Deadly Contact (6 page)

“Well,” she began, her voice quiet. “Are we waiting for someone?”

As soon as the words left her lips, Kevin breezed into the room carrying a manila folder, his earlier disheveled appearance transformed into that of a polished professional. He pulled out a chair at the head of the table and sat, then scooted forward and rested his arms on the tabletop. Other people streamed into the room as he got settled, taking the remaining seats around the conference table. Kevin shot Kelly a dazzling smile, and she smiled in return, the expression freezing on her face as he fired his opening shot.

“So tell me, Dr. Jarvis. How long have you known your boss is a terrorist?”

Chapter 3

K
elly stared at the man sitting at the head of the table, blinking in shock. She must be hearing things. There was no way he had actually asked that.

“I’m sorry,” she said, shaking her head in an attempt to clear her thoughts. “What did you just say?”

He leaned back in his chair and regarded her with a serious expression, all traces of his earlier smile gone. “I asked you how long you’ve known George Collins is a terrorist.”

“But...” she sputtered, at a temporary loss for words. James had told her repeatedly that she was not a suspect of any kind, but apparently this agent thought she was guilty of something. Had James lied to her, or was he just out of the loop? She glanced across the table to find James watching the other man, a slight frown on his face. Was he surprised by the question, too?

“Who are you?” she said, wanting not only his name but a few seconds to gather her thoughts.

“My apologies.” He sounded anything but contrite. “I’m Special Agent in Charge Kevin Carmichael.” He introduced the other people in the room, but she didn’t absorb their names.

Kelly traced the tab of the soda can with her finger as she spoke. “What makes you think George is a terrorist?” She glanced up to see Agent Carmichael lean back in his chair, a satisfied smile on his face.

“Do you read the paper, Dr. Jarvis?”

She frowned at the non sequitur. “Not as often as I should. What does that have to do with anything?”

He opened a manila file folder and pulled out a piece of paper. He pushed it across the table and Kelly read the headline: Food Poisoning at Local Restaurant Kills One, Sickens Ten. She skimmed the article, which detailed an outbreak of food poisoning in a District deli restaurant.

She frowned. “I don’t understand,” she said, pushing the article back across the table. Agent Carmichael carefully placed it in his folder before meeting her eyes.

“That outbreak was not your garden-variety cluster of food poisoning—the Health Department found that the causative agent was
Bacillus cereus.
The same bacteria that Dr. Collins works with.”

“There must be some mistake,” Kelly interjected. “The strain of
Bacillus cereus
we work with isn’t associated with food-borne illness. In fact, it’s actually used as a probiotic. People take it to help regulate their digestion, stuff like that.”

“Exactly,” James responded, drawing Kelly’s attention. “That’s why we got involved.”

“The FBI? That doesn’t make sense. Why wouldn’t the CDC get involved?”

“Because the evidence suggested this was a crime, as opposed to a natural outbreak,” James said.

“What evidence?”

“The bacteria was only found in the cottage-cheese bin of the salad bar, and only for the bin put out for consumption after 6:00 p.m. The Health Department tested the supply of cottage cheese found in the kitchen that was used to refill the bin, and there was no evidence of bacterial contamination. Also no evidence of the bacteria in the kitchen or any other area tested.” Agent Carmichael paused, and Kelly gestured for him to continue. “Taken together, these facts suggest the cottage-cheese bin was dosed with the bacteria sometime after six, making this a deliberate event.”

“I still don’t understand,” she said. “Even if someone drank a culture of our
Bacillus cereus,
it’s unlikely they’d get ill. It’s not considered a pathogen.”

“This particular bacteria had been modified to express the anthrax toxin. This was a calculated bio-attack, designed to look like a natural outbreak of severe food poisoning,” James said.

Kelly sat in silence, absorbing the news. A chill skittered down her spine, and she rubbed her hands over her arms in an attempt to smooth away the goose bumps that popped up on her skin. How many times did something like this happen? How many times was a supposedly accidental or natural event really a deliberate attempt by others to harm?

