Текст книги "Gideon's Corpse"

Автор книги: Lincoln Child

Соавторы: Douglas Preston
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Текущая страница: 20 (всего у книги 24 страниц)

64

They drove through the Appalachian foothills of southwestern Virginia in silence. While the westbound lanes were still choked with fleeing cars, the eastbound lanes they were traversing were practically deserted. Gideon stared straight ahead, hands gripping the wheel, his mind still racing. Should he try calling Glinn back? The man obviously had the right connections. But he dismissed the idea quickly: Garza had made it abundantly clear that Gideon was now completely on his own.

“We know their plan now,” Fordyce said. “What we need to do is contact NEST, have them secure USAMRIID, and we’re done.”

Gideon drove on, considering this.

“It goes without saying,” said Fordyce, “that we can’t do this ourselves.”

Still, Gideon did not reply.

“I hope you agree. I’m calling Dart.” Fordyce took out his cell phone.

“Just a moment,” said Gideon. “What makes you think Dart will believe us?”

“We’ve got the computer. We’ve got the file. If this isn’t proof, I don’t know what is.” Fordyce began to dial.

“I don’t think so,” Gideon said slowly.

Fordyce stopped dialing. “You don’t think so.”

“Dart’s not going to believe us. He thinks I’m a terrorist and you’re a fuckup whom he relieved of duty and who’s now gone AWOL.”

“The proof’s on the computer.”

“In a Microsoft Word file that could easily have been created or altered by us.”

“…But the DES encryption!”

“Big deal. The filewasn’t encrypted—just the computer. Stone, think: this investigation is way too invested in the jihadist plot theory. There’s simply too much momentum for it to turn on a dime.”

“It doesn’t haveto turn on a dime. All Dart has to do is redeploy a dozen armed soldiers to guard that smallpox vault. It’s what any prudent investigator would do.”

Gideon shook his head. “While Dart isn’t stupid, he’s a prisoner of the book. He’s not the kind who thinks outside the box. You call Dart now and we’ll be arrested as soon as we show up with this computer. They’ll want to analyze the computer, make sure it isn’t a plant of some kind. They’ll debrief us at length…and meanwhile the smallpox will be stolen. Only then, when it’s too late, will they believe us.”

“Yes, but I know the FBI, and I’m telling you they’ll cover their asses by instantly deploying at least a few troops to guard USAMRIID.”

“This isn’t just the FBI now, or even NEST. It’s a monstrous, hydra-headed, out-of-control investigation that’s no longer acting in a rational manner. They’re drowning in false leads, red herrings, and conspiracy theories. We come in at the eleventh hour, babbling some out-of-left-field talk of smallpox… Think about it. Dart isn’t going to respond in time, and the bad guys will get the virus. You call Dart and they win. Game over.”

Fordyce slammed his fist on the dashboard. “Damn you, so what do you propose instead?”

“Simple. We go into Fort Detrick—I’m pretty sure we can talk our way in, especially with that shield of yours—and ambush the bastards when they come out with the smallpox. Catch them in the act. Then we take away the smallpox at gunpoint, hold them, and call the cavalry.”

“Why not stop them beforethey get the smallpox?”

“Because we need to catch them withit. If we just stop them at the door, there might be a scuffle, and then we’ll be arrested and they’ll go free—free to execute their plot. We need proof that the crime was committed.”

Fordyce laughed mirthlessly. “So, what—now you’ve got a hero complex? What if they show up with ten guys armed to the teeth?”

“They’re not going to do that. Think about it. This plan is all about quiet. Draw off the security and go in and out quietly.”

“I say we call Dart.”

Gideon felt a surge of anger. “I knowDart. He was director of the lab my first year at Los Alamos. Sure, he’s smart, but he’s also stubborn, defensive, and rigid. He’s notgoing to believe you, he will notput guards on the smallpox, he’ll arrest us both and dick around until it’s too late. Once they drive off with the smallpox, it’s over. Because all they have to do is toss one of those petri dishes out the window and the United States is fucked. We’re all freaked out about a loose nuke. Well, here’s a news flash for you: that smallpox is worsethan a nuke. A lot worse.”

A long silence. Gideon shot a covert glance at the FBI agent. Fordyce’s face was red with anger, but he said nothing. Gideon seemed to have gotten through.

