of course. He’s going to want to find help.”

“Absolutely.”

“He won’t go to the State Police. He probably doesn’t know who he can trust. This isn’t local-cop stuff anyway. He’s going to try and go to the government.”

They both said in unison, “The FBI.”

“We don’t want to be messing with those guys,” Jerry said.

“Maybe not, but there’s always the chance that he hasn’t got there yet. Or if he has, he’ll still be in Bangor. If he’s reported anything and they believe him, they’ll want him to stick around for questioning. We need to get down there as fast as possible. Maybe we can get lucky and snag him.”

“I can have you there in just over an hour,” Jerry said as they both rushed for the door.

After landing at Bangor International, Jerry rented a car while Seth used his mobile phone to get the address of the FBI. Within the half hour, they were parked across the street from the dumpy little two-story building in a small industrial park.

“Now all we can do is wait,” Jerry said.

“I wish one of us would have seen this guy,” Seth said. “Bert said he could get us a picture, but it would take a bit.”

“So what’s this guy’s description again?”

“According to Bert, he’s early thirties, about six-two and around two-hundred-twenty pounds. Kind of long, light brown hair that’s thinning on top. Unless he bought some clothes, he should be wearing a green, long sleeve shirt, jeans, and some LL Bean hunting boots.”

“You just described half of the men in this state.”

“I know,” Seth said. “We’ve got to get this guy. He could flush the last eighteen years of work right down the toilet and worse than that, he could put all of us in jail for the rest of our lives. We’re so close I can taste it. All we need is another month or so and it’ll be unstoppable and we can disappear into the sunset.”

8:15 pm FBI Field Office, Bangor, Maine

Pell unlocked the door, and they walked into the empty office. The FBI team obviously keep to strict business hours up here, Chris thought. God forbid if there was a federal crime outside of nine to five. They hadn’t said two words since leaving the helicopter at BIA. Pell was obviously agitated.

“I’ll be right back,” he said.

Chris stood alone in the lobby contemplating the events of the day and feeling a strange combination of excitement and vindication. He had been telling the truth – Sarah Burns and her cronies were for real. What was unraveling with each passing minute was pure James Bond – villains, heroes, evil plots and he was right in the middle of it. Wow! A little more exciting than signing up a new client or writing some cool code. He paced the small room.

Pell returned to the lobby after a few minutes looking refreshed. His cheeks were slightly flushed as he said, “Let’s go down to the conference room. I need to make some calls and use the computer.”

“Sure,” Chris replied. Pell reminded him of someone, but up until now he couldn’t place it and then, ah! An employee, Larry – a raging alcoholic, used to act just like this. Chris had thought he smelled booze on Pell’s breath this morning. This guy was definitely a drinker. That’s all he needed.

They sat at the table, the notebook computer in front of them. Pell hung his jacket on a chair exposing his shoulder holster and gun.

“So what do we do now?” Chris asked.

Pell leaned back in his chair and twisted his sideburns. “This is a big one,” he said after a moment. “The procedures are clear. I’ve got to escalate it to the SAC in Boston.”

“SAC?”

“Special Agent in Charge, Carl Moscovitz.” Pell grimaced as he said the name. “He runs the northeast Bureau branches. It’ll percolate up from there. Based on this afternoon, I’m assuming what you’re telling me is true and that something is definitely going on. Maybe it’s this virus, maybe it’s something else but whatever it is, whoever’s involved is willing to go through some serious effort to keep it a secret. I wouldn’t be surprised if Arthur Kent isn’t directly aware of this tomorrow morning. He’s responsible for all of the field offices – the number three guy at the Bureau.”

“So that means you’ll get plenty of help?” Chris asked.

Pell offered a short chuckle as he returned his attention to the terminal. “It depends on Carl. He and I don’t get along too well.”

“Don’t get along? Come on, Pell, for Christ’s sake. Don’t get along at a dinner party but surely stuff like this has to take precedence over not getting along. There’s no room for pettiness.”

“The FBI is a political world, Chris. If it wasn’t we wouldn’t have had Ruby Ridge or Waco. Hell, you could probably argue that September 11 never would’ve happened but it did.”

Chris shook his head in disgust and Pell nodded in agreement.

“Reality. Ugly damn reality,” Pell said as he started to type. “I’m going to open a log and get the data gatherers working on the little bit that we know.”

“The data gatherers?”

“Yeah,” Pell replied. “That’s what I call then. They work out of Langley, Virginia. I give them what I’m looking for, and they set up the searches in our databases. There’s got to be something out there about this.”

“I hope so,” Chris walked over to the window. The late afternoon sun blazed in the sky, and just as he was about to turn away, he saw two men getting out of a car. He would have thought nothing of it, except for the fact that the car looked like it had been parked deliberately to be obscured from view between a dumpster and the building across the street. The men moved stealthily, looking this way and that and then quickly ran out of his view as they came to the front entrance of this building.

Pell began, “I’m going to need—”

“I think they’re here.”

“What? Who?” Pell asked.

“Whoever the hell these people are! I just saw two guys get out of that car and come into this building.”

Pell got up and looked at the partially hidden car. “I think your paranoia is getting to you,” he laughed. “There’s no way anyone would be coming to get you in an FBI building. You’re quite safe here,” he said turning back to the desk.

“I don’t like it.”

“Ok, better safe than sorry.”

Chris watched him unbuckle his gun and remove it from his holster.

“These people want me dead and, FBI building or not, those guys looked like they were up to no good. It’s hardly like this is the J. Edgar Hoover building in terms of security. Christ, there is no security and we’re the only ones here in the building,” Chris said as sweat broke out on his brow and down the middle of his back. He was convinced they were here for him. How’d they find him? The things they had done in the past day raced through his mind – shooting David’s plane, going to the Wild Bear, removing the wreckage and now showing up here – and he quickly concluded that his life was in grave danger. These people wanted him dead. Plain and simple. They would stop at nothing to achieve that goal. Hell, they were coming after him in an FBI office.

“Come on, Pell,” Chris pleaded. “You’ve got to do something!”

“OK listen, calm down and follow me, let’s check it out.”

They hurried back out to the lobby. With the door shut, they had no way to see into the hallway. They stared at the door.

“I don’t hear anything,” Pell said. “Those guys probably have business elsewhere in the building.”

“Maybe—”

A shotgun blast blew off the doorknob. A second shot partially opened the door.

Pell emptied his clip into and around the door. He grabbed Chris and pushed him down a hall. “Come on!” Pell growled as he shoved him. “We gotta get out of here.”

The door cracked open with a kick and slammed into the wall.

They ran down a staircase, burst through an exit door, and sprinted around the building to Pell’s car. They hopped in and sped away. Looking back, Chris saw the two men emerge from the building.

“They’re going for their car!”

“Don’t worry, I can lose them on the side streets coming up. I assume you know how to handle a gun? Reload this. Bullets are in the dash.”

He handed over his gun, and Chris started filling the clip. Pell’s blue eyes alternated between the rearview mirror and the road ahead.

“What the hell is this?” He shouted “Who storms an FBI building and chases down an FBI car?”

“The same people that remove wrecked planes and kill people,” Chris said as he focused on jamming the slippery bullets into the magazine.

“They’re gaining fast. Hang on,” Pell said.

He whipped the wheel to the right. They careened around a ninety-degree turn into a small neighborhood. Pell laid on the horn as they sped down the kid-filled street. They skidded around another intersection. Then another. Racing wildly through the normally quiet streets of Bangor.

3:27 pm Malibu, California

Sarah could hear the voices as she approached the room. Refreshed after taking a quick shower and changing clothes, she paused just outside the room, eaves dropping. As if they knew she was there, the voices were soft, muffled – too low for her to make out anything.

“Is everything okay, Ms. Burns?” A voice asked.

She jumped. Albert stood behind her with a tray of caviar, cheese and crackers.

She shook her head, “Everything’s fine, Albert.” She took a wedge of parmesan off the tray and walked into the room, silencing the conversation.

Camilla stood up. “Feeling better?”

“One-hundred percent.”

“That’s good,” Camilla said. The tone of her voice was different from forty-five minutes ago.

Phillip started in immediately with the next round of questions. Sarah couldn’t blame him. I guess when you’re that old every minute counts.

“It sounds like you’ve done exactly what you said you were going to do, but now we need to talk about how it’s going to happen. How much of a plan do you have?”

Sarah took her time on the delicious cheese before she replied. “We’ve already started the process. I’ve got six people who have volunteered to be Carriers.”

“Carriers?” Mike asked.

“They are going to be voluntarily infected with Gen96.”

“And what are they going to do?” Camilla asked.

“Travel the world, one for each continent – spreading the word, so to speak. They’re going to have canisters disguised as every day aerosol cans that they will use in high-human traffic areas – subway tunnels, sporting events, anywhere there are large gatherings of people. We’ll restock them as they move.”

“That’ll be enough to get the job done?” Phillip asked.

“Have you ever been to an outdoor event in the winter time with lots of people around you, Phillip?”

He nodded.

“Think back on it. You could see everyone’s breath as they exhaled, and, like it or not, as you inhaled, if you had been paying attention, you would have seen that you were taking in the exhaled moisture and germ-laden breath of someone else. It was diluted but it was undeniably there. Look at the fans at an NFL game in January. Gen96 could get an eighty or ninety-percent infection rate during just one game, solely because of how we share the air.”

“Jesus Christ,” Phillip growled. “It’s scary.”

“Scary’s not the word I’d use. Effective, efficient. Those are more like it,” Sarah said. “We’ll get that type of penetration, and then all of those infected people go home or to work. Some of them will hop on a plane. This will spread quickly.” Pleased, she looked confidently around the room. It was going to happen. Nobody could stop them now.

“Are these Carriers going to know what they’re actually doing? How can they be trusted?” Phillip asked.

“Last spring of we did some prescreening at colleges in Boston under the auspices of looking for interns for a humanitarian initiative that would take place that summer. We identified fifteen solid candidates and Seth took them on a three-month trip. Very much like what you and I did, Camilla. Africa, India, Bangladesh – they hit all the world’s worst examples of what overpopulation causes. They lived with them, walked among them, watched the children starve and families die. Seth said it was the worst twelve weeks of his life but what came out of it were six overpopulation zealots. These kids believe. Over time we’ve revealed exactly what they have volunteered for and they won’t be a problem. They have drunk the proverbial Kool Aid.”

“Brilliant,” Mike said.

“Well, it sounds like this calls for a celebration,” Camilla said and everyone agreed.

“Albert,” Camilla cried. “Bring out the champagne.”

In a few moments, Albert appeared in the room carrying a tray of crystal glasses and a very large champagne bottle. He prepared and distributed the glasses.

“Let me propose a toast,” Camilla said as she raised her glass. “To the beginning of a new era, to the people with the vision to fund it, and to the person who made it happen.”

“Hear, hear.” They clinked their glasses together and drank.

The mood was much lighter now as they started to relax and socialize. Camilla pulled Sarah from the group for a moment, and they walked to the edge of the room.

“When did you say you were going to know about how big a problem we actually have on our hands back in Maine?” Camilla asked.

Sarah looked at her watch – 3:35 West Coast time. “In another hour or so I’ll call Seth and see what’s up.”

Camilla smiled over her shoulder at Mike, putting her acting skills to work.

“Finding this guy doesn’t really matter,” Sarah explained. “We’ve already implemented phase two. This is happening. Worst-case scenario, we’re going to have to get out of Maine a few weeks earlier than we had planned, and that’s what Seth’ll tell me soon.”

Camilla ran her fingers through her curly blond hair, pulling it up off her slender neck as she stared at Sarah. Her eyes twinkled but something darker lurked just beyond the beautiful, fun-loving façade. Her old friend studied her for a moment longer then let her hair down and offered a weak smile.

“We’ll make that call together in an hour, okay? Finding this guy matters very, very much.”

“Whatever you want, Camilla.”

Camilla led her back to the others, and they put on faces for the next hour, which to Sarah seemed like a day.

6:40 pm Bangor, Maine

“Son of a bitch!” Seth exclaimed as they screeched to a stop. “We lost them.” He slammed his fist against the dash.

“We can probably get on their trail again,” Jerry said. “This is a pretty small town.”

“Not that small.” Seth was already rolling over in his mind what Sarah had said when she called earlier. She needed to go back to the sponsors with results in the next few hours. That was why they had bitten the bullet and gone into the FBI building rather than waiting to follow Chris once he left. What was he going to say to Sarah tonight when she called again? It wouldn’t be a pleasant conversation. She had already told the people on the West Coast that it was a go and that this was just a temporary blip that she had in hand. This would put a crimp on any celebration.

“Go to the airport,” Seth said. “We’ve got to get back up north and close down the lab.”

“Okay.” Jerry put the car in drive and squealed the tires as they headed back to their plane. It was a quiet ride.

“What about Mark?” Jerry asked. They had returned the car and were jogging across the tarmac to the plane.

“We’ll tell him to come in. We don’t have time to wait. Christ, how long was Foster with the FBI? What does he know and how much do you think he’s told them?”

Seth shook his head. That was the biggest issue on his hands. They didn’t know if this guy was just worried about a plane coming down or if he knew everything that was going on. David could have explained everything? But then again, he could have died in the crash? How could things have gone so bad, so fast? Right now Seth didn’t know if they had months before anyone figures anything out or minutes.

“We’ve probably got until sometime tomorrow morning before the Feds are knocking on our door,” he said weighing up the situation erring on the cautious side.

“You’re still assuming that David told this guy everything,” Jerry said as they climbed into the plane.

Seth had to forcibly control his hand from punching Jerry in the face. Boy, it would feel great to pound somebody right now. He caught a glimpse of his reflection in the window as he slammed the door shut. The sharply angled features of his nose, cheekbones and chin more pronounced than usual – his closely cropped hair spiked up like a threatened animal’s.

We need to assume the worst, he thought. These guys just don’t seem to get what it would mean if the Feds caught them at this point. What it would mean to the project, to Sarah and to each of them individually if this became public knowledge.

“He knows, Jerry. He knows.”

Airborne and heading north, the setting sun glowing in the western sky, Seth knew that he should try to get some rest as there was little he could do right now. They were in for a long couple of days, but sleep was never an easy thing for him. Sometimes it came quickly and other times it didn’t. One time last year he had gone for over ninety hours without sleep. He had been in the final preparation phase for the Ngami test with Sarah and for almost four straight days his mind was far too active to rest.

At least the first batch of Gen96 was ready and waiting for them to implement phase two.

“Base, this is Seth, over,” Seth said into the radio. No reply. If Wendel or Curtis weren’t in the main building, they would never hear the radio. He repeated his call again and again for the next five minutes until finally Wendel’s voice crackled back at them, “Hi, Seth. What can I do you for?”

He always said the same thing. The guy was a real moron. “Has Sarah called?” Seth asked.

“No, not that I know of. I could go find Curtis…”

“Don’t bother, Wendel. Listen to me. This is very important,” Seth snapped.

“Okay. How’d you guys make out?”

“Not good. We need to go with plan B,” Seth said.

“So you didn’t catch him?” Wendel queried. “I thought that was our main priority? You said you were going to take him out. You saying you didn’t manage to get to him?”

“No, we didn’t get to him and that’s exactly why I’m saying go to plan B,” Seth snapped. “Do as I say and get things rolling now. I’ll be back there in twenty minutes. If Mark calls, tell him to come in as fast as he can.”

“No problem, Seth. But are you absolutely sure this is definitely what you want to do? There’s no going back once we activate, you know?”

Seth shook his head. God damned scientists could really get on your nerves.

“It is, Wendel. We’re going with Plan B and we’re all systems go. You know the drill. We’ve gone through what to do over and again if this situation arises. Make sure you follow it to the letter. I don’t want any fuck ups.”

“Got it. Anything else?”

“Yeah, if Sarah calls, don’t tell her about this. I think that she should hear it from me. Tell her to call me or wait for my call. Understand?”

“No problem, Amigo,” Wendel said. “Better you than me.”

“Good. Get Curtis and get to work. I’ll be there soon.”

8:35 pm Bangor, Maine

Pell pulled into a dumpy Chinese restaurant called Lo Maine.

“Cute name,” Chris said.

“These guys have the best boneless spareribs in the city,” Pell replied as he stopped the car and climbed out. “They’re third generation Chinese who stay true to their roots and recipes but know how to appeal to the American appetite and taste.”

They walked into the dimly-lit, tackily decored establishment and the host immediately greeted them. Two large, gold dragons sat on either side of an overly ornate carved wooden chair. Heavy red wallpaper depicting scenes from China covered the walls.

“Agent Pelletier,” the old Chinese man said in a thick accent, struggling to properly pronounce Pell’s name. “Will you be eating tonight or just sitting at the bar?”

“Give us a booth in the back, will you Chu.”

“Anything for you, my friend,” Chu said as he bowed to Chris and led the two men to a booth in the back of the restaurant.

“This is great, Chu. I’ll start with a vodka tonic – make it a double,” Pell said dropping down into the booth with a sigh.

Chris sat down across from him and said, “I’ll have a beer. Got Heineken?”

Chu nodded.

“One of those will do.”

Having drinks and eating Chinese food after almost getting killed back at the office was the last thing he thought they should have been doing, but Pell must have a good reason for bringing him here.

“So what are we doing?” Chris asked. “Shouldn’t we be calling in backups or something? Why are we drinking cocktails and ordering Chinese food? We’ve got too much to do to be thinking about using your expense account.”

“I need to make a few quick calls,” Pell said pulling out his phone. “I need to know if anyone saw or heard anything back there. If anything has been reported.”

Pell made various calls. It looked like nothing had been reported and the whole incident had gone unnoticed. Laying his phone down on the table Pell looked at his watch.

“I need some time to think,” he said, glancing around the restaurant, studying each of the few patrons before looking anxiously over at the bar. Then he grabbed a napkin and started to shred it as he asked Chris to repeat again everything that had happened – from the beginning.

Chris clenched his jaw. Repeating everything over and over again was getting them nowhere. Hell, he was no FBI agent, but he knew exactly what they should do. He struggled to keep his cool as he said, “I think that we should be finding out exactly who we’re dealing with here, Pell. You saw it for yourself. They killed David, hid the plane, tried to kill us – whoever they are, they’re serious about keeping this thing under wraps. Call in the Army if you have to. David Rose told me that it was going to happen soon, and now that they know that we’re onto them, you can bet that soon just got sooner.”

He stopped talking as Chu brought their drinks over.

“You eat?” Chu asked.

“Bring us a platter,” Pell said as he sucked on his straw. After downing a third of the drink, he set the glass down, pulled out the lime and sucked on it. Then he said, “What you just said makes sense to you, but to me there’s a lot more to it than just that.”

“Like what?”

“Like we know a plane went down, but we have no info about what type of plane yet or who this David Rose the pilot was. We saw the bullet damage at the scene so that backs up some of your story. That said, though, there’s nothing whatsoever to corroborate this wild virus story. I don’t have any evidence for that at all.”

“But we just had two guys storm the FBI building, and chase us through the streets of Bangor,” Chris said.

“That doesn’t prove anything about the virus.”

“It proves that someone is willing to pull out all the stops—”

“You don’t get it, Chris. I’ve been doing this for a long time. Without concrete evidence, if I don’t have answers or if I’ve missed something crucial, Moscovitz will be all over me. I have to tread very carefully or I’ll end up stuck here,” he paused briefly and glanced around before continuing, “In this godforsaken outpost in Bangor Maine until I retire. This could be the case that’ll finally get me out of here or it could be the case that puts the last nails in my FBI career.” He took another swig from his drink. Chris did the same.

“Why don’t you just transfer?” Chris asked. Pell had a story to tell. He had sensed that this morning, and now he was going to hear it – whether he wanted to or not, whether this was a good time or not.

Pell chuckled. “I wish it were that simple, Chris. But it’s not. I’m forty-two years old. I joined the Bureau right out of U. Mass when I was twenty-two. They recruited me on campus and, at the time, it seemed like the ultimate job. Travel, extensive physical and mental training, and most importantly to me, adventure. I started working out of the Boston branch, and in my second year I went undercover to infiltrate the mob. I didn’t realize it at the time, but they had recruited me specifically for this job. They had gone on a search for someone that matched their criteria, and I was the one they chose.”

It took three vodka tonics, a selection of Chu’s chef’s specials and the better part of an hour for Pell to explain the source of his demons. Back in the nineties, the Mob was on the ropes. There were still five families in New England that, while not the force they once were, they were far from sleeping with the fishes. They survived because of their persistence and ability to adapt. He had successfully infiltrated one of these five families, but an operation turned bad and he had been forced to kill a fellow agent to prove his devotion to the family.

Shoot him or we shoot you. He had made the hardest choice any agent could ever have to make; killing a fellow agent, Allen Jenkins, to save his own life and to continue the years of undercover work that they had gone through – plain and simple. If he had backed out, it would not just have been himself and Alan Jenkins at risk but all the other people they had on the job, not to mention the insiders turned informants.

Many lives were at stake in addition to the risk of blowing a complicated, multi-year undercover operation that was on the verge of bringing down the entire New England mob. He had made the right decision. Alan would have agreed. He had been just as dedicated as Pell. They had often talked about what they would do if push came to shove. Both of them had always agreed that the operation is greater than the individual. But if a man ever had a reason to hit the bottle, this was Pell’s reason.

“Listen to me, Pell. You got a bad break, but this is your chance to make amends. Think about it. If everything that David Rose told me yesterday is true, you have a chance to stop people who want to change the world. You can make up in spades for what happened. This is your shot. You can either crawl into that glass and stay there for the rest of your life, or you can pull yourself together and find out what’s really going on here.”

Pell sucked hard on the small straw. “What the hell do you know?” He asked. “I did the right thing then. It wasn’t good enough. I was the one being questioned and ultimately demoted, after giving my everything to the job. I’ve lost all credibility. This situation here could make or break me forever if I don’t handle it right. Lots of people in the Bureau are just waiting and watching for me to make the right mistake at the right time so they can crucify me, to finish me forever.”

Pell’s eyes narrowed and a menacing scowl curled the corners of his lips. The look disappeared as quickly as it had come and he hung his head for a long silent moment. Finally, he looked up at the half-full drink and said, “I’ve always relied on gut feel. My gut feel has been right all through my career. Even when I got the demotion I knew I wouldn’t have done anything differently because in my gut I knew had been right. Just those assholes at the office needed a scapegoat. My gut feel right now is telling me to get to work on this and find out everything that’s going on before I have to drag that son of a bitch Moscovitz into this.”

“Then let’s go find out what the hell is going on here.” Chris said standing up and feeling like he was ready to take on the world.

With that, Pell stood up, threw some money on the table and said, “Come on then, partner. I could have chosen worse, but you’ll have to do for now.” Chris followed him as he staggered out of the Lo Maine.

“I’ll drive,” Chris offered as they got to the car.

Pell gave him a weak smile as they climbed in and Chris asked, “So where do we start?”

“Let’s go back to the office,” he slurred.

The FBI office was exactly as they had left it – the front door was ajar, the smell of gunpowder hung in the air. Pell drew his pistol. He walked with much more authority than before. Three double vodkas in an hour can make anyone cocky.

“Shouldn’t we call for backup?” Chris asked.

“Just wait in the hall,” Pell whispered.

“No thanks. I’m staying with you.”

“Okay, but if anything happens, hit the floor.”

“You can count on it.”

Pell paused briefly before flicking on the lights. Except for the shards of wood and the mangled doorknob on the floor, the office space looked untouched. He shut the front door and slid a chair in front of it before they went through each office individually. Finally, comfortable that nobody was lying in wait for them, they went into the conference room.

“So what now?” Chris asked.

10:11 pm Unorganized Township T8 R4, Aroostook County, Maine

The plane slammed hard into the field and bounced up in the air again. Jerry cut the throttle and nursed them back onto the ground. They stopped no more than thirty feet from the tree line.

“That was a rough one,” Seth said as Jerry turned the plane around and they taxied toward the waiting pickup, its headlamps serving as the runway lights.

“It could have been a lot rougher,” Jerry said. “I’m not going to miss this fuckin place – not one little bit.”

Seth grunted as he opened his door and climbed out. He too was more than just a little sick of all of the inconveniences of their current location, but that was more or less a moot point now. Curtis was in the driver’s seat and Seth climbed in next to him. Jerry squeezed into the small seat in the back.

“Did you hear from Mark?” Seth asked as he slammed his door shut.

“Yeah,” Curtis replied loudly. The Grateful Dead blared out of the speakers. “About forty minutes ago. He said he’d be back in about two hours.”

“Turn that down,” Jerry said from the backseat. “Goddamn hippie music.”

“Hey, man, the Dead—”

“Just turn it off, Curtis,” Seth spat. “Did Sarah call?”

Curtis punched the power knob silencing the music. “Not that I know of.”

Seth looked at his watch as they started to drive. She’d be calling any minute.

“Did you get Wendel started on packing up the rig?” Seth asked, referring to the eighteen wheeler which would be loaded with everything they weren’t going to destroy before they left camp.

Curtis nodded and said, “So we’re finally out of here?”

“Yeah,” Seth replied. “If you guys follow the plan to the letter we should be on the road by noon. We’ve got a lot to do.”

They bounced down the rutty road. The lights of the lodge were visible through the brush and woods up ahead. As they came to a stop, Seth saw that Wendel was hard at work with the forklift, loading up the trailer. While he climbed out of the cab, he heard the faint sound of the phone ringing. He made a rush up the stairs and into the lodge. Just as he was about to pick up the receiver, it stopped ringing.

“Damn,” he muttered as he turned and went back outside to make sure that everybody knew exactly what to do.

He turned on the rest of the outdoor floodlights before walking across the driveway to the lab. From the outside, it looked like a garage or barn, but inside was several million dollars’ worth of extremely high-tech equipment – centrifuges, ultra-cold freezers, a couple of in-memory analytical servers for doing modeling, and even an electron microscope. Wendel buzzed by on the forklift. Seth was happy to see his “to do” list taped to one of the bars that supported the overhead cage on the lift, with lines going through each completed item. He loved lists and nothing irked him more than making a list that people didn’t use. He nodded at Wendel who grinned in return.

Inside the lab, he was surprised to see that noticeable progress had already been made. His plan was simple – take everything that would appear out of place to somebody picking through the ashes. All of the high-tech stuff had to go. Anything that would be incinerated by the fire could stay, but he didn’t want anyone to look at the wreckage and know that this was not a simple hunting camp. Especially now.

Shit, he had to deal with Bert too. Primarily a scientist when they had started this so long ago, his responsibilities had grown over the years and somehow he had become the strong arm of Sarah’s organization. It came naturally to him. He had been a tough kid – more a product of the streets than his family, but he had a gift and a keen self-taught interest in science. The scholarship to Harvard came from an endowment left to his hometown, the shit-hole city of Lawrence, Massachusetts by one of the daughters of its once glorious textile business. He had accepted it, reluctantly, and it turned out his Harvard professors recognized he had a genius-level intellect with an eidetic memory. Though they had pushed him to achieve and had high expectations, he would never have made it through if it weren’t for Sarah – when she found him he was floundering, distracted, railing against the system and trying to find a reason for expulsion. She gave him purpose – a reason for persevering and he eventually graduated with his MSC Summa Cum Laude, at the top of his field, with honor and prestige. Now here he was – about to commit murder and unleash a virus that would change the face of the earth. He shook his head and chuckled – fucked up stuff.

He dialed Bert’s number. He wasn’t looking forward to this. Over the years he had grown to like Bert. But, as always, business was business and unpleasant as it might be, he had to do it. He hadn’t wanted to kill Stu and his wife either.

“Hello,” Bert said picking up the phone.

“Bert, it’s Seth.”

Bert’s voice dropped, “I was just about to call you. I managed to track that guy from the diner down. I’ve got some details on him as well as more details on Foster.”

“We need to talk face to face,” Seth said. “When do you think you can come out to the lodge?”

“I’m kind of in the middle of something.”

Seth could hear a woman’s voice in the background.

“How long, Bert? You know how important this is. It takes precedent over everything.”

“I don’t know. Maybe two hours or so.”

Seth paused and said, “I want you here in one hour, Bert.” He slammed the phone down and started to plan Bert’s final visit.

10:40 pm FBI Field Office, Bangor, Maine

Pell opened up a cabinet at the end of the room and pulled out a battered suitcase. He placed it on the table and opened it up. It was a ruggedized, military style portable communications system with lots of well-used buttons, a touch-tone dialpad and a handset, and a keyboard and monitor.

“This is our portable communicator. We can make secure calls from any phone line or network connection with it,” Pell explained, plugging a network cable into a jack in the wall.

“Who are we calling?” Chris asked.

“First, I’m going to call the datacenter and get them started with the sketchy information that we have. I could do it from here,” he pointed to the notebook. “But I’ve always found that by the time I ask the computer the right questions, they could already have gotten me the answers.”

Chris thought back on all of the information that they had about him in their databases, and he was a nobody. They had to have something about David Rose’s people.

“And then what?” Chris asked, looking at the clock that read a quarter to eleven. His body trembled with nervous energy but he was starting to sag. The past two days were catching up with him.

“I’ll open an incident report and push it up to Carl. Then we wait for the IC to get back to us.”

“Shouldn’t we get the cops or someone to come here? Since the place is all shot up and all?”

“Gee, I didn’t think of that. Thanks, Chris,” Pell said as he placed his hand on a small biometric pad next to the handset and a retinal scanner popped out of the unit. After a moment, the communicator came to life. He punched numbers on the dial pad, pressed several other buttons, turned on the speakerphone and replaced the handset.

A female voice came out of the speaker that sounded oddly distorted. This was probably because of the encryption and compression that the communicator was doing to make this a secure call.

“IC, operator 275. What can I do for you, Agent Pelletier?”

“I need a data search on some pretty abstract stuff.”

“I’m sure we can help,” Operator 275 replied. “Why don’t you tell me what you know, and I’ll see what I can do.”

Pell started to regurgitate the details that had been given to him earlier. He frequently referred to his pad of paper giving them the geographic location, and the names of David Rose and Sarah Burns, the word ‘engamy’, and a quick overview of what they thought might be happening.

When he got done, the operator asked, “That’s it?”

He asked Chris if he could think of anything else. Chris shook his head.

“That’s all we’ve got.”

The rapid clicking of an experienced typist was the only sound from the speaker for a couple of minutes.

Finally, Operator 275 came back on the line and said, “This is going to take some time, gentlemen. Can I recommend that we leave this channel open, and as soon as I have some information, I’ll pick you up again.”

“That’ll be fine,” Pell replied sleepily. The alcohol was having its effect on him too.

“One last question Agent Pelletier,” Operator 275 said.

“What’s that?”

“Who’s in the room with you?”

11:01 pm Unorganized Township T8 R4, Aroostook County, Maine

Seth walked back over to the barn to help move things along. He went into his office and started backing up all of their data to a heavily encrypted SSD. The drive silently sucked gigabyte after gigabyte off their network. He fired up his notebook and began moving the critical files to it, the ones that he would need before they had a chance to set up shop again on the West Coast. This took the better part of an hour. Bert would be showing up soon.

“I’m really a fair guy,” he muttered as he unlocked a small, hidden safe and removed another SSD that held all of the formula and implementation information for Gen96. It was encrypted by a program that he had coded. Needing the highest level of security, he had spent several weeks developing this password and encryption program. Decent commercial packages were available, but none offered all of the features that they wanted. His program used the position of the Earth in relationship to the moon and sun at a given day and time. NASA had an active laser system that kept track of this information and was accessible through the internet. From this number, he created a formula that changed itself radically with each passing day. Every encryption could be broken but this one would be very difficult. Sarah had the other disk with her in California. Without both of them, the information they contained was useless.

This done, he placed a powerful electromagnet on the hard disk in the server and energized it. He let it sit there for a few minutes destroying the data before turning on the computer. It came up immediately with a catastrophic message telling him that the drive and media type was unrecognized.

“Beautiful,” he said. Their data was traveling with him. He quickly cleaned the other machines’ disk drives and then returned to his office. Opening the top drawer of his desk, he slowly removed a forty-five-caliber beast of a pistol, and stuck it in his pants, behind his back.

Walking out into the main room he yelled to Wendel, “It’s looking good.”

Wendel just smiled and continued what he was doing. The room was emptying out nicely – a lot of debris remained but that wouldn’t matter. It was all flammable – especially at a couple of thousand degrees.

Curtis was working with Jerry in the center of the room. They were leaning over a fifty-five-gallon steel barrel.

Curtis looked up as Seth approached.

“How’s it going?” Seth asked.

“Great,” Curtis replied. Jerry grunted something, his head inside the drum.

“Good,” Seth said. “Bert Nadeau’s going to be here soon. You guys just keep on doing what you’re doing. Okay?”

Jerry pulled out his head and pounded the lid onto the drum, his lazy eye drifted to Seth as he said, “This stuff makes me nervous.”

Seth nodded. The drum held an accelerant mixture that was essentially identical to solid rocket fuel. In a matter of seconds, it would go from room temperature to just over two-thousand degrees before erupting in a volcano of flames and heat incinerating anything in this building – even bones would be reduced to ashes.

“Just make sure you stay away from the detonator,” Seth said. “Keep working.”

He walked out of the lab and looked up at the brilliantly cloudless sky that was dominated by the Milky Way’s myriad of twinkling stars – the kind of profound beauty that made any thinking being feel insignificant. As he stood appreciating that fact, the phone in the lodge started ringing and the beauty of the moment vanished.

He ran inside and snatched up the receiver, “Hello?”

“Seth?” Sarah said. “I’m glad I finally got you.”

“You made it out there all right?” Seth asked.

“Everything was fine.”

“So you met the…,” Seth paused as he searched for the right word, “Benefactors?”

“Look, Seth, I don’t have time to chit-chat. How’d you make out today?”

He paused for a bit too long before saying, “Not too good, Sarah.”

He told her about his trip to Bangor and the chase of Chris Foster and the FBI agent.

“What were you thinking?” She exclaimed.

“It seemed—”

“So you’re shutting down the base, right?”

“It’s being done as we speak – just like we planned. Bert Nadeau’s on his way down. Once I get done with him, things will be looking a lot better.”

“When will you be out of there?” She asked.

“At the latest it’ll be noon tomorrow.”

“Camilla is not happy about this. I just hope she doesn’t feel compelled to tell the others. This is not anything they would want to hear. Hell, I just got done telling them the great news about the results and how we’re ready to go into release phase. And here we are, having to bring our exit forward.”

“Screw Camilla. She’s not the one doing all of the work. I know how close we are, and I know how big a problem this is. All I can tell you is that I’m on top of it. Things won’t get worse.”

“Seth, this is Camilla Haywood.” Her normally perky voice was suddenly excruciatingly business-like.

He cleared his throat and said, “Hi, Camilla. I didn’t know you were on the phone.”

“Obviously,” she replied. “Sarah told me what happened with David.”

“None of us saw it coming.”

“That doesn’t matter. What matters is that we’ve invested a lot of money and we expect results. Understand? I don’t care what you do or how you do it, but you better fix it. I’m not going to think about what we’ll have to do if things go sour at this point. You can be certain it’s nothing you’ll like.”

“I think that it’s a little premature to be talking about failure,” Sarah interjected. “There’s still a long way to go from where we are now to complete failure. Our schedule for getting out of Maine has just been bumped up by a few weeks. When are you going to be able to give us an update?”

He glanced at his watch and said, “Six hours.”

Sarah and Camilla both said, “Good.”

“You’ll call us?” Sarah asked.

“Of course.”

Sarah hung up and looked at Camilla.

“He’s very competent.”

Camilla didn’t look convinced.

“Are you going to tell them … him … about this?” Sarah asked, pointing toward the great room.

Camilla sat down on the bed. “You truly believe that they’re going to be able to straighten this out?”

“Have I ever lied to you, Camilla? We planned contingencies. This is just a change in the schedule. We’re prepared.”

Camilla smiled and said, “Okay, he’s got six hours, but after that, I’m going to have to let him in on this. I don’t have a choice. Can you imagine if somehow the FBI was able to tie me and Phillip to this? It would be such a scandal.”

True. If Sarah could get out of the country, she would be able to disappear. Over the years she had squirreled away a little more than a million dollars in a Cayman Islands account. A little pilfering from the generous grants was no big deal. She deserved it.

She sat down on the bed next to Camilla and put her arm around her shoulder. “It’ll all work out. I promise.” Involuntarily, she leaned forward and kissed Camilla’s cheek.

“So what’s up with Mike?” Sarah asked.

Camilla pushed a loose strand of hair behind Sarah’s ear and said, “We connect really well – kind of a rarity for me. Each time we’ve gotten serious, we’ve each pulled back. I don’t know where it’s going but he’s a good guy and he chipped in some cash.”

Sarah nodded. “Does he know about us? I mean, about how we used to be.”

“Used to be?”

“You know what I’m saying.”

Camilla laughed. “I know what you’re saying and he does.”

“You trust him?”

“Absolutely.”

11:15 pm FBI Field Office, Bangor, Maine

“He’s a civilian who’s providing me with the information. His name isn’t important,” Pell said.

“Agent Pelletier, there is a reason this communication channel is secure and encrypted, as you well know. You should not have non-identified third parties in the room with you there. I’m going to need to take a name and full details,” Operator 275 ordered.

Pell rolled his eyes at Chris. “Okay, his name is Chris Foster and he was the one who first brought this to my attention.” He explained, then he gave the operator the details she needed.

“I will need to detail this on my report,” she said. “This could look bad for you for not revealing you had a third party in the room. Keep the connection up and I’ll be back.”

The speaker fell silent as they were placed on hold.

“Whatever,” Pell sighed under his breath. “This could take a while, why don’t you try and grab some sleep on the couch.”

The combination of the alcohol and not sleeping for two days finally caught up with him and Chris was asleep as soon as he lay down.

Pell leaned back in his chair and put his feet up on the table. He loosened his tie and put his hands behind his head, which filled with thoughts of personal and professional redemption as he drifted into a fitful sleep.

He dreamed he was at a Bruins game with Allen Jenkins’ son. They were sitting in the corner directly behind the glass, and it was a great game against the hated Canadiens. Ricky Jenkins turned and asked, “When’s my dad gonna get here, Mr. Pelletier?”

Pell didn’t know what to say. He had killed the boy’s father, but for some reason Ricky didn’t know it. “I don’t know, Ricky. I’m sure he’ll be here soon.”

“I hope so,” Ricky replied. “This is a really great game. Dad never takes me to the Bruins anymore.”

The crowd roared as the B’s scored a goal. Pell turned to watch the celebrating players when, to his horror, he saw Allen Jenkins standing directly in front of him on the other side of the glass. Blood spurted and trickled down his forehead from the bullet hole Pell had put there.

Pell glanced at Ricky who looked through his father, as if he didn’t even see him.

He turned back to Allen and tried to say something but the words weren’t coming out.

“You’re lying to my boy, Pell. I’ll never get to take him to another game because of you!” Allen screamed. Pell barely heard him over the roar of the crowd.

“But, Allen. You were there. There was nothing I could do.”

“Bullshit.”

“I regret it every day.”

Allen pressed his face against the clear barrier. His pasty features compressed and turned grotesque as he slid his head back and forth, leaving trails of blood streaked along the glass.

“You wimped out. I want you to tell Ricky what you did.”

Pell shook his head spastically. “I can’t. It wasn’t my fault.”

“You’ve got to tell him the truth!” Allen screamed as he pulled his head back and slammed it into the glass, shattering it. More blood poured out of the fresh cuts on Allen’s face as he leaned in and hissed, “Tell him now.”

His breath smelt of the grave – as if he had gargled with dirt and worms and rot.

Suddenly, as if someone turned on the lights in a dark room, Ricky saw his father. He started to wail.

“He did this to me, Ricky,” Allen said, pointing to Pell.

Ricky’s howl rose to the roof of the Garden, growing louder and louder until it eclipsed all other sounds. Pell looked around frantically. Everybody else was still celebrating the goal. Just he, Allen and Ricky were not. Ricky started pounding his eight-year-old fists into Pell’s chest.

“Why did you kill my father,” he cried. “Why?”

Pell jerked awake and fell out of his chair. His forehead was covered with sweat. He got up on his knees and looked over at Chris, who was crashed out. He glanced at the communicator. They were still on-line. He went to his office, pulled out a bottle and raised it to his lips.

As the bottle came under his nose, he breathed deeply. The pungent smell of the vodka made him suddenly and violently ill. He barely got his head over the wastebasket before he vomited. His stomach heaved until he thought he was going to wretch up some internal organs.

“Jesus Christ,” he said as he leaned back in his chair, wiping his mouth with his sleeve. Four o’clock in the morning and trying to get drunk. That was the story of his life. Every day he woke up and made a commitment to himself that he would lay off. Give it up and turn his life back around. But every day, before he had even showered and dressed, he had inevitably given in to the liquid demon. He looked at the bottle, picked it up and pulled out the other bottle he kept in his desk drawer. He walked to the men’s room. Unscrewing the tops of the bottles, and before he could talk himself out of it, he poured them down the toilet.

Once he had emptied the second one, he put his hand on the flush lever and had to look away as he depressed it. The swirling water-booze mix disappearing down the drain was an apt metaphor for his life to this point. He started to cry.

DAY 3 – TUESDAY, JUNE 30

1:14 am Unorganized Township T8 R4, Aroostook County, Maine

Seth stood hidden in the bushes as Bert’s car rolled to a stop at the top of the hill that led down to the lodge. He watched Bert study the hustle and bustle of activity below. He must know that the jig is up. As Bert reached for the shift lever to put the car in reverse, he slipped out of the woods and pressed the cold steel of his rifle barrel against Bert’s temple.

“Evening, Bert,” Seth said. “I figured you’d be curious about what was going on.”

“What do you mean?”

Seth laughed. “You know what I mean. Why don’t you put your hands up where I can see them.”

Slowly he placed both of his hands on the wheel.

Seth reached in, grabbed a shotgun from his lap and removed his pistol. “Planning on doing some bird hunting?” Seth asked sarcastically.

Bert stared straight ahead, not responding.

“Now, you’re going to do exactly what I say, or I’m going to pull this trigger. Understand?”

He nodded as he glanced at Seth without turning his head.

“I want you to put the car in drive and move it down the road real slow. I’m walking, and if the end of this gun barrel leaves your head, I’m pulling the trigger, so don’t do anything rash.”

Seth pressed the barrel into his head. “Let’s go.”

They started creeping slowly down the road. In a couple minutes they were in the driveway of the lodge.

“Shut off the car and get out.”

Bert opened the door and stepped out. He gritted his teeth as he looked down at the much smaller Seth. But Seth had the rifle, the ultimate equalizer.

“So what’s going on?” Bert asked, as if he didn’t know.

Seth backed away, keeping the rifle pointed directly at his chest. “I’m tying up loose ends.”

“And I’m a loose end?” Bert said as he stepped away from the cruiser.

“One more step and you’ll be a dead end.”

He stopped. “What about all of the times I’ve covered for you? Hell, I’ve never been anything but loyal to you guys.”

“That’s true. You’ve always been loyal, there’s no denying that. But don’t make it sound like you did it because we’re buddies. You did it because you’re greedy – just like everyone else in the world. You saw your chance to make some easy money and you took it. I bet if you could sell us out, you’d do it in a heartbeat.”

“Why would I do that,” Bert asked. “This doesn’t make sense. I’m not a traitor like David. I’m part of the team. I’m not a risk for you today or tomorrow.”

“I’m afraid you are very much a liability my friend.” Seth replied. “You are the only one doing this for money and not for the Cause. Once the money stops coming in, you’d happily tell all if someone offered up the right reward. We can’t leave any lose ends or have any risks whatsoever and so it’s time Bert. Time to say goodbye.”

“So what are you going to do with me?” Bert said as his gaze flitted around the busy compound.

Seth pointed at the barn and said, “There’s going to be a little fire here in the compound. You stumbled on to it and, unfortunately, the fire got the best of you. You’ll be remembered fondly by your peers, I’m sure. Maybe they’ll even build a monument here, memorializing their fallen hero.”

A loud crash came from across the parking lot. Wendel had the lift raised too high and had slammed something into the roof of the trailer.

Taking advantage of the distraction, Bert sprang forward – lunging at Seth, who had instinctively turned his head momentarily toward Wendel. Seth pulled the trigger. The heavy slug caught Bert squarely in the chest, stopping him in his tracks.

Seth looked at him coolly. “Sorry, Bert,” he said as he jacked the lever-action and squeezed the trigger a second time. “It’s just business.”

The second bullet knocked him over – his feet anchored to the ground as his body fell like a tree, landing with a lung-emptying thud. Timber! Seth smiled.

“Hey, Wendel,” Seth called. “Take it easy with that lift, will you?”

Wendel waved an acknowledgment as he continued his work.

