The Blacker Death: An Ebola Thriller (14 page)

“Did you shut the car off?”

“Yeah.”

“Well, there’s your answer. When you cut power, you turn things off, Bam.”

“I need it back.”

I heard clicking in the background. My phone began to beep. I held it away from my head to look at it. It was downloading something.

“Did you just hack my phone?”

“Don’t be such a Luddite, Bam. I’m loading a tracking app onto it. You
do
leave your phone on all the time, don’t you?”

“Smart ass.”

A map came on the screen and the red dot appeared. The stolen car was still in South Philly.

“Thanks, Tim,” I said. “I’ll buy you dinner next time I’m down your way.”

“It’ll have to be take-out. Everyone’s restricted to base.”

“Why?”

“Turn on your radio. It’ll be on soon. A classic wag the dog. See you around, pal.”

I hung up and turned on a news station. We listened to the weather, the traffic, the baseball scores, and when Izzy was pulling into a parking spot down the street from Pico’s, the news Tim wanted us to hear.

This just in from the White House. In response to the growing outbreak of Ebola in Africa, the president has ordered 3,000 troops to be sent to the nations affected. Their role will be to deliver needed supplies, provide training for first responders, and support local governments to help maintain order. He has asked the governors of Pennsylvania and New York to issue emergency declarations calling up their respective National Guards to help supply these troops. The president was clear that these would be non-combatant forces.

“I need a drink,” I said.

Pico’s was missing its usual complement of off-duty cops, so we had no trouble getting a booth overlooking South Street. The TV was muted with a baseball game on, and they were piping Sinatra over the usual restaurant chatter. We ordered drinks and watched the people through the window acting as if nothing were wrong.

“The news is only news until the next big story,” I said. I should have been a philosopher, but the pay’s not as good. “North Korea fires off an ICBM and the world worries that we’re on the doorstep of World War III. Israel attacks Gaza and suddenly we forget all about a world war because we’re more concerned about a humanitarian nightmare in the Middle East. Russia takes Crimea. Everyone gets upset. Russia starts a proxy war inside Ukraine, and just like that, we’re back in a cold war again. But are we worried? Only until some jihadists start beheading Americans.”

“There are so many bad things happening in the world now, it’s hard to focus on any one,” Izzy said.

“That’s the only thing keeping this city from falling apart right now. Look at those people out there. There were riots last night. Their airport was nearly shut down by a panic this morning. They’ve got Ebola right here in River City. They should be looking for a place to hide, not a good Chinese restaurant. Yet there they are, waltzing around like nothing’s wrong. Ebola’s just another crisis to them, just another North Korea that’ll be gone by the eleven o’clock news.”

“And you think it will be?”

“Not this time. Otherwise, the president wouldn’t be calling up the National Guard.”

“But they’re going to Africa.”

“Like Tim said, a classic wag the dog.”

“What do you mean?”

“The story’s a diversion,” I said, “to mobilize without letting on that you’re mobilizing. Those troops will never leave this country.”

“Who is Tim? How does he know these things?”

“He’s my younger brother. We look out for each other.”

Over decent burgers and a few beers, Izzy talked about growing up in Belgium, and I talked about surviving in Philadelphia. She told me she had an older brother. He was a soldier, but he’d died. I didn’t ask when or how. It didn’t matter and didn’t seem like the right time. I told her my younger brother was a spook, and if she wanted to know any more about him, she’d have to beat it out of me. She said that could be arranged. Travis called when we were turning down the offer of dessert menus.

“I got a hit on that search,” he said. “They were married in Brooklyn.”

“Good man. Read me the names,” I said.

“Vincent Robert Taney and Madeline Angela DiPasquale. Do you want me to search for the address change using her maiden name this time?”

“No. How long will it take to get birth certificates for Madeline and Carmine DiPasquale?”

“Carmine? The mobster?”

“Yeah, the wiseguy we picked up at the Hyatt. Check the file. I think he’s about thirty-seven.”

“It shouldn’t take long. Are you coming back for the meeting with FEMA?”

“We’re on our way.”

I hung up. We split the check and left.

Carmine and Madeline: that was the connection. Sister, cousin, ex-wife, whatever. That was it. It had nothing to do with a drug deal. That might have been his cover, but it wasn’t on his mind when he showed up at the Hyatt to juice Gyro. Carmine blamed that scumbag for her husband’s death. I did, too, but we disagreed on the method of seeing that justice was served. And that’s why I couldn’t let it go. Now, I had motive and opportunity, but still no direct proof that he’d done it.

When we got back to the car, I checked my phone again. The Caddy was still in South Philly. They’d probably dumped it there and left town. It made sense, except for one thing — that was what Fink thought too, and Fink was an idiot.

“Have I told you how nice South Philly is at night?” I said to Izzy.

“No, but I’d love a tour, if we have the time.”

“We do. Take 4
^th
Street and keep going till I tell you.”

The Caddy was parked outside an Italian Restaurant a block off Broad Street with a fresh set of New York plates. I ran the number. It came back retired. Big surprise. Most of the turned-in plates in New York City end up in the wrong hands. It makes the stolen cars less conspicuous.

We parked behind the Caddy and went inside where we were met by a goon wearing a suit that hadn’t fit him right since high school. I told him we were looking for Carmine. He told me we were in the wrong place. I stuck my finger in his chest and said he’d better go get him or I’d be coming back with friends. He threw me into the wall like a sack of potatoes, and all of a sudden I wasn’t worried so much about dying from Ebola anymore. That’s when Izzy grabbed him by the hand and twisted until he was on the floor, screaming like a baby.

“Nice wristlock,” I said.

“Thank you. I scored very well in the class on subduing suspects without the use of deadly force.”