“We will nottake this to Dart,” Gideon said. “We’re going to do this ourselves. Otherwise, I’m out.”

“Have it your way,” said Fordyce, his lips tightening.

There was a long silence.

“You want to hear my plan?” Gideon asked.

After a moment, Fordyce nodded.

“We socially engineer our way in. You stake out the lobby. I go to the Level Four lab where the smallpox is kept. I’ll put on a biosafety suit, unrecognizable. You call me when Blaine arrives, I ambush him in the lab after he opens the biosafe, and I hold him at gunpoint while you call in the cavalry. It’ll all take place in Level Four, so even if the smallpox does escape, it’ll be contained.”

“What if they’re armed?”

“I doubt it. That would be risky. Like I said: this whole plan is all about subterfuge and misdirection, not force. But if they are armed, I’ll have the drop on them. And believe me, I’ll shoot to kill if need be.” Even as he said it, he wondered just what it would mean if he killed Alida’s father. He pushed that unsettling thought out of his mind.

“That would work,” said Fordyce slowly, after a moment. “Yes. I think that might work well.”

65

Gaining entrance to Fort Detrick was a piece of cake: Gideon pretended to be Fordyce’s driver and Fordyce did his thing, waving his FBI shield around and explaining they were on a routine assignment, just checking out one of many undoubtedly false leads related to the nuke alarm. He was careful to say nothing about smallpox. The lone man in the security station helpfully directed them to the USAMRIID complex, drawing their route on a photocopied map of the base, which Gideon examined then stuffed in his pocket. The man waved them through, the base’s single main road winding around a golf course before heading for the main section of the compound.

At three thirty in the afternoon on a weekday, Fort Detrick was eerily deserted. Its green, extensive grounds, covering over a thousand acres, had an almost post-apocalyptic feel: parking lots were empty, buildings vacant. The only sound was that of birds, chirping in the spreading oaks.

They cruised slowly through the leafy base. It was surprisingly attractive. In addition to the golf course, it had baseball diamonds, several suburban neighborhoods of neat bungalows or trailers, a small airfield with hangars and aircraft, a fire station, and a recreational center. USAMRIID was at the far end of the base, next to the base’s large motor pool—bristling with military vehicles, but apparently devoid of humanity save for a single mechanic. USAMRIID itself was a sprawling, 1970s-style building with a welcome sign on the approaching drive: The United States Army Medical Research Institute for Infectious Diseases. The large, wraparound parking lot was, like the others, mostly empty. There was an air of desuetude, even abandonment.

“Blaine called it right,” said Fordyce, looking around. “Everyone’s in DC. Let’s hope we beat him here.”

“Not cool if Blaine sees his own Jeep parked in the lot,” Gideon said. He drove past the building to the lot of an unrelated complex, parking the Jeep behind a van. He shrugged into a new disguise, and they cut across the lawn, approaching the entrance.

As they’d discussed the plan, Fordyce had used the laptop’s broadband card to access USAMRIID’s website. In the process, they had learned quite a lot about the facility: that its name was pronounced You-Sam-Rid; that it had once been the hub of the country’s biological warfare program; that it now served as the main center for biodefense research in the country, its primary mission to protect the United States from potential bioweapon attacks.

And it was one of two repositories of smallpox left in the world. The virus, the website helpfully mentioned, was kept in a high-security vault in USAMRIID’s Biosafety Level 4 laboratory complex, located in the basement of the building.

They entered the lobby. There was a security guard at a locked entrance door at the rear, seated behind a small window of what appeared to be bulletproof glass. Fordyce was going in as himself; Gideon, on the other hand, had sorted through his arsenal of clothes, hairpieces, and accessories in order to create a new persona. He didn’t have a lab coat, but he deemed that overkill anyway. Instead, he went for the tweedy, somewhat disheveled absentminded professor look. “A cliché to be sure,” he’d told Fordyce, “but clichés often work when it comes to disguises. People like to have their prejudices confirmed.”

Fordyce approached the guard, ID in one hand, shield in the other. “Stone Fordyce, Federal Bureau of Investigation,” he said, his aggressive tone almost implying the guard himself was a suspect. “And this is Dr. John Martino of the Centers for Disease Control. He doesn’t have any ID at present, but I can vouch for him.”

