Hard Road (27 page)

“Perhaps he had no views on anything going on in the world…”

Meyerstein shrugged. “Or maybe, he wanted to conceal his true views.”

Luntz frowned. “I hadn't thought of that.”

Meyerstein cleared her throat. “Are there any days where you know he was visiting friends, and was taking time off, or stuff like that? Did he have spats with colleagues? Things that stick in the memory.”

Luntz furrowed his brow for a few moments. “Well, no… Well, now that you mention it, he didn't once mention friends or family.”

“Did you never ask him about his family?”

“We all live such busy lives I never really took that much of an interest. I know he wasn't married. But I don't think I ever knew anything about his private life. I don't like to pry.”

Meyerstein could feel her anger mounting at Luntz's lackadaisical approach. “What about spats?”

Luntz leaned back in his seat and pursed his lips, as if deep in thought. “You know, it's interesting. There is one thing that comes to mind. I remember a colleague getting frustrated as he was trying to reach Scott to talk about some lab results. But he wasn't around. Apparently he'd phoned in to say his flight was late.”

“Late?”

“Yeah, he was late for work on a Monday morning; he said his flight was delayed. Some technical fault in the plane from New York.”

“How long ago was that?”

“I remember that it was November 19
th
when he was late, that was the Monday morning, my sixtieth birthday, not long before he went off sick and then went AWOL.”

“How long was he away for? Do you know who he visited?”

“I'm guessing he left on the Saturday, November 17
th
, as he was in work on the Friday. But I don't have a clue who he met.”

Meyerstein scribbled the details on a pad in front of her. “Tell me, what security measures do you have in place at the lab to ensure that the correct people enter the lab.”

“Primarily, it's a retinal scan, which as you'll know is a biometric technique, widely used in government agencies.”

“Frank, I'm going to take a break for two minutes, is that OK with you?”

Luntz nodded but said nothing.

Meyerstein ripped out the page from the pad she'd scribbled on and stood up, pushing back her chair. “I'll be right back.” She went into the side room with the two-way mirror where Stamper was watching and handed over the piece of paper. “OK, I want Caan's retinal scan to be fed into the airport databases. Concentrate on Saturday the 17
th
November at Dulles and all the New York airports. Cameras at taxi ranks. Then get our face recognition guys onto this. And run this with the biometric database we have. I want to see some results. Some footage of Caan arriving in New York. Where was he going? Who was he with?”

Stamper read the date on the paper and nodded. “I'll get on it.”

“Caan had the highest security clearance, as had Luntz. I want us to get into Caan's life. Something is not right. Something is missing from all this.”

“But if he's been cleared through the Single Scope Background Investigation for Top Secret clearance and then by a higher clearance through the Pentagon, surely they've gone through all his life with a fine toothcomb; where the subject has lived, gone to school, interviews with persons who knew him, criminal records, qualifications, previous employment, and all the rest.”

“We're doing it again. Check to see if Caan ever failed a polygraph test. Foreign travel, assets, character references, I want us to go over this one more time.”

“That's going to take up a lot of resources, Martha.”

Meyerstein sighed. She had learned from her father the importance of not taking established facts without scrutinising them one more time. Her team thought she was obsessive with her attention to detail. And Stamper was no different. “Put my mind at rest, Roy. We can't afford not to be meticulous. That's our job, after all. So, let's do it all again.”

Stamper shrugged. “OK, whatever you say. It may take time looking into his background. These security clearances can take up to eighteen months.”

“I want it all done in eighteen hours.”

“Jesus H Christ, Martha.” He cleared his throat. “Before I forget. We've been looking over Caan's house. He hasn't lived there in weeks, according to neighbors, maybe longer. The house had been cleared out. Not a thing. Was rented out to a guy called Raymond Baker.”

Meyerstein stared through the glass at Luntz. “This is so fucked up it's not real, Roy. There are more questions than answers.”

“How do you think he's holding up?”

Meyerstein sighed. “It'll probably hit him in a week. If he's lucky.” She had seen dozens of cases, people kidnapped or who underwent a traumatic event, who later crumbled.

Stamper said, “Don't push him too far, Martha. Easy does it. I meant to say, do you want me to speak to Horowitz about this? I can't believe we've been kept out of the loop.”

“This is a Pentagon project, which he is assigned to. He wouldn't acknowledge it, even if you brought it up.”

“Are you letting it go?”

“For now. I have more pressing concerns, as have you.”

Stamper shrugged as if it wouldn't have been the way he'd have done it.

Meyerstein smiled. “It can wait, Roy. We can have the inquiry once this is over.” Still smiling, she went back into the room with Luntz. She took a seat and fixed her gaze on the government scientist. His eyes were black, dark rings underneath. “Frank, you've been very helpful,” she said. “And we appreciate that. But we have got a major problem on our hands. We need to find Scott Caan. We have checked his home in Frederick, and it turns out no one lives there. The rent was paid, but no one actually lived there since a guy rented it out by the name of Raymond Baker. Does that name mean anything to you?”

Luntz shook his head. “I don't understand. So, where did Scott live?”

“That's just the problem. The place he said he lived, he didn't.”

“What do you mean?”

“It means, Frank, that Lt Col Scott Caan has been living a lie. We can't speak to neighbors about him. We don't have cell phone details. We can't find out what was on his laptop. The question is, why has he been living that lie, and who has helped him live that lie? The questions just kinda mount up…” She let the comments just hang in the air.

Luntz bit his lower lip. “I'm at a loss. Truly I am. He seemed…”

Meyerstein leaned over and held his hands. “Frank, we've got to assume the worst. I need to know if you can recreate the anti-viral drugs and vaccines.”

Luntz ran his hand through his grey hair and blew out his cheeks. “It would have to be from the notes I kept. I think we could have something in a couple of weeks, best case scenario.”

