Rick Mofina - The Panic Zone

“Hold on, it was Emma Lane’s case that produced those phone numbers for you, Lancer, and you know it. I flew down here with her and waited for your call, just like you said, but it never came.”

“I got tied up.”

“You owe us. Tell us what’s going on.”

“Very soon the FBI will put out an alert for a wanted fugitive. I’ll see what I can do to give your wire service the jump.”

“Who is it?”

“It’s Gretchen Sutsoff.”

“Who’s that?”

“The scientist Corley mentioned. She’s using several aliases. We’re still getting everything together. I really have to go.”

“Wait, where do you think the next break on this will be?”

“I have no idea, Jack.”

“Yes, you do. You said you were heading back to the States. Come on, Lancer, I’ve bled for this story and I’ve helped you.”

“I would guess New York. That’s it.”

Gannon hung up and headed for the street, scanning traffic for a cab as Emma hurried with him.

“We have to get the next plane back to New York,” he said.

Emma pulled her hand from her bag. She had the blue memory card the woman at the center had given her. “I’d forgotten about this.”

“What is it?”

“I don’t know, the woman at the child-care center wanted me to have it. It’s supposed to help explain what these people are up to.”

Off the U.S. East Coast, over the Atlantic Ocean

Long after the A330 jetliner from Nassau leveled off, the attendant on duty in first class could no longer resist.

Engaged to be married in two months, she gave in to her maternal stirrings and knelt before the little angel asleep in 3B.

“He’s such a sweetheart.” She beamed at the woman seated next to him in 3A, reading the screen of her small laptop. The attendant assumed she was his grandmother. “He’s such a good flyer. Not a bit of fuss.”

The woman closed her computer. “I gave him a little home remedy before we left.”

“It’s working, you should bottle it. How old is he?”

“He’s one.”

“What’s his name?”

Gretchen Sutsoff had chosen the name of her dead brother for the Wyoming child’s counterfeit passport.

“Will.”

The attendant caressed his little fingers.

“I bet he’s destined for great things.”

“I’m confident of that,” Sutsoff said.

“You’re so blessed. If you need help with anything, let me know.”

When the attendant left, Sutsoff looked at the baby.

Yes, this one was destined for great things. He was the ideal specimen. His DNA made him the perfect vehicle. He was too valuable for her to have entrusted him with Valmir and Elena Leeka for the final stage.

Elena was a whore.

Valmir was an idiot.

By taking stupid risks with that brazen car crash in Wyoming, Valmir could have killed this little treasure. Sutsoff was lucky those two didn’t bungle the cruise-ship operation. But when they came back demanding more money, then getting drunk at the casino, their fate was sealed.

Sutsoff erased them.

The world was better without them.

There were too many ants.

But had she jeopardized the operation?

No.

The Bahamian police would never figure it out. Besides, her work was so far advanced now that nothing could stop her. After this operation she had new plans for her prized specimen with the perfect DNA.

Her little Will would shape the new world.

Sutsoff embraced a memory of her brother.

She turned to the clouds, and for several minutes she was a terrified fourteen-year-old girl again in the panicked stadium at Vridekistan, seeing her mother and father trampled, hearing Will’s heart-wrenching squeal, feeling his little hand going limp in hers. She gazed at the ocean and took several slow breaths.

She could do this.

She would do this.

The pills she’d taken to help her face crowds were working. She looked at the float pen on her tray and contemplated how she’d survived the horror that killed her family to devote her life to correcting nature’s errors with the human race.

She alone had forged the solution.

It was right here, in her laptop and in this novelty pen. And seventy others like it that would be put to use. She picked it up, raising and lowering the ends, making the tiny sailboat bobble up and down in the barrel filled with her new formula.

About one thousand miles northwest in Washington, D.C., the FBI was working on the fugitive file for Sutsoff.

Information and intelligence from police agencies around the world was flowing into FBI headquarters.

The CIA had provided her Social Security number, date of birth, physical description and fingerprints. Interpol obtained what were thought to be the most recent passport photos and a number of aliases.

Gretchen Rosamunde Sutsoff was characterized as a scientist formerly contracted by the U.S. government, who was wanted for a range of charges including, murder, kidnapping and theft of U.S. government property. When the file was ready, Gretchen Sutsoff would be sought around the world by Interpol and would top the FBI’s Ten-Most Wanted list.

As Sutsoff’s plane came to a full stop at Newark Liberty International Airport in New Jersey, the Office of Enforcement at U.S. Customs and Border Protection headquarters in Washington, D.C., received an urgent alert from the FBI through Homeland Security.

The alert was for Gretchen Rosamunde Sutsoff, a dangerous murder suspect, believed to be preparing to enter the United States. It was immediately sent to a coordinator for processing.

After studying the details listing Sutsoff’s DOB, race, height, weight, eye and hair color, and aliases, and looking at the accompanying photographs, the coordinator called her supervisor for final sign-off before releasing it.

In Newark, Sutsoff gathered Will and her bags and prepared to leave the plane. Smiling attendants helped her get Will into her umbrella stroller. Just before boarding in Nassau, Sutsoff had it gate-checked; now it was waiting for them on the jetway.

She pushed the stroller along, joining other passengers walking through the terminal toward U.S. Immigration, where she got into the line for non-U.S. citizens. The wait was not as long as she’d expected. Weary security officials had just cleared three 747 charter flights from Europe-here for the Human World Conference?-and they were coming to a shift change before a new wave arrived.

Sutsoff’s queue moved smoothly. She got her passport and other papers ready. It was not long before she reached the front of the line.

In Washington, after the U.S. Customs and Border Protection enforcement supervisor had read the alert on his monitor, he issued his electronic approval and called his senior coordinator.

“Let’s get this out to everyone now,” he said.

Back at the airport in Newark, the U.S. Immigration inspector waved Sutsoff to his desk and received her passport, her I-94 card, her B-2 visitor’s visa, a notarized letter signed by her “daughter” allowing her to travel with her “grandson,” and other papers. She was photographed and fingerprinted on a scanner, after which the inspector studied her documents. All of them were in the name of Mary Anne Conrad, a new alias she’d arranged through a passport forger and people she’d bribed to help her obtain documents. The baby was identified as William John Conrad. The inspector scrutinized Sutsoff, ensuring her photograph matched her face.

“Where were you born?”

“The United States, Virginia.”

“How did you become a citizen of the Bahamas?”

“My family moved around quite a bit when I was young.”

“Who is the child and why does he have an American passport?”

“He’s my grandson. My daughter lives here in the United States.”