Jericho 3 (30 page)

It was the skill of the pilot that won each race, and Kazi had never been defeated.

Hilton Tel Aviv

Tel Aviv, Israel

C
amp was the last one to shuffle into the King Solomon Restaurant for breakfast. General Ferguson, Billy Finn, Special Agent Daniels and Agent Fallon Jessup were deep in discussion with coffee and orange juice poured and breakfast orders already taken.

Ferguson glared at his Navy Captain in a manner that brought back many memories of then Colonel Ferguson giving Camp “that look” when he refused to leave his 18-hour shifts in the Balad trauma tents.

“You stormed out of a high level military intelligence meeting and failed to join us for dinner last night. Are you on official leave, Captain Campbell, or is there some other explanation for your juvenile behavior?”

The waitress walked up before he had a chance to formally ignore Ferguson.

“Coffee, OJ, two eggs over easy, and a bagel with cream cheese…cinnamon raisin if you have it,” Camp said as he rubbed his temples. “Finn, Daniels, Jessup…everyone sleep well?”

Camp couldn’t help but notice Fallon’s unbuttoned white blouse with a low-cut halter revealing most of God’s natural creation. Camp was not a skirt-chaser and his military bearing provided all the discipline necessary to reject the double-look temptation of an attractive woman. Fallon Jessup reminded him of “home” where beauty was celebrated and honored, not hidden beneath a burka and limited to eye-slit connections between men and women. Camp looked at Fallon once and allowed himself a brief glance before turning his attention away like the officer and gentleman he was.

“You won’t make admiral at this rate, Campbell.” Ferguson said as his blood apparently continued to boil after Camp’s premature exit from the meeting the day before.

Camp spewed a few ounces of freshly-squeezed orange juice all over his white china plate.

“Finn, please drop a slug of lead in my left temple if I’m ever so stupid as to solicit an admiralship. Sir, I’ve been telling you for two years that I have my years in, and I’m more than ready to retire and head back to Bird-in-Hand to milk some cows. If you’re ready for me to go then – please – just say the word, and I’ll have the paperwork on your desk yesterday.”

Ferguson had learned to ignore Camp as well.

“Where were you last night?”

“Covert mission.”

“Camp!”

“Seriously. Took a walk then took a taxi, some Irish pub named Molly Bloom’s.”

“By yourself?” Ferguson asked.

“No. I was on my way to meet up with you at the Sea View Terrace and I was, how shall I say, intercepted.”

“By whom?”

“The tall Israeli spook with the glasses.”

“Reuven? Why did he want to see
you
?” Daniels asked.

“Probably because none of you were making any sense. Hell, Daniels, you didn’t even utter one damn word.”

“You learn by
observing
Captain Campbell,” Daniels added rather dismissively.

“Guess you didn’t
observe
enough then, at least when it came to WMD in Iraq.”

Ferguson raised his hands to stop the schoolyard argument while Fallon Jessup kept her attention on Camp.

“What did he want?” she asked.

“Nothing really, just wanted to know how I viewed the whole situation from 30,000-feet I guess.”

“Need I remind you that your opinions do not constitute official US policy positions on this matter?” Ferguson lectured.

“I wasn’t wearing my uniform, general, so you can relax.”

The waitress and two assistants wheeled a cart next to the table and started unloading breakfast orders.

“Well, no more contacts with Reuven or any other Israeli officials. That’s a direct order.”

“Aye, aye, sir.”

“Billy, I want you and this malcontent to head out to Lyon today. Make sure that Raines and this LyonBio outfit get the full support and cooperation of the United States government. You will both stay there until we have vaccines loaded on boats, trains, planes and automobiles bound for Tel Aviv. Clear?”

Finn nodded as Camp shoveled two eggs over easy into his mouth.

“Daniels, what’s next for you two?”

“Back to Langley tonight, sir. We’ll be in touch with the SECDEF’s office with any new developments,” Daniels said.

Ferguson took one bite of his toast, pushed back and placed his napkin on the back of the chair.

“I’ve got a MILAIR flight out of Palmachim within the hour and back to Kabul.”

“You got this?” Camp said with a mouth full of food referring to the restaurant tab. Ferguson ignored him and walked out of the King Solomon.