“I'm sorry, but that won't work. We're gonna need something within the next forty-eight hours max.”

“That's not realistic. I must test and retest the possible drugs.”

“I appreciate that, Frank. But we need a vaccine and anti-virals at the very earliest opportunity. Something that has a good possibility of working. And I want you to work with my colleague, Dr Adam Horowitz, a bioweapons expert.”

“I'm sorry, it can't be done within that timescale.”

“We will give you whatever resources you want. Money, scientists, that is not an issue.”

“I'm sorry, but that's unrealistic.”

“Are you going to help us or not?”

Luntz bowed his head. “This is my fault, isn't it?”

“Let's forget recriminations. We need to focus. So, are you going to help us or not?”

“I'll do whatever I can.”

TWENTY-THREE

The clock in the ICU room showed Reznick it was 1.47am. He felt helpless as he sat at his daughter's bedside knowing she was fighting for her life. She was only eleven years old. A child. The only sounds were his daughter's shallow breathing and the constant beeping of the ventilator, keeping her alive.

Reznick leaned forward and squeezed her clammy hand. He knew that his daughter should have responded before now. The doctors were also concerned about the fluid on her lungs. The prognosis was bleak.

She showed classic symptoms of an opiate overdose. Eleven breaths a minute and miotic pupils. The machines around Lauren were taking her blood pressure, pulse, respiration and heart rate. The intravenous fluids were pumping in dextrose to her blood. But none of it was making a bit of difference.

He looked at the tubes coming out of her mouth and nose, concealing her flawless, beautiful face. His mind flashed back to the last time he saw her, in late summer, back home in Maine, before she was due to head back to Brookfield. Her face was tanned and her blue eyes had never looked so much like her mother. The way she smiled was just the same. Even the way she laughed.

A sharp knock at the door jolted Reznick out of his reverie and a doctor entered the room. “There's someone here to see you. Assistant Director Meyerstein from the FBI.”

Reznick couldn't be bothered speaking to anyone. He only wanted to sit by his daughter's side. He watched her chest rise and then lower, painfully slow. But he knew the FBI weren't going to go away.

He sighed. “Show her in.”

The doctor nodded and left the room. A few moments later Meyerstein appeared with a nurse, who checked Lauren's vital signs, noting it down on Lauren's chart, before she left.

Meyerstein shut the door quietly and pulled up a chair beside Reznick. She looked exhausted, dark rings around her eyes. She sat down and sighed. “I'm so sorry,” she said.

Reznick stared at his daughter and said nothing.

“The doctors are doing everything they can for her. There's still hope.”

Reznick turned and faced Meyerstein. Her eyes were moist. “I hope you're right.” He closed his eyes tight. “Christ, I wish I could turn the clock back.”

“We all do, Jon.” She cleared her throat.

Reznick was suddenly aware of how close they were sitting together.

“Jon, I can see how much you're hurting. Look, I'm so sorry what's happened. No one deserves what you're experiencing.”

“Don't they?”

“No, of course not.” Meyerstein held his gaze for a moment too long.

Reznick looked down at the floor. “You're wrong. I deserve this. This is entirely my fault.”

“You can't talk like that, Jon. That'll not help her.”

Reznick closed his eyes, not wishing to open them again. He felt Meyerstein's soft hand on his.

“I got some questions to ask you.”

Reznick extricated his hand. “This ain't the time.”

“Maybe not. But I'm still going to ask them.”

Reznick said nothing.

“They relate to national security. Jon, I'm going to level with you, there is the distinct possibility that many lives could be at risk. Many lives. We talked of that before.”

Reznick sat in silence and stared at his daughter.

“There are people pulling the strings, behind the scenes. I want to ask you something, Jon. Does the name Brewling mean anything to you?”

“Like I said, this ain't the time.”

“Not an option. Sorry. Jon, I need to know if the name Brewling means anything to you. Was he your handler?”

Reznick sighed. “No.”

“You're one hundred per cent sure of that?”

“Absolutely.”

“Look, Jon, this guy Brewling… You can't go after him. Is that what you're thinking?”

“I don't even know who this guy is, so how the hell can I go after him?”

“Listen, you've got to allow us to deal with this from now on. I can't allow you to head off and shoot up people all across Miami. We're drawing a line in the sand. Are you clear?”

“So, who is this Brewling?” he said. “What is Norton & Weiss Inc? Are they working for the Agency?”

“I can't talk about that.”

Reznick blew out his cheeks and bowed his head. A headache was developing, throbbing deep inside his brain. He put it down to exhaustion.

“I'm curious, Jon.”

“Curious about what?”

“How you get into the line of work you do. When you left Delta, I mean.”

“I got a call from a man. He knew a lot about me. Then he asked me nicely if I wanted to work for him.”

Meyerstein was shaking her head. “As simple as that?”

“Pretty much. They pay me a lot of money. And I sure as hell don't get asked dumb-ass questions.”

Meyerstein sighed but said nothing, waiting for him to fill the silence.

He sighed. “You still trying to figure out why a guy like me is involved in this?”

Meyerstein shrugged.

“Quite simple really. It's called plausible deniability. No direct link to the American government. That's what this is all about. I don't exist in their eyes. But we all know that's a lie. Everyone and their dog know that assassination is part and parcel of who we are. It keeps us on top of the bad guys, and to hell with the law.”

Meyerstein nodded. “I appreciate your candour.” She smiled at him. “Look, Jon, I've gotta go. Is there anything else you need from us?”

Reznick caught a whiff of her citrus perfume again. “There is something.”

“What?”

“I need to get my daughter out of here.”

Meyerstein said nothing.

“This place is wide open. She's a sitting duck.”