Ejecta (30 page)

***

Devlin left the bed and lurched into the bathroom. The blue-rimmed bullet hole looked ugly. But there was only a small amount of blood. And as she stared at the wound the flesh around the margins of it began to writhe and a blob of half congealed blood was forced out. A few moments later a slightly deformed .22 slug popped out of her body. There was a rattling sound as it fell into the sink.

Then, after a minute or so, the wound began to close. By the time the hotel’s security guard knocked on the door there was nothing left to see but a slightly puckered scar. Devlin went to the door, opened it just enough to let him see her face, and forced a smile. “Yes?”

“We had a report of a disturbance up this way,” the moon-faced man said apologetically. “Is everything okay?”

“Good,” Devlin replied thickly. “Things good.”

“Okay,” the guard replied doubtfully. “Have a nice evening.”

Devlin produced a jerky nod, closed the door, and went back into the room. Bart Simpson was up to no good and one of Nail’s sweaters lay on the bed. Devlin took the piece of clothing and buried her face in the familiar smell. Then she began to sob. Only this time there was nobody to comfort her.

***

Devlin was traveling lighter as she boarded the bus for the trip to New Orleans. A cheap carryall had replaced the pack. She was wearing a Texas Rangers ball cap, a waist length denim jacket, and matching jeans in place of the recently discarded cold weather gear. And, because her eyes were increasingly sensitive to light, she wore sunglasses all the time.

It was a look similar to that sported by many of the other people on the bus. Except that nearly all of them were Hispanic and slightly suspicious of the gringa traveling in their midst. An attitude that quickly became apparent as they made disparaging remarks about the
jorobado blanca,
or “white hunchback.” Never dreaming that the woman they were talking about spoke fluent Spanish. But Devlin didn’t care
what
they called her—so long as they left her alone.

Unlike the trains that typically ate up hundreds of miles between stops the bus paused more frequently so people could board or get off to buy food or use the local restrooms. The result was a seemingly endless journey punctuated by trips to filthy restrooms, soggy sandwiches, and the arrival of new seat mates. All of which took place within a thick miasma of sweat, hairspray, and baby formula.

The result was a sensory overload so intense that Devlin found it necessary to stuff pieces of Kleenex into her nostrils and ears. That made the trip more bearable but opened Devlin to even more jibes. The man seated behind her even claimed that he had seen the hunch move. But Devlin took comfort in the knowledge that each passing hour brought her closer to her final destination and the only release she could reasonably expect. And that was death.

***

New Orleans, Louisiana

The house, like many others, was for rent during Mardi Gras and Palmer had been assigned to a room on the second floor. He opened the door, went in, and placed his suitcase on the full sized bed. It was, according to the literature that went with the house the “red room,” and had once been part of an upscale bordello. In addition to the bed there was an easy chair, a dresser with a flat panel TV sitting on top of it, and two vertical windows.

Having just arrived from the airport Palmer knew that the annual craziness was already underway. Most of the more than one-million visitors the city of New Orleans expected were already in town. The hotels were full and thousands of enthusiastic tourists were out wandering the streets. Except some of them weren't what they appeared to be.

Since learning that Florence Kelty had been headed for New Orleans, and having reexamined the information they had, the Department of Biosecurity had been able to confirm that all of the so-called “exploding people” had been traveling to New Orleans when they died.

Half a dozen “explosions” had made the news so far. But thanks to a hastily organized disinformation campaign, the deaths had been attributed to a mysterious, and spurious disease called Hyper-Cerebral Electrosis, or HCE. A disorder said to result from an electrical overload following a period of unusually intense mental activity.

Absurd though the claim was, some vaguely positive quotes from retired scientists plus some intriguing on-line references had been sufficient to send the press off in the wrong direction. It was the sort of governmental subterfuge that Palmer would normally have been critical of. But given the widespread panic the truth might produce he understood the necessity.

