Ebola K: A Terrorism Thriller: Book 2 (4 page)

Olivia Cooper stepped off the elevator and walked down the empty hall. The night’s dark hadn’t yet surrendered to the morning. Most of the fluorescent ceiling lights were on automatic timers to come to life as normal working hours approached. The few that were on illuminated the long hall in a comforting dusk.

Olivia badged through a door to let herself into the long room housing her department’s rows of cubicles. Fingers clicked softly on keyboards. Some of her coworkers were already at their desks, toiling to plug their allotment of holes in America’s porous security.

The door closed behind her, loudly enough to make her cringe. She was, after all, sneaking into the building. At least she felt that way. Eric had directed her not to come back to work until next week. She subconsciously lowered her head, slinked into an aisle between two rows of cubicles, and hurried down to the one containing her desk.

She stepped in and exhaled her tension away. The cubicle was her second home.

She sat her purse and her overpriced hazelnut coffee down, took her seat, and powered up her computer. Impatiently, she watched it go through its usual series of startup splash screens. It prompted her to log in and the computer kicked into a security scan. She groaned. The routine security scan was normally scheduled to run while she took her lunch, but several days of her absence had put it behind. The scanning software would take over her computer for at least the next thirty minutes, rendering it useless.

Olivia leaned back in her chair, yawned, and watched the progress bar on the screen. Someone nearby sipped loudly at a hot cup of coffee. Somebody whispered a curse at a computer, probably for showing them exactly the information they’d requested, just not what they wanted. The progress bar on the computer, as hurried as it was to inch along when the scan first started, now seemed frozen in place. Never a good sign. The scan might run for an hour.

Knowing the computer would prompt her to log in again after it finished the scan, it was safe to leave it alone. Olivia stood up, looked out into the aisle, saw no one, and started to wander. Someone might be in who could bring her up to speed on the Najid Almasi project.

She walked over to the conference room she and her team had taken over prior to her absence. The lights were off. Through the glass wall, she saw the long conference room table was clear, and all of the rolling chairs were neatly pushed underneath. She stopped and stared at it for a moment, taking another sip of her coffee. She at least expected to see some evidence that someone had been in the conference room late the night before: papers, out-of-place cords, something left written on a white board.

The room looked like it hadn’t been disturbed in days.

“Olivia?”

Jumping at the sound of her name, she turned to see Eric, thirty feet away, leaning out the door of his own dark office. “What are you doing here?” he asked.

Olivia smiled as she shook her head. “I couldn’t stay home anymore. I was going stir crazy.”

Eric scrutinized her for a few uncomfortably long seconds before he waved her over. “Come on in.” He disappeared into his office.

Olivia walked over, stepped into the open door, and leaned on the doorjamb. “Yeah?”

Eric gestured to one of the chairs in front of his desk.

Olivia entered the office and sat down.

“You okay?” Eric asked.

Olivia smiled, but looked away. “I’m fine.”

“Fine isn’t the same as okay,” said Eric. He leaned forward and put his elbows on his desk, smiling. “People who say they’re fine are usually lying.”

Olivia shook her head. “You know me. I can’t sit around my apartment doing nothing.”

“Did you go running?”

“I can only run so far, Eric. I have to stop some time.”

“Yeah.” He leaned back in his chair. “I suppose that’s true.”

“It’s true whether you suppose it is or not.” Olivia was mildly annoyed with the questioning.

Eric said, “At least you’re as feisty as you’ve ever been. Have you heard anything from your brother yet?”

Olivia tried to keep her face blank and said, “No, nothing.”

“Your dad hasn’t heard anything?”

“No.” Olivia gestured in the direction of the empty conference room that until recently had been her headquarters. “What has the team found out?”

Eric frowned as he twirled his pen and fidgeted with the clip.

“What?” Olivia asked.

“The whole thing got bounced to the CIA.”

She tried to hide a sudden spurt of anger by keeping her mouth shut.

“Olivia.” Eric used a soothing voice. “You know how it works here. We analyze data. We investigate. We draw conclusions. Our significant findings, the ones that need action, end up with the FBI or the CIA.”

Olivia knew he was right. She was, however, disappointed for a variety of reasons, not the least of which was fear of losing the project. With the project gone, she wouldn’t be able to guide the resources of her department in finding out what happened to Austin.

