Ejecta (16 page)

Those questions were foremost on Wilson’s mind as he thanked the operating room staff, stripped off his scrubs, and left the surgery. He was tired, not having slept in about nineteen hours, and determined to get some answers.

The meeting room was one floor up and halfway down a long highly polished hallway. The walls were decorated with photos of hospital ships past and present. And having once served in the navy himself Wilson would have paused to look at them had there been sufficient time.

The door was ajar so Wilson pushed it open and walked in. That was when he saw that the Secretary of the Department of Health and Human Services was present in addition to George Ponty, his Chief of Field Operations.

Secretary Roster had reddish hair, light colored skin, and was forty-something. The pin striped suit looked great on her as did the red lipstick and the matching fingernail polish. She was the only person who was standing—and immediately came forward to greet him. Her eyes were green and very intense. “Good afternoon, Dr. Wilson…. It’s a pleasure to see you again.”

The truth was that Wilson had only met her once before and that had been at a party. So why the surprise visit? The only answer that made sense was politics. Or some combination of strategy and politics. Wilson directed a dirty look at Ponty, who shrugged as if to say, ‘I didn't know either.’

Roster's grip was cool but firm. “Please allow me to apologize for the surprise visit. But I think you'll agree that this is a very serious matter. So much so that the president has requested regular briefings. And I plan to deliver this one myself.”

It made sense in a way—but Wilson hadn't written his report yet. So how did Roster know? He directed a nod towards Cooper. "I suppose he works for you?”

“Agent Cooper works for both of us,” Roster said smoothly. “Perhaps I should explain.”

“That would be nice,” Wilson agreed mildly.

Roster produced a well rehearsed smile. “Please allow me to apologize on behalf of the department. It’s clear that communications could have been better. As you know we, which is to say DHHS, were already working on the possibility of an XT threat
before
the Department of Terrestrial Biosecurity was authorized by congress. Agent Cooper was part of that effort.

“And, when Alita Sanchez entered the country, we were the only ones who understood the true nature of the problem. Later, once it was clear that the Sanchez girl was infected, we worked with the Department of Justice and the U.S. Marshal’s Service to place Catherine Harris and her charge in protective custody. The true nature of Alita's condition was withheld from all but the most senior members of those organizations in order to maintain security."

Wilson felt a rising sense of anger. “Okay... But tell me this. While in protective custody the parasite was not only allowed to live, but to
grow!
Why? So the ghouls at the CIA could figure out a way to replicate it?”

Roster frowned. “I must say, I don’t appreciate your characterization of the men and women who risk their lives to keep this country safe. But, yes, the essence of what you say is true. It isn’t nice, and it isn’t pretty, but that’s how the real world is. Like it or not our mission is a good deal broader than preventing a flu epidemic.

“Or perhaps you believe that we’re the only ones who know about the parasites? Well, I can assure you that other governments are aware of them too. Including the Chinese who are hard at work on this issue.”

Wilson felt something cold trickle into his veins. He was a scientist as well as a patriot. What if the Chinese were to weaponize the parasites? It was a horrible thought. “Point taken,” he said grudgingly. “So, how will you handle Dr. Devlin?”

“There are a number of ways to deal with the doctor. We could have the FBI charge her with a crime and take her off the streets. Or just leave her be. The choice is up to you.”

“We wouldn’t want her to talk to the press,” Ponty put in. “The public would go crazy.”

“So slap her with a gag order,” Cooper suggested. “That should keep her mouth shut.”

“I get the impression that you
want
her on the loose,” Wilson observed. “Why?”

Cooper smiled. “Because this Devlin person has a talent for nosing around. Plus there’s no way to know what, if anything, she’s holding back. So, if it were up to me, I’d let her run.”

“And follow her,” Ponty added grimly.

“Yes,” Roster agreed thoughtfully. “I think that’s an excellent suggestion.”

