***

  The whiskey in the hotel was garbage. Price took a bite of his greasy sandwich to dull the taste and pulled apart the flaps of his briefcase to locate a hidden zipper. He pulled a file from the compartment that read MI-6 Analysis of the Jonas Salk Polio Vaccine.

  He leafed through several colorful graphs and charts, but stopped on a Photostat of a young girl walking with one leg bent the wrong way at the knee. After that, more photographs of young children with deformed limbs. He took another gulp of whiskey and decided he did not need to see anymore photographs.

  Polio has been in existence for thousands of years, but major epidemics began in 1910. Summertime in both the US and Europe became known as “Polio Season.” Two years ago, the worst outbreak in American history infected 58,000 people. 3,145 died. 21,269 were left paralyzed.

  Price turned the page to a photograph of a thin man with dark, receding hair and thick glasses listed as Doctor Jonas Salk.

  All sources indicate Dr. Salk has neutralized the viral disease. Salk is currently planning widespread testing of the serum on 1.8 million school children.

  One great man, Price thought. Certainly better than anyone who gets his best mate eaten by a shark. Price drained the rest of his glass, then poured another. The taste was getting better.

  The phone rang.

  A pleasant sounding woman said, “Mr. Price, please?”

  “Speaking.”

  “How are you feeling today, sir?”

  Price recounted the words in his mind before he said them, making sure the whiskey would not muddle them. “I’m a bit tired. I went to the zoo, but there were no bears, so I came home.”

  “The package you inquired about has been at the local supplier since yesterday, sir. You’re supposed to check in at the nearest way station.”

  “I’ll need a new shipping manifest,” he said.

  The woman covered the mouthpiece to her phone and Price heard muffled voices, no doubt debating his request. “It will be there by early afternoon.”

  “Thank you, love,” he said. “If you don’t mind, have Llewelyn whisper something in my ear, would you?”

  The line went dead.

  ***

  The door chimes clanged as Price entered the Washington DC Crown Jewel Tea and Gift Shop. A small man in red suspenders waved to him from behind the counter and bellowed, “Top o’ the mornin’ to ya, guvnah! Feeling right chipper are we this fine mornin’?”

  “Stop,” Price said.

  The man’s eyebrows raised. “You must be him.”

  “I am. Do you have it?”

  The men locked eyes for a moment. The shopkeeper puffed out his chest and said, “Would you like to see the sights while you’re in town?”

  Really? Price thought. Your challenge question is six months out of date, mate, but I’ll humor you anyway. “That would be lovely, but only after we’ve eaten.”

  The shop keeper told Price to follow him into the basement. “Sorry about the put-on, chum. The Yanks love it. Helps them feel like they’re getting something exotic, I suppose.”

  “Has it arrived or not?” Price said.

  “It’s right down here. When did you arrive in Washington?”

  “I drove in from Philadelphia this morning,” Price said. He looked down the dark stairwell, waiting at the top of the steps for the other man to descend. He touched the knife in his belt, keeping it close to his fingertips as he started down the stairs.

  “Here we are,” the man said. He handed Price a plain-looking, unstamped parcel and promptly turned around to return upstairs. Price drew the knife and slit the packaging open. There was a telegram and wooden box inside the parcel. The telegram read: EW w/ Cousins at Langley. Adhere to Unwelcome Visitor Protocols.

  Price folded the telegram and put it in his pocket. He slit open the long piece of tape binding the box and removed the empty Beretta 418 from inside the box. He checked both of the magazines beneath it, making sure they were fully loaded.

  The last item inside the box was a long, thin tube with tooled ridges at one end and an extended gun sight at the other. Price screwed the butt end of the silencer into the Beretta and lifted the gun, listening to the muffled click inside the frame as he pulled the trigger.

  ***

  The woman sitting at the front desk looked up at him and said, "May I help you, sir?"

  The greeting area for walk-ins at CIA Headquarters in Langley was filled with people, most of them hustling in and out of the building, but at least a dozen others who were now looking at him. They had bulges under their suit coats from weapons holstered to their hips or strapped under their shoulders. Price smiled warmly and said, "I’d like to see Emily Watson, please."

  The secretary checked a list of names on her clipboard and frowned. "I'm sorry, sir. I don't see her name here. Are you sure she's in this building?"

  Price nodded. "Check with Special Agent Chuck Regis."

  "Who shall I say is asking, sir?"

  "Sean Price, British Intelligence," he said. The secretary lifted her phone and quietly spoke Price's name into it. Price tried not to smile at the sound of loud, violent cursing that erupted on the other end.

  Within moments, an elevator opened behind the woman and a tall, thin man with bright silver hair exited. He looked Price over and said, "Can I help you, sir?"

  "It's my understanding that you are holding a British citizen in custody, in violation of Her Majesty's treaty with your government. I demand to see her at once."

  Chuck Regis appeared at the top of the stairwell and shouted, "You limey son of a bitch!" He rushed down the steps so quickly that he was trying to catch his breath when he shouted, “I thought I told you to beat it back to England!"

