Jake O’Hare lived with Kate’s younger sister, Megan, her husband, Roger, and their two kids in a hilltop gated community of Spanish Mediterranean–style homes in Calabasas, California. The community was located about an hour south of Ojai on the southwestern edge of the San Fernando Valley.
Megan’s house had two detached two-car garages in the front. One of the garages had been converted into a casita for Jake with a bedroom, a bathroom, and a living room with a kitchenette.
Kate parked her Crown Vic, a used cop car that she bought at a police auction, behind Megan’s new Mercedes C-Class, the Calabasas Corolla. Her arrival excited the family’s Jack Russell terrier, who announced her by barking, jumping, and scratching frantically at the windowed front door.
Megan scooped up the dog and opened the door as Kate approached. “The peripatetic daughter returns.”
“ ‘Peripatetic’?” Kate kissed her sister on the cheek, petted the dog’s head, and stepped inside the house. “What’s that mean?”
“It means you’re constantly traveling and rarely around,” Megan said, closing the door. She was three years younger than Kate, two inches taller, and a few pounds heavier. She wore a long, loose T-shirt with tight leggings and short Ugg sheepskin boots. “Peripatetic is one of Sara’s vocabulary words at school this week. We’re supposed to amalgamate them into our daily conversation to enrich our family discourse.”
Megan’s daughter, Sara, was nine years old, and Tyler, her son, was seven. They both went to an elementary school where Megan was president of the PTA.
“Is amalgamate also one of this week’s words?” Kate asked.
“And also discourse. Pretty smooth how I worked them all in, isn’t it?” Megan said, leading Kate into the kitchen. “To keep Sara sharp, we’re using all of her vocabulary words in regular conversation until her big test at the end of the month.”
“You’re a very supportive mother,” Kate said. “Where are the kids?”
Megan set the dog down. “They’re in the backyard, playing with their grandpa before they do their homework. He’s peripatetic, too. He’s always traveling to some reunion for ex-military guys. But I think it’s just a cover.”
“For what?” Kate asked, trying to sound innocent.
“Mercenary work. He comes home way too happy.”
“Maybe he really enjoys reliving old times with his buddies.”
“I’m sure he does,” Megan said. “By shooting people and blowing things up in some third-world country. And while we’re on it, you’re looking pretty happy too. Things must be going well with ‘Bob.’ ”
“ ‘Bob’?”
“The forbidden office romance you were contemplating last month. You obviously jumped right into it. You have the skin tone of a woman who is getting laid.”
Kate held her arms out in front of her and examined her skin. “There’s a skin tone for that?”
Megan held her arm out beside Kate’s. “It’s this one. Ever since I got my tubes tied, Roger and I can’t keep our hands off each other.”
“I didn’t know you got your tubes tied.”
“You would if you followed me on Twitter, friended me on Facebook, or kept up with my Instagram. I tweeted, updated my status, and sent out photos on my way to the operating room.”
“That’s why I’m not on social media. People are way too open about their private lives. I don’t need to see pictures of what somebody had for lunch or hear about how difficult their last bowel movement was or see on a map where they were when either one happened.”
“In today’s world, if you aren’t on social media, you don’t exist,” Megan said. “You might as well be living in a cave or a monastery.”
“I prefer to pick up the phone and talk,” Kate said.
“You don’t do that, either,” Megan said. “Probably because you’re too busy with Bob?”
“I should say hello to Dad and the kids,” Kate said, heading for the sliding glass door to the backyard.
“You’re running away from the subject,” Megan said.
“As fast as I can,” Kate said and stepped outside.
Megan’s backyard overlooked the Calabasas Country Club golf course and the San Fernando Valley. There was a lap pool, a built-in barbecue, and a brown lawn that was slowly dying under the state-mandated water rationing brought on by the drought.
Sara and Tyler were splashing around in the pool, and Jake was watching from a lawn chair.
“Ah,” he said. “Here’s the peripatetic daughter.”
“Sticks and stones,” Kate said, pulling a chair up next to Jake. “I could use some help.”
“Does it involve a rocket launcher?”
“Possibly.”
“I’m there.”
Kate gave her father a quick briefing on the con that she and Nick were going to mount in Paris.