Carmine came out of the back with his three buddies. He scowled at the big lug on the floor and told him to get out. I nodded to Izzy, and she let him go. He scurried off like a rat, nursing the paw that would be giving him a little trouble for the next few days.

“Is that your car parked out front?” I asked.

“It’s a loaner. Mine’s in the shop.”

“I hope you went for the full insurance package. It looks like you’ve got some front-end damage.”

Carmine looked over at the punk who had been driving and then back at me.

“Nice place,” I said.

“It’s my cousin’s,” said Carmine. “What do you want?”

“I want what everyone wants. Justice.”

“Is that a fact?”

“That’s right. You see, I know about Madeline. I know Gyro was the one supplying the smack to Vinnie. I also know he bought a bad batch of it from Gyro, and you weren’t too happy about it when he died leaving her a pregnant widow with a three-year-old son.”

“Beat it, Mr. FBI, while you still can.”

“I don’t think you’re getting the picture here, Carmine. Gyro was a scumbag, and the world’s a better place without him. I think we can agree on that, right?”

“So what?”

“So, come on, Carmine. We’re both businessmen here. You and I are after the same thing, just in different ways. You did me a favor. Now I want to do you one. I just want to know what it’s worth to you.”

“What are you talking about?”

“I’m talking about a certain piece of evidence that ties you and your associates to the scene of the crime. It would be a real shame for it to fall into the wrong hands after you’ve done the city such a good deed.”

“What evidence?”

 
“The kind that could very easily get lost in the shuffle. The kind that no one has to know about, if the price is right.”

Carmine sized up Izzy. “Who’s the broad?”

“My muscle. So, can we talk or what?”

“Not here. Be at Front and Christian tomorrow at midnight. Come alone. Wait on the corner. I’ll pick you up. We’ll talk then.”

“Okay. You got it.”

We left, got back in the car and drove off.

“I don’t understand,” said Izzy. “Did you just agree to sell evidence to that man?”

“That’s right.”

“I didn’t think there was any.”

“There isn’t.”

“Then, what do you hope to gain?”

“I just want to talk to him.”

“Shouldn’t you report his connection to the Taney woman to your superiors?”

“No point. We’ve got no evidence, remember?”

When we got back to the Six, Travis was waiting in the situation room for us. He handed me the copies of the birth certificates.

“They’re brother and sister, sir,” he said.

“I figured. It seemed pretty personal for him.”

“What’s our next step?”

I looked at Izzy. I felt guilty that I was keeping him on the outside, but I couldn’t take another Billy, not ever. “No rush. I’m going to sit on it awhile.”

The FEMA meeting started at nine. I recognized the locals. Jimmy was there. Fink. The Mayor. Tom Stalter. Cathy Eland introduced everyone including someone from Homeland Security, a two-star general, and a suit from the State Department. Eland started off with a recap.

Hundreds were arrested in confrontations with police overnight. Most had been processed and released. The ones facing weapons, arson, and looting charges were transported to the Navy Yard in South Philly where they’d set up a detention center that was being manned by State Police. The Pennsylvania National Guard would begin staging there under the pretext of preparing to ship out for Africa. The first units were already en route from Harrisburg. They would be taking over for the state troopers when they arrived. SWAT and airport police were keeping Philadelphia International Airport open, at least for the time being. They were screening everyone who got on or off a plane. Abandoned cars were being towed and stored in one of the long-term parking lots, additional TSA officers had been flown in, and the number of incidents was back down to a manageable level. The city’s two main mass transit routes, the Broad Street Subway and the Market-Frankfort El, were running on time because managers were operating the trains. SEPTA regional rail lines were operating at reduced capacity to and from the suburbs because of the work stoppages. Buses still weren’t running, but people were making do. Fire companies had been beefed up with volunteers from the suburbs, the police were good for now, and the hospitals were fully staffed but out of room. As for the damage assessment, the numbers were still being added up, but several Catholic churches that closed in the recent consolidations by the Diocese had been offered up by the church to the Red Cross and were being used as shelters for those who had lost their homes to fire. The news outlets were still pushing hard on the story, and they’d found the cracks in the wall. Relatives of people under observation were spilling their guts for some face time on TV. Reports were leaking out from the U.N. delegates. It was just a matter of time before the dam broke.

The guy from State took a turn at the mike. “The president has decided to postpone making any announcement about this matter for a few days. It is his opinion and the opinion of his advisors that, though we have sixteen confirmed cases in Philadelphia and three deaths …”

Tom interrupted him, “Excuse me, sir, but we have revised figures that might affect your strategy.”

“The decision has already been made, Doctor,” the guy said. “I’m only here to get your buy-in.”

“You need to hear this.”

“Very well. Go ahead.”

I’d known Tom a long time. Maybe I hadn’t seen him in a while, but that didn’t mean I couldn’t recognize the look in his eyes. He wasn’t the only one mad as hell at the bureaucrats.

“The death toll is now six in Philadelphia,” he said, “and one in New York. The number of confirmed cases is up to thirty-six in Philadelphia and ten in New York City. We’re working as fast as we can to identify them, but we can’t keep up with the number of samples coming in. We’re contacting labs in both areas to see who can help with the testing. So far, we’ve found two in the Philadelphia area and three in New York. We’re working with them now to get them up to speed.”

He named the facilities. One of them was Research Voorhoede.

“That’s Birot’s father’s place,” I said.

“Yes, Mr. Birot called earlier today to offer his assistance. He has a PCR. I thought we had a complete list of them, but apparently not. His company is under contract with one of the big pharmaceuticals to develop a more efficient mechanism to produce the antibodies required to treat specific viral diseases.”