  "You also told me that Emily Watson never arrived in this country."

  "Well excuse the piss out of me if I don't drop my drawers the second you show up, you—”

  "That's enough, Agent Regis," the tall man said. Regis' eyes were wide with hatred, but he backed away from Price. "I'm Paul Grimley, Division Chief. Let's go upstairs into my office and sort this whole thing out."

  ***

  Grimley sat back in his desk chair, a large leather seat surrounded by shelves of books. Everything from legal texts to hard-boiled detective novels. Chuck Regis paced back and forth with his arms folded, glaring at Price, and Grimley said, "Why is Watson in custody, Charles?"

  "National security, Chief. She's a verified threat connected to a subversive organization."

  "I see." Grimley turned to Price and said, "Surely you can understand our interest in confidentiality in this matter. Agent Regis wasn't being deceptive with you, per se. He was doing his duty."

  "How the hell did you find out Watson was here, Price?" Regis said.

  Price ignored Regis and turned to Grimley, "I can appreciate that, Chief. I just think a lot of this could have been avoided if handled properly."

  "Go to hell," Regis said.

  Grimly held up his hands and said, "Gentlemen, let’s remember we are professionals and colleagues. What is British Intelligence’s interest in this matter, exactly?"

  "Aside from the fact that you are in violation of our treaty by failing to notify the British embassy of Watson's arrest? I could very easily make an issue out of this and have your whole office swarming with UN Inspectors."

  Regis lifted the telephone receiver off of Grimley's desk and waved it at him. "Here. Make the call. I'll dial it myself."

  Grimley took his phone back and folded his hands, leaning forward. Price wondered if the man ever played cards. He had the posture and demeanor of a seasoned gambler. "I am assuming you have an alternative suggestion in mind, Mr. Price?"

  "Let me see her. Speak to her. I'll verify that she is well-cared for, and swear out a statement that will protect you if she files a false complaint."

  Grimley looked up at Regis and said, "I don't see a problem with that."

  "I do," Regis said. "Who the hell is this guy, coming into our office, in our country, trying to act like he’s a big shot? Now we’re just gonna cave to him?"

  Grimley considered the agent’s words for a moment before he said, "Do me a favor and step outside for a bit. I’d like to speak to Mr. Price in private."

  Regis stormed out of the office, slamming the door so hard that that books on the shelves shook. "He's a bit of a live wire, Sean. Don't hold it against him though. He's damn good in a tight spot."

  "I won’t take it personal. He’s been friends with Jack Ivor a long time. I’d be angry as well.”

  Grimley frowned. "Ivor? The Texan?"

  “He said they trained as new recruits together.”

  Grimley shook his head, "I don't know who told you that, but Jack Ivor was down in the Florida Keys five years before Regis started working for us." He could tell from the look on Price’s face that it was not a topic they should continue discussing. "I want you to shoot straight with me, Sean. Why all the fuss over Emily Watson, anyway? If she's as bad as you think, we're doing Her Majesty a favor by keeping her neutralized."

  "Just doing my duty, sir.”

  ***

  "She's right down here," Regis said, waving his hand for Price to follow him down the hall. He stuck out his hand and said, "Listen, I came on too strong. It was unprofessional of me."

  Price grasped his hand firmly and shook it. "No harm done."

  Regis massaged his temples and sighed. "I haven’t slept right since that thing with Jack. I’m sorry I took it out on you. Watson’s in there. She's a stone cold lunatic, so don’t expect to get much out of her.”

  “Lunatic?”

  “Completely crazy. Conspiracy theories that would fill a book." Regis opened the door and Emily Watson yanked the handcuffs keeping her strapped to the table and spat at him.

  She started to curse when she saw Price and shouted, “Sean! Sean! Thank God! Get me out of here!"

  "Sit down and shut up," Regis said, shoving Emily back into her seat.

  Tears spilled down Emily’s cheeks, “Thank God you came."

  Price stared down at her. “I know about The Arsenal. If you tell me who he is and how we can find him, I will help you."

  Emily blinked silently for a moment, digesting what he said. “What the hell are you talking about? We have to get to Pittsburgh, Sean. You have to get me out of here!”

  Price pushed past Regis and grabbed Emily by the shoulders. He gave her a violent shake, but leaned forward and whispered, "I found your cipher. The Beekeepers are sending either you or The Arsenal to tamper with Jonas Salk's polio vaccine. Who is The Arsenal?”

  Chuck Regis circled around, “What was that, Price?”

  Emily stared in disbelief at Price. "You bloody fool. The Arsenal is the school!”

  "That's enough," Regis said, standing up. "We're done." He opened the door and pulled on Price’s arm, escorting him from the room.

  "MKULTRA is substituting the vaccine" Emily shouted. "You have to stop them!"