Lyon Airport

Lyon, France

B
illy Finn and Camp left baggage claim and scanned the waiting cars until they saw headlights flash on a white Peugeot. Camp’s heart missed a beat with the smile that flashed his way from a familiar face partially hidden behind her Oakley’s.

Raines got out and walked back to open the trunk as Finn and Camp threw their bags in.

“Bill Finn?” she asked.

“Yes ma’am, Billy Finn or Finn if you prefer. Pleasure to meet the world’s greatest secret scientist,” Finn said as he shook hands with Raines and started to get into the back seat of the Peugeot.

“And you must be US Navy Captain Campbell,” Raines said with a wry grin on her face extending her hand to shake his.

Camp moved in and wrapped her in a full embrace and kissed her on the lips. Camp could hear every ounce of oxygen leave her lungs in pleasure as her arms fell limp. Camp let go, smiled and got into the front passenger seat. It was the first time Camp had kissed Raines. The kiss wasn’t planned, nor was the longing and desire Camp was beginning to feel.

“Um, well, I guess you two need no introductions,” Finn said as Raines pulled away from the curb after checking Finn out in the rear-view mirror. “And all this time I thought you were chasing Fallon Jessup’s tail last night.”

The Peugeot came to a screeching halt as Raines slammed on the brakes.

“What?” Raines demanded as she glared at the defenseless Naval Captain.

“No, no, no, and nope…never been alone with that woman a second in my life, not a drop of interest. Eye candy? Yes. Interest? No, no and no.”

“How do you know Fallon Jessup?” Raines demanded.

“Oh boy!” Finn sighed from the backseat. “Stepped in it now.”

“Me? How do
you
know her?” Camp responded.

“She and what’s his name came over to Fort Detrick to school me about tularemia and some shipment of Russian stockpiles.”

“Well, I have it from reliable sources that she and old ‘what’s his name’ Daniels are mixing spying with pleasure, so please call the dogs off. I’m innocent…and I’m where I want to be, right now.”

Camp watched Leslie’s face soften as she checked Finn out in the rear-view with a raised eyebrow and a question that wasn’t asked.

“I got it, lady,” Finn said as he looked out the window as the Peugeot climbed through second and third gears and out of the “arrivals” section of Lyon Airport.

“Thanks, Billy,” Camp said sarcastically from the front.

“Did you hear the latest?” Raines said as she drove out of the airport and onto the highway toward LyonBio.

“Another tularemia outbreak?” Camp asked.

“Explosion. Huge blast at the Alghadir missile base in Bid Ganeh, Iran. Seventeen members of the Revolutionary Guard were killed including the architect of their missile program. Witnesses said it sounded like a bomb was dropped on the site.  Windows were rattling 30 miles away in Tehran.”

“Any speculation on the cause?” Finn asked.

“Widespread speculation. The Iranians say Mossad did it. The Israelis say that it was an inside job by the Iranian militant group Mujahedeen e-Khalq, or MEK. Western diplomats say they probably mishandled their own munitions and set the explosion off accidently.”

“Well that can’t be good. Probably sets their missile program back a bit,” Finn surmised from the backseat as Camp allowed a content smile to fill his face.

“What are you grinning about?” Raines said as she looked over at Camp.

“Because it sounds like Reuven to me. How’s your work going?” Camp said deliberately changing the subject.

“They’ve replicated the tularemia strain I cooked up. Now they’re replicating the vaccine in their pilot house,” Raines said as she shook her head slightly with disgust.

“What?” Camp asked.

“They’ve already terminated twenty-four rhesus monkeys. I hate that part; I just hate it.”

“Come on, Les, you know they gotta do it. If the bacterium doesn’t kill or make them seriously ill, what good is the vaccine? Same with polio, same with cancer drugs, same with Alzheimer’s.”

“I know” Raines answered as she made intense and concerned eye-contact with Camp, a look that made him feel uncomfortable a few seconds.

“Where are we bunking, colonel?” Finn asked.

“Well, I have a furnished one-bedroom apartment at the Biotech Park complex. It’s actually a pretty cool place, something like 19 other life science companies in the same area. You boys, however, have government billeting at the Hilton Lyon.”

Raines pulled onto Highway A43 then exited onto Perpherique Laurent Bonnevay Boulevard for the 16 minute ride to the Hilton Lyon Hotel on Quai Charles de Gaulle.

