David Koepp - Cold Storage

“Come on.”

“Sorry.” She closed it and opened hers instead. “That tootsie from Belvoir sounded like you put the fear of God in her. What did you tell her?”

“Tiny bit of the truth.”

“Yeah, well, that’d do it.” She gestured toward the rear of the minivan. “It’s all there.”

Roberto turned and looked in the back. The rear seats were folded down and there was a tarp thrown over several storage crates that looked like about the right size and amount. “Including number seven?”

She shook her head. “We have to stop and pick that one up.”

He looked at his watch. “Are you kidding me? You know we’re critical, right?”

There’d been a shift in their power dynamic about twenty years earlier, when Trini stopped advancing in rank and Roberto continued his upward trajectory. He’d given the orders to her after that, not that she really cared all that much.

She turned to him now, offended. “The balls it takes for you to complain. Two hours ago, I was asleep. Now I’m driving you around at four A.M. with half a dozen contraband items that could get me sent to prison for the rest of my life.”

“So, what would that be, like three or four days?”

She laughed until she hacked so hard she almost had to pull over.

He smiled at her. “Do you miss it?”

“Like crazy.”

“Which part?”

She gestured back and forth between them. “This stuff. The bullshit.”

He enjoyed it too and hadn’t realized how much he’d missed her. “Gordon’s dead,” he said.

“Yeah, I know. It was a beautiful service.”

He looked at her, annoyed. “How does everybody know this except me? Why didn’t you call me?”

“Not my job to call around every time somebody dies. I’d never get off the fucking phone.”

Well, that was true. Roberto looked out the window for a moment, trying to remember the last time he’d seen or talked to Gordon, but he couldn’t call it up. He returned to the present and turned back to Trini. “You know, you actually look pretty good, kid.”

“I look like hell, fucker, and you know it. You look great. Sorta over-the-top handsome, as usual. Like a Mexican Ken doll. I picture you with no private parts.”

“Don’t picture that.”

“What should I picture?”

“Why do you have to picture anything at all?”

She shrugged. They reached the main gate and she opened her window the rest of the way, throwing a stern glance at Roberto. “See if you can shut up for a minute.”

While Trini signed them out of the base and discharged a wave of Newport smoke into the guard shack, Roberto took the Faraday pouch from his jacket pocket and opened the double-grade, military-tested fabric. Just as he was about to drop his phone inside, it buzzed. He looked at the screen. The number had a 703 area code. He plugged one ear, hit Answer, and listened for a moment.

A woman’s voice spoke. “Hello?”

Roberto listened. He heard the sound of wet tires on pavement on the other end.

“Two minutes,” he said into the phone. Then he hung up.

He went into the weather app on his phone, entered Fort Belvoir, Virginia, and saw that it was raining there. Satisfied the call came from where it said it was and had not been put through a rerouter, he dropped the government-issue cell phone into the Faraday bag and zipped it shut. He pulled his laptop out of his backpack, slipped a card into one of the free USB ports, put in a Bluetooth earpiece, and called up the DeepBeep site he’d accessed on the plane. He typed in the phone number that had just called him on his phone. It was answered on the first ring, but Roberto spoke first. “You’re outside now?”

Abigail’s voice replied. “Yes. In the rain.”

“Trini was here when I landed, and heavy. Well done. I don’t need anything else.” He was about to hang up, but Abigail spoke again.

“There’s been a development.”

Roberto tensed. “What kind of development?”

“On the ground in Atchison. Someone made a call to Belvoir from inside the facility.”

“Who?”

“A civilian. Twenty-three-year-old woman.”

“That’s too bad. How’d she get your number?”

“She googled DTRA off a door.”

“Okay, she’s not stupid. What’d you do?”

Abigail paused, and Roberto could hear voices on the other end as people hurried past her in the rain. When they faded, Abigail went on. “I hung up on her, came outside, and called her back on one of the burners I got. I have her on the other line now. Want to talk to her?”

Roberto continued to be impressed by Abigail, but this was going to be even more complicated than he’d thought, and he knew he’d need her again. He was careful not to overpraise. “Yes. What’s her name?”

“Naomi.”

“Toss your burner into the back of a moving truck when we’re done and text me a new number.”

“Will do. Hang on.”

Roberto waited. Trini looked at him and inclined her chin: What’s up? He covered the phone’s mic with his thumb. “Civilian. Inside the mines.”

Trini winced. “I hope she’s enjoyed a full life.”

The connection worsened, and the frightened voice of a young woman came through Roberto’s earpiece, trying hard to sound authoritative. “Okay, who is this now ?”

“Hello, Naomi. My name’s Roberto. I’d like to talk to you about what’s going on.”

“Okay, why did that first lady hang up on me?”

“Because she cares about your situation and wants to see it resolved in the right way, like I do.” In the background, Roberto could hear shouting, a man’s voice, something along the lines of “Ask him what the fuck is going on!” or words to that effect. “I hear someone there with you. What’s his name?”

“Travis. We’re security guards here.”

“Okay. Could you do me a favor and ask Travis to shut up while I’m talking to you?”

Her voice was fainter as she turned her head and said, “He says you should shut up.” Then a pause, some mumbling, and she spoke into the phone again. “We have a serious problem here. There’s this virus, or a fungus—”

“Right on the second one. I know all about it. I know more about it than anyone else. Are you somewhere safe right now?”

“We’re locked in a storage unit.”

“Okay. Could be worse. Stay in there.”

“No kidding. For how long? Are you sending people?”

“Has anyone come into direct physical contact with it? You’d know if they had because they’d have—”

“Yes.”

Roberto mouthed shit silently. Trini looked at him as often as she dared while driving at seventy miles per hour over Centennial Bridge.

“Hello?” Naomi asked.

“Yes, I was just calling something up on my screen,” he lied. “How many people have been infected?”

“Just one, I think.”

“And is that person still inside the facility?”

“Yes. He keeps trying to get in here. Where we are.” In the background, he heard more shouting—the ranting guy was at it again. Naomi conferred with him quickly, said, “Okay, okay, okay, ” and came back on the line. “Also, there was a deer. A deer was infected.”

“Where is the deer now?”

“It blew up.”

“Outside or inside?”

“Did you hear me? I said it blew up. ”

“Yes, I heard. Can you tell me where it blew up?”

“In the hallway.” Her tone said like that matters, but Roberto breathed a tiny sigh of relief that it was still inside the building.

He continued. “Okay, listen to me, Naomi. You’re going to be all right. You called exactly the right place, and you’re speaking to exactly the right person. You have some excellent instincts, and they’ve served you well so far. Now it’s time to trust somebody else. I’m on my way there, and I know what it takes to resolve this situation. There are several of us who have encountered this before, and we’ve planned for a situation where we might have to deal with it again. I’m going to be there in—” He looked at Trini.