The Ninth Day (22 page)

“Sure. What’s their connection?”

“Maybe none at all. The guy with the sores is running around with a tee shirt emblazoned with their logo. Sumner thinks that the only way to get that shirt is to attend one of their concerts.”

“You think he picked up the anthrax at a concert instead of at La Valle’s ranch?”

“Caldridge asked this guy if he was digging in the dirt. If they had an outdoor concert he may have sat on the ground, come in contact with the dirt that way. I’m told that the only place anthrax exists in nature is in the ground.”

Banner heard static from Stromeyer’s end as she shuffled around. “I don’t like the sound of that. If he got it, then others may have too. It’s ten o’clock in the morning in England. I’ll track down the band’s publicist, find out what outdoor venues they played during their tour, and get back to you.”

They had arranged for a hotel near the local airport where Sumner had landed the plane they were using from the Air Tunnel Denial facility. Banner thought it was best that they stay in Nebraska on the off chance that the warrant out for Caldridge and the others was successful and she was apprehended. Banner switched off his phone. Sumner’s rang almost immediately. He shoved a hands-free device in his ear and answered it. After a few minutes he rang off as well.

“That sounded like some ATD business. Can we keep the plane?”

Sumner turned the rental car into the hotel parking lot. “Actually, it all dovetails pretty nicely. We’ve been tracking that rogue pilot. He’s currently on a course that has him landing about six hundred miles east of here. They’ve lost track of him for the moment, but the minute he reappears, I’m going to fly intercept.”

“You do what you have to. I’ll keep digging around here.”

Banner dragged himself out of the car. It was three o’clock in the morning, and exhaustion was gnawing at him. He wished that he could make some sense of Caldridge’s actions. Put them into some logical framework that gelled with his view of her, but nothing was adding up. He followed Sumner down the hotel hallway. Their rooms were on opposite sides of the corridor. When they reached their respective doors, he asked Sumner the question that had been preying on his mind the whole long day.

“Do you think she’s involved with La Valle in some way?”

Sumner had been sliding his key card into the hotel lock. He looked over at Banner, surprise on his face. “Absolutely not. I have complete confidence in her.”

Banner did, too, but he was glad that Sumner, who he considered to be one of the most logical, dispassionate men he had ever met, thought so as well.

“Do you think she’s a hostage?” Banner asked.

Sumner nodded. “Yes. I think she’s biding her time. I also think she’s doing what she can to help this guy. My concern is that if he has anthrax from the compound, she could have it as well.”

“How long does it take anthrax to kill?”

Sumner snapped his fingers. “Not long at all. As far as I’m concerned, the band guy is a walking dead man. I just want to get her freed before she joins him.”

F
ive hours later, Banner’s phone rang, waking him from a fitful sleep. It was Stromeyer.

“No go on the Rex Rain publicist. She says they’re touring Europe and can’t be disturbed.”

Banner snorted. “They can’t be disturbed? What the hell does that mean? What are they, royalty?” He listened as Stromeyer’s laugh came over the phone. The sound made him glad in a way that he didn’t want to spend too much time analyzing. He shoved the feeling back.

“Their publicist was clearly stonewalling me. She’s a real bulldog. Lots of attitude. If she wasn’t sitting safely in England I’d send in an FBI guy to arrest her for obstruction of justice. I don’t suppose you know anyone in England who has access to rock stars?”

Banner’s phone beeped, signaling another call before he was able to respond. “Let me think about it,” he said. He transferred to the second call.

“Wiley here. Just wanted to let you know we got a photo of the three of them as they ran down the hall. We sent some stills to Mr. Sumner by e-mail. He confirmed that the woman is definitely Emma Caldridge, but was unable to ID the other two. I e-mailed the photos to you.”