This statement hung in the air. Fordyce did not offer an explanation for why Gideon had no ID, and after a hesitation the guard seemed disinclined to ask for one.

“Do you have an appointment?” the guard asked.

“No,” said Fordyce almost before the guard had finished asking the question.

“Um, the purpose of your visit?” he asked.

“Routine law enforcement activity,” said Fordyce, his tone now becoming impatient.

The man nodded, pulled out a clipboard, slid it through a slit in the glass. “Fill this out, please. Both of you. And sign.”

Fordyce filled out a line, passed it to Gideon, who used a suitably quasi-illegible hand. They passed it back.

“Stand in front of the camera,” the guard directed.

They each stood before the camera. A minute later, newly issued clip badges were slipped through the slot. A moment later, the steel entrance door buzzed and they were let in.

Fordyce motioned the guard over. “I’d like to ask you a few questions.” Again, his tone implied suspicion.

“Yes, sir?” the guard, already intimidated, stood almost at attention.

“Has a Mr. Simon Blaine signed in?”

The guard hesitated, again decided to go with the flow, and checked his clipboard. “No, sir.”

“How about a Mr. Novak?”

“No.”

“Does either of them have an appointment in the building today?”

Another check. “Not on my sheet, sir.”

“All right. Dr. Martino needs to gain access to the Level Four lab. How can he do that?”

“It’s on keypad security, you have to get clearance and an escort.”

“Who’s in charge?”

A hesitation. “He should contact Dr. Glick, the director.”

“His location?”

“Third floor, Room Three Forty-six. Shall I call him—?”

“ Absolutely not,” said Fordyce forcefully. He glanced at the man’s ID badge. “Mr. Bridge, here’s what’s going to happen. I will need your help, so please listen carefully.”

He paused.

“I’m going to move into the waiting room, there, mostly out of sight, and wait for Mr. Blaine to arrive. You will not indicate my presence or acknowledge that an FBI agent is on the premises.”

At this the guard swallowed and seemed to grow flustered. “Is there something wrong? I mean, maybe I should call my boss, the head of security—”

Fordyce interrupted him. “Do not call anyone. If you’re concerned about this, and really feelyou need to check up on me, you can speak to mysupervisor, Special Agent in Charge Mike Bocca, of the DC field office.” He took out his cell phone and looked poised to dial, his expression one of extreme annoyance.

“No, no,” said the guard, “that’s not necessary.”

“Good. You will please continue working as if nothing out of the ordinary was going on.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Thank you,” said Fordyce, his voice suddenly warmer, giving the man a handshake. “Good man.”

The guard retreated behind his counter. Gideon watched Fordyce cross the lobby and take a seat in a small waiting area, in the corner, where he could see but not readily be seen. He’s learning, Gideon thought to himself. Then he continued on into the guts of the building, following the helpful signs directing him toward Level 4.

66

Almost as soon as Gideon had disappeared down the hall, Stone Fordyce took out his cell phone and dialed Myron Dart’s telephone number. Fordyce had to intimidate his way through several subordinates before getting Dart himself on the phone.

The man came on, sounding tense. “Fordyce? What the hell is this all about? I thought you were, ah, taking time off.”

Fordyce took a deep breath. He had been going over this conversation in his mind for a while, thinking of the best way to approach it.

“I’m in Maryland…” He took a deep breath. “With Gideon Crew.”

This was met with a sudden silence. “Maryland? WithCrew?” A freezing silence. “You’d better explain yourself.”

“We’re here following a bombshell lead. And I mean bombshell. You’ve got to listen to what I have to tell you.”

Another long silence, then a faint, muffled conversation. Fordyce wondered if Dart was initiating a triangulation on his cell signal. It’s what he would do, if he were in Dart’s place.

When Dart finally spoke again, his voice was like black ice. “I want to know exactly where you are and what you are doing.”

Fordyce plowed ahead. “I’ve got a laptop computer belonging to a certain individual, and on this computer is a document dated six years ago that spells out the entire terrorist plan, from beginning to end. It explains everything.”

Another long silence. “The name of this individual?”

“I’ll get to that in a moment.”

“You’ll tell me right now.”

Again Fordyce moved ahead. “I’ve got the computer with me, and if you’ll give me your email address I’ll send you the document.”

