Jack Cavanaugh - Death Watch

“Josh, help me out here, “Sydney pleaded. “Tell the truth. How do you know who Cori was talking to?”

“Sorry, Syd,” Josh said apologetically.

“Let’s see how the next forty-eight hours goes,” Helen said. “If this is all a mistake, we’ll know soon enough.”

“Helen, don’t do this!” Sydney pleaded.

“I won’t have an employee of mine running around with a Death Watch hanging over her head. The liability to the station is too great. Go home, Sydney.”

This was ridiculous. Cori Zinn was capable of dirty politics, but this was beneath even her.

There was a single rap on Helen’s door. Hunz Vonner poked his head in the door.

“There you are,” he said, looking at Sydney. “Helen, can I steal her away?”

“Sydney St. James is on a temporary leave of absence,” Helen said. “You’ll be working with Cori from here on out.”

For a moment it appeared Hunz would accept Helen’s decision without question. Then he said, “Is it disciplinary?”

“Personal,” Helen said.

“They think I’ve received a death watch notice,” Sydney said.

Hunz Vonner studied her with eyes that narrowed to slits. “Have you?”

“No.”

“Good enough for me,” Hunz said. “Let’s go.”

Sydney looked to Helen. After a long moment, the assignment editor reluctantly nodded her consent.

Cori Zinn’s protests could be heard through the closed door as Sydney and Hunz left.

On the way to the FBI field office on Wilshire Boulevard, Sydney’s hands shook, but overall she was feeling good about sticking up for herself in Helen’s office. It wasn’t like her to do that. Having been taught all her life to respect authority, she usually acquiesced. This time, she fought, and she was glad she did. If she hadn’t, she’d be on the Hollywood Freeway right now heading home.

Still, she wished she’d said more. She wished she’d told Cori to her face she was a liar. She wished she could have said something to convince Helen to believe her. She wished she’d expressed her disappointment to Josh, shaming him into telling the truth. That was one conversation she would most definitely revisit.

When she and Hunz reached the field office, this time instead of having her circle the block, he had her accompany him inside. She took this as a positive sign. Maybe he was beginning to think of her as a coreporter instead of a Barbie-doll chauffeur.

They were issued badges at security, then ushered into a ten-by-ten office with barren walls painted sea-foam green. It was a sickening neutral color that had been splashed on the walls of every government building in Southern California. Apparently someone at cost control had made a killing on a shipload of the stuff. No wonder. Anybody with a shred of taste would never pay good money for this color.

Agent Victor Fernandez stood to greet them. “Have a seat.”

He offered them two plastic folding chairs, then perched in front of them on the edge of a desk stacked high with paperwork. Fernandez himself looked as disheveled as his desk—his unimaginative blue-and-red-striped tie was pulled loose, his sleeves were sloppily rolled up to his elbows, and his salt-and-pepper gray hair was mussed.

Hunz introduced Sydney as a reporter at KSMJ. He didn’t give her name.

“I’ll make it short and sweet,” Fernandez said. “We’ve been following up on your Russian mafia theory and have located General Baranov on Barbados. He owns a villa on the island, which pretty much serves as a transshipping point for narcotics bound for Europe and the US.”

“Have you made contact?” Hunz inched forward in his seat.

Fernandez crossed his arms. They were thick and hairy. “It’s not exactly the kind of villa Jehovah’s Witnesses would call on, if you know what I mean. We’re working in cooperation with the Royal Barbados Police through the Barbados consulate here in LA. They’ll attempt to make contact soon.”

“Soon. You mean in a matter of hours?” Hunz asked.

The agent’s eyes squinted with suspicion.

Hunz seemed to read his expression. “Every hour people are dying. The sooner we nab this renegade, the more lives we can save.”

Fernandez nodded. “Four to six hours.”

“What about Kiselev?” Hunz said. “Any leads on a lab connected to Baranov that is capable of nanotechnology research?”

“Nothing yet.”

“You’ll call me as soon as you hear anything?”

“I’ll call you in the morning.”

“Agent Fernandez, the sooner this information gets out to the public, the better. Think internationally. The middle of the night here is daytime in Europe.”

Sydney was impressed with Hunz Vonner’s style. He had a way of pressing without coming across as annoying.

“I’ll call you as soon as I hear something,” Fernandez said.

“So now we wait,” Sydney said, back in the car. The key was in the ignition. She hadn’t turned it.

“We press forward,” Hunz said. “What else have you got?”

Not much. She’d spent most of the morning at the hotel consoling Cheryl McCormick. After that, Cori Zinn had waylaid her in Helen’s office.

She reached into the backseat and grabbed the folded printouts she’d shoved into her purse. “This is a list of death watch victims from the Homeland Security Web site. There are a few personal details, but not much. No record of immunizations or flu shots.”

Hunz scanned the names. “They could be using a different delivery method for the nanobots.” Apparently he hadn’t spent all morning eating croissants with Sol Rosenthal. He’d done some investigating on his own.

He flipped a page. The one with Lyle Vandeveer’s name on it. If the reminder of the previous night had any effect on him, he didn’t show it.

“Cheryl McCormick,” he said, coming to her name. Sydney had highlighted it.

“Visiting LA from Illinois,” Sydney said. “She’s a contestant on a game show. Wonder Wheel. Ever hear of it?”

“No. Illinois. Is it far from here?”

“Halfway across the continent. I’ve sort of taken her under my wing,” Sydney said. “She’s asked me to be there with her tonight.”

Hunz looked up. That wasn’t something he wanted to hear. “Another hand-holding evening?”

Sydney’s anger flared. She did her best not to let it show. “Cheryl is recently widowed, has a three-year-old daughter, and is pregnant. She’s due in a month.”

“A pregnant woman with a death watch notice flew halfway across the continent to go on some kind of game show?”

“She was handed the death watch notice when she checked into the hotel. She’s a widow and needs the money.”

“The notice was waiting for her when she arrived?”

“That’s right.”

“How far in advance are these appearances scheduled?”

Sydney brightened. “You see, that’s the thing! She was a phone-in contestant the night before and won some money. That qualified her along with other phone-in contestants to appear on the show. The first qualifier to arrive at the designated hotel becomes a contestant. She grabbed up her stuff, didn’t tell anyone, and flew to Los Angeles on a red-eye.”

“A red-eye?”

“A middle-of-the-night flight.”

“The game show people knew she was coming?”

“Not until she arrived.”

“Interesting.”

“That’s what I thought!” Sydney said.

“Still"—Hunz shook his head—"this McCormick girl’s a waste of time.”

“For Pete’s sake!” Sydney shouted. She tried to hold it back. Couldn’t. “Just because she doesn’t fit your theory, doesn’t mean she’s a waste of time! You know, for some people these death watch notices are more than just a news story. These are human beings we’re talking about. Show a little compassion.”