Jerry and Curtis came out of the main lodge and walked slowly over to Seth, who stood over Bert’s body. “Did you really have to do that?” Jerry asked.

Seth glared at him – his narrow lips pressed tightly together, squeezing the color out of them. The jaw muscles visible under his sharply angled cheekbones flexed as he clenched his teeth. He stepped toward Jerry who backed up. He hadn’t wanted to do it. He had done it for the mission – for Sarah. Bert knew too much, plain and simple, and he had to make a decision – kill him, or live nervously because he had left a major liability walking around.

“No. I just felt like killing somebody today,” Seth said. “Of course I had to do it.” He placed his hand on Bert’s chest, and ripped open his shirt. “Besides, he’s not dead. He’s wearing a bullet-proof vest.”

Jerry and Curtis leaned over and took a closer look. Sure enough, his chest moved up and down as he breathed.

Seth smiled and said, “Let’s get him into the lab before he comes to. This’ll work out perfect.”

He was very pleased with this bit of luck. Now, even if Bert’s body managed to survive the upcoming blaze, it would be smoke and fire, not a bullet, that would be the cause of death. Maybe things were finally starting to go their way.

As the three men dragged his huge, limp body into the lab, Bert slowly regained consciousness

“You could use me, Seth,” Bert pleaded. “I can help you.”

Seth leaned down close to his ear and said, “I’m sure you could, but this is all happening because I trusted one too many people. I’m sorry that it turned out like this; I really am. I actually liked you.”

Seth walked over to Jerry and handed him the rifle. “Keep an eye on him. We can’t afford to have anything else happen.”

“How did Sarah take the news about Foster?” Jerry asked.

“Not good,” he shouted over his shoulder.

As Seth walked toward Curtis and Wendel, who had finished with the large ticket items, Curtis cried out. “Jesus Christ, Wendel. Be careful with that thing.”

Seth broke into a trot and got to the two men just in time to see Wendel picking up the radio detonator that would set off the incendiaries from the ground.

“It was an accident,” Wendel said. “It slipped out of my hands.”

Seth snatched the device from him and said, “Give me that before you incinerate all of us, you idiot.”

He never hid his dislike of Wendel. If it were up to him, they would have lost this guy a long time ago, but Sarah liked him. She said that they needed grunts as well as geniuses.

“Will you guys get back to work?” Seth said. “Anybody heard from Mark? He should have been here hours ago.”

Seth placed the transmitter on the hood of the pickup. Incompetent fuckups aside, things were moving nicely, way ahead of schedule. He jogged back to the lab with Curtis and Wendel following close behind. The sun would be rising in another couple hours to what was supposed to be a beautiful day – their last in Maine. He noticed Bert studying them from his position on the floor. He would be scheming a way to get out of this predicament but with Jerry’s rifle pointed at his head, wasn’t going anywhere.

Seth walked into the lab. The room looked like a hurricane had passed through. “I don’t believe it,” Seth said as he walked around. “We’re ready to get out of here,” he glanced at his watch. “Ten hours early.”

“Great job,” he said as he went down his checklist, confirming that everything that was supposed to go had been packed into the truck.

“You’re never going to get away with it,” Bert said from the floor.

Seth ignored the comment for a minute until he finally looked over the top of his papers and said, “You’ll never know.”

Bert’s eyes narrowed and he involuntarily moved toward Seth.

“Don’t even think about it,” Jerry said as he pulled back the hammer on the rifle. All of them stared at Bert.

The lights went out. Darkness from outside poured into the room like water through a dam breach.

2:36 am FBI Field Office, Bangor, Maine

The voice kept repeating. ‘Agent Pelletier, are you there, Agent Pelletier?’ Chris rolled over and fell off the couch onto the dirty carpet. Lying on the floor in a semi-stupor, he realized that the voice came from the communicator on the conference room table.

He stood up groggily and looked for Pell.

“Agent Pelletier,” the voice said again.

“He stepped out for a minute,” Chris said. His voice cracked as he spoke.

“Who’s this?”

“I’m helping Pell, let me go get him for you.”

He walked out into the dark office space stopping in the middle of the lobby, overcome by fear. Maybe he wasn’t alone? Where was Pell? He crept down to Pell’s office – empty. He started a room-to-room search, calling Pell’s name softly. The hairs on his arms stood straight up. Finally, he came to the bathroom. A slit of light seeped out from under the door.

He tapped on the door. “Pell?”

No answer. He rapped harder and called his name louder. Still nothing. Slowly he pushed on the door. It started to open but then stopped. He stuck his head inside the opening and saw Pell on the floor amidst several empty bottles.

“You’ve got to be kidding me.”

He stepped back and rammed his body into the door, shoving Pell into the corner. He kneeled over and turned Pell’s face so that he looked directly at him.

“Pell,” Chris said. No response. He slapped his face a few times and repeated his name. Nothing. The double vodkas and whatever he had slammed down out of these other bottles had knocked him out cold. He turned on the cold water, cupped both hands under the frigid stream, letting the water overflow them and then splashed it onto Pell’s face.

This woke him up instantly. He wiped furiously at his face, as if Chris had spilled acid on him.

“What the hell are you doing, Chris?”

“That’s what I was going to say to you,” Chris replied angrily, looking down at the empty bottles. He kicked one across the tiles and it slammed into the wall.

Pell looked up at him and then down at the spinning empty bottle that was coming to rest next him. Chris said, “Are you an alcoholic?”

“Who the fuck do you…” Pell’s mouth froze on the next word. He looked longingly at Chris for a moment – his eyes pleading and watery. Then hung his head between his knees and ran his fingers through his already disheveled hair.

“Are, you, an, alcoholic,” Chris said again.

Pell let out a low, slow sigh and said, “I am.”

“Great. Fucking great,” Chris said. “We’ve got people out there trying to kill me and wanting to alter the natural order of the world, and I’m relying on a drunk, resentful, oh-poor-me-I’ve-had-a-tough-time-of-it-and-been-treated-unfairly FBI agent who can’t take it. Go ahead, Pell. Crawl back into your beloved bottle. That will solve everything like it always does, right? People like you make me sick.”

He stormed out of the tiny bathroom and back to the conference room with Pell in hot pursuit.

As he was about to enter the room, Pell caught up and spun him around. His expression was intense, fiery – the weak, pleading expression remained back on the bathroom floor. This wasn’t the look of a drunken man.

“You don’t understand, Chris,” he said. “When I poured those bottles into the toilet last night, I admitted to myself for the first time that it was all my fault. I’m responsible for where I am today. Booze had a lot to do with it, but ultimately it was me – all me. I took my last drink at the Lo Maine last night with you.”

Chris huffed. He had a lot of personal experience with alcoholics, and knew how good at lying they become, but the look on Pell’s face was different – it was look of a man with determination and hope.

“You’re not just jerking me around? This is too important. You need to be one-hundred percent.”

Tears ran down Pell’s cheeks as he professed his new-found sobriety.

After a minute of silence, Chris patted him on the back. “You can do it, Pell. It’s all in the mind.”

“I’m sure as hell going to try. It’s been too long.”

At that moment, the voice on the speakerphone said, “Hello.”

“Oh, yeah,” Chris said. “They’re on the line.”

Pell pushed by him and into the conference room.

“This is agent Pelletier,” he said. “What have you got?”

“Agent, Pelletier. This is third-shift supervisor seven. We have been trying to contact you for the last ten minutes. Where have you been? When you leave a secure line open you need to be available at all times. Particularly as I understand you have a member of the public with no security clearance there with you.”

“Sorry about that,” Pell replied.

“We’ve finished the query you requested, and I’m sorry to say that, after looking at what we came up with, I don’t think you’re going to get much out of it.”

“That’s okay. I’ll decide if it’s any good.”

“I’m sending it over now” the faceless voice replied. “Are you ready?”

“Thanks for the help,” Pell said as he pressed a button on his portable communicator.

“That’s why we’re here,” the man said. After about thirty seconds, a piece of paper started to emerge from the front of the suitcase.

“Cool,” Chris said, admiring the technology – nothing but the best for the government. I wonder what this set the taxpayer back?

After a few minutes it was done. The communicator beeped, and Pell shut it down. He leaned back in his chair, unrolling the paper as if it were a scroll. Chris walked around the table and looked over his shoulder.

At the top was a photographic quality picture. It was of a plain-looking young girl; obviously this picture was taken some time ago. Underneath were the words Sarah Burns and a brief biography. Garden-variety information. She was a real genius, full-boat to Harvard, the whole works, but other than the genius part, she could have been anybody except for the fact that she completely disappeared back in the late eighties. After finishing college at the top of her class she vanished – no tax returns, no FICA contributions, no parking tickets, nothing at all to indicate she was even alive.

“See that,” Chris said as he pointed.

Pell grunted and kept unfurling the document. The next part was about the northern Maine connection. Nothing. It actually looked like the whole state was lily-white. At the bottom of the empty section were the words: No Pertinent Data.

Pell unrolled the last of the paper, and they stared down at their final clue. This would have to be it because they had nothing up to this point. But it looked like Operator Seven, or whatever number he was, had been right – they didn’t have a lot to go on. Engamy – most likely match Ngamy. A region of Botswana, north of the Kalahari Desert.

“What’s this?” Pell said. “Africa. How the hell do you go from northern Maine to Africa? Talk about computer errors. This thing must have been programmed by morons.” He crumpled up the paper and threw it into the middle of the table, obviously wishing he hadn’t poured all of his booze down the toilet.

Chris sat down, grabbed the piece of wrinkled paper from the tabletop and smoothed it out. “There’s got to be something here,” he said as he started to read it a second time. Years ago as a developer debugging code he had learned that most complex problems required multiple passes. How many bugs had he found in routines that at first glance looked fine? Dig, dig and then dig some more. Christ, he should be the one in the goddamn FBI. He gnawed on his now non-existent thumbnail as he studied the document.

“I’m going to make some coffee,” Pell said as he stood up. “Want some?”

“That’d be great,” Chris replied. As he studied the paper he muttered, “There’s something here. We just need to see it.”

Pell was gone for a few minutes, and when he returned, he handed Chris a steaming cup of coffee that scorched his mouth with the first sip. Pell fell into a chair with a sigh, leaned back and dropped his feet on the table, shaking it enough to spill some of Chris’ coffee. He started histling a mournful Irish ballad whose title escaped Chris.

“The cops and my partner are on the way,” he said. “There’s nothing there, Chris. Sarah Burns hasn’t been seen in twenty years. She could be pushing up daisies for all we know. We’re spinning our wheels.”

He nodded, not really listening – annoyed at how quickly Pell was ready to throw in the towel. This was what they had to go on, and he, for one, didn’t want to see Sarah Burns succeed. Nobody should mess with nature like this. Thinking you’re God is one thing. Playing God is quite another.

2:54 am Unorganized Township T8 R4, Aroostook County, Maine

“What the hell?” Seth exclaimed.

Bert rolled to his right, jumped to his feet, and ran for the door. The rifle roared. In the muzzle-flash Seth saw him run outside. Jerry cranked the lever and banged off another useless round.

“Stop shooting,” Seth screamed as he ran after him. “Let’s get him.”

The bright lights of the lab had destroyed his night vision, and he couldn’t see a thing. The compound was black.

“I’ll get some flashlights and guns,” Curtis said as he ran toward the main house.

“We’re going to split up,” Seth exclaimed. “Wendel, you go toward the airstrip. Jerry, go down behind the lodge. Curtis and I’ll go up the road. Hurry up, Curtis!”

After a long minute, Curtis stumbled out of the lodge with his arms full. He handed out pistols and flashlights. The beams of light streaked through the thin ground fog searching for Bert.

“If you find him, shoot him. Don’t think about anything; just pull the trigger,” Seth said. “I want him dead and I want him now. Let’s go.”

Seth was making his way up the road when he heard the hollow boom of a shotgun – a big one. Jerry had the rifle, the rest were carrying pistols – who had a shotgun? Before that thought could fully go through Seth’s mind, he heard the screams. They came from the direction Wendel had taken.

Seth sprinted back toward the trail that led up to the field. “Come on, Curtis!” He screamed over his shoulder as he ran.

As they raced back to the trail entrance, another shot rang out. The screams were silenced.

Seth slowed to a jog and then stopped. Who could that be? He had taken Bert’s shotgun. “There’s somebody else out there.”

“Huh?” Curtis said.

“None of us has a shotgun. Somebody else is out there. Let’s go back to the lodge.”

Jerry was waiting for them.

“What happened?” He asked.

“I don’t know. Whoever it was must have got Wendel.”

“What do you want to do, Seth?” Jerry asked. “We can’t just stand here.”

As they swung their flashlights around the perimeter of the compound Curtis yelled, “The lab – someone just went into the lab. Come on.”

Jerry and Seth spun around and pointed their lights in that direction.

“Are you sure?” Seth asked.

“Yeah, I just caught a glimpse of them with my flashlight beam. Someone ran in there,” Curtis replied.

“Spread out,” Seth said. They started to move toward the dark barn. The peak of the roof was silhouetted against the sky, which glowed a deep purple with the approaching dawn.

They crept slowly toward the building. Seth was going to shoot first and ask questions later. He was in a zone – focused, calm, prepared. He took steady breaths, reining in the body’s natural desire to overreact. Martial arts had taught him that the difference between success and failure was often nothing more than the ability to control oneself. The flashlight beam danced ahead of him as they approached the lab, dipping into the seemingly impenetrable darkness inside the building.

He heard a noise behind him and spun around. Bert stood thirty feet away in the shadows, holding the radio detonator in his right hand. Curtis and Jerry’s lights landed on Bert a second after Seth’s – just in time to see Bert’s mouth open to speak but the words never got past his lips as they pumped at least a dozen well-aimed rounds into his bullet-proof-jacketless torso. The detonator dropped from his hand a second before he fell face-first into the dewy grass. Seth cringed, listening for the sound of the incendiaries going off. Nothing.

“One down,” Seth said as they turned back to the lab. They were now just a few feet from the door.

He tapped Jerry on the shoulder and pointed to the other side of the doorway. Jerry ran across to the other side. The three men stood with their backs against the wall.

“We know you’re in there,” Seth said. “Come out. We won’t hurt you.”

Silence. He looked over at Jerry who shrugged.

“This is your last chance,” Seth said.

“You’ll never get away with it,” a vaguely familiar voice said from the darkness inside.

Seth cocked his head. He recognized the voice. It was distinctive, French, old – Alby Fournier!

“Alby, that you?” Seth said. “You kill the power? What’re you doing?”

“I saw what you did to Annie and Stu,” Alby said. “I watched them and the Wild Bear burn.”

He motioned to Jerry and mouthed, “On my signal.” The rustling of paper and a piece of furniture sliding across the floor came out of the darkness.

“I didn’t want to do that, Alby. Stu screwed up. You know how it is. Sometimes we got to do what we got to do.”

“Uh-huh. And I’m doing what I got to do to. I saw something in that fire. Like nothing I never seen before. It came out of the flames, walked right out like a man. It talked to me. Told me what you’re doing. Said it was against the rules.”

“Rules? Whose rules?”

“God’s,” he replied. More sounds of furniture skittering across the floor floated through the door. “I know it all. Sarah Burns is Molech, God of the Ammonites, back to sacrifice the children just like the Old Book said and you’re her imps.”

Seth shook his head. “You willing to die for a phantom, a figment of your imagination, Alby.”

“Weren’t no phantom. I seen God and He asked me to do something for Him. Just like when Solomon turned away from the Lord and followed the evil gods like Molech, building altars so his wives could sacrifice children to their horrible God. The Lord raised up adversaries to Solomon then and now he’s asked me to be the same. The nuns at St. Lukes told me I was special and here I am doing His business. At His request, just like they said. I’m going to stop you.”

Seth glanced at his men, rolled his eyes and counted softly, “One, two, three.”

They burst into the room waving their flashlights around wildly. Curtis started shooting. The other two joined in, spraying the room with gunfire.

“Hold on!” Seth screamed. “Hold on.”

They stopped shooting and looked around the smoky room – nobody.

“What did you shoot at?” Seth asked Curtis.

“I thought I saw him over there,” Curtis said as he pointed to the far corner of the room.

Seth motioned for Curtis to go check it out as he glanced at Jerry. Curtis crept across the room, looking around the tables and boxes. Not finding anything.

“I don’t understand,” he said. “I could have sworn I saw—”

His voice was cut off by the roar of a shotgun as Alby, who had been hiding under the mess of papers and boxes left on the floor, jumped up and unloaded both barrels at point-blank range. Curtis’ head erupted in a horrific explosion of flesh and blood.

Alby dove back to the floor.

The sight of their friend’s headless body hesitating before crumpling to the floor made both of them pause.

“Don’t move any closer,” Alby called. “I got plenty of rounds here and these next ones are yours.”

Seth and Jerry glanced at each other. “Calm down now, Alby,” Seth said. “We need to talk about this. You’ve got the wrong idea. We can explain everything.” He nodded to Jerry and they both edged slowly toward Alby’s location.

“I said don’t move,” shouted Alby standing up and fumbling with a shell that refused to seat properly in the break-action gun. Too late. Seth and Jerry emptied their clips into him. Alby’s body twitched and jerked as each bullet entered it.

Seth fired his last round as Alby fell forward onto one of the lab tables and rolled face up, dropping his shotgun to the floor. Blood bubbled out of his mouth. Seth reached over and pulled out a tattered Bible that was protruding from Alby’s shirt pocket. A bullet hole perforated the worn leather cover. The backside was bloody. The holy book was bleeding – mortally wounded.

He looked down at Alby shaking his head. “Why did you have to get involved old-timer? Where’s your God now, eh? He wasn’t around to protect you this time was he?”

Seth slammed his fist onto the table “Fuck!” He yelled. “Why is everything going wrong. Come on, let’s get out of here before someone else turns up.”

Jerry was just about to say something when a popping sound disturbed them.

“What the…” Seth said. The sound had come from the fifty-five-gallon drum filled with explosives. The detonators had just gone off. In less than ten seconds the lab would become a raging inferno.

“Oh my god!” Jerry exclaimed.

“Run!” Seth screamed. As he turned for the door, his right foot stepped into the pool of blood forming around Curtis’ body and shot out from under him. Jerry leapt over a small workbench and sprinted toward the door.

The wind left Seth’s lungs as he landed on his back on the hardwood floor. He looked over at the barrel that started to erupt with flames. He only had seconds to live if he didn’t get out of here.

Struggling to his knees, he grabbed onto the table and managed to get to his feet but his lungs didn’t understand their function. The barrel started to roar. Flames no longer simply shot out of the top of the barrel; they were thrust out with a force that increased tenfold every second. If the barrel had been on its side, it would have become a rocket.

He tried to step away from the table, but had to grab it again. His legs still didn’t have any strength. The flames raced across the ceiling and the temperature in the room skyrocketed.

He staggered toward the door. The rumbling sharp snaps of the inferno filled the air. He looked to his right and saw the flames racing down the far wall and across the floor toward him. The giant flame vortex converged on him from all angles pushing a hot wind and burning debris – wanting to sweep him up. Alby’s prophetic words came back to him “You’re her imps.” Jesus Christ!

This must be what an NFL quarterback felt like when the blitz was on. Ten more feet to go. He leaned forward and with every bit of strength he could muster, sprinted for the door. The flames caught up to him just as he passed through the entrance and out into the cool air. The hair on the back of his head burst into flames as did his shirt. He kept running far enough away from the fire to be safe; then fell to the ground and started rolling wildly, trying to put out the flames on his head and clothes.

Jerry pounded at the flames with his hands and they managed to extinguish them. Seth lay there staring at the sky, breathing deeply. He rolled over and looked at the lab. It was fully engulfed. They watched in silence as the lab and the lodge burned to the ground.

It only took about forty minutes for the fires to burn themselves out. They were far too intense to last for very long and consumed both structures leaving nothing but charred foundations and mounds of ash.

The sun was now up, and Jerry inspected Seth’s burns.

“They’re not that bad,” he said after a few minutes of examination. “The worst is on the back of your head. Your clothes took the brunt of the other damage.”

“How did that happen?” Seth asked. He was in mild shock.

Jerry walked over to Bert’s lifeless body and saw the detonator in his hand. He bent down and held it up so that Seth could see.

“I guess he wasn’t quite dead.”

“Son of a bitch,” Seth said.

The crunch of stones beneath rubber drifted down the road. Jerry stuffed his pistol in the back of his pants and stood up.

As the car came into view, Seth let out a long exhalation. Now wasn’t a good time for unexpected visitors. It was only Mark.

Mark pulled up and got out. “What the hell happened here?”

“It’s a long story,” Seth replied as he struggled to get to his feet. “What took you so long?”

“Car problems. Down route eleven.”

“Well, I’m glad that you’re here,” Jerry said as he helped Seth up.

“We’ve got to get out of here,” Seth said as he supported himself against Mark’s car.

“I’ll drive the truck,” Mark said.

“We’ll take the plane,” Seth replied. “The route map is in the glove compartment, Mark. Just follow that and you should be okay.”

“When do you want me to be there?”

“Four days max, preferably three.”

“Three days, that’s impossible!” Mark exclaimed.

“I know it’s a long haul, but you’ve got to do it. There’s some pills in the dash. Take one every four hours.”

“I don’t know—”

“Look, we’re down two more guys now. If they were alive this wouldn’t be an issue but they’re not. You need to step it up.”

“Fine,” Mark replied.

Jerry and Seth got into the car and drove toward the plane.

“You ought to see a doctor.”

Seth nodded. He had no time to see a doctor. Right now, all he could think about was the call to Sarah that he was going to have to make. He wasn’t looking forward to it, not in the least bit.

7:44 am FBI field Office, Bangor, Maine

“This is agent Derek Carlisle,” Pell said.

Derek shook Chris’ hand. His grip was weak, almost feminine. His long bony fingers wrapped Chris’ hand like tentacles. When he let go, Chris involuntarily wiped his hands on his pants.

“Chris Foster,” he replied.

The rolled up report was on the table and Derek picked it up, smoothed it out on the edge of the table and then sat down in a chair to read it.

Margaret, the receptionist, walked in. “The carpenters are here. What do you want me to tell them to do?”

“Tell them to fix the door,” Pell replied.

Margaret pursed her lips and huffed before turning and stomping out of the room.

Pell called after her, “Hey, Margaret. Can you make us another pot of coffee, please?”

The receding beat of her heavy footsteps paused, and then she continued without responding.

“She loves me,” Pell said with a smirk.

“Obviously,” Chris replied. “So what are we going to do now?”

Pell joined them at the table. He ran both hands through his hair, pulling it back so that the wrinkles on his forehead smoothed and let out a long slow sigh. Chris knew that look all too well. It would get a lot worse before it got any better.

“I don’t know?” Pell finally said. “Do you see anything there, Derek?”

Derek set the piece of paper on the table and shook his head. He rolled out his long thin index finger and tapped the picture of the young Sarah Burns. “You need to find her. She’s the key.”

Pell nodded. “I’m thinking that we should head up to the County, do a little leg work and see if we can get lucky.”

“We don’t have much time,” Chris said. “David Rose told me that it was going to happen soon – real soon. He could have meant it was only days away.”

Margaret walked in with a pot of coffee and some styrofoam cups. “There’s a call for you on line one, Pell,” she said as she set the coffee on the table.

“Thanks.”

Chris poured himself a cup while Pell picked up the phone.

“Agent Pelletier,” he said, and was silent as he listened. “Really. We’ll be there in a couple of hours.”

He replaced the receiver. “That was the state police. There was a fire up in Aroostook County last night. They think a state cop died.”

Chris stirred a creamer packet into the coffee and said, “So.”

“So, his name was Bert Nadeau.”

He stopped stirring. “That’s a mighty big coincidence.”

Pell nodded. “Too big. We’re going up there right now. Derek, I want you to start an all-out search for Sarah Burns. Get every asset we have working on it. Somewhere there’s got to be more information on her. Nobody disappears for almost twenty years, not in this day and age.”

“But our guys at Langley couldn’t find anything on her,” Derek said.

“That doesn’t mean she doesn’t exist, she’s just off the grid. We need feet on the street with pictures canvasing Aroostook County. Somebody, somewhere has seen her. We just need to find them. We need some evidence that she is alive and we need it yesterday.”

Derek nodded and left the room.

“Maybe this’ll be the break we’ve been looking for,” Chris said as he took a gulp of the hot coffee.

“It could certainly be. Bring that coffee with you. I want to get going now.”

“Sure thing,” he said as he stood up and followed Pell out of the room.

As they walked past the carpenters, who had removed the door and were patching the wall, Chris remembered the report on the desk and quickly turned back to retrieve it before heading down to the car.

Pell placed a spinning blue light on the dash. They sped down the street and once they were on the highway, Pell wound the car up to one-hundred-twenty miles an hour. The suburbs of Bangor quickly turned into the endless woods for which northern Maine was famous for. At this rate, they’d be there in no time.

Chris returned to the report. Something was here, but he couldn’t quite put his finger on it. He was looking out the windshield at the jagged stone of Mt. Katahdin when it came to him.

Turning to Pell, he noticed beads of sweat lined his forehead, and his eyes looked glazed – foggy.

“Are you okay, Pell?” Chris asked.

He didn’t respond. Chris reached over and tapped his shoulder.

“What?” He said.

“I said, are you okay? You don’t look so good.”

“I’m fine,” he replied as he wiped the sweat from his brow.

“Let’s pull over. There’s a scenic lookout right up here. Pull in.”

“We can’t. We’ve got to make time, Chris.”

“If we get into an accident because you refused to take a breather, it’s certainly not going to do either of us any good.”

He turned and glared. “Fine.”

They pulled into a scenic lookout on a steep, rocky hillside overlooking a tree-lined, swampy lake that often had moose in it. The dark stone mountain was reflected in the still waters. They got out and walked over to a picnic table. Pell looked terrible. Chris worked the handle of a hand pump mounted next to the table, and soon cool spring water spurted out onto the ground.

“Splash some of this on your face.”

Pell cupped his hands under the spout and splashed the water on his face.

“This’ll only last for a week or so,” Chris said. “Drying out’s tough.”

Pell wiped his hands on his pants and said, “I hope you’re right.”

Chris didn’t have the heart to tell him that it would get much worse before it started to get better, and would most certainly take longer than a week – probably more like a month. They stared at the mountain in silence for a minute before Chris said, “I was thinking about that report that we got last night and I think I might have come up with something.”

Some color had returned to Pell’s face, his eyes clearer as he said, “What’s that?”

“The last paragraph about Ngamy. I think it makes perfect sense that they would pick a place like that.”

“What do you mean?”

“Think about it. If they were going to test this virus out, what better place to do it? It’s pure speculation, but there’s probably no organized medical infrastructure there to piece this sort of thing together. I bet there is a population there that could be one big laboratory – a human guinea pig farm.”

The thoughts hadn’t been completely organized in Chris’ mind, but as he spoke, it all came together. The more he heard himself talk, the better it sounded.

Pell stared off in the distance. A last drop of water fell from his chin and he idly traced his jaw with his thumb and forefinger. His head nodded in time to his caress.

“It sounds kind of far-fetched. I mean, it’s possible, but like you said, it’s all speculation.”

“Maybe so,” Chris replied. “It’s going to be difficult to check out without having someone in the area verify it for us. With it being overseas it’s going to be out of the FBI’s jurisdiction.”

“Not necessarily,” Pell said. “We do actually operate outside of the US. We have Legal Attachés attached to most US embassies doing training and information gathering. They get involved in investigating crimes and terror threats in the country as well. I have no idea if we have anyone in that area of Africa but we can check. Let me think about it for a bit. Let’s get going.”

They rode in silence for the next hour until Chris said, “We’re coming up on the Wild Bear lodge.”

They came around a turn in the road, and Pell slowed the car down. All that was left of the Wild Bear was a burnt-out shell of the building.

“What the…?” Pell said as he whipped the car into the driveway.

“Jesus Christ. Did they say anything about this to you on the phone this morning?” Chris asked as he stared at what was left of the building that was surrounded by yellow crime scene tape. He had been in there just two short days ago.

“Not a thing.”

“It’s for real.”

“Yeah,” Pell said quietly as he backed out of the driveway, and sped down the road.

Fifteen minutes later they turned off Route eleven and wound down some dirt roads until they came to their second fire scene of the day. A couple of state troopers’ vehicles, a game warden’s pickup and a hearse sat in the middle of the driveway.

As they stopped the car and got out, a tall state cop came over to meet them.

“Agent Pelletier?” He asked.

“Yes,” Pell said as they shook hands.

“I’m Detective Martin,” he said and turned to Chris. “And you are?”

“Chris Foster.”

“You with the FBI too?” Detective Martin asked.

“No he’s not but he’s good though. He’s with me and I can vouch for him. So what have you got here?” Pell asked.

“Like I told you this morning on the phone, it would appear that we’ve got a dead officer, Bert Nadeau. The only reason I even called you was because Peter Clemens, the commander up in Houlton, suggested that I do it.”

“Appreciate it,” Pell replied. “So what do we have? Can we look around?”

“This whole place is a crime scene now,” the detective cautioned. I can show you around but we are still waiting for the crime scene investigators and forensics team so I will need to ask you to respect that.”

They walked over to the closest burnt-out building – a charred foundation, heaps of ash and not much else.

“Is the other building in the same shape?” Pell asked studying the scene.

“Yes. There’s nothing left of it either. Must have been some sort of a chemical fire – something real hot. We’ve got a technician from the crime lab in Augusta flying up this afternoon to do some testing. Whoever set this knew how to make one hot fire.”

Pell nodded.

He walked out onto the slab foundation to where the middle of the room would have been and cleaned off a small section of concrete with his shoe. He pulled out his pistol. Aiming it at an angle away from himself and into the woods, he fired a bullet at the slab.

“What the hell are you doing?” The detective asked. “This is a crime scene. You can’t be doing this.”

Pell glanced at him briefly as he bent down and touched the concrete around where his bullet had hit. Chris walked over to him and stared at it. The bullet had created concentric rings in the cement, and Pell’s hand running over the surface caused it to crumble as if it were just packed-down sand.

“This was one hot fire all right,” Pell said as he stood up. “A couple of thousand degrees at least; definitely not an accident. How’d you guys find this?”

“A ranger in a fire tower down in Baxter State Park saw it. He said it went up around three-thirty this morning. Only burned for half an hour though. He sent someone down to investigate, and they found this mess and that state police vehicle.” He pointed to a cop car across the lawn. “And Bert Nadeau is no place to be found.”

“So you think he was in one of these buildings?” Chris asked.

The detective nodded.

“Why do you think that?” Pell asked him.

“I can’t prove it, but he was working on a double homicide that happened day before yesterday. Someone blew up the Wild Bear lodge. Killed the owner and his wife.”

Chris shot Pell a glance.

Detective Martin continued, “I think in the course of his investigation he somehow ended up down here, and then this place gets torched just like the Wild Bear and Bert is nowhere to be found.”

“You’re telling me that there was a double murder here this week, too?” Pell asked. “How do you know that the fire at the Wild Bear wasn’t an accident? What makes you think it was murder?”

The lanky Detective’s face flushed and his pitch rose up a notch. “I know it was a murder because there was residue from plastic explosives at the scene. Someone used some kick-ass explosives – C4 to be exact – to blow Annie and Stu into little itty-bitty pieces, and now we’ve most likely got another homicide, of a state trooper no less, on our hands right here.”

“It looks like you’ve been doing a thorough investigation,” Pell said. “Do you know who owned this property?”

“We’re trying to get that information now. It could take a while.”

“Why’s that?”

“This is Great Northern land. Look around, and for as far as you can see in any direction, the land is all owned by a consortium of timber companies. They let people lease plots from them, and figuring out who is leasing what can be a big pain in the ass – people sell their leases or die. Christ, I’ve even seen people lose them in card games. It’s a big mess”

“You’ve got people working on that now?” Pell asked.

The detective nodded.

As Chris listened to their conversation, he swept his foot through the fine ashes on the floor. Something ground under his shoe. He bent down and picked it up. After cleaning it off, to his disgust, he saw that it was a human tooth – charred but undeniably a tooth.

“Jesus Christ,” he muttered.

“You guys are going to get me fired. Stop messing around. This is a crime scene. What have you picked up there? Jesus, you can’t be fiddling with the evidence,” the detective said.

Chris handed the tooth to Pell who studied it before passing it to the detective. “I think we just found Bert Nadeau.”

Detective Martin stared at the tooth. He was visibly shaken as he pulled an evidence bag out of his pocket and dropped the tooth in it. After a moment of silence, he cleared his throat and said, “Why did Commander Clemens want you to get involved? What do you know about this?”

Pell’s face was hard, his expression cold as he studied the Detective. “I don’t know anything about any of these murders specifically. Bert’s name came up in another investigation. I couldn’t prove it right now, but my gut says that you’re right, the murders here and at the Wild Bear are connected. We’ve got to comb this entire area for evidence. We’re going to need more manpower. Can you get some?”

“That shouldn’t be a problem.”

“Good. We also need to know who owned these buildings. Has anyone talked to neighbors?”

The detective laughed and said, “Neighbors? There isn’t another year-round residence within ten miles of here. There’re plenty of hunting camps, but you won’t find anyone in those this time of year.”

“We need to find out who these people were. Someone around here knows who they were. They had to eat, right? Check the stores.” Pell pulled out his mobile phone, no signal. “Can you get me in touch with Commander Clemens?”

“Sure,” Detective Martin said. “I’m going to have to ask you to accompany me back up the driveway and off the crime scene while I do that.”

Pell and Chris followed him up the driveway and as he walked over to his cruiser to track down his boss Pell said, “We’ll get these guys started, and then we’re out of here. We’ve got to get down to Boston to properly escalate this.”

“Sounds good to me,” Chris replied. Seeing Pell in action was more impressive than he had expected. He exuded much more force than Chris would have thought him capable of.

“I’ve got the commander on the radio,” the detective yelled from his cruiser.

“Excellent,” Pell said. “Let’s get the wheels turning.” He jogged over to the cruiser, leaving Chris alone to ponder the scene. This was just further confirmation that the people responsible for these deaths didn’t mess around. He looked down at his hand and saw thin ash lines from the tooth crisscrossed his palm. He reflexively wiped it on his pants. A crow cawed from the lowest branch of an enormous pine tree. He looked at the large black bird. It stared back at him defiantly before letting out another chilling screech that echoed in the woods.

Pell had everything under control now. They didn’t need him anymore. After all, this was their job, not his. But he wanted to be involved. He had built TeaNet from the ground up and it had provided him with incredible professional experience and challenges, but it was no match for this sort of thing. The past few days had been the most exciting of his life. He felt alive, reborn – as if he had molted – shedding the aches, pains and drudgery of middle-age back on the banks of the St. Croix River.

He thought fleetingly about trying to reach Karen but if things kept up at this pace, he’d be home on time and he could explain it all to her then. He had been toying with the idea of making a change anyway and this conversation could open the discussion. Karen wouldn’t like it. She liked stability, security but she also enjoyed the nice things in life that came with being married to a successful entrepreneur – the country club membership, the social events, the convertible sports car.

When his accountant told him three years ago that he was a millionaire, they had celebrated, Karen more than he. Becoming a millionaire was a milestone. He had purposefully not told her about the meetings he’d had over the past few weeks. He was being courted for a buyout. They were offering eight million in cash and eight more in their company stock, which was abysmally low but would undoubtedly go up.

It was tempting. But he didn’t want to get Karen over-excited. He liked burgers on the grill and beer in a can, she liked designer handbags, sporty cars and cocktails at the most expensive restaurants with her girlfriends. He didn’t begrudge his wife her shopping and lifestyle habits, after all she was a good wife and he loved her deeply. But he would prefer to think about how to invest the money and what he really wanted to do next before talking to Karen about it.

Pell said, “We’re all set. They’re bringing in twenty men to comb the entire area. They’re also sending in a chopper to get us back down to Bangor, and we’re going to hop a plane to Boston. We’ll be there around four this afternoon.”

Chris nodded. “How’re you doing? You look better.”

“Good. This has really got me fired up. I’m starting to think David Rose really was telling the truth, and each little bit of evidence that we have been able to put together is confirming it. This could be huge.” He slapped Chris’ shoulder. “Let’s talk a little more about your Africa theory.”

10:30 am PDT Malibu, California

Camilla and Sarah sat on the terrace in the garden. Albert had prepared an amazing breakfast that they should have been savoring but neither of them was particularly hungry. Sarah’s smartphone sat in the middle of the wrought iron table, and both of them kept glancing at it. Sarah had a real bad feeling about this. Seth was almost six hours late with his call. It wasn’t like him.

They had been silent for most of the meal until Camilla said, “Why hasn’t he called yet?”

Sarah pushed the eggs Benedict to one side of her plate and put her knife and fork down. “I don’t know. The only thing I can think of is that the phones are out up there, there’s no signal or something. That wouldn’t be uncommon at all. I mean that’s the whole reason we chose that location. It’s in the middle of nowhere, no-one around for miles and limited network coverage.”

“Something went wrong, and I bet it’s all related to David Rose,” Camilla said.

Sarah was about to try to put some sort of a positive spin on it when the phone emitted a shrill chirp. Both women jumped.

“This must be him,” Sarah said as she picked up.

“Seth, is that you? Thank goodness, where have you been?” A smile spread across her face. She had been thinking the worst. At least he was alive. Across the table Camilla nodded – her face essentially emotionless except for a deep crease in her usually smooth brow.

“We ran into some problems.”

“What happened?” Sarah asked.

Camilla walked around the table, leaned down, and listened to the conversation from right next to Sarah’s head.

“Alby Fournier showed up at the lodge.”

“Alby Fournier?” Sarah muttered, running the name over in her mind. She had heard it in the past, but couldn’t associate a face with it.

“He was a guide down at the Wild Bear. It’s a long story. What’s important is we got everything out. We’re heading west right now. I’m calling you from Burlington, Vermont.”

The two women exchanged concerned glances. He was holding something back.

“What about Bert?”

“Taken care of as planned,” Seth said.

“Is everyone else okay?” Sarah asked.

Seth paused. “Curtis and Wendel are dead.”

“Dead! What happened?”

“Alby shot them. He turned up all crazy saying he knew what we were doing and talking about the bible and God and stuff. He shot Wendel and Curtis before we could get to him. ”

“And just how did this Alby character know what was going on?” Sarah demanded. Her voice was low.

“I’ve no idea. I’m not sure if he actually did know anything. He was going on about apparitions and god talking to him. He’s always been a bit crazy. I think he might have just flipped and come down shooting up the place on some fantasy crusade. It all happened so fast. I’m just happy we got out of there with what we did. If it weren’t for Alby, it would have been a textbook operation.”

“Well, it wasn’t textbook, was it? How long before you get to the new operation center?”

“Tomorrow night. We’re going straight through as much as possible. We’ll need to take a few breaks. When will you be there?”

“I’ll be waiting for you. Are you telling us everything? I need to know the truth here. Does anyone else know about this? Did anything else happen up there that you’re keeping from me?”

“No that’s it. I’ve told you everything. Is Camilla on the phone?”

“She’s listening right next to me.”

“Trust me, both of you; it could have been much worse. It could very easily have been all of us that got it back there. Then where would you be? Things are going to work out. I’ve got all of the data, and Mark has all of the stuff from the lab and lodge in the van. He’ll be there in three days.”

Sarah was furious and wanted to lash out at him but she needed him – especially now that Curtis and Wendel were both dead. Three men dead in four days – an ominous sign. At this rate they wouldn’t make it through the week.

“I’ll see you tomorrow night,” Sarah said as she hung up the phone.

Camilla walked back to her seat. She sat silently, tapping her fork against her empty plate for a minute before slamming her hands on the table, rattling the settings. Sarah said, “This doesn’t change anything. You heard him. They got what they were supposed to and are on their way. We’re just two men short now.”

“Two? And David makes three.” Camilla said. “This is a major problem.”

“Not really. Now that we’re out of Maine we don’t need as many people.”

“That may be, but what am I going to tell Phillip? It’s bad news at the worst possible time.”

Sarah nodded her head. There was no disputing that fact. He would not take the news well.

“Do we even have to tell him?” Sarah asked. “What good would it do?”

Camilla leaned back in her chair and stared at the deep blue sky. Her full lips moved gently as she muttered something to herself.

“Things have got to start going better,” Camilla said as she rose and walked toward the house, leaving Sarah standing there alone cursing Seth under her breath. How could he have screwed up like this?

4:00 pm FBI Northeast Regional Office, Boston, Massachusetts

Pell had been right on when he said they’d be in Boston by four. Their plane touched down at Logan just before three-thirty and they were standing in the impressive marble lobby of a building on State Street in downtown Boston at four o’clock on the nose.

They waited for an elevator to the twenty-eighth floor in silence. Pell vibrated with nervous energy as he pressed the already illuminated Up button again.

They were alone in the elevator as they rode up; most people were going down at this time of day, and Chris said, “Why are you so nervous?”

“I just don’t get on with Carl Moscovitz,” he replied through clenched teeth.

“Don’t worry about it. If we solve this case, you’ll be the hero.”

Pell smiled. “Always the optimist, huh?”

Chris chuckled, optimism was underrated. He could find a bright side to anything.

The elevator eased to a stop and the doors slid open. The two men stepped out into another ornate, marble-infested corridor that had a too-clean-for-a-high-traffic-area oriental rug running the length of it. They walked slowly toward the glass doors with the FBI logo.

“Sure beats your office, doesn’t it?” Chris said.

Pell stared at the door wide-eyed, as if he expected something bizarre to happen. The call to Carl Moscovitz to arrange this meeting hadn’t gone well.

Pell took a deep breath and swung open the door. The open, cubicled area behind the receptionist was a bustle of activity. Well-dressed professionals were hard at work as he said to the receptionist, “Agent Paul Pelletier. I have a meeting with Carl Moscovitz.” He glanced at his watch. “Right now.”

“He’s expecting you, Agent Pelletier,” the primped lady said as she looked at Chris. “And you are?”

“Chris Foster.”

“He’s with me,” Pell said as he flipped open his ID wallet.

“Are you an American citizen?”

“Last time I checked,” Chris replied.

“Sign your name here, please. You’ll have to initial his signature, Mr. Pelletier. Do you have ID on you please Mr. Foster?”

Chris handed over his driving license and after tapping into her computer for a minute, she handed Chris a small plastic badge and told him to wear it at all times while in the office. Then she got on the phone to inform Carl Moscovitz of their arrival. “You’ll be meeting in the west conference room. Have you been here before?”

“Sure, I used to work here. I know where I’m going,” Pell assured her.

As they walked to the meeting room, Chris noticed that some people were giving them queer looks.

“I think people are surprised to see you, Pell.”

They probably all had an opinion about what Pell had done. That sort of thing never died. People just couldn’t, or wouldn’t, forget – especially in an organization such as the Bureau.

In the conference room they found three men seated on the window side of the table, waiting. None rose as they entered the room.

“Gentlemen,” Pell said as he pulled out a chair and sat down. Chris sat next to him. “This is Chris Foster.”

Chris smiled at the men who didn’t acknowledge him, as if he were invisible.

Clad in a finely-tailored Italian suit, Carl sat between two agents. His hands were folded across his lean stomach as he tilted back in one of the expensive but incredibly comfortable Herman Miller chairs. Behind him, buildings partially blocked the view of Boston harbor but they were high enough to see the coming and going of jets at Logan. Carl introduced the two agents and said, “I must say that I was surprised to hear from you this morning, Pell. It’s been a long time.”

“Eighteen years.”

“That sounds about right,” Carl said. His pale blue eyes sparkled as he smirked, exposing fleshy gums that encased unnaturally small, pointy teeth, giving him a weasel-like appearance. “How’s Bangor, Maine?”

“It’s a great little city,” Pell said. “Look, let’s cut the bullshit. You know what happened. Whether you believe me or not doesn’t matter now. It was too long ago.”

“Al Jenkins’ kid just graduated from Yale,” Carl said.

“No one wishes that Allen Jenkins was alive today more than me.”

Carl rolled his eyes. “I’m sure.”

“Oh, come on, Carl. Your issue has always been with me, not what I did. For whatever reason, you didn’t like me the minute I walked through the door and you know it.”

“That’s bullshit. I didn’t like how you conducted yourself in the field. You were reckless and I just knew you were going to get someone killed. That was it and it turns out I was one-hundred percent right.”

“You would have done the same thing.”

“I would have never let the situation arise in the first place.”

“Give me a break. That’s a crock of shit and you know it. There was nothing I could do.”

“I would say that’s the real crock of shit.”

Pell looked at the two agents who sat stone-faced. Between their training at Quantico and being stationed in the office where it had all gone down, they had undoubtedly heard the story multiple times and from different perspectives. It would be interesting to hear their unfiltered take on the Allen Jenkins affair but that was an impossibility here and now or, probably ever, given their relationship with Carl.

