Virus: The Day of Resurrection (17 page)

“How much did they want?”

“Thirteen thousand pounds.”

“Highway robbery,” Bill said, making a sour face. “That won’t do. They realized you were competing with the DoD guys and jacked up the price.”

“Well, naturally, I asked my boss. And then he said, ‘I don’t mind. It’ll be payback for when they got ahead of us in Berlin. Get it.’ ”

“And did you ready the cash?” Bill asked with sleepy eyes. He licked his lips at the thought. “Thirteen thousand … in real bills?”

“Of course. Unlike ‘Cicero,’ that spy who infiltrated the British embassy in Ankara during World War II, nothing got past these guys.”

“Cicero?” laughed Bill. “That’s an old story.”

“At any rate, the DoD people were supposed to make the deal in Istanbul. We were waiting in Ankara. The seller talked as if he already had the merchandise in hand. England hadn’t started raising any Cain yet, so it looked like everything was going perfectly. Just in case, we were on the lookout for any DIA types too, and were all ready to give them a bloody nose. However …”

“Didn’t work out that way?”

“The seller suddenly announced they were pulling out of the arrangement. We thought it had been smuggled to the DIA, but that wasn’t it either. Haven’t heard a thing since then.”

“You think they sold it to a communist country for more?”

Brett shook his head. “They weren’t the type. First of all, doing that would harm the trust their customers place in their business. And besides …”

“What?”

“After they were stood up, they might have attracted the attention of more mercenary types. I think they were desperate. If they’d been able to sell it to Russia, they wouldn’t have done something like that.”

“That’s true as well.”

“Two or three days after that, a man named Karlsky who had been working at the germ warfare lab committed suicide in Brighton. Wonder if something had gone wrong … if maybe his pals had screwed up trying to get it out.”

This time it was Bill the Horse-Faced who sneezed.

“Brett! You’ve given it to me!” he said, laughing loudly. “Hey! Maybe this Tibetan flu that’s going around is really that bug you almost stole!”

“Aw, no way!” Brett started laughing too. “No way a simple flu virus is nasty enough to be used in germ warfare. Though if it was, you’d just have to make all the soldiers carry chicken soup!”

The two of them laughed together.

“So poof went your bonus. And instead of vacation, you’ve got to work on measures for dealing with Cuba.” Bill slapped the back of his neck a couple of times and rubbed at his red face.

“I get to go to Miami, though. That’s not so bad.”

“It’s gonna be hot every day from here on out, though.” Bill frowned and loosened his collar. “Where are you headed?”

“Canada. Pugwash …”

“Odd place to go.”

“Left-leaning scientists from all over the world are gathering there for a big meeting. You know the drill: ‘No more war.’ ‘Reveal your secrets about weapons of mass destruction to the public.’ That kind of thing. You’ve never heard of the Pugwash Conference? It’s something Bertrand Russell and Einstein dreamed up and organized. This’ll be the twenty-somethingth meeting of it.”

“Bertrand Russell … he’s that old coot from the Aldermaston Marches, right?”

Brett nodded.

“So you’re keeping an eye on the Pugwash Pinks, eh?”

“Busting them up a little, actually. There may be some fallings-out among them this year. Thanks to you-know-what.”

“Revelation of important national defense secrets?” Brett closed his eyes and leaned his head back with a pained expression. “Scientists engaged in spying. But do you think that’s gonna work this time?”

“It’ll tear ’em apart,” Bill said. “What’s the matter? You running a fever?”

“I think I had too much to drink.” Brett stood up, wobbling just a bit. “I’m gonna go cool my head.”

Well then, shall I pour myself one more or not?
Bill thought after Brett went off toward the bathroom across from the bedroom. The sound of the shower running came from the direction of the bathroom. His nose began to feel ticklish again.
You’ve gotta be kidding! Have I really caught it from him?

Suddenly, a loud noise came from the shower.

“Brett? You okay in there … ?” Bill’s voice was slightly slurred from the alcohol. “You fall down?”

There was no answer, only the sound of the shower running. Bill unconsciously raised his head. He had the feeling he had heard Brett moaning.

Bill jumped up and ran to the bathroom. “Brett!” he shouted, banging on the door. It was locked from inside. “Are you okay? Brett?”

The sound of water running. He suddenly strained his ears. Aside from the sound of the shower, he could hear the sound of water going down the drain in the floor. Bill took a step back from the door and then slammed his body against it. It didn’t budge. An instant later, he reached into his wallet, pulled out a credit card, and slid it into the crack between the door and the doorframe. The Yale lock opened, the door swung wide, and Bill saw a fat man’s back, still wearing an undershirt, collapsed face-forward in the bathtub.

“Brett!”

Not bothering to turn off the shower, Bill put a hand on Brett’s shoulder. As soon as he did so, Brett fell back onto the floor. His face was drawn up taut and his teeth were bared and clenched. His whole body was frozen up, and Bill couldn’t feel a pulse. Brett had gone pale as a sheet. Bill, having stood up from the floor, realized that his pistol had somehow found its way into his hand. He called an ambulance and made it look like Brett was still alive to the other people in the hotel as he had the body carried away to the police. The cause of death was a sudden myocardial infarction.

