Pestilence (Jack Randall #2) (23 page)

“Well?” a voice on the speakerphone asked.

“I see no reason for a second attempt. I doubt if the item would still be there if he did have it. He would most likely secure it at the Hoover Building or make some effort to find out what it is. What about the woman?”

“Same thing on her condo. She’s a little messier than Randall, but we found nothing. She did have a bag packed like she had just returned from a short trip. The clothes were enough for maybe one or two day’s tops. They’d been worn. She just hadn’t unpacked them yet.”

“Any idea where she went?”

“Not from the condo, but we have a possibility from her office. Our man could only take a quick look. He found a file with a number on it he managed to memorize, and he saw some receipts on her desk.”

“From where?”

“Gas station in New Jersey just off the turnpike, and a McDonalds in the same area. Both of them dated the day after they got back from Africa.”

“What town?”

“Parsippany.”

“You’re sure?”

“Positive. That mean anything to you?”

It meant a lot to Kimball but he wasn’t going to voice his opinion to this man.

“I want you to get a locator on her car and call me if she starts heading that way again. Tail her, but don’t get caught.”

“Shouldn’t be a problem. We can do it tonight. You think she’ll move soon?”

“I don’t know. Just be ready.”

“Okay.”

Kimball broke the connection and drummed his fingers on the desk. They were attempting to crack what was in the vial. They had no idea what they were dealing with. He had to find out who had it and where as soon as possible. They couldn’t afford to have the agent released.

He pressed some keys on his computer and pulled up a map of New Jersey. Parsippany was right in the heart of the east coast biotech corridor. He had to find the lab that had the agent.

Birds face longer migrations due to climate change.
April 14, 2009—Reuters
 

—SEVENTEEN—

P
rofessor Miles scratched the kitten’s ears as he tried to read the latest edition of
Lancet
with his afternoon coffee. He sipped it slowly as he wanted it to last till he was done and also to prolong the time before he would have to disturb the kitten.

The kitten was a gift from the neighbor’s kids. Unlike the professor, their father was a real farmer and the professor let him use his land to grow whatever he saw fit as he felt it wrong to waste it. As a result, the man’s son would sneak over during the day while he was gone and mow the grass. A crate of vegetables was always waiting on the porch every Friday when he got home, often with a loaf of homemade bread. The cats were fed when he traveled and he never worried about the house while he was gone. It was a good arraignment.

A week ago he had been interrupted at breakfast by a knock on his door. He answered to find the farmer’s young daughter standing at the bottom of the steps, her friends watching from the road on their bicycles.

“Yes?” he had asked.

The girl swallowed and looked to her friends for support before replying. She pulled her hands from behind her back and held up a small bundle of fur.

“He was born out in the barn. He’s sick and . . . Daddy says I can’t have any more. He calls you a doctor, can you fix him?”

Jim had frowned at first. Here he was, a man with two PhDs, yet he was being manipulated by a six-year-old girl. But who wouldn’t be?

He sat down on the steps and contemplated the furball in her outstretched hand. Obviously the runt of the litter, it opened its eyes and let out a meow followed by a cough.

“Bring him here.”

The girl deposited the kitten in his hands before retreating to the bottom step again. He looked the cat over. Its eyes were glued shut from a thick discharge and it coughed repeatedly as he turned it this way and that. He could feel ribs against his fingers. It was obviously not getting enough food.

“You feed him with all the others?” he asked.

“Yes, sir”

“The other cats are bigger?”

“Yes, some of them are sick, too, just not as bad. Can you fix him?”

“I can’t, but I know a nice lady who can. Your Daddy knows you’re here?”

She suddenly found her shoes. “No, sir.”

“Well, we’ll just keep this our little secret then, okay?”

“Okay.”

“You better get on home before he starts looking.”

The little girl offered a grin minus one tooth before turning and bolting down the driveway to her friends. He waved as they all pedaled away.

He raised the ball of fur up to eye level.

“What do I do with you now?”

He started with a bath. The cat proved to be even smaller once it was wet but it was too weak to put up much of a fuss. Luckily the professor had some flea shampoo left over from his other felines. Once the cat was dry he wrapped it in a warm towel and parked it in a chair while he made a phone call.

A ten minute ride in the car brought him to a nice suburban home. He tucked the kitten in his coat and made his way to the door. It opened before he had a chance to knock.

“Good morning, Professor.”

“Morning, Lynda.” Lynda was one of his people. A veterinarian and microbiologist, she worked on animal vaccines at the lab.

“Come in, where is the little guy?”

He reached in his coat and pulled out the kitten and handed it to her. “Neighbor’s kid brought it over. He looks a little worse-for-wear.”

“Yup, eye infection to start. Little guy have a name?”

“Tom?”

“Tom Cat, how original.” She moved into the kitchen and set the furball down on the counter. It proceeded to explore on wobbly feet while she donned a stethoscope.

“Lung infection, too,” she announced.

“Fixable?”

“Oh yeah, pretty common for barn cats. They get it young and if it’s summer they usually make it. This one’s a runt and probably losing the fight for the food, so he’s malnourished and susceptible. I’ve got some samples here I can give you that’ll clear them both up pretty quick. Bring him in on Monday and I’ll get him all his shots, too. He should be fine. How many is this for you?”

