Resistant (25 page)

Kazimi noted the areas that were almost certainly blind spots to the security camera. He stood in one of them, directly beneath the camera lens, and once again carefully surveyed the room. At first glance he saw nothing unusual. Then, after a minute or so of quiet observation, he did. It wasn’t a defect in the fieldstone or shelving or floor. It was the distance from where he stood to the opposite wall. It looked shorter than the length of the lab next door. Not a lot shorter, but …

Keeping as far to the left of the camera as possible, Kazimi nonchalantly paced off the distance. Twenty-three strides. At approximately three feet per stride, the room was sixty-nine feet long.

Swallowing against the dryness of excitement that had materialized in his throat, Kazimi moved back into the lab and, mixing a bowl of liquid agar, casually measured the length of that room. Twenty-six strides, once, then a second time. Seventy-eight feet. The annex, which he initially had thought was identical in length to the lab, was three strides less.

Nine feet were missing.

Why would the contractor of the place cut nine feet off a room that, at first glance, looked to be exactly the same dimensions as the room adjacent to it? Perhaps rock on the other side of the wall prohibited going any farther. But that made little sense considering the whole wing—Great Room and storage areas—was hewn out of solid rock.

He peered across at the door to the Great Room. The footsteps, whoever they belonged to, had vanished. Perhaps a janitor, who had moved to the far side of the vast room.

Kazimi prayed to Allah for protection and guidance. Then he took a flashlight and, easing along a line that he hoped was beyond the angle of the camera, made his way across to the shelves of cages filling the far wall. Everything appeared normal until he dropped to his knees and shined the light under the bottom shelf, which was three inches above the floor. At the very base of the wall, there was a gap—a dark space no more than half an inch wide, but it was there, running the full length of the wall.

It took only seconds for him to reason out the most likely significance of the narrow gap. He stood and, reaching between two cages, pushed with all his strength. Grudgingly, the wall pivoted inward two inches. His heart pounding like a bucking stallion, he inched along the wall and turned off the fluorescent overheads. Then, shielding the flashlight beam, he returned to the spot between the cages and pushed once more. The pivot was precisely at the midpoint of the wall. The small opening expanded to more than a foot. He turned sideways and in an instant, he was behind the wall.

His mind visualized a single bacteria of the Janus strain, entering a body through a small cut. Like that Doomsday Germ, he was inside his target.

Now to cause some serious trouble.

The wall glided closed more smoothly than it had opened. The darkness was impenetrable. Kazimi took in a breath of musty sea air, and switched on his flashlight. A wall switch was just a few feet away. A moment later, the secret space was bathed in dim incandescent light.

Kazimi’s grin was triumphant. “Don’t give up,” he said out loud as he illuminated a grated metal staircase, descending from the center of the narrow room. “Don’t ever give up.”

At the base of the first five stairs was a rectangular platform, lit from a sconce. If Red Cliff was an exact, modernized replica of a medieval German castle, then this was the escape route should the master’s soldiers fail to hold the keep.

Kazimi climbed aboard the sturdy platform, flicked on his light, and peered down through the grate into what appeared to be a crudely cut vertical shaft. Then he noticed the cables … and the pulleys … and finally, the bands of corroding metal that formed a largely open cage.

He was standing in an ingeniously constructed elevator.

Sea air filled his lungs. From below, he could hear waves crashing on rock. He pictured the boathouse he had seen jutting out from the base of the cliff. That had to be what lay beneath him now. He was standing in the artery that pumped life-giving supplies up into Red Cliff from the sea.

Protruding from a strut to his right was a switch box with two unlabeled buttons. With a final glance upward, Kazimi pressed the lower of them, and instantly, the elevator rattled to life.

CHAPTER 31

           Where blood has been shed for liberty and the freedom to improve one’s lot, the wound from which it spilled will heal in time.

        
—LANCASTER R. HILL,
Climbing the Mountain
, SAWYER RIVER BOOKS, 1941, P. 97

There was nothing at all friendly or engaging about the way FBI Special Agent Tim Vaill looked across at Lou, or made small talk as they settled in. The muscles in his chiseled face had not once relaxed. Compared to him, his partner McCall was mellow.