Carl was about to say something when Chris interrupted, “We’re not here to discuss the past and Allen Jenkins. We’ve got a serious issue on our hands here and we need to move fast and, like it or not, if we want to stop these people we’re going to have to work together.”

The senior FBI agent finally acknowledged Chris with a cool stare. Pell kicked him under the table. Carl swiveled his chair square to Chris and put his manicured hands behind his male pattern baldness inflicted head. “Chris, was it?”

He nodded.

“Listen to me, Chris, and listen closely. This is an FBI office, and I’m the Special Agent in Charge of this office. I don’t want to hear a peep from you unless I ask you a question. I’ll debrief Agent Pelletier, and you’re going to sit there nice and quiet while I do it. Do you understand?”

Chris glared at him and then nodded. The room was silent for a moment until Carl said, “I read the IR, Pell. It sounds light. Why don’t you take it from the beginning?”

Pell shot Chris a quick glance, before starting in on their bizarre story. “It appears that a group of people have developed a virus that will change the face of the planet as we know it. I know it sounds far-fetched, but after some investigating, I’m convinced that what Chris told me is true and here’s why.”

Carl and his men sat stone-faced through the entire story. Pell would periodically have Chris either confirm or expand on something. Just after 5 pm, Pell finished.

Carl wore a bemused expression that Chris recognized as the same one Pell had when he first told him what he knew. Maybe they taught that look at Quantico – the official FBI raised eyebrow, pursed lips look – Facial Expressions 101.

“You weren’t kidding when you said that it was far-fetched,” Carl said finally. He looked at his agents who each shrugged in turn. “You’d think that we’d at least have heard some rumors or something, anything. Especially with all of the money we’ve dumped around the borders since 9/11, it’s hard to believe we haven’t picked up something. Someone would have made a mistake. They always do. Their blind ideology always makes them foolish.”

“Maybe so,” Pell replied, “But they’re a small, dedicated, tight-knit group, and one of them did break out – David Rose. That’s why we’re here now.”

“I have a theory about the Ngami thing –” Chris said.

Pell kicked him under the table, hard. “Don’t even waste their time with that.”

“But I thought—”

“No, Chris, that’s not relevant here and now,” Pell shifted in his seat uncomfortably and kicked Chris hard again.

Chris shrugged, not understanding what Pell was doing. Let him do things his way, for now.

“I’ll tell you what, Pell,” Carl said. “Let us do some of our own research tonight and call me in the morning. Unless we can dig up something more on our own about this, I’m going to tell you to drop it.”

“Drop it!” Pell screamed. “After what I just told you?”

“You just told me about some different events that may or may not be related. You don’t even know if this virus exists or not. You’re basing everything on Chris’ word and some unconnected evidence. In fact, it seems you could be trying to make the evidence you do have fit the story. My bet would be that this David Rose, for whatever reason, told you a lie.”

“Who would make up a complicated lie like this on his death bed – to a total stranger no less?” Chris asked.

Carl shook his skin-capped head and said, “I don’t know, but think about it. I’m not a scientist, but I know that developing a virus like the one you’ve just described isn’t simple. It’s a scientific undertaking that’s going to take years and money – lots of money. There are undoubtedly companies across the river in Cambridge trying to do conceptually the same thing, except they’ve had corporate backing and some of the brightest minds in the world at their disposal and still haven’t been successful. So why and how would a bunch of hillbillies in the middle of nowhere in northern Maine be able to pull this off? I need some time to look into this.”

Carl was an extremely bright man – a megalomaniac personality, but definitely very smart. He had detached from their discussion and stared off into the distance, tapping one skinny finger against his weak chin. Chris watched him mentally compile and sort through the information. Spawning ‘what ifs’, trying to make sense of it.

Carl rose and without looking directly at either of them said, “Call me in the morning.”

With that, he and his two shadows walked out of the room, leaving them alone.

“Damn,” Pell muttered.

“What’s the matter? The guy just wants to look into it himself.”

“You don’t get it. Carl’s only motivation is his career. He doesn’t care about anything but that. I’m telling you right now that when we talk to him in the morning, he’s going to tell us we’re crazy, and I should go back up to Bangor. Where I belong.”

“Maybe not.”

Pell snorted and said, “Just watch.”

“Why did you stop me telling them about my theory on Ngami?” Chris asked.

“I’ll tell you when we’re out of here,” Pell said “Where to now?”

Chris rose. “Let’s get out of here. You can stay at my house tonight. I’ll drive,” Pell wouldn’t be able to handle a Boston rush hour. Chris enjoyed Boston traffic. It was a game of nerves – whoever had the bigger balls made the best time.

Chris glanced across the seat at Pell as he drove through South Boston and into Quincy. He was quiet, his complexion ashen – most likely reminiscing about his career-limiting decision to kill Allen Jenkins.

“How you feeling?” Chris asked.

“Peachy.”

“Giving up booze is the best thing you’ve ever done for yourself.”

“It feels like it.”

“When we get to my house, I’ll have Karen make us something good for dinner – something to take the bite off.”

“We almost there?”

“It’s right around the corner.”

His house was nestled in a moderately upscale subdivision. All of the houses were on the small side and had a similar Cape Cod style. Theirs was perfect for the two of them, but if they ever had kids, it would get small real fast. As they pulled into the driveway, he saw Karen’s Volvo in the garage, and a shiny new pickup in the driveway. She would be surprised to see him.

“I wonder who’s truck that is,” he said as they climbed out and walked up the front steps.

To his surprise nobody was in the living room.

“Maybe she’s out,” Chris said. “She wasn’t expecting me until Sunday.”

“Can I get a drink of water?” Pell asked.

“Sure, the kitchen’s down that hall. Help yourself.”

Pell left the room and headed for the kitchen. Chris followed until he got to the stairs that led up to the second floor. He took the steps two at a time and went straight to their bedroom. He was getting a bad feeling in the pit of his stomach. The door was partially closed and he pushed it open.

Karen was naked, climbing out of bed. A man he had never seen before sat up in his bed. Chris screamed. Not a word, just an animalistic cry. For a split second, he froze in shock but that was rapidly replaced by a rage unlike anything he had ever felt. It tore through his body as time seemed to slow down, giving him the unwanted opportunity to study the scene in front of him. Karen’s mouth moved but he heard no sounds. The man had a large scar on his shoulder and a number of moles across his chest but he was in good shape – lean, hard, ripped. Was that why she had done it?

Chris screamed again and hurled everything off the top of the dresser. Jewelry, perfume bottles and other totems of female beautification sailed across the room, smashing into the walls and careening off the hardwood floor. Chris was completely out of control.

He tore their large, ornately framed wedding picture from the wall and hurled it towards the bed. The picture sailed across the room and crashed into the man’s skull, knocking him sideways out of the bed and onto the floor.

Karen cried out. “Stop, Chris. Stop!”

Chris started toward the man. Every muscle in his body quivering to inflict some sort of physical pain on him for being with the woman he had committed his life to.

Pell burst into the room and screamed, “Chris, stop!” But Chris tackled the guy and delivered a blow with his fist to the guy’s face.

6:52 pm FBI Headquarters, Washington, DC

Arthur Kent picked up the handset and pressed the flashing line button at the request of his demanding but incredibly efficient secretary. Carl Moscovitz’s nasally voice said, “Hi Arthur, got a minute?”

“Go ahead.” He clicked an icon on his computer screen that started a recording of the conversation. “This got anything to do with that IR out of Maine I read this morning?”

“You don’t miss anything, do you?”

Arthur nodded. What a kiss-ass. He had promoted Carl to Northeast SAC and sometimes wondered if that had been a mistake.

Carl filled him in on his meeting with Pell.

“That’s it?” Arthur said.

“Pretty much. I’ve got two of my best men on it. If this really is something we need to work it out quick, similarly if it’s all a bluster about nothing, we need to work that out too so we move on without wasting too much resource. We’re looking at all of the obvious avenues, focusing on Sarah Burns. I also called a PHD friend of mine at DyNAcorp. I ran it by him – no details, just concepts. He confirmed what you would expect. Setting up this kind of lab is a big deal. Costs a huge amount of money for equipment. But it could be located anywhere, in a basement, a garage that sort of place. The key is the brainpower. He claims there’s only a handful of people in the world capable of something like this and he knows most of them.”

“So what do you think?”

“Gut feel. There’s something here. I’m not sure if it’s what Pell claims but it could very well be.”

He scribbled notes as Carl talked. “I want twice daily updates. Morning and afternoon. Anything else comes up, you know how to get me.”

Arthur hung up the phone, finished his notes and headed for the gym downstairs. He needed to blow off some steam and think. Half an hour on the heavy bag should do the trick.

7:02 pm Quincy, Massachusetts

“Don’t do it!” Pell cried as he pulled Chris off the stunned man. Chris pushed him away and raised his fist to strike him again. But then he stopped, briefly regaining some control, he knew that this could easily escalate into something much worse than a cheating spouse. How could she do this to him?

“I can’t believe this, Karen,” he said as he jumped up, stumbled past Pell and out into the hall. He had to get out of here, out of this house.

He turned and screamed from the top of the stairs, “You better get your stuff out of the house before I get back. If you’re here tomorrow, I don’t know what I’ll do.”

“Wait. Please,” she cried after him.

“Come on, Pell,” Chris said as he leapt down the stairs and ran out to the car.

As soon as Pell was in the car, Chris peeled out of the driveway and down the street. For whatever reason, he drove to his office. Once he had parked in front of the building, he slammed his fist into the steering wheel and slumped over it, burying his head in his arms. “Why?” He moaned. “Why has she done this? Who is that guy? How could she?” He broke down and cried, jerking with each sob. One fateful moment had changed his life forever. His seven-year marriage was over. He could never reconcile what he had walked in on. He knew himself too well to entertain that thought.

Most of his employees were virtual and the office was dark. Pell hadn’t spoken since they left Chris’ house. He passively watched Chris let it all out, he knew better than to comment at this point. After a few minutes Chris began to calm down and regain some control.

“This is my office,” he explained, furiously wiping the tears from his face. He was still in shock. “We can spend the night here.”

Chris pointed out the kitchen area and the bathrooms as they walked through the building and then guided him to an office with a comfy couch. “You can bed down here. I need to be on my own for a bit. I need to think.” As Chris left Pell and headed up the hallway he looked back. “Thanks, Pell,” he said quietly.

If not for Pell, he could easily have been a double-murderer right now. It was a long night. He went to his office and finally dozed off sometime after 4 am.

When he woke up, he was sitting in his chair with his head tilted to one side. After a few painful minutes of swiveling his head around, he was able to get rid of the stiffness that had set in as he had slept.

Looking at his computer screen, he remembered why he was sleeping in his office. It had the feeling of a bad dream, but it had happened – his wife had been in bed with someone else.

He shook his head in disbelief as he hauled his stiff, cramped body out into the kitchen area. It was a little before six in the morning. He poured himself a cup of cold, twelve-hour-old coffee and dropped down into a chair.

What the hell would he do now? They had been happy. How could she do something like this? It wasn’t as though he hadn’t had opportunities to cheat during their marriage. Temptation had knocked many times but his love for Karen had kept him in line. Was it that simple – that romantic? Was it his love for Karen? Or was it something else? A deep-seeded need for consistent connection fostered by the unbearable loss of everyone he truly cared about as a child in that gas explosion– a psychological weakness that had blinded him to the realities of the world, of human relationships in particular? No, it wasn’t his fault! He wouldn’t let himself fall into that self-blaming induced malaise. He had been there once before and it had taken him a long time to get out.

She had defiled the sanctity of their marriage. In his bed, under his roof. What a slap in the face.

“Good morning,” Pell crackled walking into the kitchen

Chris nodded. He most certainly couldn’t say that it was.

They were quiet while Pell stretched. “How you feeling today, man?” He asked sympathetically.

“I don’t know,” Chris shook his head. “I still can’t quite believe it. I don’t know what I’m going to do. I’m going to have to really think this through.”

“Of course,” Pell said. “Meanwhile I’m going to call Carl and then I’m thinking to go over to Harvard and see what we can find out about Sarah Burns. Maybe we can talk to some of her professors or advisors. You never know, maybe there’s something there. You want to come with me?”

“I’m gonna pass,” Chris said. He was surprised to hear how sad his own voice sounded. “I’ve got to get this other stuff ironed out. Good luck though, Pell. I hope you do track her down.”

“I’m the FBI guy, right?”

“It’s so ironic. Almost unbelievable,” Chris said.

“What’s that?”

“If I hadn’t seen that plane go down I never would have met you, Pell. And most likely I would not have seen my wife in bed with another man. I would have come home to her relaxed, naive and horny. Never knowing or suspecting anything. Would I have been better off not knowing?”

“Maybe it was your destiny for you to see the plane go down? To hear David’s story”

“Destiny sucks.”

“I’m going to go now,” Pell said after an awkward moment. “I’m really sorry about what happened last night.”

“Don’t be. It’s not your fault. I’m sure that someday I’ll be glad it happened.”

“Maybe so. Is there someplace I can grab some breakfast around here? I’m starving. We haven’t eaten since we left Bangor yesterday afternoon. You should eat too – keep your energy up Chris,” Pell pointed out.

Chris shook his head. He was in no mood for eating. He gave Pell directions to a local diner, and handed him the keys to the rental car.

“Good luck, Pell.”

“Thanks for everything. I’ll be in touch,” he said as they shook hands.

Chris went back into his office and sat down. What was he going to do now? His staff would be showing up for work in a couple of hours, and he had little or no desire to see any of them.

He decided to get on with his life, starting immediately. He had to persevere.

DAY 4 – WEDNESDAY, JULY 1

7:53 am Quincy, Massachusetts

Pell dropped the phone on the seat next to him. The answer had been exactly as he predicted.

“We’ll do some more poking around but from what I’ve seen so far, there’s nothing here. I don’t know exactly what you stumbled on but it’s not worth a lot of man-time right now. We’ve got other big cases going on that are for real. Go back up to Bangor,” Carl had said. Then the bastard had hung up without giving him a chance to argue.

Carl Moscovitz was either a complete fool to drop this case, or he had realized Pell was onto something big and would be going after every lead possible, just without Pell. If it were the latter and it proved out, Pell would be willing to bet that if his name were even mentioned, it would only be in passing. Carl was very good at self-promotion but, with all that was at stake, could he be stupid enough to simply drop it?

Pell climbed back into his car and looked at the clock in the dash. It was a little before 8. He had a hunch his next appointment might throw some light onto the situation. If Carl found out that he was actively working the case, he would have him fired but that was better than languishing in an unsatisfying job, always saying ‘what if’ or ‘if I had only’ for the rest of his life. Sometimes moving on was hard to do; change was scary, but stagnation, or in his case slow decay, had proven much worse.

He navigated the early morning traffic crush as he drove to Cambridge. He felt terrible physically, the alcohol withdrawal was affecting him badly. Yet, somehow everything was clearer, brighter. The skyline of the city was crisp and defined. The color of the sky was a vibrant blue he hadn’t seen, or appreciated, in years. Even the sound of the traffic around him had a musical quality. He had a positivity this morning that he hadn’t felt in years.

He left the administrative building with a skip in his step. It never ceased to amaze him at how helpful people wanted to be when he displayed his FBI credentials and informed people quietly that they had been personally selected to help on a very important case that only a select few people had details of.

In just under an hour, he had managed to get copies of some of Sarah Burns’ undergraduate transcripts and, most importantly, he had found that she had a mentor when she was in school, Maurice Andleman. As the head of the biology department back then, and an advisor to the elite students, he had taken Sarah under his wing and nurtured her. In a note in her file, he had written that she could be the smartest student he had ever had the pleasure of teaching, but more importantly, at least to him, was that she had vision. She could see what biotechnology could do, where it could go – beyond the obvious.

Maurice had retired twelve years ago and moved to New Hampshire. Harvard had an address but no phone number, and a quick call to information confirmed that the guy had no phone. Pell climbed into his car for the drive up to New Hampshire to interview him. Maurice probably hadn’t heard from Sarah since she left school, but this was the strongest lead he had.

He sat for a moment to clear his head. It had been over thirty-six hours since his last drink at the Lo Maine. His body felt tired and achy, his head hurt and his hands trembled. He could really do with a drink right now, just to ease his way up to New Hampshire. But no, he had made a commitment to himself and he wasn’t going to fall off the wagon after just thirty-six hours.

After a moment, he pulled himself together and reached forward to adjust his mirror. As he did, he thought he saw one of Carl’s men, Steve Strange, getting out of a car parked on the other side of the college garage.

He slouched down in his seat. Indeed, it was Agent Strange, and Pell watched him walk into the administrative building entrance. He walked with the cocky confidence that comes with being an up and coming Bureau man. Pell had seen young guys like Strange many times over the years. They had all the right stuff – athletic, smart, educated and ambitious. But most of them just didn’t have what it really took to excel in this job. That certain something that could never be taught – call it street smarts, call it morally malleable, call it whatever… Pell had it, Jenkins had it, not many others did.

“Damn,” Pell muttered. Why the hell would one of Carl’s men be visiting the University? Surely the only reason could be that Carl was after information on Sarah Burns. Which meant that son of a bitch must be working on the case after all.

He needed time to get up to New Hampshire, find Maurice Andleman, and talk to him before Carl and his cronies turned up. He climbed out of his car and walked over to Agent Strange’s car. Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out his Leatherman tool and opened the pliers. Taking a quick look around the parking lot, he quickly snipped off the valve stems on each tire. Air whistled as it rushed out, and the car settled slowly down onto its rims.

He felt much better as he drove away. His head had cleared, he felt in control and he was following a hunch. He had that buzz in his stomach like the old days when things were going well and everything was starting to come together. An hour and a half later he took the highway exit in New Hampshire and drove along a winding rural road. The natural beauty of the soaring, tree covered hills, the blue sky and the sparkling crystal lakes went unappreciated as he churned over the questions he had for Maurice Andleman. After about fifteen more minutes, he came to the lake that Maurice had retired to, Lake Horace. A dirt road led down toward the glistening, mile-long lake. At a junction there was a pole covered with small wooden arrow shaped signs that pointed in different directions down three merging roads. On each sign was the name of a family. Following the arrow for Andleman, Pell maneuvered the car carefully down a winding, deeply rutted, lakeside road. A mixture of shacks, mobile homes and beautiful houses that any normal man would be happy to have as a year round residence, not just a summer cottage, lined the dirt road.

As the road narrowed to the width of one car, he came to Maurice Andleman’s. He would have expected a retired Harvard department head to have one of the mansions, but as he pulled into the driveway, he was surprised to see a single-story, somewhat run-down building. It looked like any camp back up in Maine.

He parked on the side and got out, noticing the empty driveway – not a good sign. A thick carpet of brown pine needles covered the ground to the front of the camp and up onto the stairs leading into a screened-in porch.

As he knocked on the door, it swung open. “Hello, anyone home?” He called out. “Mr. Andleman, may I speak with you?”

No response. He walked into the screen porch that had a distinct tilt toward the lake and up the slight grade to the weathered wood door that led in to the camp. A shade blocked the window. He knocked, waited, and when he got no response, knocked again. Still nothing. He reached down and tried the doorknob. This one was locked.

“Damn,” he muttered as he turned around. What to do now? If Andleman wasn’t at the camp, he might be gone for an hour or two or for days. He checked his watch. He had some time. Even if they decided to follow this lead, Carl’s men were probably still a few hours away. There was no doubt they would have found out that he had been to Harvard too. He decided to sit it out to see if the retiree turned up.

A table on one side of the porch had a cribbage board on it. The pegs were in the middle of the game. A deck of cards with a large metal bolt on top of it lay next to the board. He sat down and grabbed the cards, and as he started to play solitaire, his cell phone buzzed with an incoming SMS message. He looked at the sender “Carl Moscovitz” and read the brief message ‘what the hell do you think you’re doing?’ That was about what he had expected. He deleted the message and then looked up as the whine of a motorboat drifted across the water. A water-skier was being pulled at a ferocious speed around the relatively small lake. The sun reflected off the water in dizzying flashes as if uncountable diamonds bobbed on the surface. What a picture-perfect spot this was – a vacationer’s paradise, a great place to spend some time barefoot with the family for a few weeks in the summer – if he actually had a family, that is.

He returned to the cards and after a few minutes, was startled by a man’s voice.

“Can I help you?”

An elderly man with a tattered Red Sox hat and goggle-like green sunglasses stared at him from the side of the porch.

“Mr. Andleman?” Pell asked.

The man didn’t answer.

“I’m agent Paul Pelletier, with the FBI. Are you Maurice Andleman?”

The man nodded slowly and said, “Yes.”

“I’m sorry for making myself at home here, sir. I was waiting for you and saw the table… This is a beautiful spot. I can see why you would pick this place to retire.”

The old man walked around to the door and up the stairs along with an equally as aged Golden Retriever.

“Do you have some ID?”

Pell fished out his ID as the dog rammed his nose into his crotch and sniffed up and down his legs.

Maurice studied the identification before handing it back.

“When I got here and saw your car wasn’t around, I figured that I’d have to wait for a while,” Pell said apologetically.

Maurice took off his sun-glasses, exposing striking gray eyes and said, “It’s okay, Paul Pelletier. I don’t have a car, and I wasn’t expecting company today. Particularly the FBI.”

Pell smiled. People hated surprise visits by the FBI.

“He’s an old boy. What’s his name?” He asked as he leaned down and patted the dog.

“That’s Louie,” Maurice replied. “He’s almost fourteen. He’s old like me; isn’t that right, Louie, huh?” Maurice rubbed the dog’s back.

“You don’t have a car?”

“No, when I retired, I decided that I’d had enough of all that. I spent too much time in cars, on the phone, and watching TV in my life – too much time that was gone and would never be back. Everything I need is within walking distance from here.”

“You live alone?”

“My wife, Tracy, died five years ago, and since then, it’s just been Louie and myself.”

“I’m sorry about your wife.”

The old man grimaced and nodded as he unlocked the door that led into the house. “Come in,” he said and walked inside. Maurice went to the sink and poured himself a glass of water. “Do you want some?”

“No thanks,” Pell replied. The inside of the camp smelt of burnt wood and appeared to have only two rooms. They stood in the larger one which was a kitchen and family room combination. The other looked like a bedroom. The massive stone fireplace that consumed one wall was by far the most noticeable feature.

“That’s quite a fireplace,” Pell said.

“Yep,” Maurice nodded. Louie noisily lapped from his water dish as Maurice said, “So what can I do for you, Agent Pelletier?”

“You can call me Pell for starters.”

“Okay, Pell. What can I do for you?”

“Well, it’s a long story that I won’t bore you with, and I’m not at liberty to discuss it in detail anyway, but I’m looking for a former student of yours. It’s urgent that I find her,” Pell said. When Maurice didn’t offer any response, he continued, “Her name’s Sarah Burns. Do you remember her?”

Maurice’s expression didn’t change. Either he had a hell of a poker face or he wasn’t surprised to hear that she was the one he sought.

“Of course I remember her,” Maurice replied. “I’m sure you went to the University and they pointed you in my direction. That’s why you’re here, isn’t it?”

Pell chuckled – old but still sharp. “It is. I guess that it was kind of a long shot, but I wanted to know if you had heard from her recently.”

Maurice shook his grey head. “I haven’t talked to her in –” He paused briefly, silently moving his lips, “Sixteen or seventeen years.”

“So you don’t know where she is now?”

Maurice shook his head again, “Why are you looking for her? What did she do?”

Pell took a deep breath as he sat down in an old kitchen chair with rusty metal legs.

“You remember her major? Let’s just say that it’s rumored she’s using her skills in a not-so-positive way. I haven’t been able to prove anything yet – because I can’t find her. It’s like she dropped off the face of the planet eighteen years ago.”

“What do you think she’s done?”

“I can’t say. It’s all speculation at this point. Can you tell me a little about her?”

Maurice refilled his water glass and sat down at the table with Pell. “I’m not going to tell you anything until you tell me what you think she’s done. You say there’s rumor about something and you have no proof. Until I know what it is you are speculating here, I’m not about to start talking to you about a student of mine. So you’re either going to tell me everything, or you’re going to leave. It’s your choice. Frankly, I could care less either way.”

“I could get a judge to compel you to talk,” Pell said. “Wouldn’t take more than a few hours.”

“Go for it.”

Pell leaned back in his chair. Maurice was a tough old bastard but Pell had nothing to lose.

“I’m based in the Bangor, Maine office. A couple of days ago, a guy came into the office and told me a story.” He proceeded to tell Maurice everything he knew.

When done, he stood up and helped himself to a glass of water. Maurice sat quietly spinning the Red Sox cap slowly on his right index finger. Pell came back to the table, sat down and waited for him to respond.

“So she finally did it,” Maurice said as he flicked the cap onto the table.

“Did what?”

“Sarah was special. We’d get a student like her every few years.” He paused, as if to clearly frame his thoughts. “By her junior year all we could do was help her learn to focus. She was already into the realm of the theoretical, the unknown – a truly brilliant girl.”

“So you’re telling me that Sarah Burns could actually be creating a virus and it would be possible to do something like this in the woods of northern Maine.”

“It’s not where you are with bioscience. It’s who you are.”

“Do you think she’d actually do this?”

“Absolutely.”

8:04 am PDT Malibu California

When Sarah awoke, she went out onto the balcony off her bedroom. The sun was rising to the east behind the house. She was an east coast girl so it seemed unnatural, the sun should rise, not set over the ocean. The horizon was a deep purple blue haze making it difficult to distinguish the water from the sky. The crisp air lacked the bite of northern Maine. It was softer more laid back. California air. She placed her hands on the cool, dewy iron railing. Goose flesh crept up her arms and down her body.

After a few minutes, she went back inside, put on a robe and walked downstairs. As she entered the dining room, the smell of freshly ground coffee greeted her. The table had been set with croissants, fruit and a pitcher of freshly squeezed juice. No one else was in the room, and she assumed that Camilla was not up yet.

She sat down and poured herself a glass of juice. The morning’s LA Times lay on the table, and she skimmed it. What a life Camilla led – staff on hand to cook, to drive her around, to organize her days, to wait on her and attend to her every need.

A large cut glass vase filled with brilliantly red oriental poppies, roses and tulips stood in the middle of the table and filled the room with a sweet, sensual aroma. She was anxious to see Seth tonight. She was still annoyed about all of the recent near disasters, but that couldn’t fully suppress her excitement about the future, near and far.

Albert came into the room quietly and she jumped as he said, “Good morning, Ms. Burns.”

“Good morning, Albert.”

“I didn’t expect you up this early.”

“I’m still on East Coast time,” she replied. “This is a wonderful breakfast you’ve laid out here.”

“Camilla requested that I prepare it for you.”

“Is she up?”

“Yes, but she had an early appointment. She told me to tell you that she’d be back around ten, and then you two can get ready to leave.”

“Excellent. It’s awfully early for a meeting, isn’t it?”

“Sometimes it’s easier to get people’s attention first thing in the morning.”

“Do you want to join me?” Sarah asked. She wanted to know exactly how much he knew about her and Gen96.

“I would love to, but I have to prepare Camilla’s bags for your trip later today,” he replied as he stirred two heaping teaspoons of brown sugar into his coffee. “She says she’ll be gone for a couple of weeks. Does that sound right to you?”

She nodded. A phone started ringing from the kitchen. “Excuse me, Ms. Burns, that might be Camilla. I should go and get that.” Albert excused himself and disappeared in the direction of the kitchen. A few moments later he was back.

“That was Camilla. She told me to tell you that she’ll be back here later than expected, but it will be before six tonight and you will both be leaving this evening.”

“Will you be joining us on the trip, Albert?” Sarah enquired.

“Not in the plane. I’ll be driving up later on tonight.”

He started to leave and Sarah said, “Albert?”

He paused and without looking at her replied, “Yes?”

“Do you know who I am?”

He turned. His brown eyes bore into her from the middle of his bald, round head. Since she had met him yesterday, his expressions always seemed forced, as if he were putting on a mask for each situation.

His gaze flickered under her well-practiced icy analytic glare as he replied, “Yes, Ms. Burns. I know you are a very good friend of Camilla’s from back at college.” The muscles on the side of his smooth scalp twitched.

Sarah smiled and turned back to her breakfast thoughtfully. This was not good. He knew everything.

11:28 am Lake Horace, New Hampshire

Maurice ran his hands over his thinning, grey, cap-tussled hair and let out a sigh as he shook his head gently. “Let me tell you about Sarah. As you know, I was a mentor to her. She was like my daughter until her senior year. Then she became somewhat distracted – started to socialize with a different group of people and lost her focus.”

“Do you know how many infants die every year globally from malnutrition and mostly preventable diseases like malaria, tuberculosis and pneumococcal diseases like meningitis, pneumonia and sepsis, Pell?”

Pell shook his head.

“Eight million,” Maurice continued. “Sarah became obsessed with that fact. These are preventable deaths. We’ve got the medication and vaccines but access to healthcare is the real issue. Over 1 billion people have no access to healthcare. None whatsoever!”

Maurice paused for a long moment. “That’s a billion, with a capital B. It’s staggering and in developing countries, even half of those children who receive medical treatment will die anyway, if you can believe that. We’re living on two different planets.”

“Her thesis was focused on the potential for manipulating viruses and bacteria at the genetic level, potentially eradicating them all together or at least fundamentally altering their abilities and she developed a marvelous computer simulation on the impact of removing cholera, malaria, dysentery and other scourges of the developing world from the face of the earth. The results were not what she or I expected. They were shocking and I think it was that moment, after we validated her logic and assumptions, that I lost her.”

“What kind of results?” Pell asked.

Maurice stared through the far wall for a moment before saying, “Short-term benefits but mid-term disaster. There’d be no way to feed the tens of millions of people normally culled by disease – the end-result was rampant starvation, squalor, social chaos – a downward spiral that always ended in disaster.”

“Jesus,” Pell muttered as a shudder rolled down his back. “You said that was when you lost her? What happened?”

“She developed a friendship at college around that same time. I was encouraging Sarah to finish her thesis and publish. It was groundbreaking research and was important that she brought this into the public arena. But she started to become more distant and was very reluctant to finish or publish her thesis. She spent a lot of time with her new friend and less time on her work.”

“Who was this friend? Male or female? Do you remember a name?” Pell asked.

“Of course I remember her name. It was Camilla Haywood.”

“Camilla Haywood, the actress?”

“Yes, that’s her,” Maurice replied. “She and Sarah became very close. It was an odd friendship since Camilla was not a natural academic. In fact, she wasn’t an academic at all. She got into Harvard through connections, though I never could work out why she would want to be there. After all, she went on to become a famous actress, hardly a typical Harvard career path.”

“It was frustrating for me because I wanted Sarah to focus on our work. We, or really she, was formulating radical ideas and approaches to DNA – how to slice it and dice it, to use it as raw building blocks for creating new forms of life. If she has successfully taken it from theory to practice, it’s Nobel Prize material but, if she’s developed something that is not being ratified and jointly developed with the right scientific bodies, peer reviews and oversight, it could be our worst nightmare.”

“Jesus Christ,” Pell muttered. Camilla Haywood was Hollywood royalty.

Maurice said, “I loved Sarah like one of my own, but if she’s doing what you say, you must find her. I’ve always feared what is possible with biotechnology. Did you ever think about it?”

“Of course, I just thought it would come from outside the country – from the middle-east or someplace like that. And, frankly, I never considered that it wouldn’t outright kill people either. This seems almost more sinister.”

“I might have educated a monster.” Maurice covered his wrinkled face with his hands. “Sarah’s trying to avenge nature. The way she sees it, man is the problem. Back then, I thought it was typical college-campus-induced, save the world ideology. You know how blind, how naïve, college kids can be. Their interpretation of reality usually changes radically once they get into the real world. But apparently she never outgrew it. I probably gave her what she needed to accomplish her nefarious task. At the very minimum, I pointed her in the right direction.”

“I wouldn’t worry about that Mr. Andleman. She would have done it with or without you. All I know is that I’ve got to find her. Can you remember anything else, anything at all?”

Maurice slowly shook his head. “Nothing that I can think of.”

Pell sensed that the old man was holding something back but he didn’t have the time to sit and chat all day – maybe he was just upset that one of his wunderkinds was on a quest to change the world. He stood and handed Maurice his business card. “If you remember anything else, give me a call. That’s my mobile number. Use it day or night.”

“Good luck, Pell,” Maurice said.

“One more thing, Mr. Andleman. I think someone is following me. I lost them down in Boston this morning, and I don’t think that they tailed me up here, but if anyone you don’t know shows up here, be real cautious.”

Maurice grimaced.

Pell backed out of the driveway. The retired educator peered at him through the back window of the camp. He hadn’t meant to scare the old guy, but he needed time to follow up on what Maurice had told him. And if all it took was making an old man a little more cautious of strangers, so be it. Carl’s agents would come here. This was the obvious place to start.

He set out on the drive back to Boston. All he wanted to do, besides have a drink, was make a few calls. Camilla Haywood was probably going to be a dead end but she was the next logical step. How many of his friends from U Mass had he seen in the last five, or even ten, years? People change – most people at least. The odds of Camilla and Sarah still being chummy were slim to none.

He looked in the rear-view mirror and saw a police cruiser on his tail with his blues on. He glanced down at the speedometer. Busted. The cruiser tailed him onto the shoulder of the road.

Pell sat patiently, waiting for the cop to come up and scribble out a ticket. He debated whether or not to show his FBI credentials and say that he was on a case, when he heard the trooper’s voice coming over the external speaker mounted on the roof of his cruiser.

“Put your hands in the air,” the voice said. What the hell? He had just been speeding.

The voice repeated the command, and Pell obliged. He watched in the mirror as the cop got out of his cruiser, his pistol drawn. This wasn’t right.

“Keep your hands where I can see them,” the cop said as he dropped the microphone and stepped toward the car.

The cop kept his pistol on Pell as he opened the car door with his left hand. Then he backed off. “Get out of the car – real slow.”

“What seems to be the problem, officer?” Pell asked. He knew damn well what the problem was. Carl Moscovitz surely had something to do with it.

He climbed out of the car. His arms were still over his head as the cop told him to turn around.

“Is this how you treat speeders?”

“Shut up,” the officer said. “There was an all-points-bulletin issued for your arrest twenty minutes ago. I don’t know what you did, but I’m glad that you’re here. It makes the day more interesting. Put your hands on the car.”

He started to drop his hands. This was it. His career at the FBI, the only real job he ever had, was about to end. Thrown out and unemployed, probably in jail – just where he wanted to be at 42 years old. His face flushed with anger. But if he were to be completely honest, he had known this would happen. As soon as he went to Harvard this morning he had set his professional demise in motion.

The cop patted him down and found his pistol in its shoulder holster. “What have we got here,” he said as he pulled it out.

“I’m an FBI agent,” Pell said. “There must be some mistake. My ID is in my coat pocket.”

The trooper pulled out Pell’s ID and examined it. “You must have done something real wrong,” he said. “They want you bad.”

Pell shook his head. “It’s got to be a mistake. I was up here working a case.”

“I’m sure it’s a mistake, Agent Pelletier; these sort of things always are, but I’ll let you all work it out on your own. All I know is that I’m bringing you in.”

He grabbed Pell’s right hand, twisted it behind his back, and snapped on a handcuff. As he started to pull Pell’s left hand behind his back, Pell spun around and put some of his extensive training to work. His left hand slapped the trooper’s gun so that it pointed harmlessly away, and then he drove his clenched fist into the cop’s throat, catching him squarely on the Adam’s apple.

The blow instantly immobilized the stunned officer. Pell grabbed his arm and spun around so that the trooper was behind him, and in one fluid motion flipped him violently over his back onto the pavement – a classic defensive move designed to get the opponent onto the ground, one he had practiced countless times. The grunting thud of the trooper hitting the ground was followed by the muffled sound of a gunshot.

The trooper’s face twisted in shock and pain. His eyes widened and his mouth opened, emitting a high-pitched screech. He had landed with his pistol behind his back and it had fired.

“Jesus Christ!” Pell exclaimed as he bent down next to the cop. “You’re going to be all right, buddy. I’ll call for help.”

He ran to the trooper’s car, picked up the radio and pressed the talk button. “A cops been shot,” he said into the transmitter and released the button. He had no time to decide what to say. Being involved in the shooting of a police officer, accidental or not, was not a good thing.

“Who’s this?” A voice squawked out of the radio.

“A cops been shot,” he repeated.

Silence. And then, “Identify yourself. This is a police frequency.”

“What does it matter who I am?” Pell screamed into the mic. “I’m telling you that there’s a cop lying in the middle of Route 43 with a bullet in his back. I’m using his radio to talk to you.”

Again silence. They would be dispatching all available units to this location, and they were also probably checking to see if anyone was patrolling out here.

Sure enough, the next thing out of the speaker was, “Possible officer down. Route 43. All units respond.” The broadcast message went out on a frequency that all vehicles could hear.

“Damn,” Pell muttered. Every local and state cop within twenty miles was about to converge on this piece of highway.

He glanced out the front window as the trooper fired. The bullet slammed through the windshield, catching him squarely in the right chest. The ensuing pain tore up and down his body. It was unlike anything he had ever experienced.

He screamed, half in pain and half at himself for not disarming the cop. His thumb involuntarily broadcast his howl to the police dispatcher and removed any thoughts of a hoax from that man’s mind.

The radio dropped from his hand as the trooper fired another shot. This one narrowly missed his head as it punched another hole through the windshield. He saw the shotgun in its cradle in the passenger seat and started to reach for it. He couldn’t do it – couldn’t take another lawman’s life again – no way.

The dispatcher’s voice came over the radio trying to get Pell to respond, as he opened the passenger door, and slid out onto the ground. Looking from under the cruiser, he could see that the cop still sat up, shakily, but up. On an adrenaline high, Pell made a run for his car. His chest was on fire. What had he done! If he didn’t get out of here now, he would be spending the rest of his life in a little jail cell.

A flurry of poorly aimed, convulsive shots chased him as he staggered to the car and climbed in, started it up, and sped away. In his rearview mirror he could see the cop trying to get another clip into his gun as he fell down onto the road on his back.

Prayer wasn’t something he did often but he mouthed a simple one several times, “Please don’t let him die.”

He easily doubled the posted speed limit as he sped along. He had to get off this road. Looking down at his blood-covered chest for the first time, he also knew that he had to stop the bleeding. His head reeled from the pain and his chest felt as though a pile of bricks were stacked on it. Was it just from the wound or had the bullet hit a lung. If it were the latter, Pell knew that without immediate medical attention, he wouldn’t have a lot of time.

12:57 pm Quincy, Massachusetts

Chris slipped quietly into his house. The shades were drawn. The silence was absolute.

“Hello?” He said softly.

No answer. He looped through the four rooms before climbing the stairs to the master bedroom. The door was ajar, and he had a horrific flashback to what had been going on last night. The room was a mess. But most importantly, Karen wasn’t there. He should have been happy with this, but as he stared at the clothes strewn on the floor and bed, he wasn’t. She had made one hell of a mess while she packed. He dropped down onto the edge of the bed and started to cry. He couldn’t imagine the pain going away – not anytime soon at least.

The wedding picture that he had smashed over her lover’s head lay on the floor in its shattered, bloody frame. He picked it up and looked at the happy couple standing in front of a fireplace at their reception. They were so young; their innocence and excitement for the future flowed from within them.

He snapped the frame in half and tossed it across the room.

If he could have turned back time, he would have done it. Just turn it back enough so that he wouldn’t have gotten home while his wife was messing around – play the happy fool.

He went downstairs, grabbed a bottle of Irish whiskey and a glass from the dry sink, and went into the living room.

The next few hours he flip-flopped from rage to grief only allowing himself a few drinks. He didn’t need to slip into some alcohol-induced fit and end up doing something he regretted.

His alcohol-mellowed mind shifted to Pell and from there to Sarah Burns. If she really existed, she was fascinating. It sounded like something out of a Hollywood script. He had hardly slept in over three days now and even though his mind was racing, he dozed.

When he awoke, the room was dark. He must have slept through the entire afternoon. As he pulled himself out of the chair, he heard a muffled cough.

He sat frozen in terror. Someone was in his house. He stared into the darkness, trying to see through it, but it was pointless – dark shadows were everywhere. Slowly he rose and crept toward the front hallway. Inching by the fireplace, he picked up the poker, took a deep breath and prepared to search his house. Was it the same people from the Wild Bear?

His heart tried to punch a hole through his rib cage as he walked toward the front door. He strained to hear something again, but all he got was an ominously pervasive silence. Then he saw it. A motionless, dark form on the floor just inside the door. What should he do?

Silently he tiptoed to the light switch. Holding the poker at the ready, he flicked on the light.

5:45 pm PDT Malibu California

Sarah was surprised when Camilla returned with Mike Kemper. On the patio, even at this late hour of the day, the southern California sun soothed her body. She was wearing shorts and a loose cotton shirt and was enjoying the rare opportunity to relax on a sun lounger and forget the stress of the last few months for a few moments.

She blushed as Camilla said, “Sorry to disturb you, Sarah. Are you enjoying the sun?”

“It’s a big change from Maine,” Sarah replied as she glanced at Mike curiously. Why was he here?

“I met with Mike this morning and told him about what’s been happening back in Maine.”

Sarah’s chest tightened and blood pressure soared. “I thought we didn’t need to share this?”

“I know, but I thought that he could help.”

“I want to help,” Mike said. The sunlight hitting his beard brought out red highlights that contrasted handsomely with his dark brown eyes and bright white, Hollywood teeth. “I wanted to get involved – be more hands on.”

“That’s nice, but, like I told you yesterday, Camilla, Seth has everything under control.”

“I don’t doubt that he does, but you’ve got to admit that you’ve lost three men. Three out of six – that’s a chunk. You’re going to need some help, and between Mike and myself, we can fill in the gaps.”

Mike said, “I don’t care if I’m just an errand boy.”

Sarah stared blankly at her friend. “I guess we could use the help,” she said finally. “When are you going to be ready to go?”

“Right now,” Camilla said. “I just need to talk to Albert about a few things and then we can leave.”

Sarah left to get her things. Even though she was still angry with him, she wanted to talk to Seth, who was probably almost to Eureka by now. She needed to hear some reassurance from him. Just a simple ‘Everything’s going to be alright.’ would do. Their house in the woods was about twenty miles out of town. It was the perfect place for anonymity. In Humboldt County, people respected land and privacy. With all of the marijuana farmers up there, snooping around was highly discouraged in a variety of ways.

As she threw the last few things into her packed her bags, Mike slipped silently into the room.

“I hope you aren’t upset with Camilla,” he said softly, but his voice still startled Sarah, who turned and glared at him.

She went back to zipping up her bag as she said, “I’m not mad, just surprised, that’s all.”

“Why are you surprised?”

“Because I thought that everything except financing was my responsibility. Camilla would raise the cash, and I’d do the rest.”

“It’s got nothing to do with your competence, Sarah. Camilla has nothing but the highest regards for your abilities. We just think you could use some extra man-power.”

Sarah finished with her bag and turned to Mike. “Thanks for saying that. I’m sorry if I seem a little bitchy; there’s just been a lot of pressure lately.”

“I understand,” he replied as he and Sarah reached for her bag at the same time. Their hands touched and their eyes met for a split second.

“Let me get this,” Mike said.

He picked up her bag, and Sarah followed him down to the foyer where they waited for Camilla, who appeared almost immediately, jingling keys in her hand. “Is everything okay?”

They both nodded.

“I’m driving to the airport,” Camilla said. She obviously didn’t drive much.

“Where’s Albert?” Mike asked as they all walked toward the garage.

“In his quarters. He’ll be heading up tomorrow morning with the truck. There’re a few things that he needs to attend to here first.”

They all climbed into the sporty BMW convertible, and Camilla drove frighteningly fast down the short, twisting driveway.

8:57 pm Quincy, Massachusetts

The bright light blinded Chris briefly, and he involuntarily started to jab the poker forward, expecting the person to suddenly leap up and attack. To his horror, he saw that Pell lay slumped against the door, his chest covered with the dark crimson of blood and a handcuff dangling from his right wrist. The scene in the woods a few days ago with David Rose flashed through his mind.

“Pell!” He dropped the poker and knelt beside him.

Chris echoed his name several times, gently shaking his shoulder. Nothing. He continued this for several minutes until finally Pell’s eyes opened. Slowly he focused on Chris and a faint grin bent his lips as he said, “I bet you’re surprised to see me?” He coughed softly.

Chris nodded – surprised was an understatement. “What happened?” He asked as he pulled open Pell’s shirt to inspect his wound. Pell had already applied a makeshift bandage made from a piece of ripped clothing. From the quantity of blood, it had to be a nasty wound. “We need to get you to a hospital.”

