The Widow's Strike (34 page)

C
hip Dekkard waited
patiently outside
the Oval Office, ready to present his report to President Warren. It was very thorough—damning in its evidence against Cailleach Laboratories. He was up front with his connection to the firm, knowing that was the best way to defuse any implication of guilt. He’d made sure to get a little egg on his face as someone who should have known but just didn’t. Dispelling any accusation that he was conducting a cover-up. He’d already rehearsed his lines.
“Sir, I know I screwed up, but I can’t possibly be aware of everything that goes on in my conglomerate. It’s just impossible.”

He’d show suitable remorse, offer to resign or take whatever punishment the president felt prudent, all the while subtly reminding him of the work he had done, both to get him elected and to stop this current threat.

The one fly in the ointment was the board of directors of the laboratory. Of course, eventually they had discovered they were being hung out to dry as scapegoats and had immediately begun threatening to tell all they knew, using e-mails and reports he’d signed to prove their case. Careful of his words, knowing they were probably recording the discussion, he’d stated he had no idea what they were talking about and that they’d be well-advised to get criminal defense attorneys.

He smiled at the thought of their attempting to build their case, only to find the e-mails and reports inexplicably gone. Nothing but his word against theirs, and his word was gold when it came to the president of the United States.

The door opened, and Alexander Palmer waved him in. He entered, seeing two men with military haircuts and business suits sitting on the far couch. In front of the president’s desk was a distinguished-looking man he recognized.

President Warren said, “Come on in, Chip. This is Andy Barksdale. I’m not sure you’ve ever met before.”

Internally taken aback, Chip said, “Yes, of course, the attorney general. No, we’ve never met, unless you count watching testimony in front of Congress.”

He drew polite laughter and wondered what the AG was doing here. He wasn’t read on to Taskforce activities, and that fact gave him a little alarm.

Then again, he was about to report criminal malfeasance, so maybe the AG was simply here to take his report and do whatever they needed to bring the laboratory to justice.

They had to come into play sooner or later.

President Warren said, “Well, what do you have?”

Chip laid out his case, presenting the doctored e-mails, forged reports, and other damning evidence, concluding that the laboratory had willfully risked great harm in order to make profits. All in all, the briefing took thirty minutes, with the president asking no questions.

Chip ended with his own culpability and delivered his rehearsed lines about accepting responsibility. The president’s answer was not what he had expected.

“I’m glad you’re willing to accept responsibility. Do you know how many people are going to die on the cruise ship?”

“Uhh . . . no, sir.”

“Well, it’s day three, and we have twenty-three cases. So far. With a seventy percent mortality rate, sixteen are going to die. That’s on top of the six who died in New York. You state you should have known, and I agree. If you’d had that knowledge, we would have known immediately what this was about the minute the doctor’s son from Cailleach Laboratories was kidnapped. We could have stopped this before it even began.”

Where is this going?
“Yes, and as I said, I regret that immensely, but I can’t possibly know every single thing that goes on in every firm in my portfolio.”

President Warren said, “The Cailleach people reached out to Justice today. They claim you
did
know.”

The conversation not going the way he thought, Chip became slightly belligerent, puffing up his anger at the slander. “Of course they’re saying that. They’re doing whatever they can to spare themselves. They know we’re friends and are hoping a political taint from dragging me into this will cause you to sweep it under the rug.”

“Are you hoping for the same thing? That our friendship will cause me to sweep this under the rug?”

“No! I told you I accept limited responsibility already.”

“Chip, what would we have done if the carrier’s plan had worked? If the boat had reached American shores and released the passengers? It would have been the end of our way of life, all over a little greed. Don’t you agree?”

“Yes. Of course I agree. I’m not sure why you’re asking. It’s horrible, and I’m glad we stopped it in time.”

“‘In time.’ Funny choice of words.”

President Warren leaned forward and pressed a button on a laptop. Chip heard his own voice and felt his world dissolve.

“What the hell do you mean a lab tech died? You guys assured me you could get this done in accordance with all applicable regulations.”

The tape droned on, Chip hearing the lab tech describing again the initial death at the makeshift biosafety facility in Singapore and his rejoinder to shut the entire project down.

President Warren said, “That was recorded before we knew about Cailleach Laboratories. Before we learned of the doctor’s son.”