Banner flipped open his laptop and pulled up the still footage. The first showed Caldridge in the center of the hall. There was no mistaking that it was her, because the camera caught her full on. The next photo showed two men just as Raynor had described them. The Mexican looked keyed up, edgy. Even in the grainy photograph Banner could see the whites of the man’s eyes.

The second man looked grim. The graphic on his tee shirt looked like a bit of impressionist art, all white lines and spiked edges with words drawn into the center in an archaic script. Banner couldn’t quite make out the words, but he presumed anyone familiar with the band might recognize the image. Banner analyzed the photograph. The white man was handsome in an aesthetic, almost artistic way. His bone structure was classic, refined, and the long hair to his shoulders gleamed. Banner could now understand why the drug dealer had interpreted the look as effeminate. Even the fluorescent lights didn’t mar his features.

After a moment, Banner had an idea. He flipped open his phone and dialed a private number. He smiled when he heard the woman’s voice.

“How was your flight home?” he asked.

“Uneventful. I’ve been catching up on my sleep. When I came home no one assured me that I looked rested. I blame you for that.”

Banner chuckled. “Sorry.” They chatted a bit more and he got down to business. “I have a problem that I hope you can help me with,” he said.

She paused, and Banner thought she was steeling herself to say no. As if she was afraid he’d intrude on her daily life. After a moment she said, “Of course.”

He told her about the Rex Rain publicist’s refusal to help them. “Are all publicists like that?”

“Hmmm, they’re pretty protective. They have to be, really. It’s their job to shield their clients.”

“Do you think she’d loosen up if it was you who needed the information?”

“Probably. How about you send me the photo and I’ll see what I can do.”

Banner sent it from his computer. “It’s done.”

“That was fast. How soon do you need this?”

“Yesterday.”

“Hold tight.”

Twenty minutes later, Banner’s phone rang. The screen registered an “out of area” number. He picked it up and identified himself. A man’s voice, thick with an English accent, came over the phone.

“I’m Richard Carrow, the lead singer for Rex Rain. I got a call. Said you needed some information about the guy in the photograph?”

Banner was impressed with her mojo. Not only did she get access to the band in minutes flat, but the lead singer, no less. Banner poured a cup of coffee that he’d just made in the hotel-room coffeepot. “Yes, thanks. Is that your band’s tee shirt that he’s wearing?”

“Yes. We sell them at the concerts. Why?”

“We’re trying to figure out if this guy attended one here in the States, and where.”

“He was in Phoenix. He acted as a substitute technician for one of the shows.”

Banner was in the middle of taking a sip of coffee and he almost spit it out. “You
know
this guy?”

“Yeah. That’s Oswald Kroger. Nice guy. We have a regular computer tech that tours with us, but he took sick when we reached Arizona and Oz subbed for him. He really helped tune up the sound, and for the first time I didn’t have to scream to be heard. I thanked him personally. Saved my voice.”

“You know where he might be now?”

“No. Our regular tech got better and we continued on.”

Banner thanked the singer, hung up, and dialed Sumner. “The band guy is Oswald Kroger, a computer tech in Phoenix. I don’t suppose your guys at the ATD program can muscle up some background?”

“We’ll get on him and the Mexican guy. And my rogue pilot’s back on radar and nearby. I’m getting ready to fly out.”

“Go get him,” Banner said.

“I will,” Sumner replied.

Chapter 27

A
t four o’clock in the morning, Emma, Oz, and Mono pulled into an RV trailer park and proceeded to a secluded tree-lined area. Two RVs of different models sat next to each other. Mono instructed Oz to park the Escalade near the second, much smaller, RV. Emma saw the ambulance parked about fifty feet away, near an old silver Airstream. She crawled out of the SUV and stretched with a groan. Oz exited slowly. He’d wrapped gauze around the sores on his hand and Emma noted that the area of the punch biopsy was stained red. He was bleeding again.

The lights on the largest RV sprang on. Emma heard movement from the inside, and a few seconds later, the door swung open. Light splayed across the grass. A person stood in the doorway, but Emma couldn’t make out the features because the light was shining from behind. From the shape she assumed it was Serena.