  "Get to Pittsburgh, Sean! Find Jonas. He’s one of us—" Regis closed the door behind him and locked it, shutting out Emily’s voice until it was nothing more than a low, indecipherable rumble of words.

  “I told you she was a nut,” Regis said. He hitched up his pants and said, “I think I need a drink. You want to go grab a drink with me?"

  Price felt dazed. It was as if he were moving through water. He looked at the sweaty, pasty-faced man in front of him and forced himself to relax, to keep any signs of emotion far away. “I’d love to, but unfortunately, I have to drive back to Philadelphia. I fly out tomorrow morning.”

  "That's probably for the best. Go home, forget this craziness." Regis smiled at him as he walked away, then said, "Listen, you need anything, don't hesitate."

  Price hit the door hard, feeling like he was about to be ill.

  ***

  It had been a long day. The Sheraton’s manager looked up at Price and tried to smile, but it was like stretching two pieces of stiff putty across granite. “May I help you?”

  Price took the man’s measure and changed his mind about his initial plan. “Yes, may I ask you where the gift shop is?”

  The manager pointed over Price’s shoulder and said, “It’s directly behind you.”

  “How silly of me,” Price chuckled. “Thank you.”

  He walked across the lobby and entered the gift shop, smiling cheerfully at the old woman working at the desk. “Pardon me, love. May I use your phone?”

  “You should have one in your room,” the clerk said.

  “I do, but it seems to be on the blink, and the manager at the front desk told me to use this one.” He turned around and waved to the manager. “Should I go get him?”

  The clerk shook her head and plopped the phone on the counter. “Here you go.”

  Price picked up the receiver and punched in a sequence of numbers. It rang once and was picked up. “Put The Boss on the phone," Price said.

  Maxwell sounded confused, "Sean? Is that you? Why on earth are you—”

  "Put Lee on the damn phone," Price said. He lifted the bottle of whiskey to his lips and swallowed.

  Lee picked up the phone and said, "Why are you calling this number?"

  "I have a serious situation here."

  "What is it?"

  "Our package arrived in perfect condition, sir, but the local suppliers here are going with another brand. A made in China brand, sir.”

  "Why in the bloody hell would they do that?"

  Price paused. MKULTRA. The word made his insides feel wet. Only in the darkest corners of the intelligence field was it even whispered about. Rumors that the Americans were conducting experimental research on their own citizens. LSD, heroin, morphine, sodium pentathol, hypnosis, and more. Experiments being conducted on members of the US Military. Prison inmates. Pregnant women. Even worse, it was speculated they were giving safe harbor to Nazis who had experience with interrogation, helping the sons of bitches evade prosecution at Nuremberg.

  Price held the phone receiver close and said, "They're conducting market research, sir."

  Lee was silent for a very long time. Finally, he cleared his throat and said, "You are to return home immediately. Take no further action. I want you in my office by noon tomorrow."

  ***

  Sean Price was a creature of duty.

  He'd lied, cheated, and killed, all in the name of Queen and Country without once asking why. So go home, he thought. The consequences for Britain will be disastrous otherwise. If the Yanks want to poison a few schoolchildren, it’s on their heads.

  He took another drink. Regis will kill Emily, Price thought. They'll disgrace Jonas Salk. Easy to blame his faulty serum for making the kids sick.

  Another drink.

  And if I interfere? Prison. If I’m lucky, that is. Most likely, they'll charge me for tampering with the serum and I'll go to the gas chamber.

  "It was a tricky situation, Commander Price,” Lee would later say to him. "I know you wanted to stay. I think you are due for some time off. Take a holiday and relax."

  That seals it then, he thought. He took the final sip of whiskey remaining in the bottle and set it down. Screw the Yanks. None of them worth a damn anyway, except Jack Ivor, and look what happened to him.

  Jack Ivor, the smiling, suntanned Texan with a smile as wide as the state. He’d understand, wouldn’t he? Price shook his head and said, “Like hell.”

  ***

  The Sheraton’s hallways were empty. Price walked quickly toward the stairwell, plotting his next moves. He needed to ditch the car he had and pick up a new one. Something fast. Paying for the one he was going to leave in the Sheraton’s parking garage would be the least of Lee's concerns. Just one more reason to fire me, Price thought. I'll make it easy for them.

  He opened the door to the stairwell and paused, hearing people talking two floors down. The voices were hushed. Accented. One of them was huffing. Price shut the door quietly and headed for the elevator, pressing the button again and again until the numbers above the doors lit up.

  Price got into the elevator and pressed the G button, stepping back as the doors began to shut. He exhaled and let himself relax, shaking his head in amusement. You’re getting jumpy in your old age, he thought.

  A fat hand stuck between the elevator doors just as they were about to close, prying them back open. The first man was still huffing when he got in, sweat glistening off of his enormous face. His hat nearly touched the top of the elevator entrance when he walked in, forcing Price into the corner. The second man was as tall as Price, covered by a trench coat. His jet black hair was greased back against his head. Someone has seen too many gangster movies, Price thought.

 

1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13