“I can’t,” Pell said. He recited the day’s events in a soft, strained voice sounding like a quadriplegic who used a mechanical ventilator to fill their lungs before they could speak.

When he got to the part about the cop, Chris exclaimed, “You shot a cop! Again?”

“It was an accident. I couldn’t let myself end up in jail while Sarah Burns and her cronies are out changing the future of mankind,” tears rolled down his cheeks as he turned away, ashamed of what he was about to say. “I couldn’t let Carl screw me again.”

Chris sat down on the floor and leaned back against the wall. Somehow he had to get him to the hospital.

“I think I know how we can find Sarah Burns,” Pell said.

“How’s that?”

“She was very close to Camilla Haywood back in college.”

“You said that, Pell. But what are the odds that they still see each other? How many of your friends from college do you still see?”

“I know, but it’s all we have to go on.”

“Maybe so…”

Pell went limp. Jesus, was he dead? He leaned forward, listening for breathing. It was there – faint, almost inaudible.

“That’s it,” Chris said. He wouldn’t be a spectator to another death. He stood up and was about to go call 911 when Pell snapped out of it.

As if he didn’t realize that he had been unconscious, he continued. “I made a couple calls on my way down here,” he said. “I know where Camilla Haywood is, I’ve got her address and confirmation that she’s in the country and at her house in California. You’ve got to go find her. Don’t let Carl Moscovitz break open this case. Do it for me.”

“Look, I’ve done my part. It’s not my place and besides, if I get involved now, after what you did today, I’ll probably end up in jail.”

“You won’t end up in jail. Not once they know the truth.”

They who? But he was more than just a little intrigued by the proposition. Meeting Camilla Haywood would be worth the trip but how was he going to arrange to talk to a famous celebrity just like that. He wasn’t cop or FBI agent. Why would she even agree to talk to him? Still, maybe this is what he needed – a little vacation. He’d go find Camilla and if by some miracle he did manage to speak to her and she did know where Sarah was, he’d call Carl Moscovitz and tell him everything. It would also get him away from the mess his personal life had become. Give him some distance and time to start what would undoubtedly be a long and arduous healing process.

“All right,” Chris said slowly. “I’ll go find Camilla. On one condition.”

“What’s that?”

“That you let me take you to a hospital.”

Pell’s chin dropped onto his chest. “I don’t want to go to jail, Chris,” he moaned.

“It’s not negotiable. I’m not leaving you here to die and that’s that. Either you let me take you to a hospital, or I’m going to dial 911 right now and wash my hands of this whole thing.”

Pell drifted in and out of consciousness until finally he said, “She’s in Malibu, California. Here’s her address.” He pulled a crumpled piece of paper from his pants pocket and handed it to Chris.

“So you’re going to let me drop you off?”

Pell nodded but wouldn’t make eye contact.

“Good. Be right back.”

Chris grabbed his always packed overnight bag, threw it into Pell’s rental car and then dragged Pell’s limp, heavy body out of the house and placed him in the passenger seat. His face was a ghastly white, his eyes sunk deep into their sockets and his breathing was now completely inaudible. He’s wasn’t going to make it to the hospital.

Chris would take him to Mass General and catch a cab to Logan. Getting a flight to LA wouldn’t be a problem.

Once in the city he parked Pell’s car just around the corner from the emergency room at Mass General. Pell was unconscious.

“Good luck, Pell,” he muttered as he got out of the car.

He walked half a block and used the pay phone at a convenience store to call the emergency room. He stood outside the store and watched as ER staff appeared on the street and located the car. He could faintly hear them talking excitedly as he started searching for a cab.

7:22 pm PDT Humboldt County, California

Seth looked at Jerry. The western sun shone brightly on his two-day beard-stubbled face. The lush, green hills of Humboldt County stretched out below them. They were almost there.

Jerry had done all of the flying and he had been able to catch some sleep. His burns throbbed, but he had a feeling that once he dressed them properly he’d be doing a lot better. They had only stopped four times for rest and fuel, which they were running low on now, but it didn’t matter. Eureka was less than twenty minutes away, and then they would be on the ground, hopefully, for a long time. He couldn’t stand to sit for too long, and the past thirty hours had been torture. That and the constant whine of the engine had combined to give him a hellish tension headache.

“You okay?” Seth asked.

Jerry didn’t answer him.

“Jerry!” Seth said louder.

“What?” He asked.

“I asked you if you were okay.”

Jerry nodded. “I’m spent. Man, I can’t wait to hit the shower.” He sniffed the air. “You could use one too.”

Seth chuckled. They cruised on in silence for several more minutes before Jerry said, “I wish we could have given the others a proper burial. Dumping them in the woods seems so…barbaric.”

“If they’d have been more careful we wouldn’t have had to bury anyone,” Seth said. He didn’t have the time or inclination to grieve, particularly for failures and he still had to deal with Sarah. She was going to chew his ass out, guaranteed. Hell, he couldn’t remember ever shedding a tear over death – not for his mother or grandparents, definitely not for his load of a father. The last time he could remember lamenting a loss was when he was fourteen. He had found an orphaned kitten in a dilapidated house across the alley from his own. Big tough Seth had kept it in a box on the back porch. It had been tiny, defenseless, sick and he nursed it back to health. He called it Bo – a bright spot in his otherwise bleak teenage world. Thinking back, he could still hear its soft squeaky meows as it did face rubs with him. One day he came home and Bo was gone. He found it in the trash barrel, dead. His father had broken its neck for no other reason than he was a useless, angry drunk who hated his son. He had buried Bo and cried – for the last time.

“Do you think Sarah will be waiting at the house for us?” Jerry asked.

Seth forced himself back to the present. “I don’t know. We’re a little early. We made great time.”

“I hope she isn’t. I could really use some rest before we have to debrief on everything.”

“Don’t worry about it, Jerry. If she starts in with us, I’ll take care of her.”

“There it is,” Seth said, pointing to the Eureka city airport.

Jerry banked the plane, and they made a beeline for the landing strip. In a matter of minutes, they were out stretching their cramped, achy bodies.

Twenty minutes later they were driving through the redwood forest. Looking at the soaring, monolithic trees always gave Seth a feeling of peace. To him the massive trees represented a serenely surreal permanence in an otherwise transient existence. Jerry drove, and they rode in silence with their windows down.

It was clouding up. The next ten miles went by slowly as they turned off the main road onto a gravel-packed one carved out of the old-growth forest by a lumber company decades ago. The fertility of the land spawned tremendous greenery – lush fields, pristine forests and wildflowers. This felt like the Earth’s womb – a place where life begins. Just as the Midwest spewed industrial filth to kill the northeast’s forests and lakes with acid rain, this place spewed life in all shapes and forms. The air was sweet enough to taste and he savored it.

“When are the Carriers going to be here?” Jerry asked.

“Friday.”

In a couple of minutes, they turned onto an even narrower dirt road that led directly to the house. From the outside, it didn’t look like much – a two-story barn-like structure that had been built in the 50’s and was just under six thousand square feet. Jerry had spent three months here earlier this year getting it ready for them – retrofitting it with expensive solar panels and a generator and doing a bunch of general maintenance. Now they had a completely self-sufficient, out-of-the-way place to conduct business. In that respect, it was actually quite similar to where they had been in Maine except there was a good size city twenty minutes away.

The driveway was empty, the large house dark.

“Beautiful,” Seth said. “It looks like we beat them. Let’s go in and catch some sleep before they show up.”

“Sounds great,” Jerry replied through a yawn. “I’m spent.”

Inside the musty house each of them went straight for his room. Seth dropped onto his bed and stared at the ceiling, contemplating the events of the past few days. Things had to take a turn for the better.

11:45 pm Quincy, Massachusetts

“We urgently need to question him,” Carl said to the doctor and his intern.

“My patient is not in any fit state to be questioned. I understand your urgency, but my priority here is for my patient’s wellbeing. He is still delirious and in very real danger of dying,” the doctor explained.

“This guy just shot a cop. He didn’t care about that cop’s wellbeing. He has critical knowledge of a very important investigation that we need to extract from him. If he’s going to fall into a coma or die, we need to speak to him before that happens. Lives are at risk here,” Carl said.

“His condition is critical. Do you know what that means?” The doctor said.

“I don’t care what it means,” Carl replied.

“Well I do and, right now, his life is hanging in the balance. If we can get him stable, you might be able to question him. Our focus right now is saving his life,” the doctor said as he turned and headed for the door. His intern was obviously confused, not knowing what to do, support his boss or the authorities.

Carl motioned to Irving to shut the door and block it as he walked after the doctor.

“Out of my way,” the doctor said but Irving stood firm.

Carl reached out, grabbed the doctor’s shoulder and turned him around. “Look, I think we got off to a bad start. Let me—”

“Stop it. You’re not listening. We have a critically ill patient here and the first and foremost duty of every member of the staff in this hospital is to our patient’s health. I cannot, and will not, let you question my patient until I deem he is well enough to be questioned. That is my final word on the matter.”

Carl’s face reddened with every word from the doctor’s mouth. “You’re the one who isn’t listening, doctor. I’m the god damn FBI. If I want to question that son of a bitch, I damn well will.”

“I’m afraid that’s not your call. And if you go against my instructions I will have you thrown out.”

“Ok, I get it. This is your domain. But don’t fool yourself. You may be the king of this hospital but we’re the government and we need to question him immediately.”

“I’ve said all I’m going to say. Move out of my way.”

Carl exchanged a quick glance with Irving then said, “Fine, Irving will stay here and keep me updated. The second he comes around, we need to speak to him and if you think you can hide behind your Hippocratic Oath, you’re mistaken.”

9:45 pm PDT Humboldt County, California

The headlights reflected off the pickup truck parked in the driveway and lit up the dark house beyond as the car came to a stop and Camilla, Mike, and Sarah climbed out.

“This is it? It looks like a dump, Sarah,” Camilla said. “I figured a half a million bucks would have bought a castle up here.”

“No such luck but this place has everything we need, and it’s out of the way. No one will know we’re here,” Sarah replied. She had paid the real estate agent with cash, and he hadn’t seemed at all surprised. “It’s nice inside and we’ve got almost fifty acres – lots of privacy, nobody is going to just happen to stumble by. It looks like Seth and Jerry are here.”

“The place is dark, they must be asleep,” Mike said as he hauled their bags out of the trunk. Sarah and Camilla grabbed the groceries.

“Let’s not wake them up,” Sarah said as they climbed the front steps. “They’ve been going straight since Tuesday.”

Sarah turned on some lights as they went to the kitchen. The walls and ceiling were lined with rustic, rough-hewn wood that absorbed the glow from the lights, muting it to the point that it seemed like candlelight.

Camilla made them peanut butter sandwiches and coffee.

“So what’re the plans now?” Mike asked as they sat around the table eating.

“We’ve got to wait for Mark to get here with the truck. Then we can set up what we need for the implementation phase,” Sarah said.

“What’s that involve?” Mike asked.

“Primarily our network. We need to be able to track where the Carriers have been and what they’ve done. We also have a satellite dish that we’ll hook up so we can monitor the news feeds and get internet access. It won’t take too long for someone to realize that something is going on; I’d say within four or five months, on the outside – probably more like three. Then we just sit back and watch.”

When it was time to go to bed, Sarah showed Mike where he could sleep, and led Camilla to her room.

“Well, this is it, Camilla,” Sarah said as she sat down on the edge of the bed. “This is when it all truly starts. It’s been a long road, but I’m glad that we stuck with it.” Sarah felt a wave of emotion pass through her. She had been working on the project for eighteen years – it had been like raising a child and now she was more than ready to set it free on its personal life-long odyssey and watch the results unfold from afar.

Camilla put her arm around Sarah. “We’ve been through a lot to get here. We owe it all to you, Sarah. Without your dedication and commitment, we could never have made it to this point.”

“Thanks,” Sarah said as Camilla pushed a strand of hair behind her ear.

“Don’t thank me.”

“So what happens when this is all done?” Sarah wondered out loud. “I’ve dedicated my life to my work. The past eighteen years have all been about getting to this point. And then what? I’ve never really thought beyond this. What will I do next? It will be like a huge void in my life and I’m not sure what comes next to fill it.”

Camilla laughed. “Are you kidding me? What’s next is you go on vacation.”

“Vacation?” Sarah said as she stared off into the distance. “I can’t imagine it.”

“I can,” Camilla replied. “But there’s going to be plenty of time to think about what’s next, Sarah. Once Gen96 is out, you’re going to have nothing but time. When was your last vacation?”

Sarah shook her head. She had absolutely no idea, perhaps never.

“There’s nothing wrong with focusing on you for a while,” Camilla said. “You, of all people, deserve it.”

Sarah smiled at Camilla as she stood to leave. “Get some rest, we’ve got an important couple of days ahead of us,” Camilla said as she left the room and shut the door.

Sarah didn’t bother to undress. She just lay back on the bed fully clothed and closed her eyes. As she drifted off to sleep she dreamed and in her dreams she saw the future that she had created for mankind – a secure, less-troubled world where millions of kids weren’t dying of malnutrition and disease each year and the earth wasn’t being raped to support an ever-expanding population. It had taken God seven days to create the earth and set it in motion and it had taken Sarah eighteen years to course-correct it.

If there were truly a God, she was surprised that He hadn’t foreseen the problems of making human beings so smart that they could become too viable, too dominant.

DAY 5 – THURSDAY, JULY 2

3:10 am PDT Malibu California

Chris had managed to get the last American flight from Boston to LAX and now he drove up the hillside road, looking for Camilla Haywood’s address. There. The number was carved into a raised panel high on a stucco wall that supported a large iron gate.

“Excellent,” he muttered. Now that he knew exactly where to go, he drove back down to a beach parking lot that he had passed minutes earlier. In the morning he would go back to the house and see if he could find a way to speak to her. Right now he needed to catch some sleep. He shut off the rental car, lay down on the seat, and fell asleep.

When he awoke, the car wasn’t particularly hot but his clothes stuck to his body. It was just after 9 a.m. as he climbed out of the car, stretched and rummaged through his bag to find some fresh clothes. Very few people were on the beach as he walked down to the water. He stripped down to his underwear and dove into the Pacific for the first time in his life. It was just like the Atlantic. That realization was disappointing – he had always expected the Pacific to be something different, something better.

After a quick stop at a convenience store to buy a prepaid cell phone, Chris drove straight to Camilla’s. Ten minutes later his car idled at the ornate gate that solidly blocked access to her home. His window was down and he took a few deep breaths before leaning out the window and pressing the button. Silence. After a minute he pressed it again. This time holding it down for fifteen seconds. Again, nothing.

For the first time, he realized that this trip to California might be pointless. Pell had been on the verge of delirium and had probably given him bogus information. Even if this was her home, who was to say she, or anyone, was home. She probably had houses all over.

He put the car in reverse and started to back out to the street when a voice crackled over the intercom. “Can I help you?”

Chris got out of the car and walked back to the security box. “Hello?”

“I said, can I help you?”

“Is Camilla Haywood here?”

“And you are?”

“Chris Foster.”

“Is Ms. Haywood expecting you?”

He shook his head, and before he could speak the word ‘no’, the voice continued. He was being watched on closed-circuit camera. He scanned for the camera and found it mounted on the side of a palm tree about thirty feet away.

“Does she even know you?”

“Well, not exactly—”

“I’m sorry sir, but Ms. Haywood is out of town on business, and even if she were here, she doesn’t see unexpected visitors – for obvious reasons.”

Chris stared at the little speaker, and blurted out, “I’m with the FBI. I’m looking for an old college friend of Camilla’s. It’s a matter of the utmost urgency. I know that Ms. Haywood probably gets all kinds of fruit-cakes walking up here and I appreciate that you can’t be too careful, but it’s imperative that I talk to her today.”

“Do you have any identification?”

“Yes,” he replied as he reached for Pell’s ID which he had taken from him back at his house. As he flipped the leather case open confidently and held it up to the camera, he hoped it didn’t have a good telephoto lens because if it did, his little ruse would be over.

“I’m out of the Bangor, Maine branch,” he continued, assuming Pell’s identity. As he did, he wondered how Pell was doing. He’d have to make a call to the hospital to see if he could get any information.

Silence ensued, long enough for him to get nervous, and then the voice said, “Who are you looking for again?”

“Actually, I didn’t say who I was looking for. Who are you?”

“Albert James Winslow,” the intercom man replied.

“Albert James Winslow,” he repeated. “Listen to me, Mr. Winslow. I don’t have the time to play games. I need to know where Camilla Haywood is. I just spent the entire night traveling from Boston to talk to her. If she isn’t here, I need to know where she is. Now. Let me in so we can talk.”

After a moment, an electric motor hummed behind the wall and the gates swung open.

“I’ll meet you at the top of the driveway,” the voice said as the speaker went dead.

He turned around, hopped into his car, and raced to the top of the winding driveway where he found Albert standing next to a shiny new full-sized Suburban. All of the doors were open, and it was fully loaded with suitcases and bags.

He walked over to Albert extending his hand as he admired the beautiful grounds and spectacular view.

“Quite a house,” Chris said.

“It is.”

Chris turned to the Suburban and said, “Going someplace?”

“I’m moving some stuff back to the house in Beverly Hills,” he replied. “I’m actually in a rush today, sir. I’m happy to help you, but let’s make it quick.”

“Okay, Albert. Firstly, may I ask what your relationship to Ms. Haywood is?”

“I’m Ms. Haywood’s personal assistant,” Albert replied.

“Excellent. Then this is the deal. I need to talk to Ms. Haywood in relation to an important case that the Bureau is working. It’s imperative that we find an old Harvard buddy of hers, Sarah Burns, and we’re chasing down every possible lead. This is a matter of national urgency.”

Albert’s brown eyes flickered slightly. Recognition? He couldn’t be sure. The name definitely rang some sort of a bell with this guy, but as quickly as it had been there, the look was gone.

“I’ve never heard of her,” Albert replied. “But I’ll be happy to ask Ms. Haywood about her when I see her tonight.”

“Is there any way we can get in touch with her right now?”

Albert shook his head. “No.”

“Are you sure? Don’t you have a cell phone number for her? You must know where she is right now if you’re her personal assistant.”

“I’m afraid I really can’t provide you with her cell phone number. I have a strict non-disclosure agreement in my employment contract that prevents me from giving out those details to anyone. I have to respect her privacy and she has to be able to trust me implicitly. Surely the FBI can find a phone number?”

“Of course but it would be a lot easier if you just gave me her number, or better yet, tell me where she is, and I’ll be on my way.”

“Sorry but I can’t.”

“Let me explain how this works. This is one of those cases where the FBI will open our arms wide and drag everybody in. Then we sift through everyone to see who’s guilty and who’s innocent. Believe me when I tell you, Albert, it’s no fun being accused by us.”

“Are you threatening me?”

“I don’t make threats.”

Albert glared at him before saying, “Like I said, I’ve never heard of Sarah Burns. I’ll talk to Ms. Haywood as soon as I can, but until then I’m not going to let you stand here and try to intimidate me or extract personal information about my employer from me. I’m happy to put you in touch with her attorney.”

The words Sarah Burns rolled off his tongue as if he said them all the time. Chris had only mentioned her name quickly in passing, and he not only remembered but repeated it with ease. Albert James Winslow was hiding something.

“Do you really want to go that route?” Chris asked.

“Fine. Is there someplace I can reach you this evening?” Albert asked. “I’ll call as soon as I talk to her.”

“I’ll call you. What’s your mobile number?” Chris entered the number into a new contact on his mobile. He repeated it to Albert to confirm and then said, “And what’s the address you are heading to in Beverley Hills?”

Albert gave Chris the address and he entered that as well.

“I’ll call you around 8.” Chris walked over to his car and was about to get in when he turned to Albert and said, “Do you have any kids, Albert?”

Deep lines appeared on Albert’s previously smooth forehead and his face flushed as he said in a trembling voice. “I had a daughter but she died a long time ago. When she was three. Why?”

Chris had just wanted to see Albert’s expression when he lobbed out that question but now he felt like a jerk. “I’m sorry.”

Albert pursed his lips, shook his head softly, then turned and walked to the mansion. His previously erect stature now slightly compressed.

Chris climbed into his car and drove away. At the end of the street he pulled into the parking lot of a convenience store and stopped to gather himself. What was he going to do now? Should he head over to this Beverley Hills address? Getting a room for some rest would be a good start; he could certainly use some food and sleep. He also needed a plan. His previously mundane, quite predictable life was slipping completely out of his control.

He bought a Gatorade and a couple granola bars. As he sat in his car eating, he saw Albert drive to the end of the street and stop at the red light. Once it turned green, Albert took a right, driving north up the coastal route. Beverley Hills was in the opposite direction.

Chris started the car and accelerated out of the parking lot across the busy street. Several cars’ horns blared as he cut them off. He focused on Albert, who was about a hundred yards in front of him. The Suburban’s size made it easy to follow in the moderate traffic. After half an hour of tailing him, Chris relaxed. Albert obviously had lied about his destination.

Heading north with the ocean on his left seemed inherently wrong and threw off his normally excellent sense of direction but the scenery more than made up for it. The highway wound between towering hills on his right, covered with magnificent stilt legged houses, and swaths of white sand beaches speckled with early sun worshippers to his left. He’d hate to live in one of those houses when the big one hits. He envisioned them tumbling down the hillside, spewing debris before shattering into a million pieces. How could people live with that constant threat hanging over them? As a born and bred Yankee, he couldn’t do it. Throw a few feet of snow his way in a blizzard, or one hundred ten percent humidity in the middle of a scorching summer heat wave, no problem. But earthquakes? No thanks.

Seeing and following Albert was the biggest break he’d gotten all day and as he tailed him, his mind wandered back to Karen. They had always talked about flying out to LA for a vacation, renting a sports car, and driving up coastal Route 1 to Seattle.

“That one’s never going to happen,” he said to the wind. His arm rested on the door, and the warm air flowed over it, soothing him. But each time his thoughts turned to Karen his blood pressure skyrocketed. Would he ever be able to give someone that much of himself again? He’d always coveted his trust – not giving it out freely. If you don’t earn it, you don’t get it – it was that simple.

9:23 am Boston, Massachusetts

“He was just babbling,” Carl said to the doctor and his intern. “He doesn’t know what’s going on.”

“Do we have to put any containment protocols in place?” The doctor asked.

“No, definitely not,” Carl replied. The doctor glared silently back at Carl.

“I need to notify our administrator. I’m not comfortable with this.”

“There’s nothing to be uncomfortable about,” Carl said. “He’s just an agent that went bad and shot a cop. That’s it.”

“But what about what he said? He was definitely talking about a virus.”

“He’s wounded, almost died, drugged, you can’t take what he said as fact.”

“In my experience, patients in his state never lie. They may lose their inhibitions but they don’t lie. I’m bringing in my management now,” the doctor said. “I know what I heard and we have specific protocols that we have to follow in situations like this. It’s simple. We—”

Carl’s face reddened with every word from the doctor’s mouth. “I don’t care what you heard. I’m telling you your protocols don’t apply here.”

“I’m afraid that’s not your call.”

Carl exchanged a quick glance with Irving then said, “Fine, if I tell you what’s really happening will you work with us to bring him out of it so we can interrogate him.”

Pell’s heart pounded as he rounded the last turn. He was in the lead, but someone was closing fast. His lungs burned as he tried to suck in enough air to keep him going. An unusually large crowd lined the track for the meet at Braintree High School. He was running the 800 meter – his specialty – and he could see the finish line up ahead. He wanted to peek behind him but to save precious milliseconds, didn’t. The quickening drumbeat of footsteps of the runner closing the gap behind him were getting louder with each second.

The crowd cheered. Pell, Pell, Pell. He leaned forward and pushed himself to the limit. The finish line neared. The runner behind him no longer gained. He was going to win. He could feel it. These Regionals would be his biggest victory ever – next stop, the state championship.

Twenty yards to go. Fifteen. Ten. Nothing could stop him now. As he closed in on the finish line he glanced at the crowd on the side of the track. His friends and family cheered him on, screaming, jumping up and down, and chanting his name over and over. Out of nowhere, two men in blue overcoats and suits stood quietly in the middle of the frenzied crowd. They were motionless and emotionless as they glared at him.

He knew them and didn’t know them at the same time. They weren’t from here – this time at least. His focus was gone, but fortunately his momentum wasn’t as he sailed across the finish line, still looking at the out-of-place men.

He won. The crowd engulfed him. It was almost a new record – a couple of hundredths off. As he celebrated, he forgot about the somber men until a firm, cold hand clenched onto his shoulder.

Pell turned to find one of the men standing directly beside him. “We’ve got to talk,” he said.

He looked back at the revelers, but they had moved on without him, carrying his victory on to the celebration.

“We’ve got to talk,” the man echoed.

Pell awoke and looked around the unfamiliar room in complete confusion. The two men from his dream were there outside the door looking at him through the window and talking to each other. But where was he? At first, he thought that maybe he had been on a bender and blacked out, but slowly it came back to him – the trip to New Hampshire, showing up at Chris’ house, and finally being left in the car outside the hospital. A hospital in Boston.

He looked at the men again. Carl Moscovitz. He’s probably got a hard-on over what they’re going to do to me.

As he stared at the equipment around him, a middle-aged strawberry blond nurse walked into the room. Their eyes met, and she gave him the nicest of smiles. He couldn’t remember ever seeing a prettier face as she walked over to his bedside.

“You’re awake,” she said softly. “You’re in the Intensive Care Unit at Mass General, Mr. Pelletier.”

His throat was extremely dry, but he managed to crackle, “How long have I been here?”

“Just over twelve hours. They found you outside in your car last night.”

“Could I have some water?”

The nurse filled a cup, and poured it into his parched mouth, before checking the dials and equipment around the bed.

“Are you comfortable?”

He felt stoned and in little pain. They were pumping him with some powerful narcotics. He nodded in reply.

“There are two men outside from the FBI that want to talk to you Mr. Pelletier. One of them was here all night,” the nurse explained as she motioned with her head to Carl and Irving standing eagerly outside the room. “Do you feel up to it?”

“I suppose so,” said Pell.

“Our Head of Critical Care agreed to let them have five minutes with you. Do you understand?” She said with a bright smile.

Pell said he did and she waved the men in before saying, “I’ll be back in five minutes.”

Carl didn’t wait long before starting in. “So what happened in New Hampshire yesterday, Pell? You shot a cop. Do you remember that?”

Pell winced and asked, “Did he make it?”

“He –,” Irving said.

“No,” Carl said. “He died this morning. So that’s two fellow law-enforcement professionals that you’ve killed. That’s got to be some kind of a record.”

“It was an accident,” he said in a raspy, weak voice.

“Wasn’t that what you said about Allen Jenkins? I just can’t believe you did it again. Take some responsibility, man.”

Pell grimaced. He truly wished that he had died yesterday.

“He was going to arrest me. Why were they after me anyway?”

“You were interfering with a federal investigation, going against my direct orders. You forced my hand.”

“You said you were dropping it,” Pell replied. “I had to.”

“This Sarah Burns thing is big. If it had been any other agent, I would have let them lead the investigation, but you –” Carl scrunched his face, wrinkling his thin lips and curling his sharp nose. “I don’t have any faith in you. You’re a screw-up and there was no way I would trust you with a case like this.”

“You’re a bastard,” Pell said.

Carl smirked, leaning down close enough that Pell could smell a recently chewed breath mint and said, “I’ve been looking for a way to get rid of you for years, and thanks to your own stupidity, I not only get to fire you, but I’ll get to see your sorry ass rot in jail too. Just perfect.”

Even though Pell’s mind was cloudy from the drugs, his face heated up, “Fuck you, Carl.”

Carl chuckled.

“We also went to see old man Andleman. Do you want to know what he told us?” Carl asked.

Pell stared back at him blankly, waiting.

“Nothing!” Carl said. “We found the poor old bastard on his floor, almost dead from a stroke.”

“What?”

“That’s right. It seems like where ever you went yesterday you left a body.”

“He was fine when I left there.”

“What did the two of you talk about?” Carl asked.

He thought about this revelation for a moment. If they couldn’t talk to Maurice, they didn’t know about Camilla Haywood. Chris would have more time now. “The weather.”

Carl bared his small teeth in a feigned smile. “You’re a funny guy, Pell – a real fucking comedian. You agree, Irving?”

Irving nodded.

Carl continued, “This isn’t the time for jokes. We’ve got to assume this virus is real and that they are about to release it. We need to do something. Fast. Right now, we’re at a dead end. Maurice Andleman was our best hope for some answers.”

“Then I guess you either better start doing some more digging and hope you come up with something, or you might want to let me get my lawyer, and we can all sit down and talk,” Pell said.

“You think we’re going to deal with garbage like you?”

“Yes, and you know what, Carl?”

“What?” Carl said through clenched teeth.

“If I do talk, it’s not going to be to you. I want to talk to Arthur Kent. I’m sure he would like to know how you handled this thing. You forced me to take matters into my own hands. You let a twenty-year-old grudge hinder an investigation that could be the most important that the Bureau has ever worked on. I’m sure Director Stevens will be interested in this.”

Carl scowled as he grabbed Pell by his thin hospital gown, and pulled him up to a sitting position. The wires attached to his heavily bandaged chest under the flimsy garment fell off. Alarms immediately squealed from the stacks of equipment. “You’re done, Pelletier. Nobody’s going to believe you. You’re going to die in jail, buddy.”

On the verge of losing consciousness, Pell could distinctly see Irving’s face. He stood off to the side, but this last exchange had brought an undeniable smile to his normally stone cold facade. Odd, Pell thought as the nurse burst into the room accompanied by a doctor.

“What the hell are you doing!” The doctor screamed.

Carl let Pell’s limp body drop back down onto the bed.

“He came at me,” Carl said.

“That’s ridiculous. Look at the state of him. Get out and do not enter this room again unless you have direct approval from me.”

The nurse quickly reattached the monitoring equipment and evaluated Pell’s condition.

“This is just great,” Carl said to Irving. “I want you to stay here until he comes to again. As soon as he does, let me know.”

Again Irving nodded as they stormed out of the room.

Pell watched everything unfold. He felt detached from his body, as if he were having an out of body experience. No doubt Carl would be back. This time Pell was not going to let him get the better of him. He was not going to walk away silently. He was going to bring the fight to Carl. As soon as he could get out of this hospital bed that was.

10:54 am FBI Headquarters, Washington, DC

Arthur was scheduled to have a lunch briefing with the Director of the Cyber Division but Carl’s call had forced him to cancel lunch. He was never able to plan anything ahead of time – crises always cropped up. Anyway, he didn’t know Carl to cry wolf.

Nestled behind wooden panels in the walls of his richly appointed office were several different telecommunications devices, each capable of providing instant and absolutely secure communications. The panels were operated by a master control located on his desk. With everything shut, the office resembled what you would expect in a typical Fortune 500 CEO’s office – thick Oriental rugs, a heavy oak desk, real oil paintings of his FBI predecessors – including the great J. Edgar himself – a credenza with pictures of his wife, kids and grandchild. When he opened up all of the panels, it looked like mission control. He sat in front of the personal video-conferencing unit. Several lamps illuminated the office. The shades had been drawn, as they were most of the time. Why Executive Directors got offices with windows was beyond him. Spying wasn’t always high tech bugs, or moles, sometimes it was a simple set of binoculars. The view out his window wasn’t so great anyway – unless downtown DC could be considered scenic.

He entered his passcodes. The retinal scanner on top of the unit scanned his brown eyes, confirming his identity. The split-screen came up and he could see himself on one half. The other half was blank until he connected. There was an option to only view the person he was calling, but he liked being able to see himself. He stared into the tiny camera mounted on top of the monitor, and made sure that he looked presentable before selecting the remote unit for connection. His dark brown hair was starting to fleck grey. Time for another visit to his barber for some dye. It was a running joke at the Bureau – behind his back of course. Fifty–six-year-old men don’t naturally have thick, grey-free hair but then again, most men his age couldn’t bench press two hundred forty pounds.

He waited patiently while the link was established. Carl Moscovitz’s image appeared in a window on the blank side of the screen. The image froze until the ‘synched’ icon appeared at the bottom of the screen and Carl spoke. “Hi, Arthur. Sorry for the short notice.”

“That’s okay, Carl. What’s up?”

“Agent Paul Pelletier. We caught him last night. Actually, he showed up at a local emergency room. Wounded, damn near dead.”

“So did he shoot that cop?” Arthur received daily summaries of Bureau activity, ordered by importance from the bevy of analysts squirreled away on the second floor. He had read about agent Pelletier earlier this morning.

“Yeah.”

“Jesus Christ, how is he?”

“Pell?”

“No, the cop,” Arthur said. How the hell did one of his agents do something like this? He could see the headlines, “Rogue FBI agent shoots local cop.” More bad PR.

“He’ll make it. Probably get to take an early retirement,” Carl responded. “But it gets more bizarre.”

Arthur’s expression didn’t change. He had learned years ago to control his emotions. “Go on,” he said.

“The brains behind this virus, Sarah Burns, her college mentor lived in New Hampshire. That’s why Pell was there. He was the only lead we had. The old guy stroked out after Pell talked to him and before we could. He’s not going to make it. If he does, he’ll be a vegetable.”

Arthur shook his head. His empty stomach twisted – not from hunger.

Carl continued, blinking too frequently. “I think he told Pell something.”

“You’ve talked to Agent Pelletier?”

“Yes, we got a few minutes with him.”

“Did he say anything insightful?”

Carl’s normally nasally voice rose an octave. “While we were in his room with the doctors, Pell was babbling, in and out of consciousness. He blurted out bits and pieces of the story.”

“Bits and pieces of the story?” Arthur didn’t like the sound of this at all. Carl was obviously being evasive and in this business, evasive would lead to disaster because the truth always comes out. In this day and age, hiding the truth was damn near impossible. “Look, Carl, cut the bullshit. What exactly are you saying? Did the doctors hear anything?”

Carl swallowed hard. His eyes flicked away from the screen briefly and Arthur’s heart sank. This was about to go tits up. “Yes.”

“For fuck’s sake,” Arthur moaned as he pressed his hand to his forehead. “Spit it out.”

“When they heard the word virus, they wanted to start containment protocols. They were going to lock down the ward or even the hospital! I had to act fast or everything would have been exposed and we don’t even know if it’s real yet. Can you imagine that? Jesus, I had to contain the situation at all costs.”

“So how many people were in the room?”

“Excluding myself and an agent, two. Dr. Epstein, the Head of Critical Care and his intern.”

“And what did they hear?”

Carl recounted the conversation.

“And where are they now?”

“I assume they’re in the hospital.”

Arthur shook his head in disbelief. “You mean you just let them carry on with their day?”

“What was I supposed to do, Arthur? This guy is a senior staff member of a major medical institution. We detain him over something like this and we’ll have their lawyers all over us.”

“So what makes you think they’re going to keep their mouths shut?”

“I told them this is a national security matter. Any leaks could be considered treason. The Patriot Act is broad and sweeping, certainly nothing they want to get wrapped up in. I got the message across, loud and clear. They won’t talk.”

“And what if they do?”

“Then we bring them in immediately but they won’t.”

“You shouldn’t have done that, Carl.”

“I needed them to bring Pell around so we could properly debrief him but they weren’t budging, Arthur. Epstein is a tough bastard. We had to push him hard to get time with Pell. He almost threw us out. Duty to his patients and all of that righteous medical bullshit but I got him over the hump.”

“Okay, so we can’t undo it but I want those doctors to know that we’re serious. Have agents remind them, tail them, let them know we’re serious.”

“Already done,” Carl replied.

“So where does it stand now?”

“I’ve got a man stationed outside Pell’s door at the ready to speak to him if he comes around again.”

“Alright but, for the future, you should have called. I could have gotten to the director of the hospital through political channels and we could have achieved the same thing without having to involve anyone.”

“But Pell told them—”

“I don’t care about that. You should have called me.”

“I know, I know. There just wasn’t time. It’s not the way I wanted to do it but we needed to talk to Pell.”

“How many men do you have working on this?” Arthur asked.

“Right now, only three. I just sent one up to northern Maine to handle that end. I’m going to need to put more out there, but I wanted to talk it over with you first. We need to reprioritize and I’ll need bodies. Fast.”

“How do you know that this virus really exists?”

“I don’t. It’s a gut feeling, Arthur.”

“I don’t like gut feelings. I like facts.”

“You and me both but there’s just too many coincidences happening in a normally quiet state.”

“But where’s the proof of a connection? What ties them together?”

“Chris Foster.”

“Who is he?”

“The guy who saw the plane go down and who contacted the Bureau.”

“So maybe he’s up to something. Have you thought of that?”

“He’s just some guy. There’s no way he’s orchestrating all of this. What could he be up to?”

“How the fuck do I know? That’s your job. All I’m saying is that I’m not hearing anything that shows me this virus even exists,” Arthur said as he leaned back in his chair and stared at the SAC. It was a little interrogation trick he had learned years ago. Most people don’t like prolonged direct eye contact, particularly when there was nothing else happening. Getting people uncomfortable was always a good thing. He did it all the time, generally as a way to think something through. Why look at the ceiling or close your eyes – it was more effective to use the moment to unnerve your opponent while formulating your thoughts. “Okay, Carl. This is what I want you to do. We don’t want to put too many agents on this thing until we get more solid corroboration because the word would get out. If the press gets a hold of this…”

He didn’t have to finish that thought, they both knew what would happen if something like this leaked. He continued, “Put together a package of all the facts that you have. I’ll need to know the information sources, the databases, and every tool that you’ve used so far. We don’t have time to be duplicating effort here. If what you told me is true, we’re going to have to move fast on this one. When can you have the information for me?”

“In a few hours. I’ll have to bring in the agents that were doing the work.”

“Excellent. I’m going to send my Tiger Team up to Boston. They’ll be at your disposal but reporting back to me. They’ll be in your office in a couple hours. And, you need to put additional resources on this until we know if it’s real or not.”

“Thanks, Arthur. I will,” Carl said as he jotted something down. “When you say that they’ll be reporting back to you, what do you mean?”

He understood where Carl was going, and he couldn’t blame him. This could be a huge case, and Carl wanted to keep it under his control. Giving him the illusion of control would be okay for now. If things blew up, Carl would take the fall. Political astuteness was like a gift and Arthur was one of the best. “Don’t worry, Carl. They will be keeping me informed, but they’ll be under you.”

“Great. I could use the manpower.”

“Okay. Then I’ll expect to see that report by the end of the day today. We’ll talk after I analyze it.”

7:24 pm PDT Eureka, California

Chris was getting tired. He had been following Albert for almost ten hours. At first it had been exciting – tailing another vehicle, keeping out of sight but after doing it for most of a day, he found that it wasn’t exciting at all – it was tedious. He needed to stretch his legs, not to mention get some food. The only stop had been at a massive truck stop four hours earlier. The place was big enough that he had filled up on the other side of the station without Albert seeing him.

They had driven north from Malibu, past San Francisco, and now were in the northern part of the state. Albert drove at an irritatingly slow sixty-two miles an hour, and Chris found himself creeping up behind him frequently. He was certain that Albert was clueless about the tail as they drove into a small town, Fresh Water.

Albert pulled into a strip mall and Chris took the opportunity to stop at a gas station across the street. He filled his tank as he watched Albert fiddling with his phone. They must be getting close. His tank was almost full when Albert suddenly started to drive away.

Chris yanked the nozzle, spilling gas down the side of the rental car and ran to the small kiosk. A trashy looking girl and the cashier were arguing over a problem with her credit card. He leaned around her, flicked a couple twenties through the slot at the bottom of the window, and said, “Keep the change.”

Credit-card girl said something to him that he didn’t catch as he sprinted back to his car. Albert took a right at the next lights as Chris pulled out and raced after him. After taking the same turn he spotted the SUV about a quarter mile in front of him. Not so bad. He eased off the accelerator.

Soon they were off the main road and driving down a rural street. Albert pulled over again, this time into a little country store. Chris was forced to drive by. As he passed, he could see Albert talking to the clerk inside the small, wood-framed building. He continued down the street, watching the rearview mirror to see if Albert got back on the road.

A truck’s horn blared into his consciousness. He snapped back to the road. An enormous, fully loaded lumber truck barreled toward him. He had drifted into the oncoming lane of traffic.

He cursed as he cut the wheel sharply to the right. The truck careened by him with its horn blasting. It missed slamming head-on into his car by inches. He skidded toward the ditch and cut the wheel in the opposite direction. Again he went over the centerline and into the other lane. After several more barely controlled weaves, he managed to pull over. Heart pounding furiously, he turned around and looked back down the road. Black skid marks sliced across the tar leading to swaths of disturbed dirt along the narrow, ditch-lined shoulder. Jesus Christ!

If he didn’t start paying attention he was going to end up dead. Albert would drive by any second now. He whipped a U-turn and headed back toward the store. As he passed it he saw the store was now empty. No-one was around.

“What the…?” He muttered as he stepped down on the accelerator. Albert must have reversed direction. As he raced along, he noticed several dirt roads off to the sides. He could have gone down any one of those. Around the next turn was a lengthy stretch of empty blacktop. Albert must have pulled off the road back there someplace.

He turned around and counted the number of dirt roads until he got back to the store. Three. He decided to take the one that looked most traveled. It would be dark soon. The bloated sun hung low on the horizon just above the tree line looking eager to go down – as if it had some better place to be. The easterly sky was starting to glow. After driving for twenty minutes, he realized exactly what he was up against – dozens of splits and side roads. It was a maze. Just finding his way back to the main street was going to be difficult.

Maine was full of lumber roads just like this one. From the air, they would look like the veins on a drunkard’s face – no particular reasoning behind their placement; they just were.

“Damn,” he muttered as he pulled onto a smaller road that bore off at a ninety-degree angle. Dusk had solidly settled in and he clicked on his headlights.

After another half an hour, he concluded that it was useless. He came to a stop and stared into the darkness. What now? His options were limited. Driving around out here in this wilderness was pointless. None of the roads were marked, and even if they were, he had no idea where he was going. Maybe the time had come to call Carl Moscovitz back in Boston and dump this whole thing in his lap.

“That’s it,” he said as he spun the car around. “I’m done with this.”

The dust from the spinning tires on the dirt road clouded his vision briefly, and then it cleared again as he accelerated down the road. Maybe after giving this back to the FBI, where it belonged, he’d take a week or so and drive up to Seattle. A little time alone, not playing 007, would do him some good. He kept envisioning the look on Karen’s face as he burst into their bedroom – the instantaneous change from passion, to fear, and then to realization. It was so vivid. Let it go. Let it out. Move on. He tried to refocus on the present and future but it was pointless. Karen’s face, her laugh, their dreams, shared memories, good times – it all swirled together in his mind threatening to break him down, to shatter his mind into a million pieces.

He recalled one Christmas when he was seven, he had played with an antique ceramic Santa Claus statue, one of his mother’s few prize possessions. “Leave it alone,” she had said repeatedly but he couldn’t. Something about the shiny little figurine with its white beard, rosy cheeks and little bag of presents caught his fancy until one day it slipped from his hands. When the yelling was over, he had fished the shattered remains out of the trash and attempted to glue it back together. It had been futile – sometimes things can’t be fixed.

The trees on the side of the road zipped by the headlights as the speedometer crept past seventy miles an hour. Subconsciously he depressed the accelerator. Tears welled up as he relived the moment he walked in on Karen, recalling every little detail – how could she have done this to me? The thought bounced around his mind, reverberating, growing in intensity. He didn’t want to admit that he had lived a lie for the past eight years. She had been stepping out all along and covering it up with his insecurities – and he had known, he had just refused to believe it. The road suddenly took a sharp turn to the right.

He cut the wheel hard, and the car started to slide. For the first time in too long he glanced down at the speedometer. Oh my God! The tires skidded on the loose dirt. The car shot off the edge of the road, up a slight embankment and went airborne. He clutched the wheel with both hands and prepared for the impact.

11:10 pm Boston, Massachusetts

Pell woke up slowly. He lay in the dimly lit room listening to the machines and let his gaze wander before looking down at the wires and tubes that sprung from his chest. He was in bad shape.

A nurse opened the door to check on him. This was a different one. Less friendly looking. She took her time filling in the information on his chart before saying, “An FBI agent has been given permission to speak to you again. He’s been outside your room the whole time.”

Pell moaned.

“If you don’t think you’re up for it just say so.”

He wanted to put it off but they would just hound him until he spoke with them.

“Shall I let him in?” She asked.

“I suppose so,” Pell replied.

The nurse went to the door and motioned Agent Strange over. “I’ve been given strict orders, Agent Strange. If anything like what happened here earlier today happens again, I’m to call security and have you removed from the room. Forcibly if necessary. Do you understand?”

“Sure thing, Honey,” Steve said. “I’m just going to ask him a few questions, that’s all.”