At times, the two men actually seemed to have completely separate agendas—one of them to put Lou at ease, and the other to tighten the screws that kept his internal organs in place.

“We were surprised to learn that you had a record, doctor. Wanna tell us what that’s all about?”

Lou asked more than once if he should be contacting a lawyer, and was assured each time, by both agents, that would not be necessary. Not once did either of them suggest that he could feel free to do so if he wanted, and he found himself wondering what they would say if he insisted.

Finally breaking his stranglehold eye contact with Lou, Vaill gave McCall a sidelong glance.

“It’s a bit noisy in here, don’t you think?” he said. He returned to Lou. “What do you say we go outside and walk and talk?”

Another query from Lou about whether he should contact a lawyer. Another negative response. More of the uneasy feeling that there would be no lawyer until the agents got what they wanted.

“Before we go anywhere, what do you say you two tell me what this is all about?” Lou risked.

There was nothing about the encounter that encouraged the smart-ass side of him to leap to the fore, rapier wit at the ready. He worried about aggravating the situation, whatever the situation was, but he was equally concerned with getting back to Humphrey and the lab. It seemed pretty clear that this walk and talk with Vaill and McCall was not an offer he could easily refuse. Vaill leaned across the table, obviously not concerned with invading Lou’s personal space.

“How about you ask for a check and we go outside?”

Clearly the man intended to keep his responses cryptic. While Vaill seemed ready to pounce, McCall stayed relaxed.

“I’d do what he asks,” McCall suggested.

Lou studied both men. He wasn’t a big TV guy, but he’d watched enough dramas with Emily to know the good cop–bad cop routine when he saw it—even when the players were as good at it as these two.

“No harm in taking a walk,” Lou said with a shrug.

He signaled for a check and to speed matters up, reluctantly eschewed a credit card for most of the cash in his wallet. He headed for the door with McCall and Vaill behind him like highway tailgaters. The agents waited until they were outside to put on dark sunglasses. Lou took a moment to appraise them, and was unable to keep his mouth in check.

“Now you guys look like real FBI agents,” he said, gesturing at their blue suits and shades.

There was no response. Bad sign.

“So, where are we walking to?” he asked, still more curious than frightened.

“We parked just down the road,” McCall said, nodding.

“You didn’t use customer parking?”

Lou wondered if they had steered clear of the lot to avoid any kind of public scene with him in case he went ballistic. He glanced at his watch. Any chance to make a meeting had just about passed.

“We needed the exercise,” Vaill said.

The three started in the direction McCall had indicated. The sidewalk was wide enough for Lou to be kept sandwiched between the men. His apprehension was beginning to mushroom. Even though he had no intention of running from two almost-certainly armed FBI agents, they apparently were taking no chances.

“So what’s this about?” Lou asked again, this time with a mix of anxiety and impatience.

Although he could not see their eyes behind their shades, he got the impression neither of them could care less if he were upset.

“It’s about you making inquiries into a very dangerous germ,” Vaill said finally, his gaze straight ahead.

Lou stopped walking.

“How’d you know about that?” he asked.

“We’re with FBI,” McCall said, presenting Lou a mocking grin. “It’s our job to know these things.”

A brief stare-down ensued and Lou realized he was more at ease moving than he was standing still. He started to walk and again the agents kept pace.

“Is it a crime to ask about a bacteria?” Lou questioned, ticking through the people to whom he had even mentioned the Doomsday Germ—check-in calls to Puchalsky, hospital chief Win Carter, and surgeon Leonard Standish, as well as some nurses in the iso unit, and two people he knew in ID at Eisenhower Memorial. Then, of course, there were Samuel Scupman and Vicki Banks. “It’s savaging my friend’s leg. If it can’t be stopped they’re going to have to amputate. And his doctors will keep amputating parts of his body until the infection is either contained or my friend is dead. So that’s why I was asking around.”

“I’m sorry about your friend,” McCall offered in a sincere tone. Lou was not surprised he’d be the one to show some sympathy. For whatever reason, Vaill kept up his menacing act, as if Lou somehow repulsed him. He felt judged guilty of some crime without even knowing the charges. Again he sensed there was something off with Vaill, as if one wrong word or a misinterpreted hand gesture would be enough to set him off. Lou reminded himself to remain calm and proceed with extreme caution. Until he knew their agenda, these agents were not to be trusted.