“Why do you think Dr. Collins has anything to do with this?” she asked, still not clear about his alleged connection to the event. “We’re not the only lab that works with
Bacillus cereus.
”

Agent Carmichael glanced meaningfully at James. Kelly didn’t understand what that look was supposed to convey, but apparently James did because he piped up. “That’s true,” he allowed. “But we contacted all the labs that regularly work with this bacteria, and they all told us the same thing—the strain identified in the outbreak was obtained from Dr. Collins’s lab.”

“Furthermore,” Carmichael broke in, “their stocks are all accounted for. No missing vials. No suspicious activity.”

“So you think it came from our lab,” Kelly stated. It wasn’t a question. She wouldn’t be here if they didn’t think the bacteria came from George’s lab. However, that didn’t necessarily mean George was at fault—any number of personnel could have accessed the bacteria and passed it along. She told them as much, but Agent Carmichael and James both shook their heads.

“The bacterial modifications suggest someone with know-how engineered this strain. Our experts tell us this isn’t something a rotation student or glass washer would be able to do.”

“Wait a second,” she said, her brain finally kicking in. “You said the bacteria was modified to produce anthrax toxin?” At their nods, she continued, “So these people essentially had intestinal anthrax, which has a high mortality rate. But only one person died.” They studied her silently, and she raised a brow, waiting for them to catch on. When they didn’t speak, she let out a sigh. “Is it possible you made a mistake and that the bacteria wasn’t modified at all?”

Carmichael shook his head firmly. “I wish it were that simple. The lab showed that the gene for the anthrax toxin had been mutated to produce a less virulent form. Do you know how to do that?”

Kelly mutely nodded in the affirmative.

“Does anyone else in your lab know how to do that?”

She shook her head. No. She was the only postdoc; the others were graduate students, whose projects didn’t include molecular biology, or undergraduate rotation students, who performed the most mundane of tasks.

“Were you aware that Dr. Collins’s wife has cancer?”

Kelly jerked back in her chair, Carmichael’s words hitting her like a blow. Ruth was sick? Why hadn’t George said anything to her? Granted, he wasn’t the most demonstrative person, but over the past several months their relationship had warmed somewhat, to the point that she would have expected him to tell her something major like this.

“I take it from your reaction Dr. Collins hadn’t shared that news with you,” James remarked drily.

“No, he hadn’t,” she whispered.

Carmichael opened his file folder again and withdrew another piece of paper. “This is a summary of account transfers made to Dr. Collins. As you can see, he received a substantial amount of money two months prior to the event and again one day after. I think you can appreciate that the timing is suspicious.”

Kelly stared at the numbers in front of her, not really seeing them. Even she had to admit that this did not look good for George.

“We think Dr. Collins provided the modified bacteria in exchange for money, which he used to pay for his wife’s chemotherapy.” Carmichael leaned over the table, his voice low and urgent. “We need you to help us catch him, so we can find out who he’s working for.”

The weight of disappointment settled in Kelly’s stomach, and she found it hard to breathe. In her heart of hearts, she knew Carmichael was right. It all made sudden, horrible sense: George’s distractedness of late, the worry in his eyes. He had even snapped at her when she had arrived at the lab early on a Saturday and found him digging in the freezer. He had brushed it off, saying she had startled him, but now she realized he had probably been retrieving frozen stock and hadn’t wanted anyone to know.

The worst part was, she could understand why he had done it. George doted on Ruth, loved her with everything he had, and everyone knew it. The fact that his devotion had been exploited for destructive purposes made it much more horrible.

“Can’t you identify where the transfers came from?” she asked, gritting out the words from between clenched teeth. “How do you have access to his bank account anyway?”

A small smile flitted across Agent Carmichael’s face. “The Patriot Act has substantially expanded our investigative freedom,” he said. “That’s neither here nor there, though. The transfers came from a Swiss bank account, and unfortunately, we can’t determine the account owner.”

“Why do you need me?” Surely they could figure this out on their own or use someone else. George hadn’t confided anything to her, and she really had no idea how she could help them.

“Kelly,” James said softly, leaning forward. “George trusts you—by all accounts, you run his lab. That gives you insight into his behavior, his habits, which means you can help us identify what he might do next or where he might be now.”

“What do you mean, where he might be now? He’s on vacation—has been for the past week and a half.”

James shook his head, and Kelly felt her stomach drop. “He’s not on vacation, Kelly. He’s on the run. And we need to find him before the bad guys decide he’s outlived his usefulness.”

