Marc Cameron - National Security

“Should we get them out of here?” Quinn asked, nodding toward the two agents.

“Not yet,” Mahoney said through clenched teeth. “Can’t take a chance on letting anything spread beyond this room. Our mantra has got to be ‘contain, contain, contain.’ ”

Quinn noticed how strong the doctor’s Georgia accent had become under stress. He found it oddly attractive considering the circumstances.

“What was in the glass tube?” Agent Chaffee asked. “Bird flu?” He had a nasty bruise on his right forearm. The way he babied the thing it was likely broken.

Agent Miller’s green eyes were dilated and wide, as if she stood awestruck at some passing celebrity. Flecks of dried saliva crusted white at the corners of her mouth. Quinn felt sorry for her. She looked young and this was probably the first time she’d even drawn her weapon other than at the firing range. Now she’d killed a man and had enough sense to know she was in grave danger. She was in shock, but less so than her more experienced partner.

Looking at Chaffee’s beet-red face, Quinn noticed tiny hairline cracks in the man’s teeth, probably brought on by years of jaw clenching. This was the kind of agent who lived his entire life in a state of near apoplectic stroke. There was no talking to people like that so Quinn made it a point to direct his words toward Agent Miller.

“Okay, Liz,” Quinn said. “These guys don’t travel alone. Did you notice any associates hanging back when you took this one into custody?”

“It was a plane from Dubai, jackass,” Chaffee scoffed. “There were two hundred Arab guys who got off with him. They could have all been his associates…” He winced, clenching his eyes shut until a new wave of pain subsided. When they opened he glared at Mahoney “I asked you a question. What was in that vial?”

“Have a seat, Agent Chaffee,” Mahoney said. “We have a team on the way. There’ll be medical personnel to take a look at your arm.”

“She’s right, Bob,” Miller said, trying to paste a smile over the strain on her face. “Just sit down and rest.”

Mahoney’s Bluetooth flashed on her ear, casting a pulsing blue halo around her hair inside the hood. “Hold on,” she said. “I have an incoming call. It’s probably my team.”

Agent Chaffee jerked away from his partner. He grabbed a fistful of Mahoney’s rubber suit with his good hand, spinning her around. His eyes were wild with a mixture of rage and hysteria. Spittle flew from his twisted mouth as he screamed, “You listen to me. The FBI has national security juris-”

Jericho reacted in a flash, slapping Chaffee hard across the ear with a cupped hand that sent him staggering backward. He followed up with a swift knee to the groin and snatched the agent’s Glock from his holster before he hit the floor.

“ You are not in charge, Agent Chaffee,” Quinn said, his even voice belying the fury and speed he’d used to pacify the man. “Now sit still and let us handle this as best we can.” He nodded to a stupefied Mahoney. “Go ahead and take your call.”

“Megan?”

“Yes…”

“It’s Justin. Where are you?” His voice was frantic as if he was bursting with information. At first, she was afraid he was calling with bad news about his symptoms from the needle stick. Then she remembered he should have been in the Slammer, incommunicado.

“Justin?” she said. “Where did you get a phone?”

“I was going crazy in there, Meg,” he said. “I convinced Dr. Kraus to let me out.”

“Roberta let you out of the Slammer?” Mahoney gasped, throwing a puff of condensation on her face shield. Justin must have been putting some serious moves on the tall German scientist for her to cave in against such strict protocols. Kraus had always joked that she had a thing for his dimples.

“I’m not even feeling sick. Anyway, I promised her I’d stay in the BSL-Four containment and do some work.”

“I’ll bet you did.”

“Anyway,” Justin said, “that’s not the important part. I’m pretty sure I’m going to be fine.”

“Justin, I’m kind of busy here,” Mahoney sighed.

“I know, but I think you’ll want to hear what I’ve got. Check this out, Megan. We injected C-06 with the optic jelly on the eleventh and paired him with C-12 as a breathing buddy, right?”

Mahoney looked at her watch, doing the math. She felt her legs go a little wobbly, wondering where such a conversation was heading. “Right. That would have been about ninety-six hours ago-roughly four days…”

“A little over that,” Justin said. “But here’s the deal. I couldn’t sleep so I checked C-12 last night around midnight and he was clean. Then, I ran another test about three hours ago. He’s got it, Megan. His blood is swimming with filovirus. The virus is contagious, but not right away. My blood is still okay so it looks like I’m home free.”

“Symptomatic?” Megan found herself chewing the inside of her cheek, an awful thought working its way to the fore in her exhausted brain.

“C-12?” Justin said. “No, he’s fine. But I when I went to check on C-06 half an hour ago, he had blood literally gushing out of his nose. He’s crashing, Megan, and he’s crashing fast. The virus in his blood has changed. The protein sheaths are dissolving. I think that’s what makes it turn contagious.”

“It’s been a long time since my head’s seen a pillow,” Mahoney said. “Run down the timeline with me so I can make sure I have it straight.”

Justin plowed ahead, unaware that he was talking about anything but captive crab-eating macaques.

“Okay, Meg, here’s what we’ve got. The macaque we injected after we had to put C-45 down-C-06-didn’t become symptomatic after we injected him until the fifth day, but his breathing buddy in the next cage, sharing nothing but air, caught the virus sometime during the fourth night…”

Mahoney’s eyes fell to the overturned wastebasket. She was struck by a sudden, sickening thought. Justin had no idea about the real ramifications of what he was saying.

“Do me a favor,” she said weakly. “Check the contents of the glass vial we brought in yesterday.” Going from call to call on suspected terrorists she’d not had time to look at it herself.

“Already done,” Justin said. “It’s not a virus at all. It’s some kind of shellfish toxin. There’s enough in the vial to kill one man almost instantly, but that’s all.”

“A suicide drug…” Mahoney’s voice trailed off. Her eyes shot around the room. The carpet around Hamid was soaked in a dark, rapidly spreading stain. Droplets of the Arab’s blood had splattered like rain both during the fight and subsequent shooting. Chaffee’s face and hair were flecked in red. The customs inspector looked like a Civil War surgeon after a brutal amputation. “You’re saying C-06 passed the virus before he showed any symptoms whatsoever?”

“Yes. Do you know what this means?” From the jubilant tone in Justin’s voice, it was obvious all he was thinking about was that it meant he was clear of any infection from his needle stick.

Megan teetered on her feet, clutching at the edge of the table with her glove to remain standing.

“Everything all right, Doc?” Quinn took her arm to steady her.

The bulky hood moved back and forth slowly, swishing as Mahoney shook her head. She whispered, feeling as if she might vomit.

“Pandora…”

“If I’m not mistaken the Soviets already have something like this,” Win Palmer said, leaning back in the customary thinking spot behind his heavy desk to stare at the ceiling. Quinn was beginning to think the man had answers to all his problems etched somewhere up there. “Didn’t they get some kind of airborne hemorrhagic virus?”