“This makes three. Do I qualify for the crazy cat man yet?”

“I saw a lady with over fifty once back when I was a tech in school working for the ASPCA. Now that’s crazy.”

“Well good. Least I know I have a ways to go. What do I owe ya?”

“Don’t be silly,” she countered as she pawed through her cupboards, pulling out the medications he needed. “I seem to recall free flu shots for me and my family every year. I’m sure I can play vet on the weekends for you. Besides, she’s a cutie.”

“She?”

“Afraid so, might want to rethink the name.”

“Yeah.”

So now a week had gone by and he had dubbed the kitten Tommi for lack of imagination. Unlike his other cats, Tommi was quite affectionate and preferred his lap as her primary napping location. Something he was slowly getting used to.

He jumped slightly as the phone rang. He stretched for it so as not to disturb the kitten in his lap and managed to grab it by the antenna.

“Hello?”

“Professor? It’s Sydney.”

“Well, hello, I’m still working on that puzzle you gave me. I’ve got to say I’m a bit perplexed by it.”

“It’s not a vaccine?”

“Oh no, it is. It came up in testing as the current flu vaccine, but it’s got a lot of extras that I just can’t figure out.”

“Extras? I don’t understand?”

“You remember your microbiology basics right? All DNA has sequences that are basically dormant. Our own human DNA has a vast quantity of what has proven to be remnants of viruses, basically defeated infections from throughout the lifespan of the human race. Well any strand of DNA, no matter what source it’s from, has these leftovers. This flu vaccine is effective. I tried it on some mice and it performed as advertised. What I don’t understand is vaccines are basically manipulated viruses. They don’t traditionally have a lot of this extra stuff attached. This one has over one and a half times as much DNA material as it needs. It all appears to be dormant. I just don’t know why it’s there.”

“Okay, so what do we do now?”

“I plan on running it through the machine until I have a full breakdown of what it is. I injected two monkeys with it yesterday afternoon. We’ll just have to wait and see on that end. In the meantime I plan to start on the red vial. Maybe it will tell us something.”

“I hope so. Did you have to bring anybody else into the loop?”

“No. Most of the stuff we do is proprietary. My people know not to ask too much.”

“All right, Jack and I can’t thank you enough. Is there anything you need?”

“Bring me some kitten toys next time you come up.”

“You got another one?”

“Sort of a gift.”

Sydney laughed, “Kitten toys, it’s a deal.”

•      •      •

The Deliveryman sat on the chair, sweating in the African heat. Something he had never gotten used to. The bottle of whiskey he was currently working on was his second in the last three days. Even with ice it tasted warm. He stared out over the city from his hotel balcony. He had been there for a week. Plenty of time to think.

He drained the last of the amber fluid from the glass and pulled himself up from the cheap chair to reenter the room. Lowering himself to the couch he took in the items on the table in front of him. A bag containing a large quantity of American C-notes. Several thousand worth, he had not bothered to count. An HK MP-5 sub-machinegun, well oiled against the humidity. A case of vials with red tops. A bottle of whiskey sitting next to a melting bucket of ice. His life had basically consisted of these items for the past several years. Yet here he was in a shithole hotel in the middle of Nairobi with nothing to show for it.

What the hell was he doing? So what if he was part of a grand plan? Was this the life he had imagined for himself? He had been a soldier once, something to be proud of. Or so he thought. After a few wars, the medals didn’t shine so brightly anymore. Like most soldiers who make it far enough he realized no matter how hard he fought, it would really make very little difference in the end. No, in the end wars were inevitable. As long as men feared or coveted what other men had there would always be wars to fight.

“Plenty of work out there for all of us!” he yelled to the room.

When he got no answer he hurled the glass across the room where it shattered against the far wall. He didn’t care. He had another one right there on the table.

No, war was always the same thing. Old men talking and young men dying. Well, he was done. And they owed him more than a few dollars and a piece of paper. A lot more.

He rearranged the money in the bag before adding the vials to it. He stuffed a couple of shirts and some items from the bathroom in as well. When it was full, he shouldered it and headed for the door, snagging the bottle in his fist on the way. It was his last day delivering little glass bottles around. He was retiring as of today. And he had his pension right here in this bag. Some cash, too.

If he started now he could make it to Mombasa by tomorrow.

UN says warming threatens fish stocks.
February 22, 2008—USA Today
 

—EIGHTEEN—

P
rofessor Miles stepped out of the airlock and snagged a hose hanging from the ceiling. Once he was plugged back in and the roar of air once again filled his suit he made for the monkey room. During the usual breakfast routine he took a careful look at the two monkeys who had received the yellow vaccine. They appeared to have no change in their behavior as evidenced by the sheer volume of their screaming. He saw that their appetites were also intact as they scrambled for the biscuits he dropped into the feeding chutes. Trying to avoid direct eye contact (it tended to set them off) he examined them for any signs of respiratory distress or mucus discharge. Nothing. Well, in a few days he would give them the flu via another poke. Something they understandably hated, and to be honest, he hated it, too. Pinning them down with a special stick while injecting them was cruel, but it was the only way to test the vaccines. He took comfort in the fact that these monkeys, at the worst, would most likely only get some mild symptoms from the vaccine.