* * *

It was three hours before they finished questioning her. Kelly had lost track of time in the windowless conference room, but seeing the orange evening light streaming through the windows of the main room made her realize how late it had become.

She felt raw and exhausted, as if she was coming down with the flu. Agent Carmichael had questioned her over and over, going through one set of questions and then asking them again, sometimes changing up the order or the precise way he asked them. It was as if he was trying to catch her in a lie, except she honestly didn’t know anything. He hadn’t seemed satisfied with that, but it was all she had to give him.

James touched her elbow, making her jump. “Sorry,” he murmured. “Let me take you home.”

She didn’t want to spend any more time in the company of the FBI, but she was too rattled to take the Metro home. James guided her out of the room, but before she had taken two steps into the main office, Agent Carmichael called out and they paused.

“If you think of anything, Dr. Jarvis, don’t hesitate to call.” She looked back to see him stand and reach for the papers spread out on the conference table. He formed piles before tucking them back into the manila folder. He glanced up at her and she nodded. He held her gaze for a beat before turning back to his papers, accepting her response.

James touched her arm again, and they moved to the elevator. He waited until the doors shut before turning to look at her. “Are you doing okay?”

She barked out a laugh. “Am I okay? What do you think? I just spent my afternoon getting interrogated about the behavior and motivations of my boss, and you people don’t believe me when I tell you that I have absolutely no idea what’s going on.”

“You’re not in trouble,” he said quietly. She looked up to find him regarding her with a serious expression, his dark brown eyes radiating reassurance. She found herself wanting to trust him, to believe his words, but she shook herself mentally. He had told her that she wasn’t a suspect, but his boss clearly felt otherwise. That meant trusting him would most likely be a mistake.

“Forgive me if I don’t quite believe you,” she scoffed.

They walked in silence through the parking garage. Kelly gave him directions to her apartment and then turned to look out the window. The silence in the car was thick, but she didn’t feel like talking. Unfortunately, her stomach betrayed her, emitting a loud rumble as James turned north onto Wisconsin Avenue.

“Hungry?”

It was pointless for her to deny it as her stomach rumbled again. “Yes.”

“Feel like a hamburger?”

She almost laughed at the question because it was so normal compared to the ones she had spent the afternoon answering. “That sounds good.”

“I know a place. We can stop in for a quick bite before I drop you off, if you’re up for it,” he offered. When she didn’t respond right away, he continued, “I thought it could be a peace offering.”

She smiled, unable to help herself. She wanted to clear the air between them, and dinner would be the perfect opportunity to start fresh. “That sounds nice,” she said, feeling some of the tension leave the car.

He maneuvered into the right lane and turned into a nondescript shopping center. He parked in front of a storefront marked Buddy’s, and a small neon sign indicated the place was open. Tinted windows hid the interior, but as she climbed out of the car, she caught a whiff of hot grease, and her stomach growled in appreciation.

The interior wasn’t anything to write home about, but apparently she was the only person in D.C. who didn’t know about the place, as it was packed full of diners. Families with young children and couples on dates sat at the booths lining the room and occupied the tables in the center, filling the air with the buzz of conversation.

The crowd and the heat of the grill made the place warm, and Kelly pulled her hair into a ponytail as she and James made their way to the counter to order. She studied the menu in silence, reading the choices again and again so she wouldn’t have to look at James. She didn’t know what to say to him and was starting to regret agreeing to dinner. What exactly were they supposed to talk about?
Sorry I wrecked our friendship and stomped on your feelings
wasn’t exactly the most eloquent thing to say, even if it was the truth.

Kelly claimed an open table after picking up their sodas while James went to get napkins and condiments. She sat and sipped her soda, idly tracing the red checkerboard tablecloth with her fingertip. It had been one crazy day. If even half of what the FBI had told her was true, George was in way over his head.

James placed the napkins and condiments in the middle of the table, and Kelly pushed his soda toward him as he sat down. “Thanks.” He picked up the drink and took a sip, watching her across the rim of the cup.

“Long day, huh?” he asked.

“You could say that.”

He opened his mouth but was interrupted by the arrival of their food. The teenage waitress placed cheeseburgers and fries on their table.