“So, Dr. Welcome, how is it you’ve come to know so much about this germ?” Vaill asked.

“I got a briefing from Cap’s doctor,” Lou said. “Ivan Puchalsky. He’s the head of infectious disease at Arbor General.”

“We know Puchalsky,” Vaill said. “We spoke to him already.”

“So then you know. Why are you asking me?”

McCall took out a small notebook and referenced it as they walked. “What about this thing called a … a bacteriophage?” he asked. “You ever talk to anybody about that?”

Lou felt his face get hot. He eliminated Puchalsky, Carter, and the nurses from his list.

“Who contacted you? Was it Sam Scupman?”

“Never mind that,” Vaill said. “My partner asked you a question. You ever talk to anybody about a bacteriophage?”

Lou nodded. “I did, yes,” he said. “I brought it up a few days ago as a potential idea for a treatment to Dr. Sam Scupman of the CDC’s Antibiotic Resistance Unit.” Both McCall and Vaill nodded as if they knew that tidbit already. “So is that why you’re here? Is it a crime to try and save your friend’s life these days? Don’t you guys have better things to do, like fight terrorism or something?”

Vaill gripped Lou’s arm tight. “I think we know best where and how to spend our time.”

Lou wanted to break his arm. Instead he just pulled away.

“Sorry about that,” Vaill said in a tone that was not even a little apologetic.

“What’s this about, guys?” Lou asked.

McCall stopped in front of a silver Chevy Impala parked on the side of the road.

“How’d you come up with the bacteriophage theory?”

Lou’s pulse quickened. He knew he had to tread carefully. One wrong slip risked exposing Humphrey. It would mean the end of the lab and quite possibly Cap’s life. Somehow without Lou realizing, Vaill and McCall positioned themselves so that his back was up against the car. They both kept their eyes locked on him.

“I’m a doctor,” Lou said. “I simply suggested a potential medical treatment for my friend’s condition.”

Vaill said nothing. He seemed to be giving Lou a chance to change his answer.

“Yeah,” Vaill said. “Well, I don’t think you want to go down that road.”

“What are you talking about?” Lou snapped.

“I’m talking about what we know,” Vaill said. “I’m talking about information we have that you don’t that says you couldn’t have possibly come up with that approach on your own, unless you’re a trained microbiologist. Are you a trained microbiologist, Dr. Welcome?”

“Before you answer him,” McCall said, “we already know your résumé.”

“We also know you just got fired from the Physician Wellness Program in D.C.,” Vaill added. “You worked for Walter Filstrup.”

No reference to any notes. Vaill knew this from memory.

“Why are you guys checking up on me like this?”

The agent ignored the question. “And we know about your problems with drugs and alcohol,” he went on. “So we know a lot about you. But funny thing, nothing we’ve learned suggests that you’re a trained microbiologist. So what do you say, doc? How’d you come up with this theory of yours?”

They could goad him all they liked, but Lou was not going to give up Humphrey’s name.

“Agent Vaill, Agent McCall, if you guys know so much about me, you must also know I’m a really smart guy.”

McCall lowered his shades so they rested on his nostrils. “If you’re really that smart, you’ll tell us the truth. Where’d you get your information?”

“I did research.”

“With what source?” Vaill asked.

“The Internet, at the hospital library, my friends at Eisenhower Memorial. I can be quite resourceful when I’m motivated.”

Lou regretted the words the moment they tumbled out. He had smart-assed himself into a corner with claims he couldn’t prove. Vaill jumped on the opportunity.

“So there are people at the hospital library who will corroborate your story?” he asked. “You have to know we can search your computer and see records of what you were looking at. In fact, I wouldn’t be the least surprised if we did that anyway.”

Lou did not answer, which in FBI parlance was probably tantamount to an admission of guilt.

“I’m going to ask you one more time,” Vaill said. “Where did you get your information about the bacteriophage?”

“I told you. What more do you want me to say?”