Into the silence, Eric said, “Imagine you work on the production line in the frozen chocolate-covered banana factory—”

Olivia raised a hand to hush Eric. “A: I can already tell this is going to be a stupid analogy. B: I don’t need you to draw me a picture. I understand. I know it’s a success to have the project taken over by the CIA. I can know that and still be disappointed.”

“Kind of bittersweet, like when your kids go off to college,” Eric said.

She shook her head. “Are you drawing bad analogies to see if you can cheer me up? Because you need to know that I don’t
need
to be cheered up. I just need to work. And if you say anything else about me having college-aged children, I may throw this coffee at you.”

Eric forced a laugh. “Okay.”

“Okay,” Olivia agreed. “What do you want me to work on?”

Eric yawned and stretched dramatically before taking a long hard look across the desk. “We both know that what you want to do is log into your computer and spend as much time as you can trying to figure out what’s going on with your brother, right?”

Olivia involuntarily glanced away. “Umm—”

“It’s okay,” Eric said. “I’d do the same if I was in your shoes.”

She didn’t respond.

“Let’s do this. Why don’t you spend the morning trying to find out what you can find out? Later today, I need you to get back to tracking the guys with American passports.”

Olivia asked, “Didn’t you just tell me that project was with the CIA now?”

“I’ll get you plugged into their team,” said Eric. “Barry is supporting them now. You’ll be back in a data gathering and analysis role.”

“That works.”

Olivia sat in her cubicle, catching up on email, drinking her morning coffee, and reading through reports on the Ugandan outbreak. Most of what she turned up told the story of a government overreacting by trying to shut down the eastern half of the country, blocking all access in or out. The ramshackle infrastructure in the rural areas, in need of constant maintenance, foundered when busy hands weren’t immediately on station to put failing components back together again. Information became a luxury, and rumors filled in where facts and exaggerations once held sway. The name Kapchorwa came up again and again, with almost no specifics about what had happened there except for the nearly universal reference to it as the epicenter of an epidemic.

Corroborating stories came out of Western Kenya about outbreaks in small towns like Kitale, Kisumu, and Kakamega. Olivia opened up Google Maps and zoomed in on the border region between Kenya and Uganda. The road from Kapchorwa led east around the base of Mt. Elgon and then southeast into Kitale. Further along that road lay Kakamega and Kisumu. Reports on the number of people affected were mostly dismissed. Nobody believed Ebola could spread so fast. However, one report speculated that a new, much more contagious strain of Ebola could be an explanation for what was happening both in Eastern Uganda and Western Kenya. Then, in a gush of inspired originality, the author named this speculative strain
Ebola K
.

Olivia nearly spit out her coffee as she laughed, thinking it was a good thing the author of that report hadn’t been around when the first Ebola epidemic killed hundreds in Zaire. He might have labeled the newly discovered disease
Ebola Z
, a moniker that would drive the fans of the current zombie craze absolutely nuts.

Getting back to business, Nairobi, with three million inhabitants, was in a state of panic. Depending on the source, Olivia found the low estimate for the number of confirmed cases at one hundred and eighteen. The scary number was the count of suspected cases. That number topped five hundred, when just three days prior, there hadn’t been a single one.

She came across a heavily redacted report that had all of the earmarks as having originated with the CIA. The report was mostly concerned with a suspected terrorist affiliate—with a redacted name—who was said to be in the area of Kapchorwa. The terrorist was not confirmed exactly, but a witness with questionable credibility had identified him. Olivia knew the report had to be talking about Najid Almasi, but the thing that piqued her interest was why anybody in Kapchorwa would be able to identify a wealthy Saudi oil heir, who as far as anyone knew, had never been to Kapchorwa before.

The report mentioned an undetermined number of jihadist suspects being tracked out of the country. An addendum to the report ended in Kitale at a local airport. A misplaced passport had been discovered in a hangar according to the report. The name on the scan of the passport was surprisingly not redacted. Olivia cross-checked the name with those on the list she’d been tracking from Pakistan before her unexpected break from work.

They matched.

The ramifications frightened her to the core.

Barry Middleton wasn’t in his cubicle five minutes by the time he’d made enough muted sounds to alert Olivia to his presence. She came to stand in his doorway.

Barry pointed at an empty spot on the top of his L-shaped desk.

Olivia seated herself there, coffee mug still in hand. “Barry, I need to talk about the project.”

Nodding in understanding, he said, “It’s in the CIA’s hands now.”