“I’m going to drop you two off at your hotel, let you freshen up, and then you can take this American girl out for a fancy French dinner, as long as it fits within our per diem.”

“Based on my professional observations during the airport greeting a few minutes ago, I think an old FBI guy makes three an odd number,” Finn said.

“Nonsense. I’ll be in the lobby at 1930 hours, and you’d both better be ready. The French are kicking and screaming, but I make them start at 0700 every morning.”

“LyonBio will never be the same,” Camp said as the Hilton came into view.

Rue Café

Lyon, France

O
dette opened the door to the Rue with raw nerves and emotions exposed. She knew her face was flush and she couldn’t stop her eyes from darting from table to table as she walked through the restaurant. Odette wasn’t a child, but at 23 years old she hadn’t done anything like this before. It felt important. She fancied herself as being a patriot on the front-lines of a revolution.

Remodeled out of 100-year-old masonry and a long-since defunct print shop, Rue Café was the new trendy nightclub for “live” jazz and “
bar a tapas
” culinary treasures in the old financial district in downtown Lyon. The 16-foot ceilings, European-accented sconces, narrowly-dipped ceiling fixtures, exhaustive wine list and well-appointed bar made Rue Café the hottest destination for the social elite.

Jason Timmons had taken the train down from London the same night he’d received the message from “Claude.” Jason was one of the protest organizers for Animal Aid, a well-respected, highly organized and widely supported animal rights group in the UK. Claude, who didn’t have a last name or at least wouldn’t provide one, was a full-time musician and the part-time head of the
SPEAK, A Voice for the Animals
franchise in Lyon. Organized to end animal research at Oxford University, SPEAK and SHAC were often aligned in the common mission to end animal research throughout Europe, especially when it involved the use of primates.

While Animal Aid was content to lobby out in the open for an end to animal research, groups like SPEAK and SHAC were just as content to go underground with far more nefarious and direct actions.

The larger and more egregious the direct action, event or protest, the more effectively they could trigger media coverage and ultimately fulfill their mission.

Claude moved in and established “SPEAK-Lyon” as soon as the Lyon Biotech Park was up and running. But the use of rats, mice, rodents, fruit flies and zebra fish didn’t really spark any controversy and the people of Lyon were largely apathetic and indifferent.

But that was before Odette, who worked at LyonBio, called Claude who, in turn, contacted Jason. The two men were seated at a high bar table in the back of Rue Café when Odette joined them. Claude was a friend from the music scene in southern France. Now they were warriors in a cause. Claude wasted no time getting started.

“Tell Jason what you told me,” Claude said in English for the benefit of Jason.

“Last week we received a shipment – two trucks actually – full of non-human primates. Rhesus monkeys. There were 196 in all.”

“Who supplied them?” Jason asked.

“I don’t know, but I can find out. They came on two GEFCO trucks,” Odette said as Jason took notes.

“If they shipped them, then
they’re
going down. We’ll put so much public pressure on them they won’t know what hit them. Go on.” Jason seemed excited to Odette. Claude had told her that his British friend loved to wreak financial havoc on companies who supplied animals to biomedical researchers.

“The first 24 were separated and taken to what we call ‘the pilot house.’ Only a few employees have badge access to that area.”

“Do you?” Claude asked as he peered though his red-framed eyeglasses. He was still wearing his black leather jacket.

“No, but my best friend does. The first four monkeys were exposed to some sort of mist.” Odette started to cry.

“It’s okay, what happened?” Jason asked with a soft tenor of empathy.

“They got sick, real fast. The monkeys were coughing, choking…my friend said they were suffering…and then they died. He pulled out his iPhone – he wasn’t supposed to take it into the pilot house – but he did it anyways…here’s the video of them dying.”

Jason and Claude watched the 23-second video in horror.

“Bastards! Did they even try to save the damn monkeys?” Claude demanded.

“No. Nothing. They did nothing. But that’s not all…they repeated the same test five more times. My friend said each time they gave them a different vaccine, a few times they gave the monkeys antibiotics as soon as they got infected. But nothing worked. Twenty-four…all 24 died. After the scientists did the necropsy on each of them, they were incinerated …as medical waste.”