She looked back over to Pell. “I’ll be at the nurses’ station. Push your call button if you need me.”

Steve walked in and pulled up a chair next to the head of the bed. “Well, Pell, you’re in a mess.”

Pell stared back blankly.

Steve touched Pell’s arm as he said, “Carl wants me to call him as soon as you come around.”

“Then why don’t you?”

“I wanted to talk to you alone first.”

“About what?”

“About Carl. This whole thing. He’s on some kind of vendetta against you.”

“You figure that out yourself or did someone help you?”

“I also know what really happened with that cop up in New Hampshire. He’s not dead, by the way.”

“Really?”

“He’ll be fine after a little rehab.”

“Thank God,” Pell muttered.

Steve continued, “At your request, Carl’s going to get Arthur Kent involved.”

He could remember infuriating Carl but the details of the conversation escaped him. The heavy medication then and now clouded his memory.

“He wants to know what Maurice Andleman told you. It doesn’t look like the old guy’s going to make it. Personal opinion, Sarah Burns exists, and she’s probably done exactly what you said. We need to find her, and you’re probably the only one who can give us any information.”

Pell nodded. He had to be careful. Steve Strange sounded so sincere, friendly. They could have given him something to make him talk. Steve could have easily injected any of the many available truth serums into one of his IV lines while Pell slept and was now working him. After all, this was the Bureau – justice at any cost.

“You don’t have to tell me anything. I’ll find out once you talk to Arthur. There is one thing, though, that I think might help you out.” A sinister grin spread across his face, and he leaned closer. “I don’t like Carl. As a matter of fact, I hate the son of a bitch.”

“Welcome to the club.”

“Let me tell you a little something about our beloved SAC that you might find useful when you and Arthur talk.”

He leaned down so that his lips brushed Pell’s eager ear and started to talk in a whisper, “I know for a fact that Carl isn’t the Mr. Clean everyone thinks he is. Six weeks ago I noticed, or really, stopped to think about some things – a quirky schedule, unexplained absences, real expensive tastes – definitely living beyond his Bureau means. He’s moody by nature but it was getting worse. He kept jumping all over my shit, not as bad as what he does to you but damn close and I got sick of it. So I did a little digging.”

“A little?”

“Okay, a lot,” Steve said. “Carl’s no dummy. He’s hid it well but not well enough.”

“Carl’s dirty?” Pell said. The heart monitor unit up-tempoed it’s lethargic rhythm. “What’s he into?”

“I’m not entirely sure but whatever it is, it’s serious. It could just be opportunistic greed on his part but that doesn’t feel right. I think it’s probably more like someone has something on Carl and is blackmailing him. Either that or they managed to scare him.” Steve paused and glanced out into the corridor. “There’s definitely others involved but I haven’t worked out who all is part of this yet.”

“But what’s he doing?” Pell asked.

“It looks like Carl has been involved in a scheme to steal and sell military equipment.”

“Military equipment?” Pell said. “That doesn’t make any sense.”

“I don’t know if it makes sense or not but he is into it up to his eyeballs.”

“So what do you know?”

“They’re moving lots of arms. Some of it’s Viet Nam era crap but some of it’s not. I’m not quite sure what Carl’s exact role is yet. Maybe it’s just turning a blind eye or maybe it’s more of an active role. All I do know is that he’s involved. The prick’s arming the enemy and making money hand over fist.”

“That mother fucker,” Pell said. “And he’s always so righteous.”

“Don’t I know it.”

Pell shook his head. “Jesus Christ, why haven’t you done anything with this?”

“I just made the final connections a couple of days ago and then this Sarah Burns thing came up. I haven’t had time to pull it all together yet.”

“How long have you been with the Bureau?”

“Five years.”

“All here?”

“Yes, sir. Working for our buddy Moscovitz.”

“So gut feel, is it real? Do you have him?”

“Gut feel, you bet. But you and I know what the Bureau thinks about gut feels.”

“Worthless.”

Agent Strange smiled. “Yep, absolutely worthless.”

“So you got something better?”

“Much better.”

“Like what?”

“Proof.”

“Solid?”

“Oh yeah,” Steve said. “It’s amazing the data we in the Bureau have access to and if you’ve got some decent computer skills and a college roommate who works for the NSA, all of a sudden the ephemeral details of a carefully hidden life become clear, if you know what I mean.”

Pell stared at the young agent for a long moment. He had twenty years of dealing with people who were lying, some of them good at it, others not so much but he trusted his instincts and this kid was very believable.

“So what? Why are you telling me this?”

“Well, if you’re going to get Arthur Kent here…”

Pell smiled. “Why me? Why not take it to Arthur and make a name yourself?”

“They use the Allen Jenkins case at the Academy. It’s a case study in decisions. You got screwed, Pell. Me and the other recruits talked about it over beers after that class and we all would have reacted exactly like you did. Anybody would have. Hopefully, this will give you back some of your reputation.”

Pell’s drugged eyes watered up. Everything was coming full-circle as Steve Strange pulled an envelope out from the inner pocket of his jacket, passed it over to Pell and said, “Everything you need is in here. Do yourself a favor and give this to Arthur.”

9:54 pm PDT Eureka, California

The car hit hard as it came down and bounced up again, threatening to roll over to the left. He cut the wheel in that direction. Small trees smashed into the front fender and slapped at the windows as he careened through the woods out of control. He pressed on the brakes, but the tires couldn’t get a grip on the soft forest floor.

Suddenly the trees cleared as he streaked out onto the side of a road. The car went into a skid. This time he didn’t simply plow through some young trees. As if someone steered him toward it, the car swerved and slammed head-on into a giant pine tree.

The airbag deployed and slammed Chris back into his seat as the world around him exploded with the sound of crushing metal and shattering glass. The symphony from hell overwhelmed him and he blacked out briefly. He came around to the sound of the airbag slowly deflating and the hissing and ticking of the shattered engine.

“Jesus Christ,” he said as he pushed the airbag out of his face and kicked open the jammed door. Outside, he gave himself the once over, surprised he was in one piece. Tomorrow he’d be sore, but for right now he was okay.

The front fender and grill wrapped around the huge tree, giving it a twisted metal hug. The hood was popped open and mangled. Steam poured from the shattered radiator.

The car was totaled, and worse than that, he was now on foot in the middle of the vast woods in the dark. He climbed back into the car and grabbed his backpack. After rummaging for a few minutes in the dark for his cell phone, he found it and decided that now was as good a time as any to get Carl involved.

Standing outside, he turned on the phone, hoping that it would work in this wilderness. After an interminable time, the roam light finally started flashing, and he dialed information back in Boston for the FBI.

He looked up at the star-filled swath of sky between the immense trees that lined the road and listened. Nothing. He couldn’t hear cars on a distant road, an airplane overhead or anything to insinuate that he wasn’t the only human alive on the planet. What he could see of the horizon in any direction was dark – no glow from a city or town. Sweet Jesus, this was a predicament. It was going to be a hike to get out of here.

The computerized voice gave the number for the FBI and he dialed it.

After a couple of rings, a voicemail machine answered and told him that the office was closed for the day. It was the middle of the night back home and he wasn’t going to be getting any help until the morning. He turned off the phone and sat on the trunk.

His options were limited – sit and wait to see if someone would come by, climb into the backseat and catch some sleep, or hike out. None of them sounded good right now, but one thing was for certain, he wasn’t in the mood to just sit around and wait, so he decided to hike out.

As he made a move to get going, headlights, about fifty feet away, suddenly turned on and shone brightly in his face. He froze. Someone had seen the crash and had just sat there watching him. Why hadn’t they helped him? His instincts told him to make a run for the woods, but he ignored the urge and stood there. The car wasn’t running, and after a minute, he heard doors open and close. Two shadowy figures appeared in front of the headlights. He couldn’t make out their faces but he could see that they both held shotguns.

“Hello?” Chris said.

They ignored the salutation.

“I had an accident,” Chris said.

Again they were silent.

He started to walk toward them.

“Stop right there,” the man on the left said as he leveled his gun. Chris stopped.

“What do you want?” The other one said. They had thick accents, or maybe they just talked real slow.

“I don’t want anything,” Chris replied. “I just had an accident.”

The two men looked at each other and Chris noticed the faint, red glow of a cigarette in the car. There were at least three of them.

“Why’re you trying to reach the FBI?”

“It’s a long story. Who are you?”

The man on the left pumped his shotgun. “What do you think, Ted?”

“Hold on a minute, Jake,” the other man said. “Before we do anything rash—”

“He was trying to call the FBI. He’s probably a narc. Do you want to go back to the pen?”

“No,” the other man said in a conciliatory tone.

“Then let’s waste him.”

“I don’t know?”

“I say we shoot now and ask questions later.”

“Just a second, guys. I don’t work for the FBI or the cops. I don’t know who you are or what your deal is, and I don’t care. I was trying to find someone who lives out here. I’ve got no beef with you.”

The smoker climbed out of the car but stayed in the shadows. Only the slowly moving tip of his cigarette was visible. “Who were you looking for?” The man asked. His voice was much clearer than his partner’s. He spoke in an unmistakable northeastern accent – a fellow Yankee.

“Why were you driving so fast? You on the run?” The man on the left said as he started to walk toward Chris. “And why were you calling the Feds?”

“It’s a long story,” Chris replied. He felt disconnected, like he was having a bad dream and couldn’t wake up – maybe he hit his head in the crash.

Jake walked behind Chris and prodded him with his shotgun to walk toward their car. He kept the gun barrel pressed firmly into Chris’ back. If he made any wrong moves, Jake could blow a hole in his abdomen big enough to put a fist through. He was at their mercy.

What was he going to say? Was there any chance of escape?

“Put your hands on the hood,” Jake said as he pushed him into the bumper and frisked him. “He’s clean,” he said after a painfully thorough search.

“Of course I’m clean,” Chris said. “Like I told you, I was looking for someone out here. I followed him from LA, and we got separated just as he turned onto the dirt road.”

“Who was it?” The voice from the dark asked.

“Albert James Winslow.”

“And you say you followed him from LA and then you got separated right up here?” Jake asked as he turned Chris around. For the first time, Chris got a good look at him. He wished that he hadn’t. The man was tall and lanky with a ratty, unkempt beard that covered most of his face – a jagged scar ran from just below his left eye, down his cheek, under his chin, and disappeared into the collar of his faded, black Allman Brothers t-shirt. He definitely wouldn’t be winning any handsome contests.

Jake smashed the butt of his shotgun across the side of Chris’ face, knocking him to the ground. His head rang. Pain exploded from the spot where the gunstock had made contact.

“Jake, hold on a minute,” Ted said.

“Hold on, my ass. You follow somebody for that long and then lose him? He’s lying. And look what he had here in his jacket pocket. I told you he’s FBI,” Jake said as he held up Pell’s ID wallet and spat on the ground narrowly missing Chris. “Stand up,” he ordered.

The two other men walked out from behind the car so Chris could see them. Ted looked very much like another version of Jake – without the scar. The other man was clean shaven and dressed in a suit. He looked like he could have come straight from work at a bank or an insurance office, and appeared out of his element here. What were they doing out here in the middle of nowhere at this time of night in the first place?

“Now listen, mister,” Ted said. “Jake’s getting nervous, and I can tell you from experience, you don’t want to make him nervous. So if I were you, I’d start talking – real fast. Who are you and what are you doing here? And you best not be feeding us a story. Got it?”

Chris nodded as he looked at each man individually. He wasn’t sure what to say. He was too confused to make up an elaborate lie so he decided to tell them the truth – the whole story – and hope they bought it.

“Start talking,” Jake said pushing the shotgun into Chris’s side.

“All right. My name’s Chris Foster. Last Sunday I was fishing at my camp in northern Maine…”

The banker had time to smoke several cigarettes while Chris told them about his ordeal. Ted and the banker listened intently, but Jake kept looking around as if he expected something to happen.

“And that, as unbelievable as it sounds, is how I ended up here with you,” Chris said. “So, like I told you, I could care less who you are and what you’re doing out at this time of night with guns. I just want to wash my hands of this whole thing. I was trying to do my part, and all it has brought me is grief…”

His three captors looked at each other.

“Sounds like a bunch of BS to me,” Jake said.

“Didn’t you hear what I just said? What sort of idiot would think I made this story up on the fly?” Chris snatched the ID from Jake’s hand and held it up. “This isn’t even me. Look at the picture, does that look like me?”

Ted took the ID from Chris and examined it with the light on his iPhone and then tossed it to the banker saying, “It ain’t him.”

“I told—”

Jake rammed the barrel of his gun into Chris’ chest and said, “Who you calling an idiot?”

Chris turned his attention to the banker. “Come on, buddy. I’m not making this up. All I want to do is make sure the authorities are on the case, that they’ve got as much information as possible to find this Sarah Burns woman and then all I want to do is get as far away from here as possible and forget the whole damn thing. I don’t know what you’re all about, but you’ve got to look at the big picture. These zealots want to change the course of mankind. It’s bigger than whatever you have going on, and it’s the only reason that I’m even here.”

“Hey Ted, didn’t you say you saw people out at the old McGuire place?” The banker said.

Ted nodded. “Yeah. I noticed lights on up there tonight on the way down here. You think it’s them?”

“Could be,” the banker replied as he flicked the cigarette butt onto the road and looked at Chris. “What do you want to do? We can give you a ride out to the main road, or drop you down by the McGuire place so you can have a look around. Your call.”

“Are you crazy?” Jake exclaimed. “He wants to bring the fucking FBI right into our backyard, and you’re going to give him a ride? Where’s your head at?”

The banker snapped, “Didn’t you hear what he said, Jake? The FBI is going to be dealing with the people he’s after. Looking for this virus. They’re hardly going to be interested in us are they? Sounds like they’ve got much bigger fish to fry.”

“You’re making a mistake,” Jake said.

“I don’t think so,” Ted said as he stepped closer to the banker as if to emphasize their allegiance. “The Feds won’t be interested in us. They’ll have their hands full already and I’d rather give them who they’re looking for than have them up here crawling all over the place and poking around willy-nilly. That’s when we’re really in trouble.”

“Where’s this McGuire place?” Chris asked.

Ted pointed off to the right. “Basically on the other side of that hill. The south side – sunny side.”

“What time is it?” Jake suddenly asked.

“Ten-thirty,” the banker replied. “Come on. We don’t have time for this now.” He pulled a pistol out of a shoulder holster concealed under his coat.

“No listen, you don’t have to do this…” Chris started to plead. headlights suddenly flashed on and off three times down the road.

“That’s them,” Jake said.

He leaned through the driver’s side window and flicked his lights on and off once. After a moment, the other car turned on its parking lights and moved slowly toward the men.

“What about him?” Jake asked as the car drew closer.

“Stand behind the car out of the way. This won’t take long,” the banker said to Chris, pushing him towards the rear of the car.

The approaching car stopped about twenty feet from them. Three men got out. The two groups of men were identically constructed, two thug types and a smarter dressed man. The new crew was much younger than the banker and his boys. The two thug types were physically ripped – lean, muscular, their arms scarred with splotchy prison tattoos. The smarter one wore a heavy black leather coat.

“You got the stuff, man?” The leader said to the banker in a thick Latino accent. His slicked back black hair glistened in the dull light.

“Where’s Roach?” The banker replied.

“He couldn’t make it today. He was tied up.”

Jake and the banker exchanged glances.

“That’s funny,” the banker said. “I heard he got busted selling a Q.P. to an undercover cop in San Francisco.”

The kid stayed cool. His two compadres were either mute or had nothing to say. They stood tensely at his side. “Who told you that?”

“It doesn’t matter. Is it true?” The banker said.

“No way. He’s cool, man.”

The newcomers noticed Chris standing behind the car in the shadows.

“Who’s he?”

The banker turned and glanced at him. “Nobody important, Miguel.”

Miguel looked distrustfully at the banker. When Chris used to buy quantities of pot in college things were a lot different – no guns and gangs; just a trip to a hippie’s house in the country with a little cash. They used to party together. Trade some cash for some pot. Those were the days.

“I’m worried, Miguel,” the banker said.

“Me too,” Jake chimed in.

The banker shot him a ‘keep your mouth shut’ look.

“About what?” Miguel asked.

“About you. I’ve got fifty pounds of shit in the trunk of my car with your name on it, but I like to feel good about who I do business with. I don’t feel good about you anymore.”

“What do you mean?” Miguel asked as he took a step toward the banker. “We’ve always done good business. I’ve got your money in the car.”

“I think a couple of things,” the banker said calmly. “First, I know that you’re buying elsewhere and that pisses me off, but I can live with it. It’s the second thing that’s got me upset.”

Miguel rocked from foot to foot bobbing his head rapidly. This could turn ugly in a hurry, and Chris slowly moved further behind the car.

“I’ve got a friend; let’s call him Frank, just for the hell of it,” the banker said. “My friend Frank just happens to work in the San Francisco Police Department. He likes to smoke a little reefer; we go way back. Anyway, he tells me that the cops busted this kid selling quarter pounds. Oh well, that happens every day, right?”

Miguel stared back at the banker blankly.

“Right?”

Miguel nodded. “I suppose.”

“Do you know what doesn’t happen every day, though?”

“What?”

“My name doesn’t come up when the kid’s spilling his guts to the cops. That’s never happened before. The kid sings and drags me into his little fucking mess.”

“Hey, man, I don’t know nothing about that. Roach hasn’t been busted in a year as far as I know.”

“What’d I tell you,” Jake said to Ted.

The banker looked at them, nodded, and continued, “That’s the problem, Miguel. You’re out of touch. These are your people. You’ve got to be in control and you’re not. Each time you come here, you’ve got at least one new person with you.”

The banker stepped forward to one of the men standing at Miguel’s side. “Who the fuck are you?” The banker asked him. He turned back to Miguel without waiting for an answer. “Your organization is too loose for us to do business anymore, Miguel – too loose.”

“So what are you saying?” Miguel asked. “You won’t sell to me anymore?”

“Exactly,” the banker replied. “Not unless you get a grip on what you’re doing. You’re doing too much volume to be as stupid as you are.”

“This isn’t good,” Miguel replied. “We have people expecting us to come through tonight, and if we don’t, there’s going to be trouble.”

Jake and Ted both leveled their shotguns at the others.

“Then it sounds like you’re going to be in trouble because right now I wouldn’t give you the sweat off my balls.”

Miguel glared at the banker. His dark eyes narrowed. Chris could hear him cursing under his breath in Spanish. “This is not good, my friend, not good at all,” Miguel said.

“It doesn’t have to be good, Miguel. It’s business. That’s what you’ve got to learn. Now get back in your car and hit the road. I never want to see or hear from you again. Understand? And tell that rat Roach that his ass is mine.”

Miguel glared at the banker for a solid minute before motioning with his finger for his men to leave. He turned and followed them back to their car. “You’re making a big mistake,” he said as he walked away. “A big mistake.”

Jake was about to say something, but the banker tapped him on the shoulder. “Don’t.”

Jake and Ted kept their guns aimed at the car as it backed away down the road rapidly. After about fifty yards, it whipped around and sped off in a cloud of dust that hid the taillights from view.

“That was what I expected,” Jake said.

“I’m just glad they didn’t pull something stupid,” Ted said. “You never know with guys like that.”

The banker grunted.

Chris stood motionless. The confrontation had scared him. It was probably the norm for these guys – just another day at the office.

“Come here, Chris,” the banker said. “This is the deal. I’m not sure why, but I believe your story. We’ll take you over to the McGuire place and drop you off there. Then you’ll forget this whole scene. We don’t exist. Can you do that?”

Chris just nodded. He tried to say something but nothing came out of his mouth.

“That’s right, just keep quiet,” the banker replied. “Get in the car.”

Chris would rather have just run as fast as he could in any direction than get into the car but he didn’t feel he had a choice in the matter as the banker pushed him into the back seat.

Ted climbed into the backseat with him while the banker sat up front and Jake got behind the wheel. The car vibrated and the heavily modified engine growled as it started – the family wagon wouldn’t do in this business.

As they started to move, Ted lit up a bone. The sweet smell of marijuana soon filled the car. He passed it up to the front seat where Jake and the banker each took turns on it before it came back to Ted.

So much for handing this over to the FBI and washing his hands of everything, Chris thought as they raced through the woods along the dirt tracks. Why hadn’t he just stayed out of this? He should have driven Pell to the hospital, told the FBI what Pell had told him and gone back home. What was he thinking coming all the way out here? Right now, he had no idea if he was being driven to a shallow grave in the woods or right into the hands of Sarah Burns. If they do let me out at the McGuire house, at least the odds are low that it was Sarah Burns and her entourage staying there, he thought. Hopefully, he could get some help from whoever is there and get the hell out of this place.

A shout from the front suddenly interrupted his thoughts.

“Miguel!” Jake exclaimed as he stomped on the accelerator, the engine roared and the car lurched forward.

12:05 am PDT Humboldt County, California

Camilla smiled at Sarah as she opened the fifth bottle of wine. Sarah was feeling a little tipsy. Standing up would be the test but there was no need to do that right now. They had spent the evening playing cards at the kitchen table, drinking excellent wine and listening to music. Exhausted from the long drive, Albert had gone to bed hours ago.

As Camilla came back to the table with the fresh bottle, Jerry stood up and said, “That’s it for me. I’ve got to get some sleep.”

“Me too,” Seth said as he too stood with a groan. “See you in the morning.”

He looked awful – burnt, uncomfortable and worn out from the events of the past week. Sarah smiled at him. After hearing the details of what happened back in Maine, her anger had faded quickly. Thank God all of them hadn’t been killed. That would’ve ruined the entire operation. Their departure left just Sarah, Camilla, and Mike at the table.

“Are you two up for another game?” Mike asked.

“Hell, it’s too early to go to bed,” Camilla said.

“You’re still a night owl,” Sarah said.

“Always have been, always will be,” Camilla replied as she refilled everyone’s glass. Mike shuffled the cards. They had been playing poker, dealer’s choice.

“I think that this place will work out well,” Sarah said. “It’s so quiet.”

“It certainly is that,” Mike agreed dealing out the cards.

“I can’t believe we’re here,” Camilla said.

“Me neither,” Mike replied. “It almost seems like we’re on a set, doesn’t it?”

“That’s exactly what I feel like,” she replied. “All that’s missing are the cameras and directors.”

“Well, we’re definitely not acting here,” Sarah said. “This is as real as it gets.”

“There is no going back now,” Camilla said.

“Not a chance, at this point we’re all committed,” Sarah replied.

“We’re doing the right thing, aren’t we?” Mike asked.

“What do you mean?” Sarah asked.

Mike placed the deck on the table and leaned back in his chair. He combed his short beard with his fingers. “I feel kind of different now that it’s achievable. Almost like I’m second-guessing my ideals. The other day when you were explaining how it works and what it’s going to do – at first I was happy. I felt successful. But the more I thought about it, the more I began to question what we were doing.”

Camilla frowned as she said, “It’s the right thing, Mike.”

Sarah was frustrated. “The Earth simply can’t support this many people indefinitely,” she said. “We’ve been through this. Slowly but surely, day after day, we’re consuming the planet. Resources aren’t infinite. There’s just too much of everything. We have to – we can – do something about it.”

“And look at all of the suffering,” Camilla said. “Remember how you felt after you went to India a few years ago? What about our trip to Mexico City? It’s all a matter of population and we’ve got a relatively painless cure.”

“This is no time to be questioning your commitment and ideals Mike,” Sarah said. “Don’t let the emotions of the moment skew your view.”

“I know,” Mike said. “But before it was less tangible – a dream, a philosophy. Now it’s going to be a reality. Doesn’t that make it different for you?”

“Not at all,” Sarah said. “This was always reality. I need to know that you are one hundred percent committed at this point Mike. I don’t want to hear that you’re having doubts.”

The music stopped. Camilla walked across the room and fiddled with the iPod that was inserted in a portable speaker system. Stevie Ray Vaughn started singing that ‘The Sky is Crying’ and she turned up the volume. “Lighten up, Mikey,” she said as she strode seductively back to the table. “We’re doing the right thing. You’re doing the right thing. There’s no question about it.”

“You’re right,” Mike nodded filling his glass with more wine. “I’m not sure what I expected. But I am committed, no second thoughts. You can trust me one-hundred percent. Maybe it’s from the trouble back in Maine. I don’t know. You know me, Camilla. I’m never tense but, man, my shoulders are in a knot.”

Camilla walked behind him and started rubbing his shoulders.

Sarah watched the massage and listened to Camilla and Mike change the conversation and banter between themselves playfully. She didn’t like the way they had both referred to this as like being in a movie and now here they were laughing and joking. She hadn’t really trusted Mike from the beginning but now she had reason to mistrust him. He wasn’t committed. He had just admitted as much and then as quickly changed his mind, almost protesting too much about how committed he was. She had better keep a very close eye on him over the coming days.

12:05 am PDT Humboldt County, California

The rapid, percussive pops of machinegun fire erupted outside. The car accelerated rapidly. Ted and the banker tried to get to their guns. Chris ducked down. Bullets peppered the car. The windows blew out. Jake’s head jerked back and to the right violently. Chris pressed himself down on the floor.

The banker and Ted screamed as the car spun out of control and launched off the road into the woods. They rammed into a tree head-on. Chris slammed into the back of the front seat with incredible force. The engine was running at full throttle as the car came to a stop. It howled at an unsustainable pitch. They must have shattered the axle or blown out the transmission and the accelerator was stuck at full throttle. Ted and the banker moaned, obviously injured. Chris flung his door open, rolled out onto the ground, and stumbled into the dark forest, away from the car.

Tripping on a log, he fell to the ground. His chest heaved. He felt like he was going to have a heart attack as he sat up against a tree and forced himself to take deep breaths – to calm down. He couldn’t see any signs of Ted or the banker. Through the trees, he caught glimpses of Miguel and one of his men approaching on the road. As they swaggered along with their weapons leveled at the car, they exchanged a low-fisted high five and spoke loudly in Spanish. The other thug drove their car. Its lights illuminated the wreck. A thick cloud of steam and smoke poured out from under the hood. The engine continued to howl. The men opened fire. Their machine guns blasted away at the now-shattered hot-rod until the engine made a loud sound and went silent, as did their guns.

The three men walked down to the car. Chris watched in horror as they pulled the bodies of Ted, Jake, and the banker out and laid them on the road. Miguel fired a single shot into each of their heads.

“My name is Miguel,” he said before pulling the trigger each time. “And don’t you forget it.”

“What about the other one?” One of the other men said to Miguel.

“He must be in the woods,” Miguel replied.

Miguel seemed to look right at him as he yelled into the dark forest, “This is what happens when you cross us.”

He sprayed a burst of bullets into the woods. One hit a tree about ten feet from Chris. He couldn’t have moved if he had wanted to.

“You tell your friends that if they ever do business with Miguel, they better treat me with respect.”

“Yeah, we are businessmen too,” one of the other men said in his Latino street accent.

They popped the trunk on the wrecked car and pulled out a bale of pot.

“I guess we’re getting this at a bargain,” Miguel said.

“It’s a sale,” another one of them said. They all started to laugh as they loaded the pot into their idling car and sped away down the road.

The dark lumps of the dead men lay in the road.

“What the hell,” he muttered as he stood up noticing for the first time the sharp pain in his left arm. The adrenaline rush had numbed it temporarily but now an intense pain flared on his forearm – a jagged edge of his ulna or radius protruded through the skin, blood ran from the wound. His knees weakened as he felt the sharp edge of bone. Damn.

The sounds of tires sliding on dirt and the low rumble of a powerful engine drifted through the woods. A car sped down the dirt road. It skidded to a stop just before running over the bodies, and machine-gun fire erupted from the vehicle into the woods all around him. Miguel and his boys had come back to see if he had gone up to the road. Falling to the ground, trembling, he listened to the bullets tearing through the woods.

After a few seconds, the car drove over the bodies, spun around, and drove over them again as it sped away with its occupants hooting and cheering.

Paranoia gripped him. Would they be back? He hurried deeper into the woods. He wanted to get as far away from those bodies and the road as possible. His arm throbbed with each step. What had he gotten himself into? How could this all be happening at once? David Rose, Sara Burns, Pell, Karen, The Banker and Miguel – it was too much, too coincidental, as if fate had somehow chosen him to see how far one man could be pushed before snapping.

As he staggered along, he ripped a piece off his shirt and wrapped it around his forearm to control the bleeding.

1:15 am PDT Humboldt County, California

“Weren’t we going to play some cards?” Sarah asked.

“Yes,” Camilla said as she sat back down at the table and sloppily refilled their glasses “Let’s have some fun.”

Mike finished dealing the cards and they got down to another game. Sarah watched as Camilla and Mike finished off the wine getting louder and drunker as the night progressed.

“Let’s change this music and dance,” Camilla suddenly yelled as she slammed the table, stood up and started dancing over to the iPod dock. Mike laughed and got up to follow her, almost falling over his chair as he went.

Chris stumbled to the ground again, slamming his arm into the decaying remnants of a tree trunk. Pain tore through his arm. He rolled over onto his back and screamed. The dark, dense woods consumed his weak howl – nobody was going to hear him.

Brilliant patches of star-filled sky peaked through the forest canopy. The air was warm but uncontrollable tremors still shook his body. He was in shock and needed medical attention.

He lay on the mossy forest floor drifting in and out of consciousness. Everything was going wrong. The emotional rollercoaster of the past few days caught up with him and he started to cry. In shock, lost, emotionally drained, he didn’t have the strength to go much further.

The faint sound of a guitar drifted through the quiet woods. Moving on pure will power, he rose and stumbled in the direction of the sound. All he wanted to do right now was lie down and sleep, but that would be the worst thing he could do.

Camilla and Mike swayed together in the middle of the floor, singing along to some pop song and laughing like teenagers. Sarah got up to leave and head to bed. A loud crash on the back porch stopped her in her tracks.

“What was that?” She exclaimed trying to peer through the window into the darkness. Mike and Camilla both giggled.

“It’s probably a grizzly bear come to join in the fun,” Camilla laughed.

Sarah glanced at the door that was at the back of the kitchen and led out to the porch. She couldn’t see anything. As she reluctantly turned to head to her room, she saw some motion out of the corner of her eye. A man stood there, staring wildly at her.

She screamed.

Mike and Camilla both followed her gaze and saw the man there in the window. He was motionless for a moment, then fell against the door, and slid down out of sight.

“What the hell!” Mike said as the three of them rushed toward the door. Mike flipped on the light, and they looked out the window at the man lying on his back on the porch, apparently unconscious.

“What do you think?” Camilla asked.

Mike yanked open the door and stepped out onto the porch, moving cautiously. “Look at his arm!” Mike said as he tapped his foot into the man’s side. “He’s out.”

“What should we do?” Camilla asked.

“Let’s get him inside,” Sarah said as she walked out onto the porch.

The three of them picked the man up, carried him into the house, and placed him on the couch in the living room.

Sarah sat down on the couch next to the man and slowly unwrapped the blood-soaked rag from around his arm.

“There’s a first-aid kit in the kitchen,” she said to Mike. “Can you get it?”

Sarah gasped. One of his forearm bones poked through his skin. A viscous substance, probably marrow, oozed from inside the bone. “That’s not good,” she muttered as Mike placed the first-aid kit next to Sarah.

He caught a glimpse of the arm as he leaned over her. “Oh my God,” he said almost gagging. “That looks terrible.”

Camilla watched silently, tugging on her lip.

“It’s a bad break,” Sarah said as she touched the man’s forehead. “He’s in shock. Grab me some blankets, will you?”

“Sure,” Camilla said.

“What are we going to do with him?” Mike asked.

“I don’t know,” Sarah said. “Seth’s set broken bones before, but I think a break like this is going to require a hospital and doctors.”

Camilla came back into the room carrying a couple of thick blankets. Sarah poured some hydrogen peroxide on the wound and wrapped it in fresh gauze.

As she secured the end of the gauze, she said, “This is a big problem.”

“I’d say it is,” Camilla agreed. “I thought you said this place was so remote no one would ever stumble by. We’ve been here six hours and we’ve already got an injured stranger lying on our couch.”

Sarah motioned for them to follow her into the kitchen. “Someone now knows where we are,” she said. “This was obviously not part of the plan but we need to decide what to do with him.”

“He doesn’t know who we are though?” Mike said.

“But he knows we’re here! We don’t want anyone knowing that, or that I even exist. The last thing we need is attention,” Sarah said.

“What do you think happened to him?” Camilla asked.

“I don’t know. Car wreck maybe?” Sarah replied.

“If it was a car wreck, why was he behind the house?” Mike asked.

“How would I know?” Sarah snapped.

“Maybe he was hiking and got lost – took a tumble,” Camilla offered.

“Could be,” Mike said. “I wonder who he is.”

“Go check if he has any ID on him,” Sarah said.

Mike turned and left the room to check.

“We can’t keep him here, Camilla. We have to get rid of him before he wakes up and sees where he is and who we are. Christ, he’ll recognize you for sure.”

“I know,” Camilla replied. “So we get rid of him?”

“Definitely.”

“I don’t know about that.”

“Why not? It’s simple.”

“Wait a second, are you saying we should we kill him?”

“No. Jesus, I’m not saying that,” Sarah looked at Camilla amazed that she would suggest that. “What do you think I am, a monster? He needs to get to a hospital. I’m saying we drive him up to the highway and drop him off someplace where he’ll get found, preferably before he wakes up and certainly before it gets to be light out,” Sarah said.

Mike walked back into the room. “He had a driving license in his wallet,” he said throwing it on the table.

“Good,” Sarah said.

“At least they’ll know who he is when we drop him on the highway to get found,” Camilla said.

Sarah stepped forward to take a look at the license. She stared at the name on the license in shocked disbelief. “Son of a bitch.”

DAY 6 – FRIDAY, JULY 3

7:45 am Boston, Massachusetts

It was a cold, rainy day as the FBI car came to a stop in front of Mass General and just as Arthur was about to get out of the car to meet up with the Boston team, his phone rang.

“What’s up, Cecil?” Arthur asked, leaning back into the seat. Cecil was one of his best analysts.

“Lots.”

“Let’s hear it.”

“Been working this virus. We tried tracking the people but that was a dead end so I followed up on the other clues and one of them has turned into something.”

Arthur’s blood pressure and heart rate increased. Cecil was fact-based and when he said he had something you could bet he did.

“Talk to me, Cecil.”

“We did some phonetic—”

“I don’t need to hear how you did it.”

“Sorry, Ngami is a real place. A region of Botswana. Relatively sophisticated infrastructure, stable government, a success story for Africa for sure,” Cecil said. “So the virus allegedly makes people infertile, right?”

“That’s what the reports said.”

“So I called the largest hospital and want to guess what I found out.”

“Go on.”

“Births have plummeted the past few months. Right now there isn’t a pregnant woman to be found in any of their maternity wards.”

Arthur sat upright. “What? Are you certain?”

“Absolutely. The WHO is all over the place, trying to figure it out but they can’t. All they know is the sperm counts of everyone they’ve tested are well below normal, actually, well below viable.”

“Viable?”

“Not enough of the little swimmers to realistically fertilize an egg.”

“Oh my God,” Arthur said as he pressed his hand to his forehead and massaged his temples. His mind was racing. The W.H.O was the best at these sorts of crisis. “Why haven’t I heard about this? Did I miss something? Why didn’t the WHO raise any alarms?”

“They didn’t know what they were dealing with. It was very regional. I spoke with their director on the ground in Botswana. She was very helpful but also very perplexed,” Cecil replied.

“Jesus.”

“There’s more.”

“More?”

“So all of this is one big cluster of coincidences. We have the virus rumor and now some loose but compelling corroboration but still nothing concrete so I take a look at international travelers over the past year going to and from Botswana and correlate it to the names we know.”

Arthur leaned forward again and unconsciously held his breath, knowing what he was about to hear. “And?”

“And, we’ve got a David Rose turning up in Botswana almost nine months ago.”

“Who’s David Rose?”

“The pilot who was shot down.”

“Go on.”

“He turns up in Botswana nine months ago and, obviously, we don’t know if this David Rose is our dead pilot David Rose but I got this same David Rose arriving on an international flight from Botswana via Heathrow into Boston three weeks ago and then hopping a shuttle flight to Bangor.”

“Son of a bitch!” Arthur exclaimed. “Anything else?”

“Not yet but I’m sure we’re going to connect more dots shortly.”

Arthur pulled out the case file and flipped through it for a moment as he considered what Cecil had just told him. It was all circumstantial, nothing concrete but he had been in this business long enough to know that sometimes you had to run with what you had and this was undoubtedly one of those times.

“Excellent work, Cecil.”

“Thanks.”

“I need you to put everything together and get it to me immediately. I want all of these coincidences documented.”

A knock on the window brought Arthur’s head up and he turned to see who it was. Carl Moscovitz. Arthur held up one finger and said, “Let me know the second you have that all together.”

“Will do.”

Arthur disconnected and stepped out of the car.

“Thank you for coming, Arthur,” Carl said as the two men shook hands. “I’m sorry about the short notice, but he says that he’ll only talk to you. I don’t think we have much time.”

“No problem,” Arthur said as he followed Carl inside the building and toward the elevators, still trying to digest what he had just learned. It was incredible but he had to compartmentalize the different threads of this for now. Perhaps agent Pelletier could give him additional corroborative details that would be useful. People stepped aside as they crossed the busy lobby. Arthur popped a breath mint as he walked.

Irving followed the two men into an empty elevator. A woman and her son tried to follow them in, but Irving stopped them. “I’m sorry,” he said. “Official business.”

The woman scowled at them as the doors slid shut.

“Has anything else happened since you sent down this report last night?” Arthur asked.

“Not much. Pell came around for a while early this morning, but all he would say was that he’d only talk to you.”

“That’s it?” Arthur asked.

“Actually, there’s one other interesting bit of information.”

“What’s that?”

“Chris Foster, the civilian who saw the plane go down up in Maine, has disappeared. We’ve been trying to find him since yesterday. He took a plane to LA, rented a car and then disappeared.”

“Any ideas?” Arthur asked.

Carl shook his head. “Could be he’s just freaked out by the past few days. We talked to his wife and she says they’re having big marital problems so that could be contributing to him taking off.”

“Is that what you think?” Arthur asked.

“It’s doubtful,” Carl said. “More likely it has something to do with this case.”

“Like what?”

“Something he learned from agent Pelletier?”

“Could it be Sarah Burns and her people?”

“Perhaps but, personally, I’d go with the he-learned-something-from-Pell theory. He very well may have important evidence. He was hanging around with that piece of shit since he reported the plane crash incident. Those two had a weird relationship, like Pell had suddenly recruited him as his partner or something.”

“Really?”

“Isn’t that how you saw it, Irving,” Carl said to Irving who nodded then Carl continued, “We just don’t know where he is. He simply vanished overnight.”

The elevator doors opened, and the three men stepped out into the hallway of the ICU. Arthur noticed the unnatural silence of the floor – as if the patients’ struggles to cling to life somehow muted the normal sounds of the busy urban hospital. Doctors and nurses moved about purposefully, but the actual noise-to-activity ratio was out of whack.

Carl strode toward Pell’s room. He had a cocky swagger for a little guy.

Agent Strange stood outside the door. His gaze darting from man to man as they approached.

“Anything?” Carl said as he walked past Steve.

“No,” he replied.

“Can we go in?”

“No, the nurse buzzed Dr. Epstein while you were on your way up.”

“Is he on his way? Arthur doesn’t have all day,” Carl said.

Arthur peered into the room at Pell asleep on the bed. He was a calm man, but the one thing that sent him through the roof was when an agent went bad. It didn’t happen often but every once in a while it did. Agents were human beings just like everyone else – they suffered from the same personal problems, insecurities and weaknesses as the average Joe. That was ok. As long as they didn’t let it affect their job or their loyalties. The Bureau tried to create strong character but people are all wired differently. His method of dealing with the ones that did turn bad had varied – jail was okay, but generally he liked a more quiet, permanent approach. Something out of the public eye – an accident while they were in the field, drug bust gone bad, heart attack, something that could really happen on any given day on The Job. They could make it look like a person died any number of ways. To him that was justice. Anyone who endangered his fellow agents, or was feeding the wrong people information, deserved the harshest punishment.

His days as a SEAL taught him many things – he could, and had, killed people in any number of ways and he was an expert in both explosives and covert ops but most importantly, he had learned the true meaning of “I got your back”. His team members had been what it was all about – the ability to trust someone beyond any doubt, to trust them with your life. This was a concept that most people would claim to understand but they didn’t. Not unless they had a friend – a guy whose kids and wife you knew, who you drank with, who you sweated in the muck and shit of the jungle with – take a fatal one for you. Go through that and you learn about loyalty, honor and trust.

He placed his briefcase on a chair outside the room, opened it up, and pulled out his case file. Then he sat down, crossed his legs and relaxed as he flipped through the report and waited for the Doctor.

“Maurice Andleman, the retired professor in New Hampshire, died this morning,” Carl said.

Arthur nodded. “That’s too bad.”

“It certainly is. We don’t know if he told Pell anything or not.”

“We’re going to find out soon enough,” Arthur said. “I still don’t understand why you talked to those doctors, Carl.”

“They had already heard some of it with their own ears.”

“That doesn’t matter. It’s still a clear breach of protocol. You know what type of trouble there could be if word of this got out. We could have pandemonium in the streets.”

“I thought that if they completely understood the urgency of the situation, they’d brush their Hippocratic Oath under the carpet for a bit and help us.”

“It still wasn’t a good idea,” Arthur said. “There’re always other ways. Less dangerous ways.”

Carl nodded as the two doctors appeared at the nurse’s desk then approached them.

“Gentlemen,” the older one said as he walked confidently up to Arthur and held out his hand, ignoring Carl.

“Doctor Epstein?” Arthur said standing up. “I’m Arthur Kent, Assistant Director for Criminal Investigations. I believe you’re already acquainted with my colleague SAC Moscovitz.”

“Yes, we’ve met. This is Lasu Mogisha,” Dr. Epstein said pointing to a wide-eyed Indian intern.

“Nice to meet you,” Lasu managed to say through chattering teeth as he feebly shook Arthur’s hand.

“You know why I’m here,” Arthur said as he stepped closer to Dr. Epstein. Arthur was one of those men whose very presence demanded attention and he found that being in someone’s personal space always got it. It’s all a game – people are, for the most part, all the same. The outliers, the unpredictable nonconformists were the ones that worried him. Dr. Epstein didn’t appear to be one of them.

“We need to urgently debrief our Agent and I understand he will only talk to me,” he said as he shot Carl a quick, disapproving glance before continuing. “And I also understand that Carl has told you what he might know.”

Carl opened his mouth to say something but Arthur shook his head softly indicating the floor was his. Lasu and the doctor both nodded. Lasu’s thick dark hair, cut in a Larry Fine, framed his dark skinned face that had a glistening oily sheen. His dark eyes were surrounded by even larger darker circles. He needed a shower and some sack time.

“Actually, before you answer, step in here please,” Arthur said as he walked into Pell’s room. Once everyone was inside Arthur motioned to Agent Strange to close the door.

“We understand the situation,” Dr. Epstein said. His voice was polished, as were his shoes and his Rolex. Hell, from what Arthur could see the guy could be made of plastic. He looked like a goddamn Dr. Ken doll. “And we’ll help you out as much as possible. But in a case like his, twenty-four hours can be the difference between life and death.”

“I appreciate that and respect your dedication,” Arthur said.

“Thank you,” the doctor replied. “I think that Agent Pelletier is out of the woods now. Yesterday was a different story, though. We put him in a medically induced coma to help him recover but, given the extenuating circumstances and that he told my nurse that he wanted to speak to you no matter what, I’m prepared to bring him out of it.”

“Good,” Arthur said. “Your loyalty to the patient is admirable, doctors.”

Lasu went over to a cabinet and removed a vial. Then he filled a hypodermic needle with the contents, flicked the air bubbles out and then injected it into one of Pell’s IV lines. Then he checked Pell’s vitals on one of the machines.

“That should bring him around,” the doctor said.

“Good,” Arthur said. “How long will it take?”

“No more than fifteen minutes,” the doctor replied.

“Excellent, we’ll take it from here,” Carl said.

“After what happened yesterday, we’ll wait here with you,” doctor Epstein said. “And, when you do speak with him, you will treat him with respect. I won’t have any brutal interrogations here, and if for one minute I think that you—”

“Yesterday was unfortunate. It was the heat of the moment but I understand and appreciate your request. I will be the only one speaking with agent Pelletier and I won’t touch him. You have my word,” Arthur said. “But I do want to be alone with him when he comes around.”

“Okay. But we’ll stay until he is almost awake,” the doctor said.

All of them turned their attention to their mobile devices to relieve the awkwardness. Arthur was skimming his emails but his mind was clearly here, in the present and preparing for the conversation with Pell.

