Rick Mofina - The Panic Zone

“Christ.” Hunter clicked his poised pen. “What’s missing?”

“Samples of Marburg and anthrax.”

“Christ,” Hunter said. “What else?”

“A number of other materials and files.”

“And no one knew?”

“It first appeared to be an inventory error. Dangerous material was to have been destroyed or locked away years ago. But our further investigation, prompted by Winfield’s letter, confirms material was never destroyed and has, in fact, been missing since Crucible was phased out.”

“And you’ve accounted for and interviewed all former personnel?”

“We’re in the process.”

“Listen up.” Hunter’s jaw was pulsating. “You find every scientist who worked on this nightmare and get them to Detrick ASAP to, first, help us determine who’s behind the missing material and, second, help our people there analyze the tissue to determine what we’re dealing with.”

“Yes, sir.”

“And you hold them until we determine what the hell we’ve got and who’s responsible. And to the rest of you-don’t let your guard down or rule out other sources.”

Hunter stood, gathered his material and glared in Roth’s direction.

“You get those scientists to Fort Detrick-now,” Hunter said.

As the meeting broke up, Lancer went to Roth and Webb.

“Marburg and anthrax? That’s a witch’s brew-how do you lose that right from under your own noses?”

Roth and Webb glared at Lancer without speaking.

“Would you guys like some help?” Lancer asked. “I could use some help locating Sutsoff.”

The agents began walking away.

“We’re supposed to work together to connect the dots, break down these compartmentalized barriers.”

“Stay out of our way, Lancer.”

Lancer left the room and the building, and hurried to his car.

Dammit, is this all connected? Is something big coming down?

A million scenarios shot through Lancer’s mind as he drove across Fairfax County to the Anti-Threat Center. When he came to a red light, his cell phone rang. He pulled over to answer it.

“This is Jack Gannon with the World Press Alliance.”

“Yes.”

“Are you the agent who was with me in Libya?”

“Yes.”

“I have to be sure. What was the name of the man I was supposed to meet?”

“Corley.”

“I have information that might be critical to both of us.”

“I’m listening.”

“Before I go ahead, I want a name. I want to know who I’m dealing with.”

Lancer hesitated. “None of this ever goes in print, you swear.”

“You’ve seen what I’ve gone through for this story.”

“Lancer, Robert Lancer, FBI, tasked to Anti-Threat Operations.”

Gannon explained Emma Lane’s case, the accident that killed her husband, her conviction that her baby was alive and the connection to the clinic and Polly Larenski.

“What sort of information was this Polly selling?”

“DNA.”

A car horn sounded behind Lancer and he realized he was blocking a lane.

“Hold on.”

He wheeled his car around to a strip-mall parking lot and continued his conversation with Gannon.

“Lancer, I have two phone numbers. You have to search the phone records and see who was buying DNA from Polly Larenski. It could lead us to whoever is behind the child trafficking.”

“I’d need to get warrants. You should call the local police.”

“No. She tried that, there’s no time. These numbers are critical.”

“I need to know how you got your information.”

Gannon hesitated.

“Jack, what led you to Emma Lane and the DNA angle?”

Gannon was deciding on how much to share with Lancer.

“Come on, Gannon!”

“Corley sent me his files.”

“What?”

“Before I was supposed to meet him, he’d made arrangements to send me a memory card. He thought he was being watched. The card came to the hotel before I left and I read the files on the plane home.”

This changed everything.

“Are you withholding evidence? You’d better turn those files over to us.”

“I’m sharing the information. Listen, Emma Lane’s file was in Corley’s information. There’s some sort of connection to her baby’s DNA. Lancer, you have to search the call history of these two numbers, look for a similar number on both. One is Polly Larenski’s home, and one is a pay phone near her home.”

“I want that memory card, Gannon.”

“We can’t waste time!”

“Give me the numbers and let’s go over everything one more time.”

Big Cloud, Wyoming

Swirls of scorched pavement marked the spot where Emma Lane had lost her husband and baby boy.

Today under the morning sun, she knelt near it, where the gravel shoulder met the grass, and placed a memorial wreath of roses against a small white cross that Joe’s friends had erected.

Jack Gannon was watching with Emma’s aunt and uncle a short distance away. Seeing Emma mourning on the high plains before the majestic mountains resurrected what he’d lost. He thought of his mother and father, killed in a car crash in Buffalo. They’d been on their way to meet a priest who had information on the whereabouts of his sister, Cora. Years earlier, she’d run off with a loser who’d gotten her hooked on drugs.

In the time that had followed, Gannon’s parents tried to find her. There were a few long-distance calls from her, an occasional letter with no return address, but ultimately, they never saw her again.

Gannon searched the peaks.

In his loneliest times, when he missed having a family, he thought of finding Cora. He thought of confronting her with all he was carrying: anger for leaving them and hurting everyone. He hated her for what she had done, yet loved her for what she had meant to him.

She was his sister.

As Emma returned to the car, his cell phone vibrated. It was his editor calling from New York. He answered and strolled away.

“Gannon.”

“It’s Melody, how is it going?”

“Major pieces have emerged. Emma Lane believes her son was abducted from a crash that killed her husband. Get this-she says it’s tied to a California fertility clinic she’d used where someone in the lab was selling DNA to some shady corporation. I’ve got some phone numbers we’re trying to trace. I think this could be tied to the cafe bombing, that Rio law firm, illegal adoptions and child trafficking.”

“Is it the clinic Golden Dawn Fertility Corp. in L.A.?”

“Yes, how did you know?”

“The Los Angeles Times just reported that a woman who died in a suspicious fire was a former lab worker suspected of selling the clinic’s files to an unknown research group.”

“Oh, man.”

“People are gaining on us, Jack. We need to hide Emma Lane. We’ve invested too much in this story to get beat now. Ask her if she’ll come to New York today, for further interviews on the story. The World Press Alliance will pay her expenses. Try to get back here as soon as possible.”

After Gannon told Emma what the WPA wanted, she contemplated the request then consulted her aunt and uncle.

A moment later she gave Gannon her answer.

“I’ll do anything if it brings me closer to my son.”

Washington, D.C.

Robert Lancer entered his section chief’s office at FBI Headquarters and set a folder before him.

Hal Weldon slid on his bifocals and loosened his tie. As he reviewed the file, Lancer glanced out the window overlooking the National Mall and the White House.

Since Jack Gannon called him yesterday, Lancer had worked on warrants to obtain the phone records of Polly Larenski and the pay phone in Santa Ana, California.

He’d called the FBI’s Los Angeles field office and FBI’s Santa Ana Resident Agency. He prepared a summary of all the facts, including his sworn oath and belief that the information was linked to a suspected imminent attack. The rest had to be processed up the chain for sign-off before it went to a judge.