Chip switched gears. “Yes, yes, now I remember. You heard me tell them to shut it down. That’s why I didn’t bring it up when I found out about Cailleach’s involvement. I
ordered
them to quit the project.
They’re
the ones who kept the virus. Against my orders. I was going—”

The attorney general held up a hand, cutting him off. “Stop. These two men are special agents of the Federal Bureau of Investigation, and you have the right to remain silent.”

They both stood, flanking him, and Chip played the only card he had left. “Sir, you don’t want to do this. I know how the virus was stopped. I know about who did it.”

He saw the attorney general get a curious look on his face and hoped it would be enough.

It wasn’t.

President Warren turned red, but it was Alexander Palmer who spoke first. “Remember what Kurt told you about Pike? About what would happen if you went after him? Well, so far he doesn’t know who caused that pain. But I do. Remember that, because if it were to leak, the only place you’d be safe is a federal prison.”

Chip assimilated the words and began to tremble. He’d seen enough Taskforce activities to know Palmer was telling the truth. Losing his strength, he sank to his knees, placing his head in his hands on the floor of the most powerful man on earth.

D
ay
four of
the quarantine,
and I was going a little stir-crazy. The room I was in was the size of a closet, and I hadn’t been allowed to leave for a single moment. I was visited twice a day by some CDC turd in a moon suit who’d take a vial of blood and leave me some food. None of which was cooked. I’d been living on peanuts, beef jerky, and bottled water, staring at the mirror every five minutes to see if I was going bloodshot.

The anxiety was incredible, wondering if the next knock on the door would be the one where I transferred rooms to what they called the “hot zone.” They’d moved at least five people on my floor so far, some going kicking and screaming, knowing it meant they were infected. I hadn’t been moved, which led me to believe the vaccine had utterly failed because I hadn’t come up hot immediately on an antibodies test. Well, failed in the men. A small comfort now, although I was glad I didn’t know it when we hit the deck of the ship.

It was made worse because I had no idea of the status of my team, especially Jennifer. All of us had been locked up, but she had been the closest to the carrier. The most likely to be sick. I couldn’t imagine what some mother or father was feeling right now, separated from their loved ones, not knowing if they were alive or dead. Especially since I knew for a fact at least four children wouldn’t be going home. Four sets of parents who would get the news.

I heard a knock on my door, and my apprehension skyrocketed. It wasn’t blood-vial feeding time.

I opened it to see another moon suit. “Yes?”

“Jesus, this place stinks.”

Huh? He can’t smell anything in that suit.
I peered closer to the flow hood and saw Kurt inside, smiling.

“You ready to leave?”

“Hell yeah!”

“Come on. You’re clear, and we want to get you guys off before anyone asks any questions. Put this on. You’ll go out as CDC personnel.”

He handed me my own moon suit, and soon enough we were out of the confines of the ship and on the basketball court. I counted four other moon suits. Which meant someone was missing.

“Who’s not here?”

Kurt said, “Jennifer.”

That one word was a hammer blow, almost bringing me to my knees. Kurt quickly put his hand on my arm.

“She hasn’t come up hot. Not yet anyway, but they can’t trust the vaccine. They just want to make sure she’s not a carrier.”

“How much longer?”

“Another day. Maybe two.”

I saw a Dolphin helicopter in the distance and knew I wouldn’t have much more time to talk before we were in its rotor wash.

“What’s the fallout?”

“There’s thirty confirmed on the boat. In the running around after the body bomb, somebody spread the virus, but they think it’s contained at this point. They’ll dock the boat today or tomorrow and let everyone off. Everyone except the ones infected.”

“What about them? Any hope?”

“Not really. They’re getting the best treatment available. Shit, better than what they’d get at a hospital. The top doctors in the country are on this boat, and they’ve turned the hot zone into a floating hospital. Even with all that, most will die.”

“What about Iran? Did we nuke them or something?”

Kurt laughed, the sound muffled by the flow-hood speaker. “No. They claimed it was a rogue Quds general and that they’ve inflicted the appropriate punishment.”

“And we believe that shit? Really?”

“They sent a video through a back channel. It was Malik getting hanged. Honestly, most of the administration’s national security team thinks they might be telling the truth. There was no way for them to protect their own country from the virus, and it just never made any sense for them to use it.
Threaten
use, maybe, as a last-ditch effort should we attack them, but come right out and use it?”