Lasu was diligently monitoring the equipment and he called the doctor over after ten minutes or so and the two men had a brief, quiet conversation.

“He’s coming around,” the doctor said.

“Excellent,” replied Arthur as he pocketed his phone. “I’ll take it from here.”

“Remember what I said about your interrogation technique,” the doctor said. Arthur looked at the man for a long moment and then nodded.

All the men started to leave except Carl.

“One more thing, doctors,” Arthur said.

“What?” Dr. Epstein replied.

“You wouldn’t tell anyone about what he might know, right?”

Both men shook their heads. Lasu couldn’t make eye contact – a bad sign.

“Good,” Arthur said, excusing them with a wave of his hand.

Doctor Epstein strode off down the corridor, white jacket flying out behind him and intern trotting to keep up. Carl was left standing alone next to Arthur.

“You can go, Carl,” Arthur said. He was like an annoying, clinging puppy dog sometimes.

Carl shifted on his feet looking uncomfortable. “Are you sure? It might—”

“I’m all set.”

“If you need anything,” Carl said as he left the room.

Arthur sat down again in the chair. He had become a master of interrogation over the years. The secret to successful questioning lay in how the questions were presented. Sometimes you just had to beat it out of people. All of that liberal spew about torture being ineffective was wrong. It worked on the vast majority of people, but most of the time, if you fully and honestly apprised them of their options and asked them courteous and, most importantly, direct questions, you’d get what you wanted. It was like playing chess. Timing and thinking ahead three or four or thirty questions. And, of course, there was always the presentation factor – that was half the battle. Some people needed your false friendship – be their buddy. Others needed the drill sergeant approach. Some just needed repetition – after the twenty seventh ‘Did you do it?’ you’d get a ‘Yes.’

He pulled his chair up to the bed and sat, straightening his tie and running his fingers through his hair. At first he had been upset about having to come up here on such short notice, but now he was actually glad to get away from all of the nonsense that he had to deal with on a daily basis. This was what he really loved – field work.

Pell’s right arm twitched. This was going to be fun. He held the file open on his lap and stared at the papers but his interrogation was already well-planned. He turned his attention to Pell, studying him, taking him in, trying to get a feel for who he was. Slowly Pell opened his eyes. Arthur waited until Pell looked relatively alert. “How’re you feeling, Agent Pelletier?”

“Been better.”

“You know why I’m here?”

“Of course. You’re here for me. Frankly, I didn’t think you’d come.”

“Well here I am. Do you feel up for talking now?”

“I guess there’s no time like the present,” Pell replied. “And, given the state I’m in, there may not be any other time than the present.”

“The doctors say you’re out of the woods.”

“I feel like it.”

“Rough few days?”

Pell nodded softly, “Look, Arthur, I understand the approach but let’s just cut the bullshit. You’re here to talk to me, to hear what I have to say for myself.”

“Then let’s talk,” Arthur replied.

“Is this on the record?”

“Of course. Why?”

“Then I think I should have a lawyer.”

“Why’s that?”

Pell chuckled as he pressed the button that elevated his head. “Come on, Arthur. Don’t give me that.”

“I don’t think you need a lawyer, Paul. I’ve read the report on what’s been happening. This case that you were working, if it proves to be real, is huge. You realize what’s at stake here?”

“It’s real,” Pell said calmly.

“How do you know?”

Pell smiled as he turned back to Arthur. “I’m a patsy, Arthur.”

“A what?”

“You know, like Lee Harvey Oswald, a straight up patsy. According to Carl, I’m an Agent turned bad. On the run, killing cops and all that bullshit but I’ve been set up. I reported this whole virus thing to Carl personally. I followed our escalation protocols exactly and he told me it was bullshit and not to follow up on it. He said, if I remember his words exactly, that I should go back up to Bangor fucking Maine. But I couldn’t do that, not with what’s at stake here. Can you imagine it?”

“Imagine what?”

“This virus, if it exists, and if it works, it would be something mankind has never had to deal with. I wanted make sure all avenues had been explored before dismissing it. And what do I get for it?”

“I’m not following you,” Arthur said after a moment. He pointed down the hall to Carl and his two agents. “Are you saying Carl didn’t respond to the escalation?”

“Do you know my history with the Bureau?”

“Of course. Why?”

“Carl won’t let it go,” Pell said as he struggled to sit up in his bed.

“But that was so long ago. Hell, don’t take this the wrong way, but I didn’t even know you were still with the Bureau until the other day.”

“That’s fine. But I can tell you that Carl Moscovitz has been after my ass for eighteen years. When I came down here and presented this case to him, he saw his opportunity to finally get rid of me.”

“How so?”

Arthur listened intently as Pell recounted the events of the past few days. He noticed subtle and not so subtle differences with Carl’s report. He sensed there was more here than what he had expected. Hints of which surfaced through Pell’s story and he found Pell to be extremely believable. There was something about the guy that made Arthur comfortable with him and with what he was saying.

“Carl told me he was not going to put anyone on the case and that I should forget about it but I couldn’t and when he realized I was still digging around, his main objective became making certain that he brought me down. Hard.”

Arthur sat patiently, quietly returning Pell’s stare. He had the urge to start asking questions but resisted it. Let Pell say what he had to say. Maybe it would all just flow out, making this easier than Arthur had anticipated.

“When Carl issued that APB I hadn’t broken any laws. All I did was disobey his order to stand down. Really, all I’d done was go visit Andleman and there is no crime in that.”

Arthur pursed his lips and nodded. Carl had certainly left out a lot of the color.

“And, I didn’t want to kill that cop up in New Hampshire,” Pell said. “It was an accident, he tried to arrest me. In fact, I didn’t actually shoot him. I flipped him to the ground and he fell on his gun. I radioed for help from his car, but he started shooting at me. That’s how I got this.” He pointed at the bandages on his chest. “I had to get out of there before he finished me off.”

“So what did Maurice Andleman tell you?”

“He told me to get a lawyer.”

Arthur laughed. “No, seriously, Pell. Did he tell you anything of use?”

“I am being serious, Arthur. I’m not going to let Carl and his vendetta plant my ass in jail for the next twenty years. So, the way I see it is that you’ve got two options. Cut me a deal and I’ll talk, or put the cuffs on me now and try to find Sarah Burns and her potions on your own. At this point, I’ve got nothing to lose.”

“You’ve got everything to lose, Pell.”

“I do? Like what? Wife, kids, family – sorry, not applicable. My dead-end job in Maine – you can have it. I’ve got nothing, so don’t tell me how good my life is, or what my responsibilities are, all right?”

“Okay, Pell, calm down.”

Pell took several deep breaths. The machines monitoring him beeped and buzzed like a mariachi band.

“So what kind of a deal are we talking about?”

“It’s pretty simple. Drop any legal actions against me, and give me a full-boat, life-long pension with benefits, effective immediately.”

“You’re kidding, right?”

“Not one bit.”

“There’s no way I can do that. You shot and almost killed a cop, for Christ’s sake. There’s no way I can let you walk.”

“But it was an accident!”

Arthur turned his palms up and shrugged.

“Well, there is one way you can let me walk,” Pell said.

Arthur walked to the front of the bed and paced. He fished a breath mint out of his pocket, wishing it was a cigarette, and popped it into his mouth. “So, either Maurice Andleman told you something real good, or you’ve got something else up your sleeve.”

“I’ve told you nothing you didn’t already know.”

“That’s not completely true but whatever,” Arthur said as he crunched down on the mint. “Are we talking about Sarah Burns, or is there something else?”

“Let’s just say that I know something that could be extremely embarrassing to the Bureau – major scandal, congressional hearings, the whole works. The Bureau is teetering as it is, Arthur. You know that. We could be split, consumed, dissolved, or—”

“You don’t have to tell me what’s going on.”

“I know. News like this will just be more fuel for the political fire, that’s all. Believe it or not, I still love the Bureau.”

Arthur resumed pacing. He tugged at his square chin as he walked. After a couple of minutes, he stopped and wrapped his large hands around the shiny rail at the foot of the bed. There were so many angles to everything. Everyone had their own agenda, their own motivations. Some were simply selfish, others purely political right along predictable party lines. It had taken time but Arthur had learned to filter through it – to keep the prime objective in focus. He stared at Pell and said, “Okay, I could probably work out some sort of a deal. If what you’ve got warrants it, of course.”

“Probably?”

“Be realistic, Pell. I can’t make any commitments until I know what you’re talking about.”

“Do you want to know about ongoing corruption at the Bureau? Who the agents are?”

Arthur nodded, “Of course.”

“I can point you in the right direction and, all I can say is that this is bad, very bad.” Pell raised his bushy eyebrows as his bloodshot, glossy eyes met Arthur’s unrelenting gaze. “Bad for the Bureau and certainly bad for you.”

“You need to tell me more before I can commit to a deal. But if what you have to tell me is what you are indicating it is, I’ll do everything I can to see that you get a fair break. You have my word.”

“I hear that your word is as good as gold,” Pell said.

Arthur led by example. That in itself was rare enough in Washington, but he was also honest. If he said something, take it to the bank. He knew his reputation and continually refined and exploited it – grew the legend. He could afford to keep his word because he was upfront with people. Tell the truth, not just what people want to hear and you get the luxury of the Honorable Man title. He nodded.

“You’ll want what I know, Arthur. If you are giving me your word, right now, that if I’m right, and you’ll know that I am, you’ll give me what I want.”

“I can’t do that. Not that I don’t want to, if it was worth it, but things like shooting a cop are too politically charged. It’s not as easy as saying ‘all right, I’ll do it.’ There’ll be repercussions. You have my word that you’ll get a fair break. That’s the best I can do.”

“Cutting me this deal is a non-issue for you, Arthur. You’re the number three guy, for Christ’s sake, and you didn’t get there by not knowing how to get things done.”

Arthur crunched down on another mint. Decisions, decisions, decisions. This one was a gamble – a roll of the dice. He didn’t have enough information but at a gut level, he believed Pell might have something important, something that he needed to know. “Okay, okay, you’ve got my word. But this better be good.”

Pell smiled, “It is, Arthur. It is.” He took a slow drink of water.

Arthur stood up, extracted a mini digital recorder from his briefcase and placed it on the tray table in front of Pell. He pressed the red record button and said, “Let’s hear it.”

Pell took another sip, grimaced as he squirmed to get comfortable and said, “I’ve got proof there’s a cell within the FBI selling arms, potentially to terrorist organizations.”

Arthur folded his muscular arms across his thick chest, stared down at the floor and paced. This was not what he had been expecting to hear today but if it were true, he needed to act on it quickly.

“Selling arms?” Arthur said. “No way. I don’t believe it.”

“You will believe it when I show you what I’ve got. And what’s more, we know at least one senior person under your command who’s involved and I find it hard to believe he’s acting completely on his own. He would need some cover from somebody. They’re working with a couple guys in the Reserves. Maybe others.”

“How the hell did you, of all people, get this information?” Arthur grabbed onto the bed rail and squeezed it hard for a long moment before looking up at Pell and saying, “You have to tell me what you have and where you got it?”

“It doesn’t matter right now where I got it.”

“The hell it doesn’t! Do you realize what you just said? What it means to the Bureau? It’s explosive.”

“Maybe so but since I’m taking you at your word, you need to take me at mine. There are others who can corroborate what I’m telling you,” Pell replied. “In due time, of course.”

“Due time is now, Pell. What have you got?”

Pell reached under his blanket and pulled out the brown envelope that Steve had given him.

“What’s in here is absolutely explosive but this should be plenty for you to get started on,” he said passing it to Arthur.

Arthur looked at Pell gravely before emptying the contents of the envelope out onto the table next to the bed. Photographs, a USB drive and a number of printed documents landed on the table.

He picked through the photographs silently. After a few minutes he plugged the USB into his notebook – documents, audio and video files. He attached his earpiece and played back several recordings. One was of Carl and a man sitting in a café. The video was from outside but the audio was clear, obviously surveilled by a pro and it was damn incriminating. He turned off the notebook, turned to Pell and considered him for a long moment.

“How confident are you in this information?”

“Very,” Pell replied.

“It seems like a remarkable coincidence that this evidence suddenly appears after you claim Carl has been targeting you,” Arthur said.

“I hate the prick, no doubt about that, but I don’t need to make things up about him. I frankly don’t see how a piece of shit like him has moved up through the ranks of the Bureau undetected. He’s your goddamn direct report, Arthur.”

Arthur shook his head at the accurate dig. This would be a scandal all right. The Northeast Region SAC involved in illegal arms trading. Scandal didn’t even begin to cover it.

“The worst part is that he’s potentially selling to fundamentalists, could be ISIS, Al Qaeda, any, or all of them for all we know,” Pell said. “The bastard’s a double traitor.”

“We need to prove it. We need to work out what’s going on, who the buyer is and if this is true, we need to take him down quickly.”

“Get some of your people up here and see what they find. Did you ever notice his suits and ties? A bit too nice, even for a SAC.”

“We look at the finances of everyone at Carl’s level yearly. I would have been told of any anomalies.”

“He knows what they look for. He’s not going to give himself away that easily. You need to dig deeper.”

“You don’t need to educate me on how to handle situations like this, Pell. I know exactly what to do and I will get to the bottom of this, believe me.” He stuffed everything back into the envelope and locked it away in his briefcase.

“So? Is that good enough?”

“I’ll look into this and if it looks like what it smells like, as I said, you have my word. We have a deal,” he replied. His earlier enthusiasm for this diversion to Boston was gone. Now he had two major problems to deal with. He dropped into a chair, leaned back, tilted his head toward the ceiling and pressed his hand over his brow.

What a fucking mess. He’d get a couple of agents doing a deep dive on Carl immediately but he also had to work out what to do about this would-be virus. So far they had nothing substantive. All they had was a bunch of circumstantial situations which were undoubtedly odd and quite potentially connected but nothing definitive. He also had Pell’s hunch and the man had been an up and comer in the Bureau back in the day before the Jenkins affair, so he was undoubtedly skilled but was his hunch worth anything?

“So, you haven’t told me yet about Andleman. What did he have to say?” Pell was about to explain about Camilla Haywood when there was a light knock on the door and a nurse stuck her head in.

“I’m sorry to bother you, Mr. Kent, but there’s a man from the State Department on the phone, insisting to talk to you. He says that it’s urgent.”

Arthur raised one of his eyebrows. “The State Department?”

“That’s what he says,” she replied in a quivering voice. Her gaze danced around the room, looking at anything but Arthur.

“What the –” Arthur started to curse, but caught himself. “Can I take the call somewhere private, please?”

“Of course. You can use our office. Follow me,” she said as she jerked her head out of the crack in the door and scooted back down the hall. Arthur collected his briefcase and coat and followed after her without a word.

The phone was ringing as he stepped into the nurse’s office and shut the door. Arthur picked it up. “Kent,” he said curtly. He hated being tracked down when he was in the field. He carried a Bureau enhanced iPhone that was capable of secure communications. Why would someone have to get him on an unsecure line? Particularly some dink from State. It couldn’t be good news.

“Is this Arthur Kent, Director of Criminal Investigations for the FBI?” A deep, unfamiliar voice said.

“Yes, who’s this?” A premonition-knot formed instantly in his stomach.

“My name’s Jack Long. I’m with WOTN in Boston, and before you hang up the phone on me, I want to tell you something.”

“What’s that?” Arthur said, having an ominous feeling he knew what he was about to hear.

“I was told an incredible story this morning about a group of people who have developed a virus that’s going to sterilize the world.”

“A virus? What are you talking about?” Arthur said. Shit!

“You know what I’m talking about, Mr. Kent. That’s why you’re here in Boston, isn’t it. The agent who’s been working the case is in Mass General. I know all about it. I wanted to get your comments before we break the story.”

Arthur glared down the hall at Carl and his men. One of them, Pell, or one of those two doctors had talked to the wrong person, and now he was on the brink of his worst nightmare.

“What was your name again?”

“Jack Long.”

He took a long pause before saying, “I don’t know what you’re talking about, Jack. I’m here to interview an agent that went bad and shot a cop. That’s it, plain and simple. Whoever told you that story about viruses, or whatever the hell it is, was obviously taking you for a ride. Hope you didn’t pay them too much.”

“I don’t think so, Arthur. Why would you come all the way to Boston for a bad agent? You’ve got people to deal with that sort of thing. You must be here for something more substantial. Something with bigger implications. I’ll tell you what, though, I’m willing to make a deal.”

“A deal?” Everyone wanted to make deals today.

“I can see how a situation like this requires complete secrecy. If the public found out about it,” he paused for a moment. “Well, I can only imagine what would happen. You give me the exclusive on the investigation, and I’ll wait until you say it’s okay to run the story.”

Blood rushed to his face as his heartbeat doubled. If there was one thing he hated more than anything else, it was being pressured like this, especially by some media schmuck. “Who told you about this?”

“A friend,” the reporter replied.

“Well, even if there were any truth to what you’re saying, I certainly wouldn’t discuss it over the phone like this. And, don’t get me wrong, there is no story here, but I’d like to hear what you have to say in more detail. Could we meet to discuss it?”

“Sure,” Jack replied. “When and where?”

“I’ll send a car for you now. Are you at your office?”

“Yes.”

“They’ll be there directly.”

Before hanging up the phone, Arthur said, “One more thing, Jack.”

“What’s that?”

“Have you told anybody else about this story?”

There was a hesitation. “No.”

“Good, don’t or you lose any exclusive on anything.”

“Damn,” Arthur muttered as he slammed the phone into its cradle. He furiously pounded out a message on his phone and then stepped out of the office.

“May I use your office for a bit longer?” He asked the nurse who was sorting through patient records outside.

“Of course,” she replied.

Arthur walked down the hall to Carl, Irving, and Steve. “I need to speak with you three in private. Come with me.”

They piled into the small office. Arthur let the tension, his ally, build for a minute before he said, “I just got off the phone with a reporter at WOTN. He knows what’s going on here with this suspected virus. I want to know how this information has got out. Right now.”

His eyes blazed as they moved between the three men.

Carl spoke first. “None on my team has spoken to anyone. It must have been Pell. He probably contacted the media just to get this out there, to distract everyone from the real issue about him shooting a cop.”

“I have the news reporter being picked up now and believe me, by the time I’m done with him I will know exactly where the trail leads. So if any of you has anything to say, you’d better say it now. It’ll be your jobs if I find out I’m not being told the truth.”

“I’m telling you, Arthur. This sounds just like the sort of thing Pell would do,” Carl said. “We’re professionals. None of us have said a word, have we?” He turned to Irving and Steve for support.

“Well?” Arthur asked as he stepped into Steve’s and the Irving’s personal space, glaring at each man fearsomely.

“Well sir,” Irving began tentatively. “Pell was babbling about the virus and the doctors—”

“I know about that,” Arthur said. “It was a stupid move by Carl to tell them anything but that’s done. Right now, I want to make sure none of you is the leak. Look me in the eyes and answer that question.”

Each man professed their innocence satisfactorily and Arthur glared at Carl for a long moment. He made a slow hissing sound as he took a long intake of breath between clenched teeth and shook his head. “So that means your foolish decision to talk to those doctors is the reason we’re in this mess.”

Carl opened his mouth to say something but Arthur shut him down. “I’ll deal with you in due course,” he said before opening the door of the office and heading outside.

Dr. Epstein was right there, talking on a phone at the nurses’ station. Arthur walked over and pressed down on the hook switch, disconnecting the Doctor’s call.

Dr. Epstein began, “What the—”

“I want you and that intern in here. Now.”

“Page Lasu and have him meet us,” Dr. Epstein said to a nurse as he stepped into the office.

Arthur stood silently in the office, keying a message into his iPhone for an update from the agents that were on their way to get Jack Long as he waited impatiently for Lasu to arrive.

After a few minutes, the door opened and Lasu walked in. The tension in the room was palpable, and the young doctor looked like he was going to crumple under the invisible pressure. This kid’s never going to make it through his internship, Arthur thought as he glared at the most likely candidate for the Loose Lips award.

“I’ll get straight to the point,” he said. “The fact that Agent Moscovitz here, for whatever reason, decided to share information with you about an active investigation is unfortunate, but we need to know exactly who you might have told about this.”

“I didn’t tell anyone!” The intern screamed as he looked wildly at the men around him. “Nobody.”

“I didn’t say you did,” Arthur said. “And what about you, Doc? Did you talk to anyone about this?”

Dr. Epstein shook his head back and forth.

“You didn’t even tell your wife about it?”

The now visibly nervous man continued to shake his head.

Arthur stepped forward, stood directly in front of the doctor and Lasu and said, “Do you realize how important this is? If this gets out in the media, we’re going to have a crisis. Hysteria in the general public is not a good thing, gentlemen. I need to corral anyone who knows anything about this until we can either confirm or deny the whole thing. Do you understand? This isn’t a game.”

He waited for one of them to talk.

“I talked to my wife about it last night,” the doctor said finally, his face turned down in disgrace. “I’m sure she didn’t tell anyone else, though.”

Arthur took a deep breath and slowly exhaled. “Where’s your wife now?”

“At home, as far as I know.”

“You,” Arthur said as he pointed to Steve Strange. “Take the doctor and go find his wife. Bring her to the office. If you can find out if she talked, then get whoever she talked to and bring them in as well.”

“I’m an American citizen,” the doctor said. His verbal polish gone, face flushed, eyes wide. “You can’t do this.”

Arthur grabbed the doctor by the shirt and pulled him so that their faces were an inch apart. Dr. Epstein struggled, but it was pointless. Arthur was in tremendous shape for a man his age. He could easily bench press the apparently chatty doctor.

“Listen to me, Doc. I’m only going to say this once. You’re either going to work with me or against me and, you can trust me when I say, you don’t want to be on my bad side in a situation like this. Do you understand?”

The doctor nodded violently. Arthur let him go and watched as he and Agent Strange ran from the room.

“Be fast about it,” Arthur yelled at them as the door shut. “Now, what about you?” He said as he turned to Lasu.

7:00 am PDT Humboldt County, California

Sunlight filtered around the edges of a shade and provided the only light in the room. Chris sat up slowly, trying to piece together where he was and how he had gotten here. Last night came back to him slowly. Jesus Christ. Two car accidents, Miguel and his boys – he was lucky to be alive. Unbelievable. He could vaguely remember walking for miles, then hearing the music and stumbling up onto the porch. After that, it was all blank.

Bloody gauze wrapped his forearm. He touched the bulge where the unset bone pressed against the medical dressing and flashed back to the disturbing sensation of touching the jagged bone last night. He could still feel the sharpness of the bone on his fingertips. Bending his elbow sent an intense pain up his arm that rippled across his chest and up his neck. He clenched his teeth, holding in the agonizing scream.

He tried to stand but was too weak and dropped back down onto the bed. After a minute or two, he tried again, and this time got to his feet. He walked over to the door and turned the knob. Locked – from the other side.

“What the…” he muttered as he walked over to the window and lifted the shade.

A large tractor-trailer sat in the driveway below the window and several people stood next to it talking. Chris watched them for a few minutes until a man with bandages wrapped around his head noticed him and pointed. The others looked up. Chris instantly recognized one of them – Albert from Camilla Haywood’s house.

Son of a bitch! He lowered the shade and stepped back from the window. What were the odds that he had managed to stumble on Albert? Was this the McGuire place? Footsteps pounded up the stairs to his room. He stepped back as a latch snapped and the door swung open. The bandaged man stormed in, followed immediately by a woman. She slammed the door behind her.

“Why don’t you sit down, Chris?” The chiseled man said.

Chris dropped onto the corner of the bed.

Both of them stared at him as if he were some sort of strange curiosity – like he was the Yak-boy at the carnival Freak Show.

The man moved as if in pain – his features frozen in a permanent sneer. The woman was oddly familiar. As he stared at her, it came to him – she had put on some years since her picture and had blossomed into a much more beautiful woman than she had been back then.

“Sarah Burns,” he said before even fully realizing it himself.

She stared back coolly.

“You do exist,” Chris said, trying to get her to respond. He wanted to hear her voice.

“I do,” she replied finally.

The man leapt into the conversation, “How the hell did you find us?”

“Who are you?” Chris asked.

The man’s foot kicked out and slammed into his arm. The blast of pain nearly knocked him off the bed as he screamed. He clutched his arm but there was no dulling the searing pain.

“You’re not asking questions here, buddy. I am and if you get cute, I’m going to do the same thing again. Got it?”

Chris didn’t respond. The pain in his arm was unbearable and he flinched as the man pulled his foot back to kick him again.

“Do you get it?” He said again as he stood on one foot with the other cocked.

Chris nodded. “Yes,” he squeaked through gritted teeth.

“Now I’m going to ask again. How did you find us?”

Chris looked first at the man and then at Sarah, expecting to see compassion on her face. Instead all he saw was nothing – an emotionless mask. Her widely set grey eyes above her high, defined cheekbones fixed on him unwaveringly – clinically, as if he were an experiment in a petri dish. Compassion was definitely not in her vocabulary.

He quickly evaluated his options, but unfortunately he couldn’t think of any that were truly viable, other than telling them what they wanted to hear.

“I followed Albert,” he said. “I was at Camilla Haywood’s house in Malibu, and I talked to him. He told me he was moving stuff back to her other house. When I saw him heading north on the highway, I followed him.”

“How did you end up at Camilla’s house?” Sarah asked.

“Pell told me about her,” Chris replied.

“Who’s Pell?” She asked.

“He’s with the FBI – Agent Paul Pelletier.”

Sarah pulled up a chair and sat down.

“Is the FBI with you?” The man asked.

Chris shook his head. He didn’t want to tell them that he was alone, but he didn’t want them to panic either. If they were to pack up and abandon this place, his body would probably be one of the few things that they left behind.

“I did it on my own,” Chris said. “Pell’s back in Boston. He’s got his own troubles with the FBI. When he couldn’t come out here to chase down the only real lead we had, I came.”

The man and Camilla exchanged glances before the man said, “Albert told us you said you were with the FBI and that—”

Chris shook his head, “No, I’m not. I just said that to try to get him to talk to me.”

“Are you sure,” the man said, cocking his foot again.

“Absolutely, I’m just a guy caught up in all this bullshit. That’s it.”

“You’ve been a thorn in our side since that night up at the Wild Bear,” the man said.

Chris glared at him. So he was the one sent to the Wild Bear to kill him. Probably the same guy that blew the place up as well. Actually, he looked a lot like one of the men he had seen crossing the parking lot at the FBI office in Bangor – not good.

“David Rose brought me into this whole mess,” Chris said. “I was just fishing at my camp, taking a little R and R, and the next thing I know, I’m being chased by you people. You forced me to go to the Feds.”

Sarah sat down in a ladder back chair, crossed her long, denim-clad legs and folded her hands in her lap. “Everyone has been in the wrong place at the wrong time at one point in their lives, Chris. That day when David’s plane went down was just your time.”

“Maybe so,” Chris replied. “You tried to kill me. For someone who wants to save the world, you’re pretty violent.”

“Don’t tell us our business,” the agitated man said as his foot lashed out again and connected with Chris’ tender arm, causing him to scream out as he fell to the floor. The room spun. The overwhelming pain made it hard to breathe, to think. He teetered on the brink of consciousness.

They let him writhe on the floor in agony for several minutes before the man pulled him back up onto the bed. He drew a pistol from behind his back, placed the steel barrel against Chris’ temple, and cocked the hammer.

“Okay. Enough small talk. I’m going to ask you direct questions and I expect direct answers. If you jerk me around, I’m going to kill you,” the man said. “Does the FBI know we’re here?”

Chris couldn’t focus. The gun and the pain in his arm weakened his ability to think of a way out, but it also seemed to strengthen his resolve. He couldn’t tell them anything, yet. He had to be strong, to pull it together. His life depended on it. “I’m not answering any questions until you tell me your name.”

The man’s angular face twisted into a scowl. His body tensed. His finger increased the pressure on the narrow, curled metal trigger. He wanted to kill Chris – it was obvious. For some reason it seemed personal.

“His name’s Seth. Now answer the question,” Sarah said.

Chris looked slowly from Sarah back to Seth.

“Fuck you,” he spat at Seth.

Seth jerked the trigger on his pistol and the gun roared.

10:16 am Boston, Massachusetts

“Goddamn it,” Arthur growled as he slammed down the phone. He turned to one of his men and said, “Go establish a secure link with DC. I need to talk to William Stevens and probably the president too.”

The man quickly left the conference room of the FBI office on State Street.

“What happened?” Carl asked.

“They won’t let us in.”

“What do you mean?” Carl asked.

“They locked the front doors and won’t let us in without a warrant. They’re a two-bit shit station that thinks they’re in the big leagues now because of this Wendy Johnston.” He flung his pencil across the room. Dr. Epstein’s wife hadn’t been able to keep her goddamned mouth shut and had talked to her ex-reporter sister who had shopped the story to WOTN. Now he had a third major crisis to deal with – this one courtesy of Carl’s decision to trust those doctors.

“We need to get them off the air,” Arthur said. “Get some people on it, Carl. Once I get the okay, we’re going to do it.”

“Are you serious?” Carl asked.

Arthur glared at him, wanting to tell him about Pell’s accusations against him – to throw everything on the table in plain view. This dancing around the truth stuff wore on his nerves. Two of his best men were trying to confirm what Pell had told him, and if it turned out to be true, he was going to personally make sure that Carl got his just deserts.

“Do I look serious to you?”

Carl turned to Irving and said, “You heard what he wants. Take whoever you need and go.”

The agent Arthur had sent to set up the comm link to DC popped his head into the room. “It’s up,” he said.

“Thanks,” Arthur replied as he marched toward the door.

The Director of the FBI, William Stevens, was typing on his computer as Arthur sat down in front of the video conference system and cleared his throat.

“So, Arthur, how’s Boston?”

“Not good, William. Not good at all.” He was a William, not a Bill or Will.

William took a sip of water. “I read the report. Do these people really exist?”

“I’m afraid it looks that way,” Arthur said before recounting the call from Cecil.

“Jesus, are they certain?”

Arthur nodded. “Yes, they are. I’ve got them putting together details I should have momentarily but right now I’ve been dealing with something else.”

“Besides this virus?”

“I’m afraid so.” He relayed the story of the day’s events, particularly Wendy Johnston’s attempts to go public with the story. He studied William who was a politician at heart and would analyze this from an accountability standpoint first. Who would be crucified if they failed? What were the odds of success? The classic D.C. mentality – number one, is my ass covered and a distant number two, can I look like a hero and an even more distant number three, is it the right thing to do.

When Arthur finished talking, his boss sat quietly for a long moment before saying, “Hold on for a few.”

The image of William Stevens froze on the screen as he was put on video-conferencing hold. After several minutes the screen flashed and appeared again. This time it was a split screen with William Stevens on the right and a very concerned looking president of the United States on the left.

7:16 am PDT Humboldt County, California

As Seth squeezed the trigger, he either intentionally or unintentionally moved the pistol barrel so that the bullet grazed his head instead of blowing a hole through it. The blast rattled Chris’ brain, and it took him several seconds of lying on the bed to comprehend that he was not mortally wounded.

He sat up in a daze. His ears rang as he ran his fingers over the bloody trough the bullet had plowed in his scalp. Sarah walked over to him and plunged a needle into his arm. He looked at her stupidly. Oddly, she finally showed some emotion as a wicked smile twisted her lips.

She stepped back and looked at him. She pulled Seth away and said to him in a low whisper, “Give me a few minutes alone with him.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes, I’ll be fine.”

“I’ll be right outside if you need me.”

“Thanks,” she said as she guided him gently out the door, and shut it behind him. She turned and shook her head slowly back and forth. “You’ve really messed up our plans.”

The pain in his head and arm was gone. He relaxed. “What was in that needle?” He slurred.

“A little of this, a little of that. What’s it matter – you feel better, don’t you?”

He nodded.

“Listen to me, we’re scientists, not murderers. But we’re like any subset of society that isn’t fully understood. If you push us, we’re going to push back. It’s pretty simple.”

“Tell that to David Rose.”

“Whether or not you believe it, David was our friend and co-worker. He just made a mistake. You can’t be in and then get out. Not with something like this. When you’re in, you’re in for life.”

“I’d hate to see what you do to an enemy.”

She walked to the window and tugged on the shade. It spun up and sunlight poured in. She looked out the window silently, her back to him. The bright light filtered through her long, straight brown hair making it glow like an aura. She finally turned around. “It doesn’t matter. We can’t change the past. What I’m interested in right now is the immediate future – the next month or so.”

“I’m not a fortune teller.”

“No, you’re not, but you can tell me how you got to be here, and who knows what about us.”

He chuckled. He could tell her all of those things, but she was living in fantasyland if she thought that he actually would. Almost as if she could see what he was thinking, she said, “Talk to me, Chris. You’ll feel better once you do.”

Telling her to take a flying leap was his first inclination, but he couldn’t. He felt compelled to talk to her. As if she were an old friend and they were reminiscing. Whatever was in that needle was making him feel like this. This realization helped briefly, but as she continued to prod him, he couldn’t resist. The words forced themselves out from between his lips, and before he could control himself, he told her, in detail, the complete story of the past week. It was liberating to let it all out.

As he talked, she sat down in a chair that she positioned directly in front of him. She stared, listened, occasionally tugged at her earlobe and that was it. Even when he broke down and cried uncontrollably as he talked about Karen, she was emotionless. The icy grey eyes, the closed lips – no ticks, no compulsions, she was simply collecting data.

His cheeks were wet with tears when he finished. After a minute or two, Sarah stood up to leave.

“Wait,” Chris said.

“What?”

“Why are you doing this?”

“Because I needed to know what you know. What you’ve done.”

“Not that. Why dedicate your life to this whole thing?”

He was now lying down on the bed – emotionally and physically drained.

“Because it’s the root of so many problems.”

“The root?” Chris said, recalling that David had used very similar terminology.

“The underlying cause for many of the ills of the world,” she said. “Call it what you like. Society’s too wrapped up in correctness. No one wants to make the tough calls. It’s really quite simple.”

“So you’ve made the decision for us.”

“That’s right. Name a problem and I can trace it back to over-population,” she said as she raised her eyebrows waiting for an answer that didn’t come. “How about pollution, deforestation, starvation, poverty, illiteracy – even terrorism. They’re all directly attributable to over-population and I’ve come up with a cure.”

He wanted to debate her but the pain, the drugs and the emotions were making it difficult to focus. There were so many arguments. “That’s bullshit,” he finally managed to say.

“Oh, is it? The U.S. has five percent of the world’s population but consumes twenty-three percent of its resources. What’s going to happen when the other ninety-five percent of the world catches up? It’s absolutely unsustainable.”

“But what you’re talking about is a consumption challenge in a developed country, not a population challenge. People consume stuff because they want to. It’s not all population.”

Sarah smiled. “You’re absolutely right, but changing attitudes and desires is impossible. Everyone wants that second car, or house, or big screen TV. And even if it could be done, it would only effect the developed nations which, immigration aside, are already seeing stagnant population growth. Reigning in the population explosion will do the same thing – globally, automatically.”

The drugs were knocking him out. He wanted to think about what she had said but his mind was shutting down. He fell asleep thinking that playing God was simply wrong.

10:23 am Boston, Massachusetts

“William told me what’s going on, Arthur,” the President said in his deep baritone that still carried a lilt of his rural Louisiana upbringing. His ruddy, handsome face was framed by closely cropped but thick wavy grey hair. “What’s your read?”

From the data he had received earlier from Cecil and his team and the enlightening conversation with Agent Pelletier this morning, he was confident in his reply. “I think that this virus exists. There are too many connected events to be random coincidences. Sarah Burns and her cronies are out there somewhere. We have to find them before they release it.”

The two men nodded their heads. Arthur’s reputation gave him the luxury of being unquestionably respected by people, regardless of their political affiliation or rank.

“On the second part, this rinky-dink news station has its hands on a woman who has heard about the virus. Her sister’s husband was one of the doctors treating Agent Pelletier. They refuse to let us into their building. I’m afraid that they’re going to broadcast a story about it soon.”

“Jesus Christ,” the President muttered. “We’ll have pandemonium on our hands.”

“And you can bet that as soon as Sarah Burns sees it on TV, they’ll disappear for good,” Arthur continued. “Then there’ll be no stopping them.”

William had been quiet up until now when he said, “So what do you propose we do?”

“Two things immediately. First, I want to use any means necessary to shut down that station and keep everyone who knows anything about this quiet.”

“Like what?” The President said.

“I want to shut down their transmitters – take them off the air,” Arthur replied.

“You know what messing with the media can do, Arthur.”

He nodded. “Sometimes, Mr. President, like right now, it’s for the good of the public. It’s all hearsay at this point. There’re many reasons why we have to do what I’m proposing. We’ll make sure it looks like an accident when they go off the air – some sort of component failure – wire break, something like that. Shit happens, right? But from my perspective, this is a red-level national security issue and as soon as we slap that label on it, we have much broader legal authority.”

“I say we do it,” William Stevens said.

The President was quiet for a minute. “You’re right; let’s do it. What’s the second part of your proposal?”

“We have to find Sarah Burns. I’m going to put every available man on the case.”

“Of course,” the President replied. “You’ve got to find and stop her. I don’t want to hear anything but success on this one, gentlemen. You have my authority to take whatever action you deem necessary to ensure that this virus doesn’t get released. Do you understand me?”

They did.

“Give me updates every few hours, William,” the President said. “I don’t need to tell you how much myself and the country are depending on you two. Don’t let us down.” The President disconnected.

The split screen flashed and returned with only William Stevens on it. “When’s the final briefing going to be ready?”

“In about two hours. That ought to be enough time to get the team-leaders briefed and ready.”

“Okay. Let’s have another video call at five o’clock.” William paused, “This is a big one, Arthur. There’s a lot riding on us right now.”

“I know.”

“You need to be successful.”

No shit. “These people always make mistakes, and mistakes are what make our job doable. We’ll find Sarah Burns. You can count on it.”

“I am,” William Stevens said as he shut down his conference system.

Arthur sat and stared at the blank screen for a few minutes, gathering his thoughts before returning to the conference room. Progress had been made. The white board, which stretched the full width of the room, was covered with all of the available data. He started at the left and walked along, studying the sparse details. They had many holes to fill.

“Mr. Moscovitz, there’s a call for you on line one,” a secretary said to Carl, who was at the conference room table with several agents.

“Can you take a message, please?”

“I tried but he refused. He demands to talk to you. He’s on your private line.”

Carl rolled his eyes and muttered a soft curse.

“Okay, I’ll pick it up in my office.”

As Carl left the room, Arthur and one of his agents exchanged glances. Arthur leaned against the conference table and studied the white board, forcing himself to ignore the Carl Moscovitz situation and focus on Sarah Burns. They always make mistakes. That was what he had told William and it was true. Sooner or later, she would make that mistake. The problem with that scenario was it assumed you had time and they didn’t. The events of the past few days had a crescendo feel to them. Educated guess, he figured at best they had a week – maybe just a couple of days. That was assuming it wasn’t a done deal already. Not much time at all and once this thing was out there was no going back – they didn’t get a redo on this type of thing – no second chances.

An agent ran into the room and up to Arthur. “Sir, a private word if I may,” he said gesturing for Arthur to step outside.

Arthur followed him out of the room.

“He’s gone,” the agent said.

“What? Who?” Arthur said.

“Carl. He just bolted.”

“Bolted? What happened?”

“That call was from someone named Wes. He told Carl that we were onto him, and before we could get to him, he slipped out.”

“Go find him!” Arthur exclaimed.

There were at least twenty men in the room – most of them direct reports to Carl. Arthur stepped back inside and addressed them.

“Just so you know,” Arthur said. “This is an entirely separate issue than what your primary concern is right now, but Carl Moscovitz has been under investigation by Internal Affairs. Unfortunately, it seems Carl has left the building and is unwilling to cooperate in our investigation. If he contacts any of you for help, I expect you to let me know immediately. I have people out looking for him.”

The room was silent as Arthur looked at each of Carl’s men individually.

“I know that this is a shock, but we have to focus on the matter at hand. I want everyone in this room focused on finding Sarah Burns and any of her accomplices. Carl Moscovitz is secondary right now, but if you do happen to hear from him or hear anything about where he might be, you will let me know immediately. Are there any questions?”

Silence. Arthur paused briefly before proceeding with his briefing. Carl slipping away was unfortunate, but now that everything was out in the open, he had complete control, and that was exactly how he liked it – no power struggles and he could focus one hundred percent on the task at hand.

Carl would turn up. There’s no way he could slip away so quickly and disappear and, like any other scumbag, they always make mistakes.

12:13 pm PDT Humboldt County, California

Chris held his breath as he pressed his ear against the heating grate straining to hear the conversation in the room below. He recognized Sarah and Seth’s voices; the other two were unknown to him.

“He may have lied,” Sarah said. “But then the dose of sodium pentothal I gave him was designed to alter his higher cognitive function and make it far more difficult for him to lie than to tell the truth. It made him much more loquacious and cooperative. I’d say he was telling the truth.”

“So you think that we should unload the tractor trailer and continue as planned? Like nothing has changed for us?” Chris heard a male voice ask. “Christ, if someone like Chris Foster could find us so easily, It won’t take long for the government to find us if they really start to look.”

“I know, Mike,” Sarah replied. “But, frankly, he lucked out when he decided to follow Albert. It was a one-in-a-million shot. Had he arrived an hour later, Albert would have left already and Chris would be still sniffing around in Malibu right now. Now that Mark’s here with the rest of our stuff, I say we just press forward as if he never existed.”

There was silence for a minute.

“So what are you going to do with him?” A woman asked.

“I’ll take care of him,” Sarah said. Her voice was icy and Chris shuddered. “It’s early. If we hurry, we can have the truck unloaded before it gets dark. I’d like to have it done before Albert gets back with the Carriers. Seth, go get the others started,” Sarah said.

“Are you going to kill him?” The woman asked, shock clearly in her voice.

“I didn’t say that, Camilla,” Sarah replied.

“Good, because that’s not—”

“Then what do you propose we do with him?” Chris recognized Seth’s voice.

There was a long pause before Camilla replied, “I don’t know but I’m not participating in cold blooded murder. Lock him up or something. Keep him out of the way until we can figure something out.”

“He’s going to have to be dealt with at some point,” Seth said. “What good is locking him up? He’s seen us. Probably even saw you outside. You think he’s going to just walk away and never talk to anyone?”

“I said I don’t know, Seth,” Camilla snapped. “But we’re not killing him and that’s that.”

“Sure thing boss,” Seth replied. “You tell me what to do and when, OK? I thought you were providing financing only? When did you get into the operations side of this?”

“We don’t need this right now,” Sarah said. “He’s locked up and we’ve got a lot to do. We can deal with this later. Besides, he could prove to be an asset or a bargaining chip if it comes down to that.”

“So what’s our schedule?” Mike asked.

“It’s going to happen fast,” Sarah replied.

“Tonight I’m going to expose the Carriers to the virus. Then Seth will drive them to the airport tomorrow. They all have tickets, credit cards, cash, and lots of Gen96. They’re going to go on lengthy tours of the world, just like I told you and the old man back at Camilla’s place. We’ll restock them as the need arises. In forty-eight hours, there will be no turning back.”

“I’m glad that it’s going to happen fast – less waiting around,” Camilla said.

“You’ve got the virus with you?” Mike asked.

“It’s in the truck. They’ll be unloading it soon,” Sarah said. “Once we get the Carriers out of here, we can all rest a little easier. At that point, all we can do is track and resupply them. We’ve got software that’ll make that easy enough.”

The faint sound of footsteps pounding on the basement stairs reverberated through the house.

“Let’s go give them a hand,” Sarah said.

The voices faded away. Chris lifted his head from the vent in the floor and crawled over to the window. Pain shot up his arm with each movement. He peered out through the slit between the edge of the shade and the window frame and watched as they unloaded the truck.

Forty-eight hours kept racing through his mind. How was he going to stop them? He was on his own – a software developer turned entrepreneur was all that stood between Sarah Burns and her twisted vision of the future. Jesus, what he wouldn’t do for his cell phone now. A call to the FBI or Pell – anybody to talk to, to receive some much needed advice, or better yet, to just toss this all over the fence and get the hell out of here. They got paid and had the skills and people to deal with situations like this.

He went over to the sturdy door and tried the knob again. Locked. He ran his fingers around the frame hoping to find a weakness but it was pointless. The only other way out of the room was a fifteen-foot jump out the window which was securely screwed shut top and bottom. Maybe, as a last ditch effort he could break the window and make the jump. That sounded noisy and dangerous and he certainly didn’t feel physically up to it right now.