Shelton, Washington

It was pouring, and the rain thundered against the roof of the car as Cooper guided the black Crown Vic into the Shangri La trailer park, and through a large puddle. The wheels threw up waves of water which surged away to break against the nearest curb. Devlin was seated in the back. During the last forty-eight hours she had been detained and interrogated by almost a dozen government officials before finally being released. Had the process been legal? She wasn’t sure. But she
wanted
the government to respond to the parasite threat and was willing to help. Fortunately Dr. Wilson seemed to share her anger regarding the way Alita's case had been handled. And that had a great deal to do with her cooperation.

The red Mustang was right where Devlin had left it. And no wonder since the area around the trailer had been under guard by federal agents until an hour earlier. Cooper pulled in behind the Ford and put the transmission in park. The wipers slapped back and forth in a futile attempt to keep the windshield clear. “Here,” Cooper said, as he turned to hand Devlin her purse. “Your keys are inside.”

“Gee, thanks,” she said sarcastically. “Did you have fun going through it?”

“No,” Cooper said without any trace of embarrassment. “It was pretty boring.”

“Sorry. I’ll try to spice it up next time. Can I go now?”

“Not until I give you
this,
” Cooper said, and passed an envelope back over the seat.

“What is it?” Devlin demanded suspiciously, as she examined the envelope.

“A gag order,” Cooper answered matter of factly. “If you speak with the press, start a blog focused on alien parasites, or open the First Church of Parasitology people will come and take you away.”

“Don’t worry,” Devlin said, as she stuffed the envelope into a pocket. “I won’t tell anyone what an asshole you are.”

***

Devlin opened the door and got out. Cooper watched her get into the Mustang and drive away. Then he lit a cigarette and took a deep drag before opening the hard sided briefcase that rested on the seat next to him. He pushed a button and watched as the color screen came to life. It wasn’t his responsibility to follow the parasitologist thank God. But the tiny GPS enabled devices hidden in Devlin’s handbag and both of her vehicles would make the job a lot easier for those who had been given the task.

Cooper watched the blue delta zigzag its way through the city of Shelton and turn onto the main highway. Then, having assured himself that the equipment was functioning properly, Cooper drove away. Curtains swayed and blinds closed as the watchers turned away from their windows. Shangri La was at peace.

***

It was late afternoon by the time Devlin arrived home. Having put the car in the garage, she was on the front porch, fumbling for her keys, when she saw that an envelope stuck in the door jam. Her name was scrawled on the outside, but she didn’t recognize the handwriting, and therefore had no idea who the message was from until she opened it.

“Dear Sara,” the note began. “Please join me for dinner at Ray’s Boathouse, Thursday evening, at 6:00 pm. I’ve never been there before—but I hear they serve great seafood. Best always, Alex Palmer.”

Devlin felt a mix of surprise, anticipation, and caution. Palmer wanted to see her. That was nice, but why? Was it about her—or something else? And Thursday afternoon was already upon her! But there wasn’t any phone number on the note. And that made it impossible to cancel the date she hadn’t agreed to. Was that on purpose? Or merely an oversight? There was no way to tell.

Such were Devlin’s thoughts as she unlocked the door, entered the front hall, and was immediately confronted by a hungry cat. Having fed Dog she checked both her voice mail and email. There were messages from Palmer on both. “Well,” the scientist said, as Dog jumped up onto her lap. “He’s persistent if nothing else.”

The cat uttered a plaintive meow as she put it down. “Sorry,” Devlin said, as she left the study. “But you’ve
had
your dinner. Now it’s my turn.”

***

It was early yet, and towards the middle of the week, so Ray’s was only a quarter full when Palmer arrived. And that was one of the reasons why he had been able to get a table right next to one of the big picture windows. Not that there was all that much to see since it was dark outside. Still, the soft lighting plus the cheerful clatter of dishes and the low hum of conversation all added up to the sort of ambience that he’d been hoping for. Because, try as he might, Palmer had been unable to get the green eyed woman off his mind.

But would she show? There was no way to be sure. And Palmer knew that if he wound up having dinner all by himself it would be his own fault. Especially given his failure to provide a number that she could call. A strategy which looked incredibly lame in retrospect. What if she had something scheduled for Thursday night?

