Carnival Of Mayhem Part 3

Aaron and Marina sat at the kitchen table back at headquarters. They were eating lunch, but it was their first meal of the day. They had slept late while the rest of the team a.n.a.lyzed the photos they had collected.

Ethel, Ramirez, and Edward had joined them for lunch. Edward was the computer and communications expert for the Chicago cell. He was a black man with short, curly hair and wire-rim gla.s.ses. His red T-s.h.i.+rt had coffee stains on the front above the words, "I have more gigahertz than you."

"We finished our preliminary a.n.a.lysis," Ramirez said. "Unfortunately, we don't have much to report. Most of the pictures were of published research papers and other reference material. Some of it came straight off the internet. I'm afraid you wasted a lot of time last night."

"What about the disk drive?" Aaron said.

Edward shook his head. "The data is encrypted. It will take a lot of time to crack, if I can. These military codes are tough."

Angry and disappointed, Aaron took the last bite of his salami and cheese sandwich.

"But we did learn something," Ramirez said. "You took pictures of some charts from actual patients, along with helpful handwritten notes. The illness is clearly not tuberculosis. In fact the symptoms don't match any disease I know, and I thought I knew them all. We're dealing with a new monster."

"No wonder the government is nervous," Marina said. She was eating an egg salad with extra bacon.

"We all should be. The degenerative process takes four to eight weeks and always ends in death. The only good news is the disease doesn't seem to be contagious, at least not in the usual way."

Having finished his lunch, Aaron stood up and stretched his arms. He walked around the kitchen, hoping to shake off the sluggishness caused by going to bed at dawn and sleeping until noon.

The kitchen was s.p.a.cious with black granite counters all around. Only Ethel lived in headquarters, but the other seven members of the team spent most of their waking hours here, and they were a hungry group. A pair of oversized refrigerators had to be restocked twice a week.

"That's good," he said. "Right? It's not so dangerous."

Ramirez shrugged. "Lots of people are dying and n.o.body can explain why. The doctors can't find the pathogen. That sounds dangerous to me."

"The patho-what?"

"The germ, sir."

"Oh." Aaron said. "Then maybe a poison is causing it."

"That really doesn't seem likely." Ramirez shook his head. "I'm sure the doctors tested for everything a dozen times. Even trace amounts of a toxin would've been detected by now."

"Still, it's an interesting idea," Ethel said. "Let's say somebody is using an extremely exotic poison to commit ma.s.s murder. That sounds like the kind of conspiracy we'd want to investigate. We need more information, a lot more, and another late night photography session won't do. We have to convince somebody on the inside to help us. We need a mole."

"Are you sure, ma'am?" Marina raised her eyebrows. "Cultivating a mole can take months."

"We have days."

n.o.body spoke for a moment.

"What about Smythe?" Aaron suggested.

"No." Ethel shook her head. "I followed up on your suggestion that we recruit him, and I dove deep into his background. He'll never be a traitor. Everything I read indicates a traditional soldier who puts duty and honor above his own life."

"What about recruiting him though?"

Her impossibly dark eyes looked at him. He still wasn't used to those eyes. They were like windows into another universe, one without light or life.

"Dr. Smythe certainly has a lot to offer. Of course, his skills would be particularly valuable right now. Still, I want to wait a bit before I take the next step with him. Let's give the Lord a chance to make His feelings known. If Smythe is meant to be a Spear, we'll find out soon enough."

"Yes, ma'am," he said. "How long did it take for you to make a decision about my members.h.i.+p?"

"Five seconds. In some cases you can smell the death stink, and you reeked. We still had to go through the recruitment process though. Back to the matter at hand. We have to look elsewhere for a mole. Edward, that's your job. I want dirt on everybody who works in the laboratory. Find me a weak link."

"You're asking for a lot, ma'am," Edward said. "It's a secret Army facility."

"You have my permission to work with the Was.h.i.+ngton cell on this matter. They have contacts inside the Pentagon who can give you all the information you need."

Ethel was watching Aaron and Marina spar with each other on a blue practice mat in headquarters. Both of them wore traditional white karate uniforms, but instead of black belts, theirs were gray. Sweat made their thick cotton clothes heavy, and drops rolled down their foreheads.

As usual, Ethel was bored.

Many years ago, she had received a unique gift from G.o.d: supernatural quickness. In her world the only person who could move and react at the proper speed was herself. Everybody else pushed against an ocean of invisible taffy. A normal eye blink took seconds, and birds drifted across the sky like helium balloons. She could count the laces on a baseball as it flew from pitcher to catcher.

However, the disadvantage of watching the world in slow motion was it was usually very boring. Often, she simply ran out of patience.

"Attack!" she yelled.

Aaron stepped forward with his fists held defensively in front of his body. His limbs were shaking from exhaustion, but he maintained good form. Marina stepped forward in a similar stance. They eyed each other, each waiting for the other to commit to an attack.

"Now!" Ethel said.

Aaron lowered his stance. She could tell from the way his leg muscles tightened that he was going to perform a leaping, spinning kick. He leaned back and pushed off with all his strength. As he gracefully twirled through the air, she had plenty of time to mentally critique his form. His back wasn't nearly straight enough, and his fists needed to be six inches closer to his chest.

Marina finally started to react. She lowered her head and twisted her torso. She was attempting a counter-punch aimed at Aaron's midsection. Ethel watched the distance close between the combatants like two s.h.i.+ps on a collision course. Velocities and forces performed a stately dance.

Aaron used his palm to sweep Marina's punch aside. It was the correct counter-counter-move, and clearly, he had planned it from the beginning. Excellent, Ethel thought.

Marina was knocked off balance. Her tired muscles betrayed her and she began to topple awkwardly. It looked like Aaron might crash into her.