Meanwhile the hosts who lived in remote areas of the world, or couldn’t afford to travel, were doomed to die mysterious and undocumented deaths as their parasites were forced to bail out. That problem would have to be dealt with later. In the meantime it was the CDC’s hope to take some of the infected humans off the street before the disease could spread further. The problem being that they didn't know who to looking for other than Dr. Sara Devlin. Who, once identified, could lead the agents to the spot where the parasites would congregate. Assuming they hadn't done so already. A possibility none of them wanted to contemplate.

Palmer wasn't all that enthusiastic about the plan since he wanted the Department of Biosecurity to rush Devlin to a hospital the moment they spotted her. But his concerns had been brushed aside because, as Cooper put it, “This is bigger than any one person.”

And, like it or not, Palmer knew that to be true. Especially after his encounter with Florence Kelty and her homicidal boyfriend. There was a mirror over the ornate dresser and he paused to examine himself. The bump on the side of his head had gone down. But the spot was still sore. And the stitches would have to come out in a few days.

Cooper had called a meeting on the main floor. So Palmer left the bedroom and followed a hall to a broad staircase which took him downstairs. As Palmer entered the dining room he saw that the rest of the team was already present. That included Cooper Cooper, Manuel Hernandez, a neatly attired agent who introduced himself as Melvin Levar, and a woman named J.D. McCall. They were polite, but reserved, and a bit distant. Palmer might have an ID card but that didn't make him an accepted member of the group.

“Grab some coffee,” Cooper instructed. “And there are some beignets on the counter.”

Palmer poured himself a cup of coffee, took two of the square-shaped doughnuts from a platter, and sat at the table. It was made of distressed oak and large enough to seat six. The kitchen was decorated with period fixtures that were supposed to evoke the 1850's.

“Okay,” Cooper said. “As you know our primary hope is to get a positive ID on Devlin and track her to the parasite party. The word is out, the police know she's coming this way, and they have orders to call us the moment she appears.”

“What if they pick her up?” Hernandez wanted to know.

“They have strict orders not to do so,” Cooper responded. “But if they do we'll order them to turn her loose so we can follow her.”

“In the meantime we need to play defense. We're pretty sure that some Chinese MSS (Ministry of State Security) agents are already here. The most likely reason for this is their desire to add more parasites to a collection maintained by the Tenth Bureau. That's the part of MSS with responsibility for science and technology. Because if
we
have problems then a country with more than a billion people is bound to be infected with lots of parasites. And it looks like they were quicker to understand the problem than we were. That's why they went after Brisco.”

“That doesn't seem to make sense,” Palmer observed. “If the Chinese already have a collection of specimens--why come all the way over here to get more?”

McCall was young, wore her hair in what looked like a pink haystack, and had high cheekbones. Her lips were thin and the lower one was pierced. “It appears as though this is Nexus,” she said matter of factly. “By which I mean the place, or one of the places, where the parasites who haven't secured mates come to breed. Kind of like gray whales mate in Mexico's San Ignacio Lagoon, Flamingos get it on at Lake Natron in Tanzania, and the swallows return to Capistrano. We don't know why the parasites are attracted to this particular location. Although it's certainly true that Mardi Gras offers perfect cover for people who look weird and behave in a strange manner.

“In any case it's quite likely that the Chinese scientists want samples taken at Nexus
,
so they can study what physiological changes if any take place prior to mating, and afterwards for that matter.”

Cooper nodded. “J.D. has a Masters in Microbiology from UCLA,” the agent said. “She knows her stuff. But there's another reason as well. We believe the Chinese want to weaponize the parasites. Or will consider doing so. So keep that in mind.”

Palmer knew that was Cooper's way of reminding him that the problem was bigger than Sara. A lot bigger. “Point taken,” he said.

“We don't have a fix on the Chinese collection team,” Cooper continued. “But we have a pretty good idea of where they plan to take any specimens they manage to capture. And that's the
Xinglong.
A
Francesco Nullo
class research vessel docked here in New Orleans. Here's what she looks like.” At that point a Xerox copy of a black and white photo began to make the rounds.

Lavar had closely cut black hair, a moon shaped face, and dark skin. He looked surprised. “
Here?
How did they manage that?”