He dropped down onto the bed. He still felt drowsy after the injection and he struggled to think straight. What to do? How to get out of here? His mind wandered as he fought sleep. He had read recently that the US had one of the highest child poverty rates in the developed world. Maybe their plan wasn’t such a bad idea after all. Look at all of the unwanted children in the world born to parents who didn’t understand the responsibilities of parenthood or that did understand and simply didn’t care – byproducts of lust. The desire to reproduce is bred deeply into each and every human being.

What about those religious countries where women were not able to access contraception or where it was so expensive it was beyond their means? Christ, even here in the US you can’t get access to birth control without a prescription which means it’s unavailable to the poorest in our own society. Eons ago, the future of the human race was dependent on its ability to reproduce effectively but that time had long since passed.

Maybe Gen96 was the best thing, in the long term, for the planet. It would have been an interesting topic for debate club back in school. He could easily argue it either way but this wasn’t debate club, this was reality. Chris knew that playing God was just wrong. Releasing a virus that could potentially mutate was not the way to go. What if it sterilized all men permanently? Where would we be?

There had to be a way to stop her. He just had to figure it out.

4:23 pm FBI Field Office Boston, Massachusetts

Arthur and his men had fully transformed the large conference room into their operations center. A TV tuned to WOTN droned on one side of the room. Based on the information from Pell, the Agents were hard at work trying to locate Sarah Burns’ college friend, Camilla Haywood and Chris Foster, who had been missing since landing at LAX early yesterday morning. Why hadn’t anyone heard from him? It seemed very strange and Arthur wondered if perhaps Chris Foster hadn’t become another casualty in this confusing and rapidly unfolding investigation. He paced as he contemplated this particularly disconcerting fact.

“This doesn’t look good,” a thick-necked agent said as he turned up the TV which was tuned to WOTN.

Boston Now, an afternoon talk show was interrupted as the station cut to their news desk. The anchorman fidgeted with his lapel microphone for a minute before saying, “This breaking news is a WOTN exclusive. Our Action News Team has learned that the FBI are currently working an investigation right here in Boston that involves a, for lack of a better word, a cult who have developed a virus designed to sterilize men in order to reduce the population explosion. Sources tell us that the virus is potentially going to be released over the next few days. The FBI and the CIA have both refused to comment as has the World Health Organization. Our reporter, Josh King is in Washington at the offices of the WHO to tell us more. Josh what can you tell us and have you been able to speak to anyone at the World Health Organization at this point?” The camera cut to a young, eager looking reporter standing outside a non-descript office building somewhere in the nation’s capital.

“Where is Irving?” Arthur said. “How come they’re still on the air?”

They all stared silently at the screen.

“Shut that station down now!” Arthur screamed to the nearest agent. “I don’t care what you have to do, but get them off the air.”

The agent pointed to two other men, and the three of them started to run from the room. Before they made it to the door, the TV signal flickered, went to static, came back clearly for a moment and then went back to static for good.

“It’s about fucking time,” Arthur said. “Why were they able to broadcast anything? They were supposed to be shut down.”

None of the men responded as Arthur turned from the television and back to the table. “Okay people. We’ve got a lot of ground to cover and not much time. I want ideas. Let’s hear them.”

The next few hours passed quickly as they officially launched the investigation – informing and coordinating agents across the country. If any good had come from 9/11 it was the vastly improved inter and intra agency communications. Within the span of three hours they would have just over seven hundred law enforcement officers from four federal agencies actively involved with the case. Arthur thought things were progressing nicely.

7:43 pm PDT Eureka, California

Sarah watched as Albert pulled the Politically Correct Express to a stop in front of the house. She and Seth stood next to the now empty tractor-trailer, talking. Sweat soaked their shirts and they were tired after unloading all the equipment. A long, hot shower was going to feel great.

Albert and his six passengers got out. He had rounded them up at the airport, four women and two men – two whites, two Asians, a black and a Latino. They looked like the adult cast of Zoom. Even though in this day and age people generally moved freely around the globe, they had decided it would be better to have Carriers who would be essentially invisible. They should just blend into the background. To that end, Seth had planned each one of their missions based on their ethnicity.

“Good to see you all again,” Seth said as he walked over to the small group and shook hands. “I hope you had pleasant flights.”

Two of them grumbled something about delays, but that was irrelevant. All that mattered was that they were all here now.

“This is Sarah Burns,” Seth said as he turned to Sarah, who walked over and shook their hands.

All of them were from liberal academic enclaves, Wellesley, BU, Harvard, and they were wide-eyed and idealistic. That idealism had been a critical factor in their ultimate selection. During the three month world tour Seth had spent lots of individual time with each of them – gotten to know them very well and had told Sarah he was convinced that these six were the perfect recruits. That they were paying each of them five hundred thousand tax-free dollars certainly helped but fervent belief was an absolute requirement. Money couldn’t buy loyalty and they weren’t taking any chances – the importance of silence could not be emphasized enough.

Sarah was still amazed at how easily Seth had managed to get fanatical devotion from them. No wonder the military loved young, smart people – properly indoctrinate them and you got a no-questions-asked group. According to the FBI, the average age of a suicide bomber was twenty one and this group standing in front of her proved out the demographics of fanaticism.

The first stars flickered to life in the rapidly darkening sky as Sarah said, “Everything’s ready. The test was an overwhelming success and we’re just waiting for you. You should all be very proud of what you’re about do. This is a defining moment in the history of mankind.”

The Carriers looked at her as if in a trance – servants awaiting their commands. Several exhibited different nervous ticks – a jittery leg, hyper-blinking and one who continuously rubbed his hands together and for the first time Sarah wondered if maybe going young was a mistake. They were idealists – dedicated, loyal but they were still kids with limited life experience.

“I’m the only one who knows your names, and they’re safe with me,” Seth said as he stepped forward and handed each of them a small blue bankbook. “I’ve created numbered Swiss accounts for each of you.”

Several of the Carriers squealed with excitement as they opened up the official booklets that confirmed the deposit of the promised money. A half million dollars was something to squeal about.

Seth let them enjoy the moment briefly before saying, “We want to start the process tonight. You’ll be leaving tomorrow. I’ll give you a full briefing later.”

Sarah knew each of their life stories. Two of them were from rich families – both with fortunes in excess of four hundred million dollars. The other four were from poor to very poor families – both sides of the spectrum. The rich could afford their idealism and the poor had seen the cycle of poverty and hopelessness that unwanted children caused first-hand. Some of them were those children. These kids were each motivated for their own personal reasons.

“Do you have any questions?”

They stood silently. Their mission was simple – a chance to help humanity, see the world, and make some easy cash – any college student’s dream.

“All right then,” Seth said. “Follow Sarah. She’ll show you to your rooms.”

Sarah led the way and the Carriers followed. Things finally appeared to be moving smoothly again.

Chris’ arm throbbed constantly now. If he kept it pressed against his side, the knee-shaking spikes of pain diminished but he felt feverish and light headed – getting sicker by the hour. A foul odor seeped from the soiled bandage. He paced the room. Being cooped up like this was making him crazy. He needed to make something happen and in order to do that he had to get out of this room. And, he needed medical attention, badly.

As he paced, he heard the faint squeak of a floorboard in the hallway and a small folded piece of paper slid under the door.

He stared at the square of white paper on the floor, picked it up and read the single sentence. ‘You are not alone’.

What the hell was this? He had never felt more alone. Was someone sympathetic to his personal plight? Was there someone else locked up here or hiding? Maybe it was a trick. Possibilities raced through his mind and as he contemplated this development, he heard the muffled thuds of people ascending the stairs. This time the door swung open, and Sarah and Seth walked in. Chris slid the note into his pocket.

“How’re you feeling?” Sarah asked.

“Not good,” Chris replied. “What are you going to do with me?”

Seth and Sarah exchanged quick glances before he said, “Nothing – for now. You’re staying right here.”

Sarah stood next to Chris, and before he could react, she plunged a needle into his shoulder.

“What’s that,” he exclaimed, recoiling.

“A sedative.”

He turned to Seth who slowly unrolled a medical kit on the bed. The shiny tools wrapped inside the cloth bundle glistened maniacally as the light in the room glinted off them.

The sedative was already kicking in. “What are you doing?” Chris slurred.

“Setting your arm,” Sarah replied. “If we let it go much longer, you’ll get gangrene and we’d end up having to amputate it. That wouldn’t be good.”

Seth pushed him down onto the bed. His colorless lips pressed tightly together, making his mouth look like an old scar on his angular face. Chris felt like he was in a coma – alert but incapable of communicating.

They unwrapped the gauze from his arm. Sarah grimaced as she looked at the wound.

“We’re going to have to open it up,” Seth said as he pulled out a scalpel.

As the blade touched his arm, Chris wanted to scream but he was paralyzed. He watched in horror as they slit his forearm open and blood streamed from the cut. The antiseptic shininess of the scalpel, its obvious weight, the effortless way it parted his skin made it seem alive, as if it were far more than just a simple cutting tool.

The procedure only took twenty minutes, but to Chris it was a lifetime. They clearly weren’t doctors, but they got the job done. They sutured him up, wrapped his arm with fresh bandages, gave him another shot and left the room.

“How’d it go?” Camilla asked as they walked into the kitchen.

“Good, I guess,” Sarah replied. “Now I remember why I didn’t go to med. school.”

Mike handed her a glass of wine.

The four of them sat around the table in silence for a few minutes until Sarah said, “I think we need to talk about a contingency plan.”

“What makes you say that?” Mike asked as he abruptly stopped the overly full glass from meeting his lips, spilling some wine in his lap. “Surely we should carry on with the plan as it is. Making last minute changes now sounds risky.”

Sarah noticed the nervousness in Mike’s voice. Why was he so worried about creating a contingency plan? She still didn’t trust him and vowed again to keep a very close eye on him. “It’s best to be prepared,” Sarah replied.

“We should be safe here,” Mike said. “I don’t see any reason to move from here or change plans at this stage.”

“I know that, and we probably will be safe, but let’s talk about it just in case.”

DAY 7 – SATURDAY, JULY 4

12:06 am Massachusetts General Boston, Massachusetts

Pell had no idea what the time was – the floor was dark and quiet. He had been staring at the ceiling for a length of time that he couldn’t begin to define. The dim lights of his monitoring equipment flickering on the suspended ceiling tiles and the steady sounds of the equipment put him into a trance – as if he were sleeping with his eyes open. The sedatives most certainly played a role in this feeling.

A hand clamped over his mouth.

He stared into his assailant’s pale blue eyes, inches from his own – Carl Moscovitz. A black ski mask covered his face, but it was that bastard, no doubt about it. His pointy nose poked through the woven fabric.

“Hi, Pell,” he said in a whispered nasally whine. “Surprised to see me?”

Pell stared back at him – defenseless.

“How did you find out about me?” Carl spat.

When he didn’t respond, Carl shook his head violently.

“Was it one of my men? Shake your head or nod you son of a bitch. Was it OIA?”

Pell refused to give him the satisfaction of an answer.

“I always knew you were worthless,” Carl said as he pulled a hypodermic needle from his pocket. He removed the protective tip and brought his face down next to Pell’s. “This is for Allen Jenkins,” he whispered into Pell’s ear. “And me.”

The needle pierced his skin next to an IV line so that the puncture hole would look like a first unsuccessful attempt on the IV. Carl knew all the tricks. Pell struggled briefly, but his body soon felt like it weighed a thousand pounds. Carl released him and stood up. Pell gasped. Central nervous system paralysis had set in.

He watched Carl blow him a kiss before leaving the room. His senses left him almost all at the same time. The last one to go was his sight. He could see the frantic nurses running into his room but that too was soon gone. Agent Paul Pelletier would never get to enjoy his new-found sobriety or an early retirement; he died at nine minutes past twelve.

12:15 am PDT Eureka, California

Chris woke up expecting the pain in his arm to be much worse than before, but to his surprise it actually felt better. It still hurt, but it was a good pain, as if his body understood that it could now heal properly. As he sat up in his bed, he realized that he wasn’t alone.

He could hear the light breathing of someone standing just inside the shadowy doorway. It was too dark to see who until the form moved closer and sat down on the edge of the bed.

“What…” Chris started to say, but a hand quickly covered his mouth.

“You are not alone,” Albert said.

“You gave me the note?” Chris said through Albert’s hand.

“Are you going to be quiet?” He asked in his crisp speech.

Chris nodded and Albert removed his hand.

“Good,” he continued. “We don’t have much time so I want you to listen to me carefully.”

Again Chris nodded and Albert continued, “I knew you followed me up from Malibu, Chris. I let you do it.”

“You knew? Why?”

“I thought you were with the FBI.”

Chris contemplated this for a moment. “So you wanted the FBI to come here? I don’t understand.”

“It was a spur of the moment thing. I don’t know what I was thinking. That’s why I lost you there at the end. On the drive up here I considered what I was doing and bringing in the Feds at that point was definitely the wrong thing to do.”

“I’m not following you,” Chris said.

“Look, I don’t want Gen96 to succeed. I understand where they’re coming from and I appreciate their reasoning. I really do but I can’t accept the method. It’s too…” he paused for a second, letting his gaze fall on Chris’ freshly bandaged wound and said, “…unnatural.”

“So why don’t you call the cops?”

“I could never hurt Camilla. I worked for her parents when they were alive and I have been here for her since she was born. I basically raised her. She’s like my own flesh and blood. I promised her parents I would always look after her and, to that end, I would never be, could never be, a part of her incarceration.”

Chris nodded as he considered the implications of what Albert was saying.

“At first I figured this was all just an idealistic project. Camilla can be very intense and focused when she wants to be and, besides, I assumed the premise was impossible. Creating a virus to control the population? Come on, it sounds unbelievable and, frankly, I figured Sarah was taking their money in some kind of long play scam. But the past few years, as it has become apparent that it could actually happen, that they could succeed, I’ve been trying to convince Camilla to drop this. To get out before it was too late but I couldn’t get through to her. She was committed, more than ever, and there was no way I was going to change her mind. So, instead, I’ve made it my job to protect her from whatever the consequences of this terrible plan are. Right now, I’m getting a very bad feeling about all of this and all the outcomes I can envision involve lawyers, jail or worse.”

“Tell me about it,” Chris said. “I’m so done with this whole thing. I want out of it all. Look at me. I’ve been beaten, shot, tortured, drugged. Jesus, I’m lucky to be alive! I was just fishing and now I’m here with you and all this.” He held up his bandaged arm and pointed to the wound on his head.

Albert swiped his hand across his bald scalp. “Whatever happens, I can’t let Camilla suffer the consequences. I have to protect her.”

“Look, Albert, I’m still woozy from those drugs and my brain isn’t firing on all cylinders. Just come out with it. Say what you are trying to say.”

“I’m saying we’ve got to stop this madness but not at the expense of Camilla’s freedom.”

“So just let her go?” Chris asked. “Without her, none of this would be happening. She’s as responsible as Sarah Burns.”

“No she’s not.”

“She is. Whether or not you want to admit it is a different thing. She financed them. No financing, no virus and no virus and none of us are here, David Rose is alive and I’m still fishing at my camp. Do you see it?”

“She’s a victim. She got caught—”

“Give me a break. I’m a victim, not her.”

Albert glared at Chris silently, there’s nothing like facts to kill a ridiculous argument. Chris continued, “She’s, at the least, complicit but you and I know she’s much more than that.”

“I don’t know that and it wasn’t like that.”

“Stop it! You don’t want to hear it but that doesn’t erase her role.”

“She’s naïve. Idealistic. She thinks they’re doing the right thing!”

“So she’s just someone with a cause?”

“More or less.”

“Give me a break, Albert. They’re playing God and you know it. Parse and massage it any way you want but you know the truth. You know that her and Sarah and the whole lot of them are knee deep in this fiasco that has the potential to change the course of the world forever! Don’t you get that? Forever. And who knows how this virus or its results will evolve over time. I’m no genius but I suspect it’s a fair bet that the outcome is highly unpredictable. What will this mean to the world? The consequences, intended and unintended, are beyond me but there is no doubt, none whatsoever, that this thing could morph into something that nobody could predict.”

“I won’t have her go to jail.”

“Then what do you want from me? What’s with your little ‘You are not alone’ note? Spit it out already.”

Albert pulled over a chair and sat down. “You know that Seth is going to kill you?”

“I suspected that.”

“He’ll do it.”

“I know.”

“Tomorrow, probably mid-afternoon. After he comes back from getting the Carriers onto their planes. He’ll use a gun and I would suspect you won’t even see it coming.”

Chris stared silently at the odd man. Speechless. Hearing a detailed agenda for the day of his assassination was not something he had expected to endure and certainly not something he had a response to because being told not only that you were going to die but when, by who and how was short-circuiting his thought processes.

Albert let Chris consider this for a few moments before saying, “We can help each other.” Then he reached into his pocket and produced a mobile phone.

“We can’t allow this to happen, Chris,” he said as he handed Chris the mobile phone. “We have to stop it. I think I can convince Camilla and Mike to leave with me tomorrow morning. They were here for moral support for Sarah and to provide on the ground information back to Philip Spencer but with everything that has been going on, I think they need to get out of here and I’m sure I can convince them to do it.”

“So what, they get out of here and?” Chris said shrugging his shoulders.

“And, we get you out that window, you run like hell and make contact with the FBI. They have to stop the Carriers before they get on their planes. They’ll be at the airport just before noon in a white Suburban. Six people plus Seth driving. They have to be stopped.”

“What about Sarah and the others?”

“Once they get the Carriers, they come back here and round up the rest of them. We’ll be long gone.”

Chris shook his head, “I don’t like it.”

“Why?”

“Because I just want to get the fuck out of here. I can’t take it anymore. It’s not my responsibility.”

“You’re wrong. This is absolutely your responsibility. Do you want to live in the world they want to create? How will you be able to look at yourself in the mirror when you know that you could have stopped it.”

“Why’s it all on me? Why don’t you go get the Feds?”

“Because I need to get Camilla out of here.”

“I don’t give a flying fuck about Camilla, Albert. She is not my worry.”

“But she’s mine and I’m not budging. If you want out of here, you have to play it my way.”

“Then I’ll just tell the feds that she was involved and they’ll come after her.”

“So be it, that’s better than her being caught up in it here.”

“That’s what I’ll do.”

“Suit yourself but her and Philip Spencer are very powerful people. I wouldn’t underestimate their resources and resourcefulness but that is all up to you. I just want her out of this situation immediately.”

Chris stared at the phone for a long minute, turning it over in his hands, feeling like he was making a deal with the devil.

“What do you say?” Albert said as he produced a screwdriver. “You can be out of here in five minutes.”

4:45 am Wilderness Outside Eureka, California

“Is Carl Moscovitz available?”

“Who’s calling?”

“Chris Foster.”

Chris could hear him mumble something to another person, and then he said, “Let me put you on hold and see if I can get him.”

“Sure,” Chris replied as he waited for Carl Moscovitz to pick up. Why would someone be answering the phones at this hour? Why was Carl there? Chris was shivering. The air in the dark woods was cold and moist and he had been running, trying desperately to get a mobile signal but now as he was standing still the sweat on his body was turning cold and clammy.

He was getting an ominous feeling when a voice he didn’t recognize said, “Arthur Kent.”

“Arthur Kent,” Chris echoed. The name sounded familiar, but he couldn’t place it. He was certain that Pell had mentioned it before. “I was looking for Carl.”

“He’s not here right now, Chris.”

“Really? Who are you?”

“Director of Criminal Investigations.”

“Director of Criminal Investigations? You’re a pretty important guy to be up at four in the morning talking to strangers.”

When Arthur didn’t respond, Chris continued, “Do you know why I’m calling?”

“I know who you are,” Arthur replied. “And what you’ve been through this past week.”

“Is that so?”

“Yes, I had a long talk with Agent Pelletier this morning. He thought highly of you. Said you would’ve made a fine agent.”

Chris laughed then said. “Thought?”

Arthur paused, “He was recovering nicely until just a few hours ago.”

“What do you mean?”

“Pell’s dead, Chris.”

“Dead? How?”

“They don’t know why. Probably a stroke or heart attack. It happened just after midnight.”

“Jesus,” Chris said as an intense wave of sadness flowed over him and he leaned against a tree.

“I kind of liked the guy myself,” Arthur replied. “So what’ve you been up to? We’ve been looking for you.”

“Well, here I am,” Chris replied.

“What have you been up to?”

“Doing your job.”

“You didn’t need to do that. We’re pretty good at it ourselves.”

“Well, after that prick Moscovitz didn’t want to hear what we had to say I figured I had to do something.”

“Carl was working it.”

“That’s not how it seemed to Pell and I.”

“I don’t know what to tell you,” Arthur said. “So where are you?”

“I have no idea. In the woods somewhere near Eureka, California. It was referred to as the old McGuire place but I don’t even know if that’s where I was,” Chris replied.

“Did you find Sarah Burns?”

“Yes.”

“Really? Is she with you now?”

“No.”

“Where is she?”

“Close.”

“What are you saying?”

“Let’s just say I’m done doing your job. I want out. Now.”

“I didn’t know you were in.”

Chris laughed. “It just happened.”

“I don’t know how that could just happen.”

“Whatever. It did.”

“Tell me about Sarah Burns. How’d you find her?”

“It was more like one of her people found me but that doesn’t matter now.”

“Why?”

“This virus is real.”

“We know.”

“How’s that?”

“They tested it in Botswana.”

“Engamy?”

“How’d you know that?”

“Did it work?”

“Absolutely.”

“Jesus Christ.”

“Yep. No pregnancies in the whole region as of right now.”

“Son of a bitch,” Chris said. “How come it hasn’t spread?”

“We don’t know for sure but suspect they have various delivery mechanisms.”

“That makes sense.”

“What are we doing here, Chris?”

“The real virus is spread through the air. Person to person. Highly communicable. They’re releasing it today. About eight hours from now.”

“How do you know this?”

“Does it matter. Just before noon today a white Suburban is going to pull up outside the Eureka Municipal Airport. Inside are going to be six people that are infected and they are going to be carrying the virus in aerosolized form. There’ll be a driver and those six people. They will board planes and head out for destinations around the globe. Their sole purpose is going to be to spread the virus. They’ll be resupplied as they move. The whole operation is very sophisticated and, given the communicability of the virus, this thing is going to spread fast.”

“Jesus,” Arthur muttered. Chris heard a few clicks on the line and then Arthur said, “I just transferred you to my mobile. I’m heading to the airport. We don’t want to let them make it to the airport, Chris. It’s too public. We need to get them before they get there.”

“I don’t know what to tell you. I don’t know where I am. I escaped and now I’m in the middle of the woods. As soon as I got a signal I called you.”

“Can you trace him?” Arthur said to someone. “We’ll see if we can triangulate your position. I’d rather come straight to you.”

“I’m moving, man. I am not sticking around for them to catch up with me again. No way. They’ll kill me for sure. If I were you I’d focus on stopping that crew at the airport or wherever you want but if they get out of the country, we’re all fucked.”

“Will Sarah Burns be there?”

“No, her and the others are at a house out here, deep in the woods. They’ll be waiting for the guy driving the Suburban to return.”

“How many others?”

“A handful.”

“Got a number?”

“No, I was held captive. They were going to kill me but I managed to get away. I didn’t have time to count all the people.”

“Of course,” Arthur replied. He was breathing heavy, obviously moving fast. “You were captive?”

“If you call being drugged and beaten, a captive, then, yes, that’s what I was.”

“Sorry about that.”

“Don’t be, it was my fault.”

“Just a second,” Arthur said and Chris heard the person Arthur was talking to say, “He’s on a single tower. We’ve got the general area but it’s impossible to narrow it down and based on the size and placement of that tower, we could be talking about four-hundred square miles.”

“Four-hundred? Damn it.”

“Sorry but without him hitting a couple towers there’s not much we can do.”

“Damn it,” Arthur said. “Do they know you’re gone?”

“No, I doubt it. It’s still early.”

“How’d you get away?”

“Out a window.”

There was a minute of silence, “Are you still there?” Chris asked.

“Yes, how are they going to react when they find you gone?”

“I have no idea.”

“Could they run?”

The questions threw him. It was so simple, why hadn’t he considered it? The answer to that was simple, he wanted to get the hell out of there and when Albert presented him the opportunity, he took it – unscrewing the sashes, opening the window and down and away. Get his ass to someplace safe and make this call.

“I suppose.”

“Damn it,” Arthur said.

“What?”

“When they find you gone they’ll run. No doubt about it. How far away are they from your location?”

“Forty-five minutes or so.”

“Hold on,” Arthur snapped. The line went silent and Chris considered what he had done. His desire to get away had blinded him to the fact that his escape could send Sarah and her cronies into the wind. “You need to keep moving. Find a road or a house or hit another cell tower so we can locate you.”

“But what if they run?”

“There’s nothing we can do about that now,” Arthur said. “We have to find you first.”

“It’ll be too late,” Chris said.

“I’m getting on the plane now, Chris,” Arthur said.

“Okay,” Chris replied as the phone went dead. Was he going to wander through this godforsaken forest hoping he stumbled across somebody? He had no idea if there was anything anywhere near him. All he saw was woods, all he heard was nature and he certainly didn’t want Sarah’s disappearance on his conscious. That left only one option and against every instinct he had, he knew he had to go back.

5:07 am FBI Jet heading to Eureka California

Arthur was exhausted but couldn’t think about resting. The case was mushrooming right before his eyes. William Stevens looked about as tired as he did. He was on the in-plane video conferencing system.

“I saw what was broadcast by WOTN before you got them off the air,” William said. “It’s not good. What are you doing with the staff you’re holding in the building?”

“We told their families that it’s a quarantine – legionnaires’ disease in the building’s air-conditioning system. It should hold them for a few days. After that, it’s going to be a battle but it doesn’t matter. This thing is coming to a head fast. We just need to hold them off for a day or so.”

“We’ve got to prepare a statement for the press. Just in case. Unless we can round up these fruit-cakes in pretty short order, we’re going to need some spin.”

“Okay,” Arthur replied. William could handle that side of things. Arthur was more focused on the tactical issues right now.

“What happened with Agent Pelletier?”

“Died of as yet unknown causes. I’ve got twenty bucks says Carl Moscovitz had something to do with it. Damn it, I should’ve had someone guarding his room.”

“That’s neither here nor there. So you’re heading out to California now?”

“Yes.”

“Keep me in the loop, Arthur.”

“I will,” Arthur said as he disconnected the call.

Arthur didn’t like that he was relying on an unknown like Chris Foster. The guy was obviously tenacious and he had successfully found Sarah Burns but who was he really? What was his motivation? That’s what bothered Arthur the most, people always had agendas and he had no idea what Chris Foster’s was.

6:37 am Eureka, California

“He’s gone!” Seth cried as he burst into the kitchen.

“What!” Sarah exclaimed. “Are you sure?”

Seth held up the sheet rope and said, “That window was screwed down tight but somehow he got the screws out.”

“How the hell could he do that?” Sarah said as she directed her gaze onto Mike.

“Why you looking at me?” He asked.

“I don’t know,” Sarah said. “He should have slept all night. I gave him enough pain killers to keep him out for half a day, easy.”

“Obviously, you under-dosed him,” Camilla said.

“Damn it! I didn’t want to O.D. him,” Sarah muttered.

“What should we do?” Mike asked.

“Let’s go look for him,” Seth said.

“That’d be a waste of time,” Sarah said. “We don’t know how long he’s been gone.”

The anticipation of the day ensured that everyone was awake early. All of them except the Carriers were in the kitchen and it was crowded. The smell of coffee filled the air.

“We need to get out of here,” Seth said. “He could already be at the authorities.”

“I can’t believe this,” Camilla said in a trembling voice. Her blue eyes darted from Sarah to Mike as she gnawed on her lower lip. Her delicate features had taken on a haggard edge.

“You’re telling me,” Sarah replied glancing at Seth. “He’s been dogging us since Maine. You were right.”

Seth nodded, “Fuckin A right. This is what you get for trying to be nice.”

“I think Seth’s right, we should get out of here,” Mike said. “What do you think, Sarah?”

She opened her mouth to speak when Chris Foster walked into the kitchen as if he were just another houseguest looking for his morning coffee.

The room was dead quiet as he scanned their astonished faces – Albert’s in particular. He, most of all, had not expected to see Chris again. Chris had spent the last half hour in the woods just outside the property trying to come up with a believable story but he knew there was a better than decent chance he would be killed on the spot. He had left the mobile phone on and hidden it near the property so maybe that could lead the Feds here at some point.

“I came back because of you.” He nodded toward Sarah. “You sold me. The more I thought about it, the more I appreciated what you’re doing. You’re right. We’re headed for disaster. To me a decision to do something like Gen96 is unthinkable. I couldn’t ever make it but that’s what separates visionaries like you from the rest of us – idealistic purity unencumbered by the moral trivialities. The big goal is the only goal – everything else is irrelevant. Certainly not the way most of us think.”

Nobody spoke, nobody moved, the room was filled with mannequins. “I fell into this. I was on vacation – fishing for Christ’s sake. I would’ve never believed that I’d be saying this a week ago, but here I am. I came back because I believe in what you’re doing.”

Sarah walked toward Chris silently until she was directly in front of him. “I don’t believe you,” she said.

“I was out of here, Sarah – free. All I wanted to do was get away from you, from here but—”

He paused. “But what?” Sarah said. Chris watched Seth move to his right, getting Sarah out from between them.

“I was running through the woods and I stopped at a stream for a drink. All I could hear was the stream and the forest sounds. No cars, no planes, nothing but nature and, for a brief moment, I felt connected to something bigger than myself, I felt as if I was a part of the world in a way I’ve never experienced.”

“What the fuck are you talking about?” Seth said as he pulled out a pistol and aimed it at Chris.

“Go on,” Sarah said.

“Yesterday, when you described what you were doing and why you were doing it, at the time I just brushed it off. Not giving it any consideration but standing there in in the forest your words came back to me. I understood it, it clicked deep inside my brain and I knew that I didn’t want to stop it and now I’m here, aren’t I, not with the police but alone. That should be proof enough.”

She nodded. That was the one indisputable fact.

“I could’ve gone to the authorities or done anything else I wanted. Instead here I am, more or less offering myself to you and your cause. I can help you.”

“I don’t buy it,” Seth said. “This doesn’t smell right.”

Sarah was about to say something when the Latino Carrier burst into the room and said, “Come downstairs. You’ve got to see this.”

Everyone followed him downstairs. The female Asian Carrier was at a notebook computer. “I was checking my e-mail. I get daily updates from an underground news site. They give it like it is. Look at this headline. ‘Virus Scare in Boston’.”

She proceeded to read the text aloud and launched a video clip of the WOTN anchorman that played until the clip went to static. “This is about us, isn’t it?” She said as she turned and looked at Sarah. Her round face looked calm and controlled but her voice quivered. The other Carriers were chatting nervously, rapidly working themselves into a frenzy.

“This can’t be about us,” Sarah said, trying to sound more confident than she felt. “It must be something else. A Coincidence.”

“It sure sounds like it is,” one of the frightened kids blurted.

“It isn’t,” Seth said. “No way. Why don’t you guys go load your stuff in the truck.”

Some of them looked like they wanted to argue but several headed for the door and the potential rabble rousers reluctantly followed.

“How do they know?” Camilla asked as she too turned to Sarah.

In one swift motion, Seth grabbed Chris’ broken arm, twisted it behind his back and slammed him down onto a table. His face connected with the heavy wooden surface with a brain rattling crash. The pain didn’t begin to equal that in his healing arm. It felt like Seth had stuck his fingers into the incision and was ripping the sutures apart one at a time. Chris cried out. Camilla jumped at the sudden attack.

“What do you know about this?” Seth asked as he pressed Chris’ arm up toward his shoulder blades and rammed a pistol barrel into the base of his skull. He cocked the gun. The metallic click of the hammer locking in position silenced the room.

“Nothing,” Chris replied as he struggled against Seth’s hold.

“It’s just a big fucking coincidence, huh,” Seth said. “You disappear for a few hours, and all of a sudden the whole world knows about us – about Gen96.”

“Seth, take it easy,” Camilla said.

Seth turned to her. “If you don’t like it, you’d better leave the room because he’s going to talk and he’s going to do it now or I’m going to kill him.”

“Don’t do it,” Sarah said.

“What, you too?” He cried. “Don’t get soft now, Sarah. We’re not done here. If she could find this on the web, you can be damn sure that every able-bodied federal agent is out there right now looking for us. The big question is do they know where we are, and that’s what I’m going to find out. Why do you care about this guy anyway? You were willing to kill David but this guy is untouchable. I don’t get it.”

Sarah looked from Seth to Chris, her mouth slightly agape and her brow furrowed. As she locked on Chris, her mouth closed and her forehead relaxed. He watched the compassion ooze from her as she morphed back into the cold Sarah Burns who wasn’t going to lose. She was on a mission and nothing would get in her way. She would succeed.

“Everybody out,” Sarah said, stepping toward Seth.

“What are you going to do?” Camilla asked.

“Don’t worry about it,” Sarah said as everyone scampered from the room.

Camilla twisted her mouth into an exaggerated frown, narrowed her eyes and glared at Sarah before turning and storming out. Seth pulled Chris off the table and pushed him into a chair, keeping his gun pointed at him. Sarah crossed her arms over her chest. The video segment on the computer kept looping.

“Chris Foster,” Sarah said. “You’re one big pain in the ass.”

Seth scowled as he turned and shot the computer three times. The room was now completely silent.

“Now listen to me and listen to me good, Chris.” Seth said. “I’m not in the mood for games. You try to fuck around with me and you’re dead.”

“Okay,” Chris said.

“Do they know where we are?”

“How would I know?” Chris replied.

Seth cocked the pistol. “Don’t do it.”

“I have no idea what they know. They didn’t get anything from me.”

Seth and Sarah exchanged looks.

“Then where did you go?” Sarah asked.

“I was going to run, but like I told you, I didn’t. You’re doing the right thing. Think about it. This shit back in Boston.” He nodded toward the shattered notebook computer. “It started yesterday. I’ve been here for two days now. How could I even be remotely involved?”

Seth wasn’t going to believe anything Chris said. He was obviously itching to kill him, but Sarah seemed to be keeping her head. If Chris wanted to survive this, he needed her.

“Let’s be honest,” Chris said to Sarah. “If I had wanted to get the cops here, they’d have been here by now. I could have done it.”

He let this sink in for a minute before continuing, “This news story, it’s got cover up written all over it. The Feds are looking for us – for you – right now. No doubt about it and if I’d given you to them they could skip the embarrassing cover up step. Don’t you think they’d rather just say ‘We got the bad guys, everything’s cool’? But they’re not. They’re wasting time and energy because they don’t have answers – yet.”

Seth pulled Sarah to the side of the room, keeping Chris in the sights of his pistol. His logic was good, believable. Apparently, Seth didn’t want to believe anything that came out of his mouth, but Sarah, for whatever reason, did.

“So what do you think?” Sarah asked in a soft whisper that Chris could still hear in the small room.

“I think he’s a lot more involved than he says,” Seth replied quickly. “Ever since he showed up, everything’s gone sour.”

“He has been here while most of this has been going on,” she said. “If the FBI knew that we were here, we’d know it by now. One way or the other.”

Seth grudgingly agreed with her.

“We need to get out of here,” Seth said.

“Do you think?”

“Absolutely. Just to be safe.”

She leaned against the wall and ran her fingers through her hair. She looked tired. “Fine. But we need to stick to our core plan,” she said. “You get the Carriers off on their way and we’ll head to the rallying point. After that, we can do whatever we have to with him. We’ve just got to set it in motion first.”

Seth reluctantly agreed. Once the Carriers were loose, it didn’t matter what they did.

“Go get them ready. Try to calm them down,” she said looking at her watch. “A few hours and it is unstoppable.”

11:58 am PDT Eureka Municipal Airport, California

Arthur Kent had his men set up operations in a hangar at the airport. They didn’t have much time to put things together.

In one corner of the large building, a small group of men dressed in Army greens were rapidly constructing a portable containment unit. These men were from the Technical Escort Unit’s Rapid Response Team – the Army’s experts in biological and germ warfare. Since 9/11 they had received a tremendous influx of cash that had allowed them to become the best crew in the world for dealing with either chemical or biological warfare. Today, their objective was to isolate anyone exposed to Gen96. They had trained for years for a situation just like this one. As undesirable as this job was, these men and women were prepared.

Arthur gathered his agents for the pre-mission briefing and then opened it up for questions. The Q & A session went on for ten minutes before Arthur dismissed them and proceeded to walk over to the containment area.

“How’s it going?” He asked the Sergeant, as he surveyed the quarantine area.

“Good,” replied the man. He breathed heavily and sweat peppered his high-brow as he stopped working to talk to Arthur. “We’re almost all set – just a couple more things and this unit will be sealed.”

Arthur glanced at his watch. They had less than thirty minutes now. “Excellent,” he muttered as he turned and walked away.

He had his people stationed at various points around the relatively small airport. Some were dressed as baggage handlers, others as security people and some simply looked like people on business or vacation. Most were positioned at the loading and unloading zone. They had debated trying to grab the truck elsewhere before it got to the airport but there were simply too many roads and not enough agents to cover them all.

Ideally, he wanted to grab these people before they got out of their car and into the airport. Containing them in the vehicle was the goal. They were on the lookout for a new white Suburban carrying a lot of people.

He slid out of his business suit and into a skycap uniform. He would be there with his men for this. It had to go smooth. As he walked toward his station in front of the terminal, he slipped a small receiver into his ear.

“Kent,” he said softly. He and all of his men were wired. “Status check.”

Each checked in. A smile spread across his tired face as he listened to the responses. He ran a tight ship, and it showed in his people’s performance.

“Anytime now,” he said into his hidden microphone. “Be alert.”

He scanned the unloading zone. It was relatively quiet.

12:00 pm PDT Bald Mountain, California

Sarah had always tried to go with her instincts, and today her gut was telling her that she should disappear, get the hell out of here before something really bad happened, but she couldn’t. This was the climax, the culmination of a lifetime’s work. Hell, she should be nervous. It was normal, considering what they were doing.

They were in the main lodge of an abandoned ski slope on Bald Mountain. This had been their designated rallying spot if they needed to abandon their primary location. Meet up here, regroup and then run, or, actually, get helicoptered out of here by the pilot who had been given a very large retainer to ensure he would be available on short notice and ready to go.

Seven buildings were scattered across the base area ranging in size from a small shack that housed pumping equipment to the main lodge that was a substantial two-story structure. Another lodge lurked at the top of the mountain at the end of the still-in-place chair lift. Their cars were tucked away in a maintenance building.

The buildings were approaching the point where they couldn’t be salvaged – doors hung off their hinges, windows were broken, and they reeked of mold and decay. The main lodge had been converted to a teenage party spot and was littered with graffiti, empty bottles and trash. An empty 144 count box of condoms was at her feet. “So this is how you pass time in Eureka,” she said as she kicked it across the floor and returned her gaze outside.

As she stared out the window she saw the ghost of a reflection approaching her. Camilla walked up silently and wrapped her arms around Sarah’s waist giving her a long, gentle hug. “What’re you thinking?” She asked.

Sarah took a deep breath and said in a sigh, “I was wondering what was going to happen to us.”

“Do you mean you and me – us, or us – everyone involved?”

“Both.”

“It’s scary, isn’t it?” Camilla said as she let go and stood next to her.

“In a way,” Sarah replied. “We were careful not to leave a trail. The FBI knows who I am, and they might know about Seth and Jerry as well, but knowing that people exist is a lot different than knowing where they are. I think we’re safe for now.”

Sarah had enough fake identification to get out of the country, and once she did, she could easily disappear for good. She didn’t tell Camilla this though.

“Then what’re your plans now that we know that they’re onto us?” Camilla asked.

“Let’s wait until Seth gets back, Camilla,” Sarah replied. “Maybe we should split up. That way there would be no way for you to be implicated if they did catch up with Seth and me.”

Camilla gave her a fake smile and said, “I really wanted to hang here with you, Sarah. I’ve been looking forward to it, but going to jail…”

“I’m right there with you,” Sarah said. “I’d rather be dead than in jail for the rest of my life.”

The two women silently contemplated this last statement until Sarah said, “Where’s Chris?”

“He’s with Jerry and Mark downstairs.”

“Let’s go see what’s going on,” Sarah said.

Camilla wrapped her arms tightly around her and gave her a deep, passionate kiss. When she finally let go, Camilla said, “I love you, Sarah. No matter what happens, I’ll always know that we were doing the right thing.”

Sarah had to catch her breath before she could reply. “I know, Camilla. I know.”

12:10 pm Downtown Eureka, California

Why had he let them get on the computer this morning? And they had definitely heard the confrontation with Foster. It was all a bit frantic and those two bad decisions ensured the Carriers were nervous wrecks now. Seth had forced Albert to drive. He had protested vigorously but Seth wanted to spend the ride calming and focusing the Carriers and he strong armed Albert into coming along.

“You’ve all got your packets?” Seth asked as they rolled through town toward the airport.

Each carrier said they did. The packets contained credit cards, tickets, cash, and lists of destinations. They also carried Gen96. Some had it in liquid form; others had it in aerosol cans disguised as hair spray or deodorant.

“Don’t let what you saw this morning get you upset,” he said. “I know it’s distracting and you’re bound to be nervous, but everything will still go as planned. You have your numbered accounts in Switzerland with your payday. There’re only two of us who know who you are, and we’ll never tell a soul.”

He looked at each person individually and tried to loosen them up and calm them down. A few tried to smile but failed. They had the same look on their faces that men about to go into battle have – jaws set, lips pressed together, eyes alert. Seth was the general, pumping up his young troops in a rocking boat off the coast of Normandy.

“Your stories are simple – you’re taking a semester off. Young people out experiencing the world like college kids have always done. You’ve got all of the papers and supporting documents you’ll ever need. You’ll be safe as long as you keep your cool.”

He expected some sort of response from at least one of them, but got nothing but silence.

“This is going to set you up for life,” he said as he turned back toward the front of the Suburban. “Hell, I wish someone would have given me half a million dollars to travel when I was your age.”

He pulled the pistol out and placed the shotgun on the floor between his feet as they pulled into the entrance of the small regional airport. There was a single two-story terminal – the top deck for departures, the bottom for arrivals. They drove toward the swooping ramp that led to the main drop-off area. Two Delta employees stood on the other side of a hurricane fence that separated the road from the tarmac. The two men stared at him until his eyes met theirs, then they hurriedly turned and went about their business. Seth gritted his teeth and cracked his neck. He had been getting more skittish over the past few days and assumed that this nervousness was just an extension of that. Surely those men weren’t anybody who would be after them. The Feds weren’t behind every tree or fence. Stay cool, his own words echoed in his head. Stay cool. It was easier said than done.

He glanced across the seat at Albert whose knuckles were white from clenching the wheel. He seemed to be looking everywhere but at the moderately busy road as he drove.

“Relax,” Seth said.

Albert nodded. Beads of sweat dotted his forehead. His scalp and face were flushed a light pink. “I can’t help it,” he replied.

They were now under the roof of the terminal and approached the unloading zone. Seth scanned the busy area – vacationers, business travelers, some security, and skycaps – a normal day at the airport. But he had a feeling, a premonition. Something was terribly wrong. The truck slowed down and pulled over to the curb.

He looked frantically up and down the sidewalk and was about to put it off to nerves again when it clicked. All of the airport personnel looked as though they had just stepped out of the gym and barbershop. Each was clean-shaven, well groomed – not one of them was overweight. These people were not your normal, motley crew of airport workers.

“Don’t stop, Albert!” He cried. “Get us out of here.”

“What?” Albert said as he continued to pull over and decelerate.

Seth instantly raised the cocked pistol and said, “You heard what I said. Get us out of here!”

A stocky, middle-age man walked toward the crawling Suburban as Seth rammed the pistol into Albert’s ribs.

“Drive this truck right now or you’re a dead man.”

Albert stomped on the accelerator, and the truck lurched forward.

“What’s going on?” Albert screamed at Seth as he pulled from the curb and accelerated down the airport road. Several of the Carriers yelled from the back.

“Something wasn’t right,” Seth said as he glared at Albert, who didn’t turn to meet his icy stare. “What do you know about that, Albert?”

“What do you mean?”

“You seemed to hesitate a lot back there – like you were debating what you should do.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Seth grunted. “We’ll talk about it later. Right now just get us the hell out of here and fast.”

He turned and looked out the back window.

“Someone’s after us,” one of the Carriers said.

Seth picked up the shotgun, jacked a shell into the chamber and rolled down his window. The Suburban was approaching seventy miles an hour as they rounded the turn that led toward the main exit. This vehicle was not designed for high-speed cornering, and Albert wrestled with the wheel to keep the truck on the road. As they sped toward the exit, two cars came from out of nowhere and skidded to a stop in the middle of the road blocking the exit.

Several of the Carriers had worked themselves into a frenzy. They pleaded to be let out.