Ethel took two strides forward and pushed Marina out of the way while Aaron was still in midair. Then, Ethel moved Aaron's leg to the correct position so that he would come down in a good stance. The entire intervention had taken just a fraction of a second.

Aaron landed properly. Marina recovered her balance and rolled to her feet. Both of them looked very startled.

"Ma'am?" Marina said. "Why did you push me?"

"You were about to get hurt," Ethel said.

"I was? How?"

"I've told you a hundred times. Always maintain your balance even when you're tired. And the same goes for you, Aaron. I just saved you from twisting an ankle."

Edward ran into the exercise room. "I got a name, ma'am. Mark Woods!" He paused to take a breath. "He's a medical technician with top secret clearance, but he's a civilian, not a soldier. The Army is employing him as a contractor."

"Go on," Ethel said.

"Woods has a very serious gambling problem. He plays way too much online poker. His credit cards are maxed and he missed his last three mortgage payments. He is close to bankruptcy."

"Married?"

"No, ma'am, but a woman shares his home in Virginia."

Ethel nodded. "Perfect. Mr. Woods will be our mole. Nice job."

Edward smiled.

"Marina," she said, "you will play the part of the angel. You will rescue him from certain doom and offer him a new, better life. He will pay you back with the information we need."

"What about me, ma'am?" Aaron said.

Ethel looked at him. "You will be the devil that dooms him."

"Gambling, eh? I know exactly how we'll play this game. He'll be on our payroll within a couple of days."

Marina adjusted the hem of her little black dress. She wanted to show exactly the right amount of thigh: provocative but not s.l.u.tty. She rechecked her appearance using the mirror in her compact makeup case. Her red hair was a little flat, so she fluffed it with her fingers. Men called her beautiful, but she only saw unsightly freckles, a thick nose, and eyes full of anger. She snapped closed the makeup case.

She stood in the hallway of the Green Vines Hotel in Naperville. She knocked on the door of the room where Woods was staying for the duration of the "tuberculosis" outbreak.

"h.e.l.lo?" a male voice called out.

"Mr. Woods? May I please speak with you?"

The door opened, and Woods peered out. He was a short man with a puffy face and thick gla.s.ses. Perhaps his best feature was a full head of jet black hair, but it needed a trim. He wore a yellow hotel bathrobe.

His eyes widened as he looked at Marina. His gaze drifted down to her artfully exposed cleavage. "What can I do for you?"

"That is the question. Can I come in?" She spoke in a thick Russian accent. Since both her parents had been Russian immigrants, she actually found it easier to talk this way than with no accent at all.

"Uh, it's late, and I have work tomorrow..."

"I'll be quick," she said. "I just want a few minutes. Please?"

He stepped aside. She brushed her hip against his as she walked past. He twitched as if she had shocked him.

The hotel room had a single bed and just enough room to walk around it. An old television hung from the ceiling in the corner, supported by a cage of steel bars. She heard water dripping in the bathroom.

"I represent the people of the Russian Federation," she said. "I come with a proposal both of us will find beneficial."

"Russia?" His eyes widened.

"It has come to our attention that you are engaged in a project of great interest. A mysterious illness is killing Americans?"

He shook his head. "I can't talk about that."

"Mr. Woods, Russia and the United States are not enemies. We are joined in our desire for a peaceful, prosperous world. When we received word of the terrible tragedy here, we were deeply concerned. What if this plague spreads? A threat to one people is a threat to all people. So, we wish to find a cure as quickly as possible, before millions of innocent lives are lost. You can facilitate this."

"What are you saying, exactly?"

"We are aware of your... financial difficulties," she said gently. "You will lose your home soon, I think. We will pay off all of your debts and leave you with cash in your pocket."

He stepped back. "Are you trying to bribe me?"

"That's an ugly word. I'm proposing a business arrangement, payment for services rendered. You're a contractor, so you understand these things. Nothing is wrong with a little commerce."

"Unless it involves selling cla.s.sified information!" He shook his head.

"I'm not asking for the design of a new weapons system." She rolled her eyes. "We just want to know about this illness. What are the symptoms? How does it spread? Who is most vulnerable? What treatments work best?"

"No." He drew back. "I can't."

"This medical information should be public. There is no reason to keep it secret."

"I think you should leave." He pointed towards the door.

"How much do you owe on your mortgage? I am authorized to write a check for the entire amount, principle plus accrued interest and penalties, tonight."

He hesitated. She could almost see the large numbers rolling around in his head.

"When you are forced to declare bankruptcy, you could lose your security clearance," she said. "Then you'll be fired. Are you prepared to face that humiliation? No money, no job, no home, no respect."

"Umm..." He frowned.

"I am offering you a new life without debt or financial obligation," she said in a sweet, gentle voice. "You can start over. That's a very rare opportunity."

"I'll get caught and go to prison."

She put a hand on his shoulder. "Why would that happen? I won't tell, and neither will you. We're professionals, after all. If you have to flee for any reason, Russia will provide a safe haven, and there is no extradition treaty between us and the United States. But I'm absolutely sure that won't be necessary. I have much experience with this kind of arrangement."

He furrowed his brow.

She reached into her purse and took out a roll of hundred dollar bills. She casually tossed it to him. "Ten thousand American dollars."

"For what? I haven't done anything."

"It's a gift." She shrugged. "Enjoy."

He weighed the roll with his hand.

"Mr. Woods, the Russian people will be grateful-I will be grateful-for whatever help you can provide. Stopping this horrible disease is our highest priority." She took a business card from her purse and placed it on the nightstand. "Please consider my proposal. When you're ready, call the number. Good night. I hope we'll meet again."

She gave him a warm smile and left the room.