“Yeah, I know.” She pointed in the direction of Eric’s office. “I spoke with Eric this morning. He’s going to get me added to the team.”

“Until it’s official—”

Olivia tilted her head forward and looked down her nose. “It will be.”

Barry’s reluctance evaporated immediately.

“Don’t tell me anything you don’t feel comfortable with, okay? At least not until the official word comes down later this morning.”

Barry nodded sheepishly.

“First things first.” Olivia leaned close and said softly, “I came across a report this morning…”

Barry looked at his watch. Normal work hours didn’t start for another hour. He looked back up at her. “What time did you get in?”

“I couldn’t sleep.” Olivia shrugged to let him know it was no big deal. “This report looked like it came from somebody on the ground in Kapchorwa. I think a CIA asset.”

Nodding, Barry said nothing.

“Most of the details were redacted.”

“That’s the way we get ‘em most of the time,” he replied.

“Yeah.” Olivia’s face turned serious. “I’m wondering if there’s any way to contact the asset directly.”

Barry’s expression turned suspicious, and he leaned away.

She reached over and put a hand on Barry’s shoulder. “I don’t want to get anybody in any trouble.”

“The identity of a CIA operative is classified for a reason, Olivia. You know that.” Barry looked around as though a secret agent might be lurking outside his cubicle, ready to do him in.

“I don’t—” Olivia scooted back on the desk and took a moment to think of the right way to tell Barry what she wanted. “Eric has given me some leeway with my work time.”

“For?” Barry asked.

“To find my brother.”

Barry looked down at his lap. “Sorry about your brother.”

“Barry, it’s okay. I—” Olivia choked a little on her words, then quickly regained her composure. “I don’t know if he’s okay or not. But I’d feel better if I could find out. My parents would feel better if they knew. Honestly, my stepmom says my dad is going a little nuts.”

Barry looked up. “I understand, but there’s only so much we can do from here.”

“Without breaking any laws.” Olivia forced a smile to let him know that she was half joking. “The CIA operative was in Kapchorwa. The report made that clear enough. He moved on to Kitale in Kenya and has been making reports along the way. I don’t need to know his name. I just—”

“Want to talk to him?” Barry guessed.

“Yeah,” Olivia admitted. “I guess that is what I want. I just want to message him somehow and ask him about Austin.”

“And with Eastern Uganda turning into a black hole, you think this CIA guy, or girl, is your best chance of finding out about your brother.”

“Yes.”

Shaking his head slowly, Barry said, “You know it’s more than likely this guy still doesn’t know anything about him, right?”

Olivia nodded, though she was pinning her hopes to the possibility of contacting the CIA asset and having him tell her he’d run into Austin, and that Austin was fine. It sounded childishly wishful, even when she thought it through. No way she could ever voice that hope.

Barry looked up at the ceiling and rubbed his chin. He picked up his coffee cup and sipped. He shuffled through the papers on his desk, as if he were looking for something. “Here’s what I think.”

“I’m listening.”

“We can’t do anything to drill down in the data and try to find out who this guy is.” Barry waved his hands to make it clear that option was completely off the table. “We could both get into too much trouble over that, and by trouble, I mean jail time.”

Olivia agreed with a nod.

“If, as you said, the reports tell us the locations from where this operative is contacting Langley,” Barry shrugged, looked around again, and pulled an ambiguous expression across his face, “who’s to say we don’t come across his phone records accidentally while we’re searching for calls from Najid Almasi? We know Almasi was in the area. That’s how we linked him to Kapchorwa in the first place.”

Shaking her head, Olivia said, “We can’t eavesdrop on CIA calls though.”

“Not saying that,” said Barry. “They’d be encrypted anyway. If we could pin a certain telephone to certain locations in the timeframes that the reports refer to—”

Olivia grinned and asked, “How many satellite phones could be in use in that part of the world in those exact locations?”

Barry asked, “Who’s to say you can’t call the asset up, and just ask him what he knows about Kapchorwa?”

She thought through the pitfalls. “In the spirit of whatever law protects the classified identity of CIA operatives, calling one of them up may be illegal, but technically, I might be in the clear. It may be an exploitable loophole.”

“I’ll dig into the data and let you know what I come up with,” said Barry.

“Okay,” Olivia jumped off the desk, stepped into the doorway, then turned back around. “I won’t beat you up anymore this morning. After Eric gives me the go-ahead, I’ll come back for an update.”