“Cut it to the left, behind that building!” Seth screamed.

The men in the cars blocking the exit crouched behind the makeshift barricade and started to shoot at the Suburban. The windshield turned into a spider’s web of cracks as high-powered, well-placed bullets slammed into it.

Albert jammed on the brakes and cut the wheel hard to the left. The truck skidded off the road, bounced over a curb and crashed through a hurricane fence. The corner of the building momentarily blocked them from the line of fire. Seth turned around to tell the panicking Carriers to shut the hell up. The Latino carrier was slumped against the door. The right side of his head was gone. Blood spurted out of the gory wound.

Seth stared at him briefly before he leaned over the seat and opened the door. The body tumbled out of the truck and disappeared outside.

“If you want to live,” he said in an eerily calm voice. “You’ll all shut up so we can get us out of here.”

Horrified faces stared back at him – now speechless.

He turned back around and looked out the window. They were rapidly approaching the runways. Cars were closing in on them from the right and behind.

“Open it up, Albert. This thing’ll go faster.”

Albert pressed the accelerator to the floor. The truck sped forward. The speedometer passed one hundred miles an hour.

Seth pointed the double-odd buck-filled shotgun out the window at the closest pursuer and fired. The car swerved. The passenger leaned out his window and returned Seth’s fire. Seth shot again. This time he hit the driver’s side front tire sending the car into a wild skid. The man who had been shooting at him hung on for his life as the vehicle careened out of control. It zigzagged wildly before flipping up and rolling, crushing the man who was half out of the window – reducing him to a vile skid mark on the side of the tumbling car that rolled half a dozen more times before coming to a stop.

“Everybody get down!” Seth yelled at the Carriers who eagerly fell to the floor.

He fired several more shots out the passenger window, and blasted a few out the rear window at the two cars behind. The pursuers slowed slightly as he shot at them and then they split up. One went to the left and the other to the right. They raced down the runway at one-hundred-twenty miles an hour. The engine roared under the hood.

“Go that way!” Seth said. “We’ll try to get out through the back of the airport.”

Albert nursed the Suburban in that direction.

“How did they know?” Seth said. “It had to be Foster.”

It didn’t make sense though. How would Chris have known about the trip to the airport today? Someone else had turned traitor – someone who knew all of their plans, certainly not Jerry or Mark. He looked at Albert remembering the hesitation as they pulled up to the curb back at the terminal.

“You son of a bitch,” Seth said.

“What?” Albert exclaimed as he tore his gaze from the runway.

“It was you, wasn’t it? You gave us up. You Judas son of a bitch!”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about!”

The end of the airport was rapidly approaching, and Seth could see the highway he hoped to get to down a hill on the other side of the runway.

From the backseat one of the Carriers yelled, “Look out!”

“Jesus Christ,” Seth cried. “Watch out for that plane!”

A small plane was landing on another runway that intersected theirs up ahead.

Albert saw the plane and panicked. He cut the wheel to the right too hard for the truck’s suspension. Too late. The landing gear of the small plane clipped the roof of the Suburban, tearing a jagged hole into it as the pilot tried to avoid the speeding truck.

The plane slammed into the ground behind the truck. It flipped twice, losing its wings before one of the pursuing vehicles slammed into it. The plane and car became one as they skidded down the runway.

Albert tried to control the Suburban. The three-ton vehicle had too much speed. Wind howled through the jagged gash in the roof as slowly it tilted up on two wheels, drove on at an ever-increasing angle, and then rolled over.

The sounds of horrified screams, shattering glass and crushing metal filled the van. It tumbled down the steep hill to the highway and burst into flames as it came to rest in a gulley.

The cars that contained Arthur and his men skidded to a stop above the chaotic scene on the highway, and the men ran down the embankment. They stood helpless. All they could do was watch as the Suburban and its occupants were consumed by the fire.

“Jesus Christ,” Arthur muttered as he watched the fire. He needed them alive. “Stay here. Seal the area.”

With that, he climbed the hill and got back to his car. He passed the men in full containment gear who were retrieving the body of the person who had fallen out of the Suburban. They sprayed a chemical on the bloodstains on the pavement.

He wasn’t sure which or how many of his men had been killed, but he didn’t have time to worry about them now.

3:30 pm PDT Bald Mountain, California

Chris watched Sarah stand and stare out the large window for the third time in ten minutes. He studied her reflection in the glass as she tugged on her earlobe and made a soft clicking sound with her tongue. The way the bright mid-afternoon sun was hitting her grey eyes made her reflection appear to have empty voids in her eye sockets giving her the appearance of B-movie soulless apparition.

“They should have been back by now,” Sarah said.

“Maybe they ran into traffic or something,” Mike offered.

“I’ve got a bad feeling about this,” she said.

Jerry had a laptop setup and was watching a local news feed. The big news was a multi-car accident on some highway. A news copter was circling the scene sending back live shots – classic accident coverage. Chris sat up. The burned-out hulk of a Suburban was lying upside down in the ditch, still smoldering from the fire.

“Look at this,” he said. The others turned just in time to see an aerial shot that had zoomed in on the burnt-out Suburban pan out to show the airport and the wrecked plane and car on the runway above. The recognizable dark blue jackets stenciled with FBI in large yellow letters across the backs dotted the scene.

They stared in silent disbelief. The burned out van had to be the one Seth had taken to the airport. Sarah dropped down into a chair and stared blankly at the television.

Chris replayed his conversation with Arthur Kent. They hadn’t actually discussed what would happen at the airport and Chris had assumed that they would take the Carriers into custody but it would appear that they were cleaning up this situation in the most complete way possible. A fiery accident would certainly ensure that Gen96 hadn’t escaped, wouldn’t it? Actually, if he were in Arthur’s shoes what would he do?

Chris couldn’t help but feel that this whole thing was going sideways. He hadn’t anticipated leaving the other house. The feds were undoubtedly already there, assuming they could figure out where the old McGuire place was or if they had been able to hone in on his cell phone signal. He needed them here. Damn it!

Tears ran down Camilla’s cheeks, her full lips quivered before she blurted, “Albert, Jesus Christ. I talked him into this whole thing. Now he’s dead. Dead!”

Sarah was silent. She didn’t move to Camilla, didn’t offer comfort as the beautiful starlet collapsed against the wall and sobbed. “It wasn’t supposed to be this way,” she wailed.

Mike finally went to her. “Well, that answers that question,” he said to Sarah as he stroked Camilla’s trembling back.

“What question?” Sarah asked.

“Whether or not they know where we are,” he replied. “That was no accident. The FBI didn’t just happen to be there – no way. They were assassinated. The FBI probably ambushed them.”

“So what are we going to do?” Chris asked.

“Who are you to say we?” Jerry asked, flipping the laptop shut and stepping toward Chris. “For all I know, you’re the reason they’re dead.” Jerry was also on the verge of tears as well, trembling.

“One thing’s for certain,” Chris said in a calm voice.

“What’s that?” Jerry said.

“You guys need to make some tough decisions, and you need to make them now – not tonight, not tomorrow. No matter how difficult it is for you, you need to accept that your plan has failed – at least in its current form. Right now you need to get the hell out of here.”

Jerry began, “Who the fuck—”

“He’s right,” Sarah said with a weary sigh. “We’ve got to accept it.” She broke into tears. The sound of her anguished sobs echoed in the quiet room. Someone needed to console her, but nobody made a move to do it.

Finally, Chris walked over and touched her shoulder. “It’s not so bad.”

“Not so bad!” She screamed as she pulled away from his hand. “They’re dead. Don’t you understand that?”

Chris began, “Maybe—”

“Don’t even say it. They’re dead! And that’s all there is to it. You saw the van.”

Chris stepped away from her and said, “At least you’ve already developed Gen96. If you can get out of here and lie low for a while, you can release it later. At this point, it’s just time, right?”

The ensuing silence told Chris he was getting through to them. He wasn’t the only one who had been through hell the past week and he didn’t have the baggage of eighteen years of all-consuming idealism to reconcile. It wasn’t his life’s work that was being threatened with complete and total failure. To cap it off, there was a good chance they’d end up in jail, or dead. Up until David Rose had escaped, they had been naive, maybe even innocent but they were now undeniably a long way from David Rose’s failed escape.

Innocence was a tough thing to lose. Santa and the Easter Bunny don’t really exist, loved ones can be torn from you indiscriminately, the framework of love can be destroyed by uncontrollable urges – sometimes there weren’t brighter, better days ahead – at least in the short term. The paradoxes of life could overwhelm even the strongest of men. He couldn’t imagine a more anguished group anywhere else in the world than these people at this moment. Everything that could go wrong had. The heat of the moment offered an opportunity for him to stop Gen96 but it was also inherently dangerous, volatile.

Mike finally broke the silence. “Chris is right. We need to get our act together right now. God only knows if they know where we are, and I certainly don’t want to hang around and find out.”

“How could they know?” Sarah said. “We just moved again.”

“But they know we’re around here someplace and they’re going to be here in force trying to find us,” Mike replied. He stood up and started to pace, circling Chris and Sarah as he did so. He appeared predatory in his movements.

“What do you suggest?” Sarah asked.

He circled them a few more times before saying, “I think Camilla and I should head back down to LA. We need to make it look like we’re going about our normal schedule. If they suspect us somehow, we should be able to fight them in court. Without you, Sarah,” he looked at Sarah as he said this and bowed his head in a respectful, slow motion nod. “Or Seth, they won’t be able to directly implicate us. We could tie it up for years in court. Right, Camilla?”

Camilla stood and nodded slowly as she wiped the tears from her swollen, red face. She convulsed with each breath as she struggled to control her sobs.

“Sarah,” Mike said. “You need to disappear. Can you do that?”

“Yes,” she replied turning her attention to Chris. “It is only time at this point. Only time.”

“We’ve got to go now,” Mike said as he turned and left the room. Everyone followed him to their car.

Once Mike and Camilla were inside, Sarah said through the rolled down window, “I’ll call you in a few weeks, Camilla. Once I get out of the country and settled someplace.”

“That sounds good,” Camilla replied. She was pale, her eyes red and swollen, her voice soft and shaky. Albert’s death had affected her deeply and the specter of jail loomed large for all of them.

From behind the wheel Mike said, “It’s a delay, Sarah. It’ll still happen. It’s just going to take a little longer than we wanted.”

Sarah leaned in through the window and kissed Camilla on the cheek. “It wasn’t your fault, Camilla,” she said softly. “He came here by his own free will.”

Camilla nodded. “I guess. I’ve just never been good at death,” she reached out and stroked Sarah’s face. “And I’m going to have to deal with Phillip. That’s not going to be easy.”

“I wish I could help you with that,” Sarah said.

Camilla nodded as she squeezed the nape of Sarah’s long neck. “Let’s get out of here.”

Mike put the car in reverse and backed out of the building. Sarah waved mechanically at the departing car and silently watched it drive away.

Chris had a bad feeling about where this was going. Sarah would go one way and Jerry and Mark would disappear into America, maintaining intermittent contact with Sarah over the internet until they could get things together to try again. But where did that leave him?

As far as he could see, he was the one variable – the wild card and he had a feeling he was about to learn his fate as Sarah turned and glared at him. This wasn’t a court of law. It was the court of Sarah. She was the judge, jury and prosecutor, and, if she found him guilty – which he had a feeling she already had – the executioner as well.

“Are you guys ready?” Sarah asked. Jerry and Mark said they were.

“Then let’s go, it’s a hike up to the extraction point,” she said as she slung a backpack over her shoulder and wriggled it into position.

“What about him?” Jerry said pointing at Chris.

“Bring him with us.”

“Why?”

“Because I said so,” Sarah replied.

Jerry shrugged, produced a gun and pointed up the mountain. “Walk,” he said to Chris.

9:01 pm PDT Summit – Bald Mountain, California

They faced each other in awkward silence until Chris said, “We need to talk.”

“Okay,” Sarah replied.

He motioned for her to follow. They walked inside to the main room of the Peak Lodge and sat down at long table that was stained and had countless names and slogans carved into it.

“So. What now?” He asked as he scanned the empty room and frowned. Dilapidated, stench-ridden, filthy and on the verge of collapse. A perfect metaphor for their situation.

“I don’t know what to think anymore.”

He cracked his knuckles and studied her. He had to make something happen. Mark and Jerry were patrolling the perimeter. That was three against one – not the best odds but much better than five hours ago. He needed to get out of here. Get into the woods and run. They would have to make a split second decision, chase him, or run for their own lives and he suspected they’d take option number two.

“Do you think that I’m the reason this all turned out the way it did?” Chris asked.

“Yes.” Her grey eyes, the voids from the reflection, truly looked soulless, empty. They could have been stone eyes set in the hard, carved mask of a high priestess preparing for the ceremonial sacrifice.

Chris pulled away from her.

“That’s too bad,” he said. “This isn’t about me, Sarah – it’s all about you. What you were doing, or trying to do.”

“In your opinion,” she said as she folded her hands on the table. “It’s all perspective.”

“No. It’s not,” Chris replied. “There’s right and wrong. What if this thing mutated and sterilized men permanently? Then where would we be? You would be solely responsible for the demise of the human race as we know it. How would that feel?”

“It won’t mutate.”

“And man will never walk on the moon,” Chris replied.

“What’s that got to do with it?”

“I don’t know, Sarah. You get the point.”

“I get a point.”

Jerry walked in. His pistol was aimed at Chris. He went silently to Sarah and handed the gun to her.

“Thanks,” she said.

“Do you want me to hang around?” He asked.

“No, you guys keep an eye out,” she replied as she looked at her watch.

“Ok,” he replied.

Jerry left the room. They sat in silence. He stared at the muzzle of the gun. So this is what it was coming down to. The cold, dark orifice contained his future, or lack thereof.

“I didn’t have anything to do with it,” Chris said.

“That may be so,” Sarah replied. “There’s something about you that I liked. If everything had gone smoothly today, I would have let you in with us. Seth would have complained, but I would have done it anyway.” She winced.

“You need help now more than ever, Sarah.”

She reached down and pulled a bottle out of her backpack. “All I need is right in here,” she said as she looked at the clear liquid in the bottle. “Gen96 is alive and well.”

“You can’t do it alone,” he said as she replaced the bottle.

“I can do anything.” Her voice sounded as if she said it more for her benefit than his, as if she were in some sort of a rehab program – step number one, believe in yourself.

She sat directly across from him, staring, keeping the pistol in her right hand pointed at his chest.

“Then just do it,” Chris said. “I’m sick of all of this bullshit. I was a normal person with a normal life. Now look at me. I’ve been shot at, beat up, cut open – it only seems natural that now I’ll get shot for good.”

She was going to do it. There was no doubt about the look on her face as her eyes narrowed and her lips parted slightly. She was detaching herself from her emotions in preparation for pulling the trigger. Ending a human life – what a concept. Her finger moved slightly, increasing the pressure on the trigger.

If he didn’t do something now, he was dead. He met her gaze, counting in his head – one, two, three.

He lifted up the table and drove it forward into her with all his body weight behind it. She squeezed the trigger. The motion of the table had pushed the pistol to the side. The bullet slammed harmlessly into the wall. He screamed as he rammed the table into her. Her chair started to slide. She fought to gain some sort of control until the legs of the chair hit an irregularity in the floor. It went over backwards. He followed. She cried out as he and the heavy table landed on her.

Her hand, clutching the pistol, stuck out from the side of the table. Chris rolled over, wrenched the gun from her weakening grip, and stood up. Pain tore through his broken arm and he cried out, but it didn’t matter. He felt and didn’t feel it at the same time. All he could think about was getting out of here. Alive.

Footsteps pounded up the stairs. He turned as Mark burst into the room waving a gun.

“Freeze!” Chris yelled. Mark paused briefly before raising the gun.

Chris squeezed the trigger. The pistol roared. The slug slammed into Mark’s chest, which erupted in a gusher of blood. He fell forward. Sarah had squirmed out from under the table, and now was inches from her trembling, dying comrade. His gasping breaths shot spittle onto her wide-eyed face.

Jerry ran in, wisely stopping when Chris told him to. They all watched Mark die – three solid minutes until he was finally still. Chris picked up Mark’s pistol and shook his head. He motioned with the barrel of the gun for Jerry to move beside Sarah.

“You should’ve listened to me, Sarah,” Chris said in a trembling voice. He couldn’t take his gaze from Mark’s body – he had done that. Oh my God! “I gave you the option of letting me go, but you forced my hand. That’s your fault!” He pointed to Mark’s body.

Sarah’s shoulders slumped and her head hung down on her chest as she sat next to her dead cohort. She slid sideways, away from the spreading pool of blood. Some of it had already touched her jeans and it streaked across the floor – an appropriate trail of blood.

Jerry scowled. “So what’re you going to do now?”

Chris picked up a chair from the floor and sat down. Good question. Christ, was he any better than Sarah? He could still feel the recoil of the gun as he squeezed the trigger. The blast still echoed within the recesses of his mind. He had killed a man. It was absolutely justifiable – the right outcome for the moment but that didn’t negate the fundamental fact that he had sent someone into eternity, pushed them off this mortal coil into the incomprehensible abyss.

As he stared at Mark’s motionless body, lost in guilt and remorse and revulsion, Sarah leapt up from the floor and tackled him. Jerry followed her lead and the two of them piled on Chris, pushing him out of the chair and onto the floor as they wrestled desperately to get the gun out of his hand.

9:15 pm PDT Eureka Municipal Airport, California

“I don’t care what you do or how you do it, Arthur. You’ve got to find these people – to stop this thing once and for all,” the President said.

“I’m working on it, sir,” Arthur replied. He wasn’t going to apologize or grovel. He was doing everything he could, and what the President thought about his performance wasn’t his highest priority right now, although it was up there.

“I’m not impressed,” the President said.

“We’re trying to ID the bodies from the Suburban,” Arthur said.

“What good is that?” The President replied. “You already said that Sarah Burns wasn’t in the van. It was two guys and a bunch of kids.”

“At least we stopped them from getting onto the planes and out of the country. If that had happened, we would have been too late anyway. We’ve got to give Chris Foster time, sir.”

“What makes you think he’s even going to turn up again? He’s the one who sent you to the empty house.”

“But he gave us the Suburban. I can’t explain why nobody was at the house.”

“I don’t like it,” the President said. “There’s too much at stake for us to rely on this guy.”

“We’ve got people pouring into the region. We’re doing everything right, we just need a break.”

“How much time do you propose we give him?”

“Until tomorrow. Noon. Then we go to the media and get the world looking for him and the rest of them. I’m sure he’s going to get in touch with us.”

The President muted his line and leaned off camera. After five minutes he came back on. “We need to contain this now. We can’t give it any more time. It’s too risky. I want an immediate media blitz and containment protocols for a thirty-mile region including aviation.”

“You realize what this is going to do?”

“Of course but I’m not going to be the President who sits by and lets this happen. Not on my watch. I’ve already kicked this off from my end so you don’t have to worry about the protocols, all you have to do is find these people. Got it?”

Arthur was shocked that the President had reacted in such an extreme manner but he couldn’t second guess him. This was uncharted territory and overreacting was a deserved response.

“I understand, Mr. President.”

“Keep me posted,” the President said as he hung up.

Arthur held the receiver in his hand until it emitted a loud siren sound before placing it back in its cradle. His stomach rumbled as he dropped with a groan into a folding metal chair and put his feet up on the table. All his team could do was wait and prepare. The media blitz would generate all kinds of activities.

“What now?” Steve Strange asked Arthur.

Arthur glared at the agent, whom he was beginning to really like. “I just spoke with the President. Get everyone together in ten minutes.”

“Will do,” Steve said as he moved away, pulling his phone from his pocket in the process.

Arthur looked across the hangar at the Rapid Response Team. They were busy analyzing the corpse in one of the isolation chambers. He gathered the energy to get up and walk over. The Sergeant, dressed in a full-body protective suit said, “This kid is definitely hot.” His voice came through a speaker.

Arthur stopped. The man leaned back down over his microscope. Another man was furiously typing on a computer attached to a large machine. The keyboard had been enlarged to allow someone wearing the thick gloves to type.

“What do you know right now?” Arthur yelled.

The man lifted his head from the microscope and snapped, “We’re not sure, but there’s definitely some sort of virus in his blood. It’ll take a while to figure out; hell, it could take months, but this kid is hot – he’s carrying something and, just a hunch, I bet it’s exactly what we thought it was.”

“Keep me informed,” Arthur said as he turned and walked away. He stared at the phone on the table – willing it to ring with Chris Foster on the other end. He was wired with nervous energy and the super-intense portable lighting that had been set up inside the hangar made everything glow, and was adding to a growing headache.

He walked outside into the cloudless night. Even with the bright full moon, the sky sparkled with stars, the glow of the Milky Way sliced across the darkness. In D.C., only the brightest stars shone through the ambient light of the east coast megalopolis that stretched from Washington to Boston. The myriad of stars soothed him, tension flowed down his back and his head cleared as he took a deep breath. The underlying sweetness of the northern California air was still present even though he stood in the middle of a vast expanse of pavement. He held his breath momentarily and let it out in a long, slow exhalation.

The plan had sounded too easy when he had originally talked to Chris this morning. Things never went that smoothly. He stretched some more as he walked around on the dark tarmac gathering his thoughts. Even from out here, he could hear a phone ringing back in the hangar. He turned and stared at the building that seemed to have liquid light pouring out of it, hoping that it was Chris Foster on the hotline. He was just about to turn away and continue on his walk when one of his men emerged from the light and ran toward him.

“It’s Chris Foster.”

Arthur sprinted back to the hangar. His heart raced as he ran into the building and over to the desk where the receiver lay on its side like a wounded animal.

He paused and took several deep breaths before picking up the phone, “Kent.”

9:21 pm Summit – Bald Mountain, California

“Damn it!” Sarah exclaimed as she disconnected the call.

“Please tell me that wasn’t what it sounded like?” Jerry said.

“It was. He can’t take off. The government has grounded all aircraft in the area.”

“You’re kidding me. What are we going to do now?” Jerry said as he pulled out his phone.

“I have no idea,” Sarah replied. She held her phone in her hand, obviously wanting to hurl it but knowing she needed it.

Chris sat in a chair against the wall. His arm a simmering blaze of pain, his right eye a swollen mess and his body feeling like it was on the verge of total collapse. The fight with Sarah and Jerry had been too much. It was looking less likely that he could survive this ordeal with each passing minute. Now their evacuation plan was dead. The helicopter that was supposed to whisk them away under the cover of darkness was not coming.

“Jesus, look at this,” Jerry said holding his phone up.

Sarah walked over and looked at the screen. An old picture of her was on the screen next to a recent picture of Chris. Jerry turned the phone back and read highlights of the story out loud, “Sarah Burns an apparently reclusive and idealistic genius created a virus. Blah, blah, blah Stop the over-population crisis. Government has instituted a dramatic, never before instituted containment policy. Roads are being blocked. All mass transit shut down, including airplanes, trains, boats. Massive influx of federal agents and they’ve called up the National Guard! We’re fucked. The FBI lost contact with Chris Foster this morning.” Jerry lifted his head and turned to Chris.

Sarah stood next to the small galley kitchen and she glared silently for a moment at Jerry, her face trembling. Then she shrieked. Her feet lashed out at the counter and she started kicking and thrashing uncontrollably. A cabinet door broke off and she jumped up and down on it as she howled. She slammed into a table, overturning it. Empty bottles and cans tumbled noisily across the tile floor. She kicked a fire extinguisher from its mounting bracket on the wall. As it crashed to the floor, its handle broke off. A thick cloud of carbon dioxide erupted from the nozzle with a loud, throaty squelch. The metal canister spun wildly around the tile, slamming into walls and the preparation table until finally jamming under a counter and ejaculating the last of its fire retardant with a loud pop.

“Sarah!” Jerry exclaimed as he stepped back while the fog of CO2 and the temper tantrum consumed Sarah. She thrashed in the cloud, howling and crying in a fit that lasted for several minutes before finally collapsing on the floor. Her raging fury reduced to uncontrollable sobs.

“Why, why, you son of a bitch?” She moaned as the CO2 dispersed across the floor in a thick ground fog.

“All the preparation, the years of planning,” she moaned. “You ruined it. All of it! Look at us, we’re trapped!”

“You’re a dead man,” Jerry said as he pulled out his pistol, cocked the hammer and walked toward Chris.

“Wait, don’t!” Chris said but Jerry marched toward him.

Sarah rose to her feet and wiped the tears from her face and said, “Stop, Jerry. Stop!”

“No, Seth was right all along. It was him the whole time.”

Sarah walked to him, “Give me the gun.”

“No.”

“Give me the fucking gun.”

“No. I’m going to kill this son of a bitch just like we should have done when he first turned up back in Maine.”

“No you’re not.”

“Yes, I am.”

Sarah stepped in between Jerry and Chris, “Give. Me. The. Gun.”

Jerry’s face quivered with rage but he slowly handed the gun to Sarah. She took it from him saying, “I want to be the one.”

Chris rose from the chair as Sarah faced him. She was five feet away with the gun leveled at his chest. There was no way he could physically attack her or attempt an escape. In his condition, she would win either situation easily. The only way to hold off on her pulling that trigger was going to be with his wits.

“You need me,” he said.

She barked a sharp laugh. “No we don’t.”

“What are your options, Sarah? Are you going to hit the woods and become a survivalist? Live off the land and off the grid?”

“Maybe.”

“You going to go back down and get in your car and try to evade the road blocks and National Guard? Think that will work?”

She narrowed her eyes and chewed on the inside of her cheek but didn’t respond.

“Your only hope is to make a deal with the FBI. That’s the only way to guarantee you don’t end up like Albert and Seth.”

Jerry was listening, he was clearly in panic mode but he wasn’t the one Chris was worried about. He had to get Sarah to listen to him.

“Look, this whole thing sucks for you. I get it,” Chris said. “Eighteen years down the shitter. I can’t imagine it, especially when you were so close but it is what it is. You’ve lost. All you can do now is try to save yourselves.”

“Save ourselves for what?” Sarah asked. “Prison?”

“Or to be killed like the others,” Jerry said. “So far there are no prisoners, Sarah.”

“I’ve noticed,” she replied.

“You’ve got skills, Sarah. Knowledge that the government could use. How many people in the world could do what you’ve done?”

Her face softened a bit at this. He was getting through to her with the simple ego-stroke.

“You know I’m right,” Chris said. “With what you can do, they would undoubtedly be prepared to make a deal. You wouldn’t be free but I bet you could get easy time in some research facility or something. Let you carry on your work, just for—”

“What about me?” Jerry said.

“We work you into the deal,” Chris replied. “Think about it, Sarah. Government funded lab, no prison bars, a future, a chance to take what you’ve learned and apply it in different ways. What you did was amazing. No doubts but, right now, you guys are in a jam and you need to start thinking creatively to get out of it and I can help. I was talking to the Deputy Director of the FBI. He’s the kind of guy who can make things happen and he owes me for giving him the carriers. Don’t get sidetracked, I didn’t know they would end up dead, that wasn’t my doing but I undoubtedly earned some points giving them the tip. Think about it.”

Chris stopped talking and let her digest what he was saying. He could see her contemplating it, not dropping the gun but definitely considering what he had said. Jerry tugged her shirt and when she looked at him he motioned with his head across the room.

The two of them stepped to the other side of the room. Sarah kept the gun pointed in Chris’ general direction but he wasn’t going to make a run for it. The odds were still not in his favor. He watched the two of them talk. Jerry was animated, Sarah subdued but it looked like he was winning her over. Chris caught a few of the softly spoken words as they conversed but not enough to understand. All he could do was wait.

After a few minutes they came back over. Sarah kept the gun pointed at him as she said, “You really think you could cut a deal?”

“Absolutely. They’ll want to put this thing to bed as soon as possible.”

Jerry and Sarah exchanged glances and then she said, “Okay, who was this Director you were talking about?”

“Arthur Kent,” Chris replied.

Jerry was immediately on his phone confirming the man’s identity. He held the phone in front of Sarah and said, “He’s legit.”

“Why should I trust you now, Chris?” Sarah said.

“Are you fucking with me?” Chris said. “Why should you trust me? I’m nobody, do you understand? I shouldn’t be here. All of this has nothing to do with me. I just got caught up in your fucked up, chaotic wake and I want out. Don’t take this the wrong way but I never want to see either of you ever again. I’ll get you the deal with Arthur and my upside is I’ll get you out of my life.”

Sarah nodded, “Fine, but I’ll negotiate my own deal, thank you very much. You just need to get Arthur here and I’ll take care of the rest.”

“I can do that.”

“He comes alone. Anyone else shows up and you’re a dead man. Got it?”

“Just him or I’m dead. Got it.”

Sarah scowled at him and then held up her phone, “Ready?”

12:53 am PDT Bald Mountain, California

The headlights sliced across the dark parking lot and stopped in front of the base lodge. Chris, Sarah and Jerry sat on the railing of the large Peak Lodge deck staring down at the car. It was too dark to see anything in detail but they watched a single flashlight beam turn on and then begin the trek up the mountain.

“Think he’s alone?” Sarah said.

“He said he was going to be,” Chris replied.

“Well, we’re going to see, aren’t we,” she replied.

After thirty-minutes, the light was approaching up the final light grade.

“Take him over there,” Sarah said to Jerry, motioning for him to move Chris back against the wall. Sarah stood behind the railing. “If anything happens, kill him.”

“That will be my pleasure,” Jerry replied.

Arthur came to a stop on the ground ten feet below the deck. He glanced up at Sarah and then leaned over and placed his hands on his knees as he took deep breaths. He stayed in this position for several minutes. Finally, Sarah said, “Big hill, huh?”

Arthur stood up and grunted.

“Stairs are over there.”

He trudged around and up onto the deck where Sarah stood with her pistol.

“Stop,” she said as Jerry came over and frisked him – nothing. Jerry stepped back, keeping his pistol leveled on Arthur.

Arthur’s shirt was drenched with sweat – his breathing heavy as he raised his eyebrows, wiped his hand on his pants and offered it to Sarah. “Arthur Kent,” he said.

Sarah shook his hand as she said, “Sarah Burns.”

She motioned to a picnic table and sat down on the top of it. Arthur dropped down on the other end and swabbed sweat from his face with his shirttail. Sarah waved Chris over.

“I guess I should’ve told you to leave the business clothes at home,” Chris said. “Chris Foster.”

The two men shook as Arthur scanned the area and chuckled. “That’s okay. I’ve got an expense account.”

“You’re alone? Nobody following you?” Jerry asked.

“Look, I told you on the phone I’d be alone and here I am. All by my lonesome. Now what the fuck are we doing here?”

“Pretty bad situation, isn’t it? We saw the news feeds. It’s a mess,” Chris said.

“That, my friend, is an understatement,” Arthur replied.

“I want to make a deal,” Sarah said.

“That much I figured out,” Arthur said. “But I’m afraid you don’t have much to deal with.”

“Yes, I do,” Sarah replied.

“You people are all the same. When the game’s over, you always think you have something to save yourself. A final play. But, I hate to tell you, I highly doubt you have anything to bargain with.”

Sarah clenched her jaw and glared at Arthur. He was a no-shit kind of guy and she was sizing him up. Chris was about to say something to try to kick start the conversation but as soon as he opened his mouth, Sarah said, “All I can give you is me and what I have here.” She pointed to her head. “Gen96, the virus, is real. It works. Better than I would have predicted.”

“We know. I spoke with the WHO in Ngami,” Arthur replied. “They’re there in force. They couldn’t understand what was happening and why it was so localized. It was working them into a bit of a frenzy.”

Sarah nodded and smiled. “Perplexing an organization like that is a tribute to what I’ve created.”

“Forgive me if I don’t celebrate your accomplishment,” Arthur said.

“That’s your perspective skewed by your ideals but look at the science. Look at what I built. It’s brilliant. Simple. Elegant. Effective.”

“Okay, okay, I get it. You’re a genius. That’s all great. What do you want from me?”

“I’m sure my talents are worth something to Uncle Sam.”

Arthur nodded, acting as if he was surprised by this offer. “I see, now that you’re cornered and your plan to change the world has been thwarted, you want to flip allegiances.”

“I’m not flipping anything, I’m making you an offer for skills that are incredibly unique and valuable.”

Jerry cleared his throat as he trembled nervously, his leg shaking, his head bobbing repeatedly but his gun still pointed squarely at Arthur.

“Him too,” she said motioning to Jerry. “Both of us. No jail cells. We work for the United States government. We don’t expect freedom but we do want to continue our work. In different areas of course.”

Arthur looked at Jerry for a long moment and then shook his head, “I don’t think so.”

“What!” Jerry exclaimed raising his pistol and stepping aggressively toward Arthur. This motion was followed by a soft hiss and then the hard, wet sound of a bullet impacting his chest. Jerry lurched backward, his pistol fired as he tumbled over and Arthur cried out.

Chris dropped to the deck as several more silenced slugs slammed into the wood wall of the lodge, chasing Sarah as she sprinted around the corner of the building.

Arthur was moaning and Chris scrambled over to him.

“Arthur!” He said as he leaned over him. The man was in obvious pain but Chris couldn’t see a wound. “What—”

“Stop her,” Arthur said. “She can’t get away, Chris. Stop her!”

“Who took that shot?”

“Fucking sniper. Go get her. Now!”

“Is he going to shoot me?”

“No, he works for me. Go get her!”

Chris stood in a crouch and ran in the direction Sarah had taken. He rounded the edge of the building. The bright, full moon lit the landscape and he immediately saw her one-hundred-fifty yards away running along a ski trail that went to the left.

“Sarah!” Chris called out as he ran after her. “Stop!”

In the lodge there had been a trail map painted on the wall and Chris had studied it in case he was able to escape. This was the one direction he wouldn’t have taken. The trail was called The Bluffs and it led to steep cliffs, forcing you to the loop back along them to the main trails with no other egress. She was unwittingly forced into a specific direction. This bit of knowledge gave Chris confidence as he ran along. He could see her take a tumble in the distance and then get up and continue on, slower now. Avoiding rocks and irregularities was difficult and he almost fell several times as well.

As he rounded a turn, the trees that lined the right hand side disappeared and the view opened up across a deep valley. Sarah stood on the stone edge, her arms out to her side. As Chris approached, she turned around to face him. A cool light breeze blew up the cliff wall swirling her hair into her face and she pushed it back behind her ears.

“Don’t come any closer,” she said.

Chris slowed and walked to the rocky edge of the cliff ten feet to her right. He stayed a foot back from edge as he leaned over and looked down. It was a shear drop, hundreds of feet. His stomach instinctively tightened and he pulled back.

“You ran the wrong way,” he said.

“No I didn’t.”

“It’s over, Sarah.”

“We had it solved,” she whispered. “It’s unsustainable and we had the perfect cure.”

“It wasn’t perfect. Far from it,” Chris said. “You’re too close to it, to invested to see that what you created, while it had noble roots, it was too drastic, too risky.”

“But it wasn’t risky.”

Chris shook his head slowly. “You’re the only person in the world who would think that.”

“No I’m not,” she replied. “I’m the only one who could actually do it and I was so close.”

“Pride can be a blinding emotion.”

“You think that’s what it is, pride? Honestly? You think I invested eighteen years of my life to create an elegant solution to the single biggest threat to our planet out of pride?”

“I’d be willing to bet that it wasn’t pride that got you started but right now it’s pride that’s keeping you from seeing the reality.”

“Bullshit. It’s small minds that don’t see it.”

“Or big egos,” Chris replied as he stepped toward her.

“Don’t come closer,” she said.

“Fine, so what? You going to kill yourself now?”

Sarah didn’t respond.

“You heard Arthur, he could make you a deal.”

“Whatever they would want me to work on would certainly not be noble. Not in any sense of the word.”

“Probably not.”

“Absolutely not. They’d have me doing the exact opposite and you know it.”

“But at least you’d be alive.”

She pushed her hair behind her ears again, looked over her shoulder and took another small step back. Her heels right at the granite edge.

“Bide your time and then at some point in the future you could escape.”

She laughed. “Do you think they’d let that happen?”

“People get complacent over time. Do a good job, lull them into a false sense of security and then bolt.”

“Then what? Spend my life running?”

“Could you get more Gen96?”

She squinted her eyes and then nodded, seeing where he was going.

“Could you?” Chris prodded.

“Yes, I’ve got some in cryostasis.”

“What’s that?”

“Frozen. In a specialist facility.”

“So you could relaunch your plan then. Like I said earlier, it’s just time.”

Sarah stood frozen, unblinking. The breeze picked up, freeing her hair again and rustling through the trees. Chris shivered. Sarah opened her mouth, then shook her head and shut her eyes. She bent down slightly and spun to her right.

Chris saw what she was about to do and he lunged forward to grab her. Sarah pushed as if she were on a diving board, her body angled over the edge. Chris snagged her belt with his right hand as he crashed to the ground and skidded. He frantically reached out with his left hand to stop himself from careening over the lip.

Her weight and momentum pulled him over the edge up to his chest. His left hand found a crevasse in the granite and he held firm. Pain roared up his arm as the sutures ripped open but he forced his fingers to clench as he screamed out in anguish and anger. She kicked and squirmed. Chris could see the rocky base of the cliff down below.

“Let me go. You sonofabitch! Let me go!”

Her feet kicked him. She squirmed and pushed violently against the cliff face threatening to pull him to his death but he didn’t feel anything, not the kicks, not the incomprehensible pain in his broken left arm, not the fear of a long fall to a certain death. He was in a zone he had never before experienced. Everything slowed.

David Rose dying, Pell professing his sobriety, Karen realizing she had been caught, Mark the second Chris pulled the trigger, all of their faces flashed before his mind’s eye and right in front of him, Sarah’s hate filled face howled at him as she flailed like an animal against his grip. He had been through hell this past week and it had changed him.

“Stop!” He roared as he jerked Sarah violently several times.

Slowly she stopped moving and went limp. Then she turned to look at him over her shoulder.

“Let me go,” she begged. “I can’t be their whore, Chris. Please.”

The pleading woman he held in his hand was either going to be a pawn for the government, creating God only knows what kind of deviousness they would dream up in the future for undoubtedly nefarious and despicable purposes and, as if that weren’t bad enough, her ultimate goal was to escape and restart her plan to sterilize the world. Or, she was going to die here. Tonight. Now. On this mountain. By his weakening hand.

DAY 12 – THURSDAY, JULY 9

11:04 am Blue Hill Cemetery, Braintree, Massachusetts

The graveside service had been short and sweet. Less than a dozen mourners. Chris stood alone watching the casket disappear into the ground as everyone else filed quietly away.

The man running the winch that lowered the casket retrieved the thick canvas straps and looked at Chris. “Do you need a few minutes?” He asked, obviously wanting to get on with his job. While these events were traumatic for everyone else, to him it was just routine and he undoubtedly had more to do today.

Chris shook his head, “No, thanks. I’m good.”

He turned and walked back toward his car. It was a beautiful day. The sun was high and bright. The sky blue and cloudless. As good a day as any to bury a friend. Chris was lost in thought as he approached his car and didn’t notice Arthur standing next to it until he was almost on top of him.

Arthur wore a sharp grey suit and sunglasses. “Morning,” he said.

Chris nodded as the two men shook hands.

“Why no honor guard?” Chris asked.

“Too politically charged.”

“But he died in the line of duty.”

“Nobody will ever know that.”

“That sucks.”

“It does.”

The two men watched quietly for a moment as the workers used a backhoe to rapidly fill in Pell’s grave.

“I read about Carl in the paper,” Chris said.

Arthur nodded.

“Was it as gruesome as it sounded?”

Another nod. “Horrific. Whoever did it clearly wanted to send a message.”

“Any suspects?”

Arthur took off his sunglasses, folded and slid them into his breast pocket before he let his gaze meet Chris’. “It’s an active investigation, so I can’t really talk about it.”

“So no suspects.”

“I didn’t say that. We’re working the case hard.”

Chris studied Arthur for a long moment. “But it’s doubtful it will be solved.”

“I’m afraid it’s starting to look that way.”

“That’s what I would call karma.”

“I’d say more like, just deserves.”

“Either or. Couldn’t have happened to a nicer guy.”

The backhoe operator was out and replacing the sod on top of Pell’s grave. Arthur pulled out his sunglasses, flicked them open and slid them on. He looked up at the sky and scrunched his face, as if he were considering something very complex. Then he said, “What about Sarah?”

“What do you mean?”

“Do you think she got her just deserves in the end?”

Chris shrugged and said, “You’d have to tell me.”

Arthur pursed his lips and bobbed his head. Then he turned and walked away without saying a word.

– The End –

I hope you enjoyed this novel. Please provide an honest review. It only takes a minute and is critical to Amazon’s recommendation algorithms. Visit www.dbcarpenter.com for information on new/upcoming books or events.

Copyright

© 2016 – DB Carpenter

www.dbcarpenter.com

Cover art by Isabelle Brault

Content

DB Carpenter
INFERTILE GROUNDS

DAY 1 – SUNDAY, JUNE 28

8:04 am St. Croix River, Aroostook County, Maine

6:17 pm Masardis, Aroostook County, Maine

DAY 2 – MONDAY, JUNE 29

1:34 am Route 11, Aroostook County, Maine

2:07 am Wild Bear Lodge, Aroostook County, Maine

3:13 am Wild Bear Lodge, Aroostook County, Maine

5:14 am Millinocket, Maine

6:24 am Approaching Bangor International Airport, Bangor, Maine

9:00 am Bethesda, Maryland

10:45 am FBI Field Office, Bangor, Maine

8:45 am PDT Malibu, California

12:13 pm FBI Field Office, Bangor, Maine

10:05 am PDT Malibu, California

1:15 pm Over Aroostook County, Maine

10:21 am PDT Malibu, California

1:47 pm Over Aroostook County, Maine

11:41 am PDT Malibu, California

3:50 pm Unorganized Township T8 R4, Aroostook County, Maine

8:15 pm FBI Field Office, Bangor, Maine

3:27 pm Malibu, California

6:40 pm Bangor, Maine

8:35 pm Bangor, Maine

10:11 pm Unorganized Township T8 R4, Aroostook County, Maine

10:40 pm FBI Field Office, Bangor, Maine

11:01 pm Unorganized Township T8 R4, Aroostook County, Maine

11:15 pm FBI Field Office, Bangor, Maine

DAY 3 – TUESDAY, JUNE 30

1:14 am Unorganized Township T8 R4, Aroostook County, Maine

2:36 am FBI Field Office, Bangor, Maine

2:54 am Unorganized Township T8 R4, Aroostook County, Maine

7:44 am FBI field Office, Bangor, Maine

10:30 am PDT Malibu, California

4:00 pm FBI Northeast Regional Office, Boston, Massachusetts

6:52 pm FBI Headquarters, Washington, DC

7:02 pm Quincy, Massachusetts

DAY 4 – WEDNESDAY, JULY 1

7:53 am Quincy, Massachusetts

8:04 am PDT Malibu California

11:28 am Lake Horace, New Hampshire

12:57 pm Quincy, Massachusetts

5:45 pm PDT Malibu California

8:57 pm Quincy, Massachusetts

7:22 pm PDT Humboldt County, California

11:45 pm Quincy, Massachusetts

9:45 pm PDT Humboldt County, California

DAY 5 – THURSDAY, JULY 2

3:10 am PDT Malibu California

9:23 am Boston, Massachusetts

10:54 am FBI Headquarters, Washington, DC

7:24 pm PDT Eureka, California

11:10 pm Boston, Massachusetts

9:54 pm PDT Eureka, California

12:05 am PDT Humboldt County, California

12:05 am PDT Humboldt County, California

1:15 am PDT Humboldt County, California

DAY 6 – FRIDAY, JULY 3

7:45 am Boston, Massachusetts

7:00 am PDT Humboldt County, California

10:16 am Boston, Massachusetts

7:16 am PDT Humboldt County, California

10:23 am Boston, Massachusetts

12:13 pm PDT Humboldt County, California

4:23 pm FBI Field Office Boston, Massachusetts

7:43 pm PDT Eureka, California

DAY 7 – SATURDAY, JULY 4

12:06 am Massachusetts General Boston, Massachusetts

12:15 am PDT Eureka, California

4:45 am Wilderness Outside Eureka, California

5:07 am FBI Jet heading to Eureka California

6:37 am Eureka, California

11:58 am PDT Eureka Municipal Airport, California

12:00 pm PDT Bald Mountain, California

12:10 pm Downtown Eureka, California

3:30 pm PDT Bald Mountain, California

9:01 pm PDT Summit – Bald Mountain, California

9:15 pm PDT Eureka Municipal Airport, California

9:21 pm Summit – Bald Mountain, California

12:53 am PDT Bald Mountain, California

DAY 12 – THURSDAY, JULY 9

11:04 am Blue Hill Cemetery, Braintree, Massachusetts

Copyright