Killer Dust (30 page)

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Authors: Sarah Andrews

BOOK: Killer Dust
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“Tom,” I said into the cell phone. “It’s me, Em.” I resisted an urge to shout over the noise that came through the connection. I tried to analyze it.
Engines,
I decided.
And wind. He’s on a boat, too.
I cupped my hands around the mouthpiece. “Tom, I’m on Miles Guffey’s boat,”
I turned and walked to the far end of the upper deck, where I could speak without being heard through the portholes and watch the ladder from the lower deck as well.
“Make it quick,” Tom growled.
I bared my teeth at the phone in frustration. “I’ve got your information.”
“I no longer need it.”
I almost threw the damned phone into the canal. “You’ve found Jack!”
“Yes.”
Controlling my frustration with great difficulty, I said, “I’ve also figured out the big picture. There’s a part you don’t know.”
For a moment he said nothing, then, “Speak.”
I said, “You and Miles need to talk.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Calvin Wheat is alive and waiting for Miles and Waltrine at Freeport. They won’t tell me where they’re going, but I think it’s the same place you’re headed. So you’ve
got a trio of scientist-vigilantes heading your way. Not good, huh?”
Tom swore, then said, “This isn’t amateur night we’re headed into. What the fuck do they think they’re doing?”
“Their bioterrorist and your ‘friend’ have something in common.”
“Explain.”
“This line is secure?”
“My end. I’ll have to risk yours.”
I said, “What I said back in Tampa.”
Tom said, “You mean that we’re dealing with more than one man.” He paused. Then, with annoyance mixed with something else—fear?—he said, “It seems that you were correct in your assumptions.”
“You’ve found the man?”
“No. Yes. We … we found Jack.”
My heart lurched as a jolt of adrenaline rushed through my body. “Is he okay?’
“Yeah, he’s just ducky. Son-of-a-bitching cowboy. He’s had the bastard staked out, didn’t dare use his phone or radio. Brad ran out there in a fast boat, found him anchored … . I can’t tell you all this, their surveillance is too good. We’re on our way to … help him. You keep your vigilantes the hell out of here.”
Jack’s seen the stalker crawl into his nest of terrorists.
“No, Tom. You need these vigilantes, or at least you need Calvin Wheat. There’s something you don’t know.”
“Cut to the chase, Em.”
“They have weapons-grade anthrax on that island.”
Tom let out every curse he knew.
I said, “Wheat knows how to handle it, or how to destroy it. And just as important, he will know how to locate the stockpile. Tom, you can’t go running in there and chance setting off an explosion that will release it. I don’t care if you think you’re immunized; you’ll be the first to die. I want you alive so I can kick your ass for doubting me. And so Faye doesn’t kick mine. And so you don’t let that much anthrax loose on the rest of creation.”
“Are you sure about this?”
“Yes, or as sure as I get, Tom.”
Tom muttered something that sounded like, “Fucking geologist weasels on every fucking point.”
“Okay, you want more? The ship Calvin Wheat was on was called the
Caribbean Queen
. Tap into your computer. I’ll bet you get an itinerary that puts in at a small cay in the Berry Islands.”
Tom said, “Just a minute.” Away from the receiver he said, “Brad, give me that phone cord. I’ve got to go online.” I heard him clicking keys.
About then, a weird tight sensation crawled up my spine, and I whirled around just in time to see Miles Guffey’s face appear above the deck of the flying bridge as he climbed straight up from the wheelhouse. He took a seat at the second set of controls and swung it around so he could look at me. He seemed oddly satisfied.
I said, “Pretty spry.”
“For an old man?” he inquired. “I ain’t dead yet.”
I stared into Miles’s smile. To the phone I said, “I’m going to guess that Miles knows that cruise line’s schedule, too, and that boat is due at that island day after tomorrow. I’m going to guess also that he thinks he can walk on in there under the cover of all those tourists.”
Miles said, “I do love a smart woman.”
Into the phone I said, “Miles is confirming this.” Trying to sound flippant, I asked Miles, “Aren’t you a little concerned that they might have guards on this island? You never know … . They might be armed. Even with an island full of shark bait they might not take kindly to another boat making a landing.”
Miles replied, “Who said anything about motoring up to the beach? It’s amazing what you can do with scuba. Just pop up behind the dunes and shuck off your gear, and you’re just another yayhoo from Kansas walking along the sand. ‘Oops! I just stubbed my toe. Can you take me to the
clinic? I need a Band-Aid.’ The clinic would be where Farnsworth’s got the setup.”
To Tom I said, “You catching this?”
“What’s your location?”
“We’re a couple hours’ run west of Stuart. Probably twenty-four hours from where you are. But Calvin Wheat is in Freeport. Sorry, Tom, but you’re going to have to cut Miles in on this.”
“Goddamn it. You put that crazy son of a bitch on the phone.”
 
 
Faye was waiting for me at Manatee Marina. “They left before he even called me,” she said, as we watched the dock attendant pull out the fueling lines and start to pump diesel aboard the
Sea Dingo.
“I missed them.” She looked toward the east. Tears began to roll down her cheeks.
“I’m sorry, Faye. They were already well offshore when I got the call through to him.”
She did not make eye contact. “I know,” she said. “He phoned me with instructions. Come on, I’ve got the plane over at Whitman Field. It’s just a few minutes away.”
“You’ve got the plane? How’d you get up to St. Petersburg and back so quickly?”
“I drove up this morning,” she said. “I had a feeling.”
“So what are the instructions?”
“Tom told me to take you to see a man about a Zodiac.”
Quoting the master, I said, “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“You tell me.”
“Are we going east?”
“Yes, that much I know.”
“We don’t have our passports,” I said. “In fact, I don’t have one at all.”
“Don’t worry. I was able to make certain arrangements.” Stalking away ahead of me, she grumbled, “When I set up in flying, I meant to run a delivery service. I never meant to be smuggling geologists into the Bahamas.”
 