“The Mayor invited a navy destroyer, a coast guard cutter, and a variety of other vessels to take part in the Mardi Gras 'parade of ships,'” Cooper responded. “The Chinese government offered to send the
Xinglong
and the city accepted. And since all of the vessels are going to be open to visitors today--I'm sending Palmer and McCall down to take a look around.”

“Wouldn't it be easier to put a combat team aboard?” Hernandez inquired

“Yes, it would,” Cooper agreed as he lit a cigarette. “And I suggested it. But the suits are afraid that a raid would cause an international incident, drive around the clock media coverage, and potentially blow the parasite thing wide open.”

Hernandez made a face, and Lavar said, “Picky, picky.”

The meeting continued. Fifteen minutes later it was over and Palmer found himself getting into the back of a black SUV with McCall. “So how is this going to work?” he inquired, as they fastened their seat belts.

“Just do what I tell you,” she replied, while the driver guided the vehicle down Napoleon avenue toward the docks.

“That's it?” Palmer inquired incredulously. “That's the plan?”

“That's most of it,” McCall confirmed.

“If you say so,” Palmer said doubtfully. He might have said more. But McCall had her ear buds in place by then, and was listening to her iPod, as she stared out through darkened glass. Palmer thought about Sara and wondered where she was.

After the SUV dropped them off Palmer and McCall followed a steady stream of tourists toward the Mississippi river and the ships moored there. As they walked along he caught a glimpse of a sturdy looking tug pushing a barge upstream, a convincing replica of a sternwheeler headed in the other direction, and all manner of small craft zipping back and forth.

When the
Xinglong
came into sight McCall launched into what amounted to a briefing. It was clear that she had done her homework. “
Xinglong
means
Star Dragon
in Mandarin. The ship was built in Poland during communist rule. She's about five-hundred feet long, sixty-five feet wide, and draws twenty-eight feet of water. The crew consists of about one-hundred and ten people including scientists.

“Though equipped for oceanographic research, we believe that
Xinglong
's scientists can carry out a broad range of scientific tasks, including studies in general as well as marine biology. It's worth noting that the
Xinglong
is equipped with two very powerful engines. Experts estimate her top speed to be around twenty-five knots which is only five knots less that the published speed of an
Iroquois
-class destroyer. That, plus a range of 18,000 miles, suggests that the
Xinglong
is an adjunct to the Chinese navy.”

“I'm impressed,” Palmer said. “How's the food in the cafeteria?”

“It's said to be quite good,” McCall answered, without the slightest trace of a smile.

The
Xinglong
towered above them as the couple joined the line of people waiting to board her. Two uniformed officers were present at the foot of the gangway where they used carefully memorized English phrases to welcome tourists aboard. As McCall walked past, one of them said something in Chinese and the other man laughed. The agent responded with a barely audible, “Screw you asshole.”

Palmer glanced sideways as they crossed the gangway. “You speak Chinese?”

“Mandarin, but not Cantonese.”

“What did that guy say?”

“He said I look like a freak.”

“I like the hair.”

“Thanks, Palmer. Maybe Cooper's wrong.”

“About what?”

“You being a jerk.”

Palmer smiled as a series of signs and waist-high chains funneled them onto a flight of metal stairs that led upwards. “Now what?”

“Now you do what I say, when I tell you to do it. And if someone tries to stop us then slam them into a wall.”

“That's why Cooper sent me along?”

“Are you good for anything else?”

By the time they emerged on the sun drenched main deck Palmer estimated that they had climbed the equivalent of two stories. The general impression was one of well kept orderliness with none of the amenities Palmer was used to on cruise ships. And that made sense given the
Xinglong's
purpose.

A tour group was forming. McCall led Palmer over to it, and after a rather stilted introduction, a young woman in a spotless white cap and jacket led the visitors toward the bow. The next fifteen minutes were spent listening to a description of the types of data that could be gathered by the crew, China's efforts to counter global warming, and the importance of marine life when it came to feeding a huge population.