“You are insubordinate, Fordyce. I want you to take Crew into custody and come in right now, with Crew in handcuffs and leg irons, or I’ll have you arrested as an accomplice.”

“Give me your email address and I’ll send you this document.” Fordyce kept his voice steady, neutral. This wasn’t a good start. God, he hoped Gideon hadn’t been right about Dart. He had to get the man to seethe document.

After a long, ticking silence, Dart finally gave him the address. Fordyce typed it into the computer and mailed off the document.

He continued holding the line. They must have located his position by now. It was the chance he had to take—whatever Gideon thought, this was too big for the two of them to handle. Either Dart would believe him or not.

A minute ticked by. Two minutes.

“Did you get it?” he asked.

“Just a moment,” Dart replied. His voice sounded thick, distracted. Another minute passed. Fordyce could hear Dart’s breathing. When he came back on, his voice had changed. It was steadier, calm. “Where did you get this?”

“Off a computer owned by Simon Blaine, the novelist.”

“But…in what context?”

“It’s a proposal for a thriller.”

“Who else knows about it?”

“Just Gideon.”

“What the hellare you doing teamed up with Crew?”

“He’s the one who found it.”

“It’s obviously a fake!” Dart suddenly exploded. “Gideon fabricated this—and you fell for it hook, line, and sinker!”

“No, no, no. Impossible. It was on an encrypted computer. Ibroke the encryption.”

“How the devil did he get this computer?”

“It’s a long story. The important thing is, today is N-Day. Which means today is the day they’re going to steal the smallpox.”

A beat. “You actually believethis?”

“Yes. I do. I’m certain of it.”

“And you’re at Fort Detrick now?”

“You know I am.”

“My God.” Another crackling silence.

“You need to get some troops out here, sir. Right now.”

“How can I believe this?”

“You can’t afford notto. A dozen troops would secure the place. Even if it turns out to be a hoax, you surely can spare the manpower—as insurance.”

“Yes…yes. I see your logic. But… All our military assets have been moved out of Fort Detrick. There’s nobody left on the base but low-level people, civilian doorshakers and a few scientists.” A silence. “Hold the line.”

Fordyce held the line. A few minutes later Dart came back on. “We’ve got a NEST rapid response team here on the roof. They were already on standby, suited up and ready to go. They’ll be there in ten minutes by chopper. Where exactly are you?”

“In the lobby of the USAMRIID building.”

“And Crew?”

“He went down to the Level Four lab, setting himself up to ambush Blaine…” Fordyce hesitated. “Look, he doesn’t know I’ve called you. He wanted to go it alone. It wasn’t worth arguing with him.”

“Christ. All right. Listen to me carefully. I want you to get out of the building and meet the team when they arrive by chopper. They’ll land in the parking lot in front of the entrance. Don’t tell Crew—leave him alone. I don’t trust him, and he’s liable to do something unpredictable. The men I’m sending are seasoned professionals. They’ll know exactly how to handle this situation.”

“I’m not sure it’s a good idea, leaving Crew in the dark.”

“You yourself called me behind his back. You know the guy’s unreliable, a loose cannon. The team I send will have strict orders to safeguard him.”

“Yes, sir.”

“I hope to hell for your sake this is good intelligence.”

“It’s solid gold.”

“Your job is to meet the team and identify yourself. Then you’re done. They’ll secure the building and the Level Four facility, they’ll find Crew and escort him out. When Blaine arrives, he’ll be taken into custody and this whole thing will be over. Ifthis is real intelligence.”

“You can’t take the chance it isn’t real.”

“No. I can’t.”

Fordyce was encouraged by the relief he could hear in Dart’s voice.

“We’re going to secure the smallpox in a quiet, professional way,” Dart went on. “That’s it: no shoot-’em-up, no drama. If we do it quietly, we can roll up Blaine and his people before they even know what’s happening. I’ve been against this trigger-happy approach from the beginning. You understand? No shooting.”

“Yes, sir, I agree.” Dart, for all his bluster, got it in the end. Gideon’s predictions about the man had been wrong.

And then he saw two people enter the lobby. One he recognized immediately from photos he’d seen on book jackets.