“You found the answer?” she said.

Emma paused. “I’m closer.”

“Come inside. All of you.” Serena stepped back into the trailer.

Emma felt exhaustion claw at her, but she fought it off and did her best to stay on her feet without swaying. She followed Oz into the trailer. Mono was at her back. His gun was in his hand.

The trailer surprised Emma with its spacious interior and expensive appointments. The galley kitchen area had stainless-steel appliances and expensive countertops that looked like granite, but that Emma assumed were Corian or some other lighter substance. The living room area had a plush sectional couch and a flat-screen television. At the far end of the vehicle was a screen that Emma assumed retracted to reveal a bedroom.

Serena walked to the living area and turned toward them, slowly. Emma gasped when she saw her. The sores covered both her arms, and looked like they were migrating to her face. Her hands were curling into claws, the fingers forming rigid
C
shapes and they, too, oozed with scales and sores. Emma heard Mono make an inarticulate noise. He bolted out of the door, slamming it behind him.

Serena started to cry. “I don’t know if I can stand it.”

Emma glanced at Oz, who stared at Serena in horror. She could imagine what he was thinking, that this was his future. Emma took a step toward the woman.

“You have to go to the hospital. There’s no reason for this. It’s time.”

Serena shook her head. “I won’t. You must cure me. I must be cured and free. The hospital may not cure me, but they
will
put me in jail. Please, did you find an answer?”

The door to the RV opened and Raoul and La Valle stepped in. Both had grim expressions. La Valle looked stricken as he stared at Serena. He turned to Emma, and his stricken look turned to one of fury.

“You have any answers? Look at her! And now Raoul has it!” Raoul threw up his hand. Sores covered one third of it.

Emma took a deep breath. “It’s caused by a bacteria. I started to stain them to see if they were acid fast, and I think they were. There are several that can cause some of the symptoms she has, but not all of them.”

“What can it be?” La Valle said.

“Tuberculosis, anthrax.”

Serena started keening, Oz gasped and stumbled back onto a nearby chair, Raoul gaped at Serena, and La Valle stilled. He took three steps to the kitchen area, picked up a tumbler from the counter, and threw it against the wall. It shattered and sprayed bits of glass everywhere. Serena cried harder. La Valle stayed in the kitchen, breathing in and out. Emma could see his mind turn. His small dark eyes didn’t register as much surprise as she had expected from this revelation. She watched as first his neck, then his face, flushed red. Emma tensed. A gun was attached to his belt in a holster and she didn’t trust him not to begin killing them all in a fit of rage. Serena’s sobs were the only sound in the room.

“Do the sores hurt?” Emma asked. Serena kept moaning, her body rocking back and forth and tears streaming down her cheeks. She didn’t respond, and Emma doubted that she even registered the question. Emma stepped closer. Although she was focused on Serena, she saw Raoul slip out of the RV. Coward, she thought. “Do the sores hurt?” she asked again. Serena inhaled, clearly trying to gain control of herself, but failing. After a moment, she shook her head.

“They’re numb.” She moved to a nearby couch and fell down onto it, grabbed a towel off an end table and buried her face in the cloth. Emma could see that the towel and some gauze were placed there for a reason. Serena didn’t want to spread the sores from her hands to her face.

The memory, still elusive, skittered across Emma’s mind.

“Anthrax can be cured?” La Valle said, a hopeful note in his voice.

Emma didn’t think either Serena or Oz had a chance to be cured at the late stages that they appeared to be experiencing. She didn’t want to say this, though. La Valle would probably kill her on the spot, and she couldn’t face Oz after she revealed her true thoughts. Emma decided to ignore the question and focus on Serena.

“Were you digging in the dirt back at the compound?”

Serena looked up from the towel. “Not at all. Why would I dig in the dirt?”