“You say he had a cold?” the pathologist asked Bill. “I don’t know—the influenza going around this year is a mean one. Even affects the heart. If you catch it, drink alcohol, and then douse yourself with cold water …” The doctor sneezed. “I don’t know. If you think you’re catching cold, be absolutely sure to take it easy. All right?”

This time it was Bill’s turn to sneeze loudly. Ultimately, he didn’t go to Pugwash. This was not because of a cold, but because Brett’s death, and its cause, had raised a few questions among the upper echelons.

Maryland, Fort Detrick

A black Chrysler glided alongside the tall, imposing concrete wall and pulled up to the gate where a burly MP stood watch like a silent sphinx. The MP did a hasty photo check, confirming the identity of the high-ranking officer riding within. He asked the officer to wait a moment while he called inside.

“What’s all this?” Lieutenant Colonel F asked the driver—a man who worked directly for the DIA. Before the front gate there were seven or eight average-looking, casually dressed people on either side of the road. They were staring intently at the front gate. Most of them were middle-aged or elderly, though there were young people and women in tennis shoes among them as well.

“They’re holding a vigil, sir.”

“A vigil?”

“Yes, sir.”

Lieutenant Colonel F threw a hard, sharp, soldierly glance across the rabble. Three standing, two leaning against the fence, two talking, one pacing back and forth—all of them looking in his direction, at the gate of the US Army’s germ warfare research center.

“What are they doing?”

“Nothing, sir. They’re just standing around like that, observing.”

“Observing? Observing what?”

“This building.”

A faint line of irritation rose on the lieutenant colonel’s forehead.

“It’s already been more than seven, eight years,” continued the driver, “but they’re still keeping watch like that, sir. Just like that.”

“In other words, they have some kind of axe to grind with the military?”

“It doesn’t appear to be so. They aren’t holding up placards or anything. It’s just …”

“Just what?”

“Maybe they’re just worried.”

Lieutenant Colonel F took another look back at the civilians. The two chatting had stopped, and now they all silently stared at the gate. A heavyset old lady wearing a hat with a silly decoration came up and joined them. Caught in the line of their silent gaze, the lieutenant colonel was growing somehow more fidgety with each passing moment.

“Why doesn’t somebody run them off?”

“They keep coming back even if they do. Also, since all they do is stand around and stare, we can’t really stop them.”

“Have there been background checks on them?”

“I’d be surprised if there hadn’t been. I’ve heard they’re just average civilians. They don’t really have any kind of leader.”

“They’re Reds then,” the lieutenant colonel said conclusively. “Pinkos at the very least.” He was becoming more and more annoyed. Wasn’t there some law he could use to crack down on this rabble? If this defiant mood of theirs were to infect the people here … The lieutenant colonel closed his eyes and tried to think of some way to get rid of them. What was being done here was necessary for national defense.
Nearly every country in the world is doing the same, and if America alone should fall behind in this research, we soldiers wouldn’t be able to carry out our responsibilities.
How can we make these sentimental, peacenik buffoons see that?

Lieutenant Colonel F had a sudden feeling that the word “murderer” had just been shouted in his ear. He opened his eyes in surprise, but it seemed he was only hearing things. In the corner of one eye, he caught a glimpse of a girl with blonde pigtails running in the bright sunlight, shouting in a high-pitched voice. Lieutenant Colonel F stroked his mustache in irritation, but the feeling that people were staring at him through the rear window—it felt like needles sticking at the back of his head—showed no sign of abating. The guard finally waved them through. The car rolled ahead through the gate.

The people watched in silence.

NO TRESPASSING
signs were posted everywhere, and in one room of the building the guards were standing watch over, Lieutenant Colonel F met with the tall, baldheaded assistant director. As a military doctor, he held the rank of brigadier general.

“Hey, there,” said the assistant director. “I’d heard you were out of the office.”

“I was on a fact-finding trip in Africa. I was gone for right at one month.” Lieutenant Colonel F made a sour face. “It was as bad as always over there. Practically a pigsty.” Lieutenant Colonel F sneezed.

“Oh, looks like it’s got you too,” laughed the assistant director. “Did you get your vaccination?”

“I did, but it didn’t seem to do much good. Nasty colds this year.”

“Say, have you fellows heard this rumor?” he asked, drawing his eyebrows a little closer. “It’s going around that this Tibetan flu was caused by a virus in some country’s germ warfare program.”

Lieutenant Colonel F shook his head. “Civilians are saying that?”

“No, specialists, apparently.”

“Malicious demagoguery.” Lieutenant Colonel F remembered the vigil outside. “There are always people suggesting things like that. I’ll look into it. But first of all, flu viruses are of no use in germ warfare, right?”

“No, that’s not true.” The assistant director put together the fingertips of both of his hands and stared at the lieutenant colonel’s face. “They do have a use.”