 
Freeport was an array of hotels and whitewashed houses throwing evening shadows. Faye taxied the twin up to the general aviation building. A man was waiting there, holding a gallon jug. He stood casually in his shorts and luau shirt, staring at us through dark aviator’s sunglasses. He was young and fit and looked like he was on his way to a stadium to cuss and scream and root for his favorite team.
I opened the door to the plane. “Dr. Wheat, I presume?”
He did not smile. “Yeah. That’s me.”
“You got any luggage?” Faye asked.
He laughed without smiling. “Just this gallon of Clorox and a ziplock bag for my little treasure hunt. I hope your friends brought their masks.”
I said, “Well then, climb in. We have a ways to go yet.”
 
 
The sun was dipping low toward the ocean through dust-reddened air when Faye’s twin-engine Piper touched down at the airstrip. As we rolled to a stop between a white sand beach and a row of palm trees, she popped open her window. I could smell the salt kicked into the air from the surf, but also the throat-constricting odor of dust.
As the three of us climbed out of the plane, a man came out of a small building and walked briskly toward the plane. He was dark as pitch and was wearing white trousers and a splashy shirt. “Ms. Carter?” he inquired in a brisk British accent.
“That’s me,” Faye said. “And you are?”
“Hesperos, at your service.” He grinned broadly. “Your cousin Edward said to show you all courtesies.”
I looked at Faye. “You have a cousin out here?”
She shrugged her shoulders wearily. “Okay, so he’s really an old boyfriend. It was the best I could do on short notice, given the coordinates Tom gave me.”
The man turned to me. “You are Ms. Hansen?”
“Yes.”
“Mr. Latimer has sent a boat for Dr. Wheat. He asks
you to proceed through the trees here to the dock on the harbor side of the island. A man named Philemon is there awaiting you.”
“Did Mr. Latimer give you any instructions?”
“Just what I’ve said.” He smiled. “I understand from my friend Philemon that you will all soon visit a not-too-distant cay with the purpose of cleaning up a rather filthy mess.” He bowed deeply. “I am so delighted to hear.”
I said, “
I
am going to this place?”
He bowed again. “Philemon is very reliable; all the local gentry use him when they … have an errand that requires discretion and … security.”
Faye said, “Please, Em. Go. Make sure the reliable Philemon does not engage the wrong targets.” Her head sagged forward with fatigue. She was pale, and her lips had gone thin.
I put the back of my hand to her forehead. She was sweating. “Are you okay, Faye?”
“I’ve been getting very tired these last couple of days. And a little bit achy.” She put her hand against her belly, low down, as if fighting menstrual cramps.
It was at that moment that I finally noticed that the great bulge of her belly was riding lower than it had been the day before. The baby was no longer sitting high like a rising balloon, but instead was on its way to where gravity would take it. I’d seen it many times back in rural Wyoming: In the last weeks before a child was born, it dropped down into its mother’s pelvis, bringing its weight to bear on the cervix. But it was too soon! “Oh, Faye! Why didn’t you tell me? No, I can’t leave you, I—”
Calvin Wheat put an arm around Faye to support her. She winced with pain. She said, “No! You go! Go help Tom and bring him home!”
“Hesperos,” I said, “do you have another pilot here who can fly this thing?”
He grinned broadly. “I am her cousin’s pilot. Allow me to take her in his Lear jet.”
“She needs to get to a fully equipped hospital. You can
have her in Miami or Fort Lauderdale in less than an hour. Hurry, please!”
“Of course,” he said.
I turned to Faye. “I never intended you should go back alone. I was just along for the ride, to make sure Calvin got on the plane, I—maybe I should come with you. If this progresses …”
Faye closed her eyes. “Get lost! You want to be my hero? You can do more good here.”
I said, “I’m not sure what I’m supposed to do.”
Faye said, “If nothing else, you can go and watch, and tell me what truly happens.”
Faye’s statement stunned me. I did not fully understand it, but it hit a deep chord. The call to duty arose in me then, and I was ready. “You go. And when you get there, you relax and wait. You hear me?”
“Git,” she said, teeth clenched.
 
 
With Calvin Wheat behind me, I followed a path through sand so white it seemed to glow. The dock jutted out from a cliff of petrified dunes into shallow water.
The man waiting there was bigger and darker than Hesperos, and he looked mean.
The boat … was not big. There was hardly much more to it than the raft in which I had spent the night on
Sea Dingo.
A low bolster of inflatable tubing ran across the bow and along both sides, projecting as two points at the stern, one to either side of a pair of beefy outboard motors. Below the tubing, the craft rode on a hard fiberglass bottom that cut into the water with a vee.
I heard the engines on the Lear jet start up. With a jolt I realized that I knew next to nothing about what I was getting myself into, except that it involved greater exposure to my least-favorite medium than I could possibly contemplate. It had been less than twenty-four hours since I had stood trembling at the idea of boarding a big boat in a narrow canal, and now here I was getting on a small one
sitting low to water that continued to the far side of the Earth.
It occurred to me that I might still have time to make it back to the airstrip before they took off if I ran at full speed.
I hesitated. A little voice inside me squealed,
What am I doing here?
The wave of feeling that on land had seemed a thing of pleasure here became a sodden pull on my stomach. I felt nauseated. I asked myself why I was doing this. For Jack, who dropped everything and ran off? At that moment, I could not remember what had gotten me started on the road that had brought me here.

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