Then she was there. Pausing to look around before making eye contact. That was when Palmer saw what looked like a genuine smile and felt a surge of joy as he came to his feet. Devlin was wearing an old REI rain parka over a snug fitting blouse that was the same color as her eyes. The knee-length skirt swirled as she moved. That was when Palmer realized she had nice legs. “Sorry about the jacket,” Devlin said, as Palmer helped remove it. “We didn’t dress for dinner down in Costa Rica—and I’m still in the process of buying new clothes.”

“You look beautiful,” Palmer said truthfully, as he draped the jacket over an empty chair. “And I understand. I own one blazer and this is it! People in my line of work don’t get a whole lot of opportunities to dress up.”

A few minutes later Devlin was seated with a menu and a glass of
Saint Michelle
Riesling in front of her. “So,” Palmer began, as he took a sip of ice water. “You got my message.”

“I got
all
of them,” Devlin replied with a mischievous grin.

Palmer smiled. “Even the carrier pigeon?”

“No. Not unless my cat ate it.”

“Well, I’m glad you came,” Palmer said seriously. “The more I thought about what you told me, the more I wondered if you were right.”

Devlin’s eyebrows rose slightly. “And you came all the way to Seattle to tell me that?”

“No,” Palmer confessed awkwardly. “I came all the way to Seattle because I wanted to see you. But I
am
interested in the parasites—and the possibility that they arrived on one or more meteorites. That is my field after all.”

The news that Palmer had come to see her rather than attend a business convention or something was not only remarkable but flattering. But not being sure of how to respond Devlin chose to gloss over the personal part of his answer. “A lot of things have happened since we last spoke. And I’d love to tell you about them but the government served me with a gag order.”

“The government?” Palmer responded. “You have been busy. Come on. Give.”

Devlin eyed the people around them. Cooper was nowhere to be seen. Of course that didn’t mean much. “Okay…. But only if you promise to keep what I say to yourself. Otherwise I could wind up going to jail.”

“My lips are sealed,” Palmer promised solemnly. “Except for eating dinner.”

So they placed their orders. And as the salads arrived Devlin told Palmer about her visit with Wally Brisco and the data the young man had collected.

Then with the salad plates removed, she went on to describe her first encounter with Agent Cooper, the botched memorial service, and the tragedy in Shelton.

“Damn,” Palmer said. “That’s awful. Do you think Harris was correct? About the government using the little girl?”

“I simply don’t know,” Devlin replied uncertainly. “I asked Dr. Wilson about that. He said
his
department would never do something unethical. Of course that allows for the possibility that other departments might.”

“Yeah,” Palmer replied cynically. “It does. Using a little girl as an incubator. That's sick.”

The salmon arrived at that point and the next few minutes were given over to small talk as both of them tucked into their food. Eventually it was Palmer who brought the conversation back to the parasites. “I think we should team up to investigate this thing,” he said thoughtfully.

“That’s an interesting idea,” Devlin replied cautiously. “But why would you want to get involved?”

“Because one of my father’s meteorites may have played a role in two deaths,” Palmer responded. “And, as someone who hunts meteorites for a living, I might be able to help.”

“I don’t know,” Devlin replied doubtfully. “There’s the gag order to consider.”

“The government doesn’t want you to appear on
Sixty Minutes
,” Palmer replied. “That makes sense. But what else did Agent Cooper say? Did he tell you to back off? Or to mind your own business?”

“No,” Devlin replied thoughtfully. “He didn’t.”

“Doesn’t that strike you as strange?”

Devlin frowned. “You mean they
want
me to investigate?”

“There’s no way to be certain,” Palmer answered. “But the answer could be
yes.
So let’s get to work.”

“Doing
what
?” Devlin wanted to know. “I’m fresh out of ideas.”

“That depends,” Palmer replied evasively as he accepted a cup of coffee from the waitress. “Assuming your theories are correct, and the parasites arrived on one or more meteorites, what then? How do they reproduce?”

Devlin shrugged. “I believe that when the parasites arrived, they were microscopic bugs or spores, which had been dormant for millions of years as they traveled through space. But when released into the air all they needed was for a suitable host to breath them in. Once inside a warm, moist environment like the human lungs, it would have been easy for them to pass through cell walls, invade the host organism’s circulatory system, and migrate to a position over the spinal column.