Plot counterplot, p.33
Plot/Counterplot, page 33
Dylan closed his eyes. He would take it easy until the EMTs descended and declared that he could proceed because there was nothing wrong with him. Because there never had been.
But in the thirty seconds or so that Dylan monopolized the guards’ attention, Felix had switched the case with an identical one from the van. One that hadn’t been scanned.
* * *
Yeoman Briggs tried to shiftMikala’s car into neutral. “Don’t know why I can’t shift gears.”
Lani did. Dylan had installed a lock that wouldn’t budge until she pushed a button under the driver’s seat. “I don’t know why I bought this car,”Mikala said. “What a lemon.”
“Can’t roll it away. I’ll call for a tow truck.” Briggs did. Before the truck arrived, his partner returned with the oil and water. They added both as quickly as possible. Cars piled up behind them.Mikala could see he was anxious. No doubt he was supposed to keep the stream of traffic flowing smoothly.
“Probably ought to take the car back to the dealer, ma’am. If it really is a lemon, they have to give you a replacement. Or a refund.”
“That would be good.” Dylan and Felix got past inspection. As soon as she shook this guy, she could leave.
“But for a car to start smoking like this...” Briggs shook his head. “Might be something seriously wrong. Maybe inside the engine.”
“Let’s see if it will start. I’ll take it straight to the dealer.”
“I wouldn’t. Not safe to drive. And if you can’t shift gears—”
“I can’t just leave it here. Look how I’ve tied up traffic already.”
“Didn’t you have some business inside? I could escort you.”
“I couldn’t possibly put you out of your way like that. I’ve already missed my appointment. I called them on my cell and rescheduled. Let’s try the car again. It stopped smoking.”
“That doesn’t mean—”
Lani slid behind the driver’s seat and put the key into the ignition. It started immediately. Of course. She’d surreptitiously pushed the button under the seat and she was able to shift gears. “We’re good!” She waved her arms at the cars behind her, motioning for them to back up so she could turn around. “I really am grateful for all you’ve done.”
“But your car—it isn’t safe—”
She lurched into Drive. “Seems to be fine. You’re a miracle worker.” She leaned out the window and waved. “But I’ll drive straight to the shop.”
“Okay, but—”
Lani drove off, not looking back, feeling more than a little repentant. He was a nice boy and he was probably disappointed he hadn’t scored more of a reward for his gallantry. But by tomorrow morning, everyone at PACOM would have something far more important to worry about.
Chapter 71
4:31 p.m.
10 hours, 53 minutes left
A young lieutenant named Collins escorted Dylan and Felix into the main building, then led them to the admiral’s office on the second floor. It was an expansive office divided by an acrylic wall with a door in the center. Through the acrylic, Dylan could see the outline of a large vault.
“Right. Here we are.” Collins opened the door to the admiral’s office. Admiral Charles “Swifty” Stewart sat behind his desk with his feet propped up.
He rose. “Gentlemen. I understand you have something for me.”
Dylan extended his hand. “Dr. Jonathan DeWinter, admiral.” They shook hands. Afterward, Stewart surreptitiously turned his back, withdrew a moist towelette from his pocket, and wiped off his hand. “Where’s Dr. Marple?”
“Out sick. He asked me to fill in, just in case a medical emergenCy arises. I think the top brass is still afraid your project might present some undetected health risks.”
“I prefer Dr. Marple. No offense.”
“None taken. I think the world of Richard. He’s the one who got me the gig at last year’s Army-Navy game.”
“You were the team doctor?”
“I had that honor.”
“You’re the one who got Kosinski back on the field for the fourth quarter?”
“He’s a strong boy.”
Stewart almost clapped Dylan on the shoulder—before he thought better of it. “You won that game for us! Our first win in six years.”
“The team had more to do with it than me.”
“Still. It’s an honor to meet you, doctor. An honor.”
“The feeling is mutual, sir. The best part of my job is getting to meet the best people.” Which, he thought, is particularly useful, if you’ve done the right research.
“What’s in the case, doctor?”
“You know the project has been shuttered.”
“Of course.”
“Now it’s being dismantled. And this is the coffin. Special compartments to make sure nothing vital is damaged. I understand they want you to take it to the project site at the end of the week. In the meantime, it should be given maximum security.”
“I understand,” the admiral said. “The thing is—I already received a container like this from Los Alamos this morning.”
Dylan didn’t blink. “As I understand it, the powers-that-be felt it would be good if you had a back-up. Impossible to know what might happen. You know how surprised we were last time.”
Stewart nodded. “Prudent. And more helpful than what I normally get. Most of the people I deal with in Los Alamos act like refugees from Abbott & Costello Meet Frankenstein.” He chuckled. “Great movie. I’ll take it from here, Collins.”
The lieutenant nodded and excused himself, closing the door behind him.
Dylan took a quick look around the office. Classical music played somewhere—Beethoven’s Fifth, if he wasn’t mistaken. The dividing door was slightly ajar. Through the door, he could see a portion of the vault.
To his left, a silver panel on the wall flickered. That would be the heat sensor. Not activated at present, but after hours, if any warm-blooded body came near, it would trigger an alarm. The tiles beneath his feet were wired to set off the security fog when stepped upon. When these devices were active, he wouldn’t be able to get close to the vault.