“Oh, shit,” he said softly into the phone. “Blaine just arrived. Along with a military officer.” As he stepped back into shadow, he got a glimpse of the two bars on the man’s insignia patch, Velcroed on the front of his cammos. “An army captain.”

“Jesus, if this isn’t confirmation… Stay out of sight. Don’t stop them, don’t do anythingto tip them off. Just get out of the building when it’s clear and wait near the parking lot, out of sight. Are they armed?”

“The captain is carrying a sidearm. Don’t know about Blaine.”

“My God,” Dart muttered.

“What about Crew? I’m supposed to call him, tell him Blaine’s arrived.”

“No, no, no. Let’s stick with the plan. The team’s going to lift off in a moment. I’m going up there to brief them now. Let them handle it, for God’s sake. We can’t take any chances with the smallpox. Any more freelancing by Crew could be a disaster.”

And the line abruptly went dead.

67

Gideon was both relieved and alarmed at how effective Blaine’s plan had been at drawing off security from the lab where the smallpox was kept. With his temporary photo badge on prominent display, he had not been challenged by any of the—very few—technicians or scientists wandering about the building. The only obvious signs of security were ubiquitous cameras that peered down from the ceilings everywhere, no doubt videotaping his every movement. Were there people on the other end of the camera feeds, watching him? Under the present circumstances, Gideon doubted it. Blaine’s strategy seemed to have been brilliantly effective.

After a few wrong turns, he found his way to the entrance of the Level 4 facility. Here, a stainless-steel door sported a dramatic, multicolored biohazard symbol, along with dire warnings in a dozen languages.

He peered through the door’s tiny glass window and saw that it led, not directly into the facility, but into a sort of ready room. At the far end, he could make out an air lock and the decontamination shower that led into the facility itself. Light blue biosafety suits hung on racks, ordered by size. On one side of the room was a small staging area, with equipment, disused bioreactors, stacks of petri dishes, culture disks, and other supplies and equipment apparently on their way in or out of the lab.

He tried the door, found it unlocked, and entered the ready room. The far door leading into the air lock and shower sported its own biohazard symbol, and this was where the additional layers of security began: there was not only a keypad entry, but a card reader and retinal scanner as well. Once again, the ceiling was festooned with cameras. Good—everything would be recorded. He was going to need that when the time came for investigators to sort everything out.

He crossed the room and examined the scanner. This was a serious problem. Social engineering might get him past the keypad and card, but not past the retinal scanner.

Quickly, Gideon reevaluated his options. It seemed he could not surprise Blaine inside the Level 4 lab itself. That was unfortunate, and it meant undertaking a greater risk. He would have to apprehend Blaine exiting the lab with the smallpox.

He stood in the ready room, thinking. In some ways, however, this made for a better ambush situation. Blaine would go in, get the smallpox, and Gideon would surprise the man as he emerged from the decontamination shower. That was where Blaine would be most vulnerable, least suspecting an attack. And if Gideon donned a bluesuit himself, it would make an excellent disguise.

He glanced around the ready room. There were several changing rooms leading off from it, perfect places to lie in wait.

He rifled through the bluesuits, selected one his size, and brought it into a changing room, leaving the door ajar so he could keep tabs on who came in and out. He checked his disposable cell phone: one bar still. That had been his only real worry—that there would be no cell reception down here to receive Fordyce’s call.

As he began donning the bluesuit, he heard the ready room door open and saw two people enter; Blaine and an officer in cammos. He quickly turned his back on them, surprised and chagrined that he hadn’t heard from Fordyce. Thank God they hadn’t walked in a few minutes earlier.

Surreptitiously, he observed the two; the military man was a captain, judging from the bars on his insignia patch, packing a 9mm pistol. He appeared to be a young Hispanic, good looking, of medium height, with jet-black hair and jutting cheekbones.

Gideon quickly pulled on the hood of his bluesuit, covering his face. They had casually glanced at him through the partially open door to the dressing room, noting his presence, but without apparent concern. Now the two began suiting up in silence, working fast, wasting no time. A moment later the captain swiped a card through the reader in the far door, punched in a code, and paused to be read by the retinal scanner. A light turned green; he donned his own hood, and a moment later they had stepped into the air lock to the shower, the door sealing with a rush of air.

Gideon removed his Colt Python, checked to make sure all the chambers had rounds, and settled down to wait.