Devil's Gold (44 page)

Edward felt the wall his back rested against. It was cool and smooth. As he tapped his nail against the surface, a high-pitched echo resounded. Metal. Another sound merged with the constant hum. It reminded Edward of the time he'd spent exploring an old naval shipyard with his father. That day had been cold and damp, making a young Edward crave the sunshine along the beach. He'd fantasized that the waves lapping against the hull of the dead ship carried mermaids on their watery carpet. Edward felt a brief surge of affection for a man he normally harbored hatred for. Because of his father, he knew his location.

He was on a ship, and the sound that mixed with the hum of what must be an engine was that of water.

Standing up and walking with small, hesitant steps, he ran his hand along the wall. When his fingers brushed against a vertical crack, Edward followed the line down to the floor and back up. A door. He spread both hands wide and searched for the knob.

He found it and twisted. To his surprise, it wasn't locked. Edward opened the door, allowing a small amount of light into his cell. His eyes adjusted, and he opened it more. Inch by inch, beautiful light filled the room. When he felt confident enough, Edward stepped beyond the door and into a brightly lit room.

The first thing he noticed was a thick glass panel separating him from the men in an adjoining room. Edward gazed at his surroundings, absorbing the laboratory atmosphere that was remarkably similar to the one in Gardiner. This one, however, appeared to place him on the other side of the negative airflow chamber.

He recognized the figure of Robert Cole and the thug who'd dragged him from the motel in Utah. They were hunched over a computer terminal in a heated discussion with a young man in jeans and a baseball cap. Edward rapped his knuckles against the glass divider.

The three men turned around, studying him.

“Dr. Fiske, how nice of you to join us. Please”—Cole waved a hand in the direction of a lone chair in the center of his side of the room—“have a seat.”

Edward's knees wobbled, and he considered sitting with these people a better alternative than fainting. He stumbled toward the chair and sat down. “What am I doing here?”

“Research,” Cole said and turned toward the young man typing rapidly on a keyboard. “What's the matter?”

“It looks like they've broken the code I created with Jason that interrupted the signal feed from the tracking devices on the wolves.”

Robert moved closer and peered over the technician's shoulder. “It was a matter of time.” He patted the young man's shoulder and once more faced Edward. “How do you feel?”

He was thirsty. But instead of answering, Edward glared at him. “I'm not answering another question until you tell me why I'm here, behind this glass partition.”

The man raised one brow and beamed a gracious smile at him. “I felt you were of value, of course. One of my associates indicated that you e-mailed Dr. Lowell with some concerns regarding CPV-19.”

“My concerns have nothing to do with the virus. I simply need to complete more testing to verify the validity of the modification technique.”

Cole tilted his head back and laughed. “Of course you do. And I have to say I appreciate an honest man. My onboard geneticist confirmed that very fact.”

Edward glanced left, then right. Why was he separated? If they understood his data that was sent to Dr. Lowell, why keep him alive? “Why am I in this negative airflow chamber?” Edward responded, wondering what game these people played.

“Dr. Fiske, how else am I to test the antidote?”

Edward bent his head, suddenly feeling woozy and sick to his stomach. “I found a way to help millions of people. You're a monster. You've twisted my research into something evil.”

Cole sat down and poured himself a glass of water from the pitcher on the table. Edward's mouth felt like sandpaper, but he wouldn't show these people his thirst. No weakness.

“I'm not a terrorist. I'd never approve biological warfare on my own soil. The ability to gauge the virulence in real-world situations created by your laboratory assistant was priceless. Yellowstone is an isolated area. I have every faith that between the CDC and remaining ZEBRA scientists, the disease will be quarantined and eliminated.”

Edward bent forward. “And what of the lives lost before that happens?”

“Collateral damage.”

The man focused his attention away from Edward toward a man sitting in front of a computer screen. “Have you tracked Lowell and Anderson?”

“They reached Yellowstone at approximately 0900 hours yesterday. My ability to track beyond their flight plan has been compromised.” The technician twisted in his chair. “They know Sharpe is missing. Our contact is on high alert, unable to feed anymore information.”

“Hold on one fucking minute.” The brute who sat on the other side of the computer operator pounded his fist on the table. “Anderson and Blondie are still alive?”

“Of course, Nick,” Cole answered. “I told you we needed them.” Edward cringed inwardly as Cole bent his head and laughed in a deep wicked tone, then glanced at the man who'd been ready to put a bullet in Edward's brain. “I've already explained to you, they were meant to survive that fall. I only wanted to buy time.”

The big man mumbled something unintelligible, then dropped back into silence. His presence at the table made Edward uneasy. There was nothing pleasant about him. If Death were human, he'd be his twin.

Cole leaned forward and addressed the man at the computer. “When do you think they'll arrive?”

The tech answered. “They're about a day and a half behind us.”

“Which,” Cole interrupted, “is exactly what we planned.”

“Are you certain this is smart? Leading them back here?” Fowler questioned, flexing his fingers.

The NWP president glared at the man. Edward felt blessed not to be on the receiving end of that man's wrath. “If you had managed to intercept that geological report before Anna Kuffae wrapped her meddling paws around it, we wouldn't be in this position now would we, Nick?”

“I didn't receive no fuckin' notification about the geologist until it was too late,” the man defended himself. Edward mentally locked away the tidbits of the conversation. He'd ponder them later.

“Nevertheless, if that report had been buried, then you wouldn't have been required to release the Kill-and-Go squads, which in turn would've prevented the involvement of Black Stripe.”

Nick rose from the table and crossed his arms. “Maybe you should have been more in tune with ZEBRA and its secret society.”