“You believe that?”

“I don’t know. I just don’t know.”

The helicopter pulled overhead, and the basket began to lower. Knuckles walked up to me and said, “Here we go again. Riding like a bitch.”

I didn’t smile, and he said, “Hey, don’t worry. It’s going to be okay. You’ll see her in a couple of days.”

J
ennifer was awakened
by a
scream. A wail of suffering that permeated the confines of her stateroom like a gangrenous fog, reminding her of what her future held.

Someone looked in a mirror.

Someone had learned the awful truth about his or her fate. A fate that was particularly disturbing in its pernicious timeline. There was no executioner to flick a switch and be done, nor was it a six-year battle against some other, more forgiving invader. The former gave the benefit of being over instantaneously, while the latter afforded hope and the chance to prepare. This fate allowed neither. It would be a torturous demise spanning four days of agony.

She wondered if she would scream when she found out.

She had been placed in her original quarantine room for a mere six hours, then had been hustled to the aft section of the ship based on the results of her initial tests. To the hot zone. She held a thin hope that it was because of the vaccine she’d taken and that the doctors were simply not taking any chances, but she had mentally begun to prepare herself for the worst. After the initial twenty-four hours she had steeled herself and looked in the mirror for the first time. Her eyes had remained clear. No crisscrossing of blood signaling the sickness inside her.

In truth, she knew she was unique because of the vaccine. The virus wouldn’t eat her whole as it would everyone else it contacted, but she would become a walking time bomb. A modern-day Typhoid Mary who wouldn’t—couldn’t—be allowed to set foot again in the outside world.

Sitting alone with her thoughts, she had clinically considered taking her own life, should the mirror speak. She had heard others in the hot zone do it already. A muffled, panicky stampede of doctors in the narrow hallway and snatches of conversation bringing to light the decision.

She knew she couldn’t spend eternity locked in hospital quarantine.

She thought of Elina and how calm she had been. How she had sacrificed her life with a surreal devotion. In the end, Jennifer wasn’t sure she held the same iron strength. A part of her felt it was just punishment for the man she had killed.

The death of Elina’s protector had haunted her almost as much as the wails of the sick. Him staggering toward her like something out of a zombie apocalypse, his body coated in the remains of Elina. Her begging him to stop, then squeezing the trigger. His head snapping back in a spray of gore. Him lying on the deck, his clean blood mingling with the ravaged blood of the person he had tried to save.

Her greatest fear had been that Elina wasn’t infected and that she’d killed a man for no reason. She had drawn a small bit of comfort from the contagion sweeping the ship, a twisted blessing that had alleviated some of her pain, but she couldn’t get over the fact that he only
might
have died had she done nothing. Instead, she had ensured it.

In the end, she knew she had made the right call but desperately wished she had shot him in the legs or stomach or anywhere that a doctor could have helped. A nonlethal location, so that if he was to die, it would have been because of the virus. Because of Elina and not her. A rational part of her understood that that was just selfish wishful thinking to alleviate the mental cost of the decision she had made. There was no way the CDC team could have treated him in the middle of a hot zone, and he would have died just as easily from the wounds she had created. A slow death much like the virus.

The edges of her room gradually appeared in the thin reed of light penetrating her small porthole window, signaling the start of a new day. Signaling another visit.

The doctors will be here soon.

They came twice a day delivering awful food and bottled water, one set clinically dispassionate and the other almost fawning underneath the biohazard suits, desperately trying to salve the worry. She wondered which set would show up this morning. She glanced at her forearm; the needle tracks in it made her look like a heroin addict.

Each time they came, they drew blood and gave her an update on her status, which to this point had been inconclusive. She hoped if she came up hot, it would be the clinical ones who told her. She couldn’t take the pity from the other team.

She sat up and felt an ache in her head. A small bit of pressure right between her eyes. A symptom that could have just been her imagination. She felt the fear of her neighbor invade her. She felt like screaming.

She stood and went to the small sink, leaning into the mirror, afraid of what she would find. Afraid of what the mirror would tell her.

She couldn’t see in the darkened room and fumbled for the switch with a trembling hand. She flicked it up, blazing the room with light.

And the mirror spoke.