“May I have it?” the admiral asked.
“Of course.” Dylan held the case toward Stewart. “But I warn you, it’s heavy. That’s the containment field generator.”
“I’m sure I’ll manage.” Stewart took the case—and immediately dropped it. “You weren’t kidding when you said it was heavy.”
Felix cleared his throat. “I don’t mind helping.”
“Appreciate it, son. But no one can be back there when the vault is open but me. I’ll have to manage.” He placed both hands on the case and with considerable effort dragged it into the other room. Dylan imagined there would be several wet wipes following this. “Don’t normally have to do much physical labor once you become an admiral. Don’t mean to be rude, but I have to close the door behind me and lock it. Required protocol, any time the vault is open. No offense.”
“None taken,” Dylan replied, honestly enough. He was counting on it.
“You wouldn’t believe how much certain people would like to get inside this vault.”
Dylan declined to comment.
As soon as Stewart was on the other side and the door was closed and locked, Dylan went into action. Moving as quietly as possible, he removed the hair spray from his bag and sprayed the heat sensor for ten seconds. Then he took what looked like a small contact lens solution bottle from his bag and squirted two drops into the coffee mug on Stewart’s desk. A second after that he was behind the desk, removing the top tissue from a small packet of Kleenex. He rubbed down the arms of the admiral’s chair.
Stewart had a photo on his desk of the woman who must be his late wife, and several pics of his now-grown daughters. On the credenza behind the desk, Dylan spotted spread fans and a samurai blade that suggested a tour in Okinawa. To the right, he saw the radio—the source of the classical music. It was tuned to FM 88.5.
He was standing by the door waiting when the admiral returned. “All done, gentlemen. Safe and secure in the vault. Appreciate your assist.” He massaged his left shoulder. “Hope I don’t have to carry that out by myself.” He grabbed another towelette and wiped his hands.
“My pleasure, sir,” Dylan replied. “If you don’t mind, I’ve got a few forms that must be completed.”
“Of course. Where would the military be without paperwork? We could dismiss half our personnel.”
“Seems like bureaucrats are taking over the service sometimes.”
“And there’s no one on earth I have less respect for than bureaucrats.” Stewart sighed. “But despite everything, I still believe there is good in all people.”
Dylan arched an eyebrow. “Anne Frank?”
“You’ve got a good ear. Loved that book when I was a kid. Still can’t read it without tearing up.” Stewart sat at his desk, resting his hands on the arms of his chair. “Where do I put my John Hancock?”
Dylan pointed.
“Of course. Right in front of my face.”
“A little sleepy, sir?” Dylan said, planting the suggestion.
“Do I look tired? Didn’t sleep well last night. Be glad when this project is dismantled once and for all.” He reached for his coffee mug and took a long swallow. He continued signing the forms, but barely ten seconds later, his head began to weave. He slapped a hand down on the desk, trying to steady himself. “Feel...dizzy,” he murmured. “But...” And his head fell flat onto the desktop.
“Good drug, that rohypnol,” Felix observed. “And not just for dating anymore.”
“This was a particularly fast-acting variant our resident pharmacist concocted,” Dylan explained.
“How long will he be out?”
“Only a minute or two. But when he wakes up, he’ll feel sick.”
“Excellent.”
Dylan checked Stewart’s arms. A rash was forming where he had touched the tainted chair arms. The epidemiologist had provided a fast-acting skin irritant that looked like the plague but would fade on its own in twenty-four hours.
Dylan had barely lowered the admiral’s arms when the man began to squirm. He made a groaning sound, followed by a long yawn.
“I thought you said a minute or two,” Felix hissed.
“Stewart’s a tough old coot,” Dylan said. “Pretty sturdy for a hypochondriac with mysophobic tendencies. Ready?”
“I’m here, aren’t I?”
“Remember. We’re selling fear. And the best way to sell fear—”
“Is with a straight face.”
Stewart sat up, blinking. “What—What happened?”
“I don’t know, sir,” Dylan said. “You passed out in mid-sentence. Do you feel well?”
“I feel...nauseous.”
Nauseated, Dylan thought, but he decided not to correct. “You don’t look well. Your face is pale. And you’re sweating.” He took Stewart’s wrist.
Stewart snapped it away. “What are you doing?”
“I’m a medical doctor, sir. Let me take your pulse.” Stewart grudgingly complied. “Your heart is racing.”
“It is?”
He placed a hand on Stewart’s forehead. “And you have a fever.”
He looked terrified, but he tried to act normally. “Don’t make a fuss. Probably just a cold.”
“Do you normally pass out when you have a cold?”
He didn’t have to answer.
“Pardon me for being presumptuous, sir, but the commander of PACOM needs to be in top shape.” Dylan had practiced this expression in the mirror. Just enough emotion to convey fear. Without sliding into theatrics. “Sweet Jesus. Let me look at your arms.”
Stewart tentatively, guardedly, held out his arms.
Dylan turned them palm-side up. Blue-black blotches covered both hands and arms. “How long have you had this rash?”