Cole pointed a finger at Nick. Edward remained silent, watching in astonishment. “Don't push me, Fowler.” He sighed and seemed to be silently counting to ten. “We're both tired, and a lot's at stake. I'll forget this attitude indiscretion.” He turned to face the computer tech. “Have you heard anything on the status of the survey?”

“No, sir. Like I said, communication has been sketchy.”

Cole tapped his finger against the top of the metal table and turned toward the other man. “Is the doctor ready?”

Fowler nodded and glanced in Edward's direction, making him feel suddenly like a lab rat.

“Good,” Cole responded. “And the amount of CPV-19 is adequate for our needs?”

Nick rose and tapped the computer tech on the shoulder. “Run the figures for the Delta, would ya?”

The tech's monitor sprung to life with a map and then a soft red glow over the portion of what appeared to be …. Edward rose and strode toward the glass. He squinted and focused on the outline of West Africa.

Edward froze. They were releasing the virus in the Niger Delta? He frowned.

Robert clapped his hands and nodded. “Fantastic. Anderson and Lowell will land in Principe and then make their way towards us. With a twist of fate forced by my hand, Cassidy Lowell will weave through the villages to the west of Port Harcourt leaving death within her wake. Poor pretty bird, she doesn't seem to know when the cards are stacked against her.”

Edward sat back down with a heavy sigh. They spoke as if that's where they were: in Africa. His heart stuttered when full realization hit. He wasn't going home … ever.

Everyone in the room laughed.

The door to his left hissed, and Edward spun in its direction. A man in full protective gear entered the room, carrying a syringe in a plastic case. He approached Edward. Robert Cole's voice boomed through the intercom, sounding tinny and distant beneath the shock permeating Edward's mind.

“Edward, be a nice man and roll up your shirt sleeve for the good doctor.”

He turned and stared at the smiling face of Robert Cole. “What are you doing?”

Cole lifted a shoulder. “Why, infecting you, of course.” He turned and spoke to Nick Fowler. “How else are we supposed to verify the accuracy of the antidote?”

Edward's stomach seized and he gagged, pushing down his nausea. “And if it doesn't work?”

Robert tilted his head to the left and shook it sadly. “Now, Edward, I have every faith in you. Of course it'll work.”

Edward felt lightheaded.
They must be pumping some type of nitrous oxide through the vents
. The howl of amusement echoing into his chamber faded as a black tunnel of oblivion closed in and ended his session with consciousness.

Cassidy glanced down at her pad of paper, the hastily scratched notes from the previous teleconference blurring into an unreadable scrawl. She squeezed her eyes shut and rubbed the dull ache that attacked her temple. She was tired. The few hours of sleep she'd succumbed to the night before hadn't been enough.

Jake sat across the table, barking orders into his cell phone. Tangled emotions continued to invade her soul, but she did her best to hide them. In the end, they would part and return to their respective lives. Within the harsh light of reality, betrayal, distrust, and lack of comprehension regarding one another's actions didn't even place a ripple in the pond of incompatibility. They existed in separate worlds. He twisted in his chair and gazed at her, tilting his head and raising his brows in a silent question.

She shook her head, wishing fervently for that sliver of light that would break away the chains on her heart. Cassidy didn't like admitting the possibility she'd fallen in love or that suddenly it didn't matter what he'd done or who he was. She didn't know how to close the wound he'd opened or move beyond the thought of living without him by her side.

Peering out the small window, Cassidy saw a tiny cluster of islands dot the surface of the Gulf of Guinea. Sao Tome and Principe, a group of volcanic islands that comprised a portion of the Cameroon line. They sat off the shores of Gabon and were a mystery to Cassidy beyond what the textbooks described. She frowned, wondering where they'd hidden an airport. “Are you sure there's a place to land down there?”

“Yes,” Jake said and laughed softly. “I've been here before.” He leaned forward and motioned to her seat belt.

Cassidy grabbed the ends and buckled them around her waist. “You have?”

“The island is on the brink of economic disaster and has leased several acres to the Army. We use it as a jump-off point within this region. It's small but effective.”

“I see.”

“Do you know anything about the island?”

Cassidy grinned. “From what my one last brain cell remembers, it's about 386 square miles, relies on cocoa exportation, and has over 700 breeds of orchids. Also there are numerous birds that are endemic to its locale.”

Jake smiled and shook his head. “You never cease to amaze me. To be exact, that would be 727 orchids as of last week.”

Cassidy grinned, deciding not to query him further as to how he knew exactly how many orchids were on the island. “I'll fess up. I'm no wonder child. But in doing research for my assignment here, I ran across an interesting article. These islands were never a part of the African continent, which makes their flora and fauna entirely different than any other region around here. I found that fascinating.” Cassidy shrugged. “Just little details that stick in my brain. I'd love to try and grab a few photographs. How long do we have before taking off to the Niger Delta?”

Jake shook his head. “Not long. I have a crew assembling our equipment. I'll have to review whatever intel they've managed to unearth.”

“I understand.” At least I think I do. Cassidy frowned and focused on the descent. Lush tropical undergrowth met the plane at an uncomfortable rate of speed. Tires collided with the runway and Cassidy held her breath as palm trees and an assortment of other plants rushed past her window, their wide leafy stems swaying and bending beneath the power of the jet engines.

They slowed, and the plane turned off the primary runway and coasted toward a small grouping of metal buildings. The engines stopped and Cassidy went to unbuckle her belt, offering Jake an apologetic smile. “Sorry about the nail marks on your hand.” When had he reached over and entwined his fingers with hers?