“I—I don’t know. I never noticed it before.”
Dylan glanced at Felix, then back at his patient. “This is bad. Very, very bad.” He reached into his bag and pulled out two surgical face masks. He tossed one to Felix, then hastily wrapped the other over his nose and mouth.
“Why are you doing that?” Stewart could not disguise the urgent tone in his voice. Beads of sweat trickled down his face.
“We received a memo this morning telling us to watch out for people exhibiting precisely these symptoms.”
“Why? What is it?” Stewart was doing his best to hold it together, but that wasn’t going to happen, not if Dylan understood his character.
Felix cleared his throat. “I think we should call this in. Immediately.”
Dylan nodded.
“What is it?” Stewart cried.
“I suppose you have a right to know,” Dylan replied. “We’ve been told to watch out for a weaponized strain of the avian flu.”
Stewart’s lips parted wordlessly.
“Avian flu is deadly enough on its own. But this strain has been mutated for implementation as a biological weapon.”
“By whom?”
“By the enemies of the United States, of course.”
“Why me?”
“Isn’t it obvious? If they can take you out—they could potentially take out this entire base.”
“PACOM? But—”
“How long have you been here today?”
“Since nine.”
“Who have you stood close to”
“Absolutely no one.”
“Good. Then there’s a chance it hasn’t spread. And one central ventilation system provides air for the entire building?”
“Yes.”
“But there’s no telling what you might’ve touched.” Dylan drew himself up to his full height. “Everyone must be tested. Anyone who tests positive will be taken to a safe place where they can be monitored. Anyone testing negative will be quarantined to their homes. No one can return until cleared. No one can leave home until given express permission by the Disease Control Center.”
“That’s impossible. I can’t—”
“With respect, sir, do you want to infect the entire island?”
“Of course not. But—”
“How many people work at this base?”
“About three hundred.”
“If three hundred infected personnel go out to dinner tonight, tomorrow ten thousand more will be infected. The island will be saturated by the end of the week. And inevitably, some of that will creep onto the mainland. If you don’t want to bring down the entire nation, sir, you will go home immediately, order your staff to do the same, and remain there until you receive further instructions.”
“I can’t leave the base unmanned!”
“Are there any staff members who have not breathed the air in here?”
Stewart considered a moment. “The guards posted outside.”
“How many?”
“Thirty or so.”
“Fine. Leave them in place. PACOM can survive with a skeleton crew for one night. I want you to go to the lab and give them a blood sample. I’ll have it tested. The incubation period is only twenty-four hours. I’ll be able to tell you tomorrow whether the test is positive.”
Stewart wrung his hands.
Dylan looked at him sternly. “Sir, have you seen anyone die from the avian flu?”
“No.”
“I have. It isn’t pretty. In fact, it’s about the most gruesome, painful death imaginable. And that’s the normal non-weaponized strain. This will be a thousand times worse.”
Stewart’s face seemed to melt. “But—I have a duty—”
“To this country, sir. Which demands that you go home and stay there.” Dylan leaned in for the kill. “Do you realize that at this very moment, there may be thousands of avian flu virus coursing through your bloodstream? Germs that do not belong there. Germs that are nibbling at your internal organs, your immune system. Do you want to give them a chance to multiply? Reproduce?”
Stewart was visibly trembling, leaning against his chair to steady himself. “Is—Is there any cure?”
“We’re working on a vaccine. But we have to confirm my suspicions. So get to the lab and give blood. Then order your people home. And get home yourself. Before it’s too late.”
Stewart’s hands went to his face. Blood trickled between his lips. He opened his mouth. His gums were bleeding. “Good God!”
“Get to the lab! I’ll collect the sample when you’re done.”
Stewart raced out of his office.
Dylan gestured toward the wall behind the desk. “Cut the alarm cord. Pry that window open.” He sat down at the admiral’s desk and opened the laptop. “I’m going to do a bit of internet research. Then let’s get out of here.”
Felix gave Dylan an appreciative smile. “Nicely played. How did you make his gums bleed?”
“I didn’t. He did that to himself. Probably grinding his teeth.” Dylan tapped the side of his head. “The power of fear.”
Chapter 72
12:00 a.m.
4 hours left
By midnight, the interior of PACOM was dark. Only a few office lights were on—the central security office, the MP station, and a few others. Everything on the second floor was dark.
The silver case inside the admiral’s vault began to shimmy.
Tolga popped the internal switch that opened the case. And sprang out of it.
Every joint in his body ached. He’d been scrunched into this compressed position for over seven hours. He didn’t think there were many living statues who could remain still that long. He wasn’t sure dead people could remain still that long.
He removed the oxygen mask and tank he’d used to breathe. There was enough air in the vault to keep him alive for a while. What he had to do now was find the switch that shut off the security system—specifically the floor tiles and the magnetic sensor array. All vaults of this model had failsafes in case someone inadvertently locked themselves inside. Presumably they didn’t anticipate anyone hiding inside a suitcase and getting put there on purpose. He pushed against the walls, searching for the switch.
“How are cramps?” Xavier said.
“I no longer have any feeling below my neck,” Tolga replied.
“That could interfere with love life.”