“Nick and I will be on the inside with the Road Runners,” Kate said. “I need someone on the outside, watching our backs and protecting our crew in case things go wrong.”
“I can get some guys for that,” Jake said. “I’ll need a couple hundred thousand dollars for salaries, weapons, and surveillance equipment.”
“It’s going to be more than a babysitting job,” Kate said. “The tracking device on the stolen vial of fake virus will lead us to Dragan’s lair and the real virus. But once we find it, we may not have time to wait for Jessup to organize and deploy a strike team. We might have to take down Dragan and the Road Runners ourselves. That won’t be easy. They are Serbian Army Special Forces veterans, and they will be very well-armed.”
“I’ve been up against worse,” Jake said. “If you want to make it a challenge, ask me to overthrow a country, too, while we’re at it.”
“You were younger when you were doing that.”
“You think I’ve lost my edge?”
She shook her head no. “What I’m saying is that you did your time and came out in one piece. Now you’re free to play golf, teach hand-to-hand combat to your grandchildren, and help your daughter break a thief out of a foreign prison. It’s a dream retirement. You don’t have to go up against a small army of trained killers anymore.”
“Dragan Kovic intends to attack the United States of America with a biological weapon,” Jake said. “I would be honored to die preventing that bastard from succeeding, and so would the guys I’m going to bring in on this. It’s a much better way to go than sitting in a recliner watching Matlock and waiting for a nurse to change your diaper.”
“Is that what you’re afraid of?” Kate asked.
“It’s one of the few things that truly terrify me.”
“What are the others?”
“Outliving you.” Jake looked back at Megan, who was wrapping towels around Sara and Tyler. “Or them.” He thought for a beat. “And there’s a lady handing out samples of cocktail wieners at Costco on Saturdays who scares the bejeezus out of me.”
Kate stayed at Megan’s for the rest of the afternoon but left before dinner. She drove to West Los Angeles to brief Jessup in his office at the Federal Building. It was a twenty-mile trip that took her over an hour in bumper-to-bumper freeway traffic.
“It’s a good thing we broke Nick out of jail again or we never would have known about this,” Jessup said after listening to Kate’s report.
“Was that decision weighing on you?”
“Like an elephant threw a saddle on me, hopped on my back, and told me to giddyup.”
“That’s a vivid picture.”
“Not as vivid as thousands of people dying of smallpox on the streets of New York City,” Jessup said. “That one is going to haunt me. We’ll keep an eye out for anyone making significant investments against the market. That way we’ll know if an attack is imminent.”
“I hope it won’t come to that,” Kate said.
“Me too. I may have to go to my AA meetings twice a week until this is over to stay sober,” Jessup said. “So recover the smallpox fast, get the hell out, and call me when it’s done. I’ll arrange for the safe pickup or disposal of the virus.”
“What about Dragan and the Road Runners?” Kate said. “We need to take them down.”
“Not if it’s going to jeopardize the mission. The priority is stopping the bioweapon from being made or deployed. Anything else can wait.”
“You can apprehend them at the same time the strike team hits the lab,” Kate said.
“I can’t convince the Justice Department, the Pentagon, or European authorities to authorize a military or law enforcement strike against the lab, in whatever country it ends up being in, without giving them solid evidence to justify the action,” Jessup said. “I don’t see how I can do that without revealing our covert operation. If I do that, they won’t buy the smallpox story anyway, because the FBI will have zero credibility and I’ll be in jail. Do you understand what I’m saying to you?”
“The cavalry won’t be coming to our rescue.”
“I’m sorry, Kate.”
“Don’t be, sir. I knew before I came here that you’d tell me that,” Kate said. “We’ll work with what we have.”
“I feel like I’m sending you and Nick on a suicide mission.”
“Good,” Kate said. “Because if I survive, I’m asking for a raise and a company car.”
“You’d have to fill out a requisition for the car,” Jessup said. “It isn’t worth it.”
Kate went to the door and peeked outside.
“Is there a problem?” Jessup asked.
“Cosmo Uno.”
“He’s a good man,” Jessup said. “You need him.”
“Isn’t it bad enough you stuck me with Nick Fox?”
“This is different. This is about paperwork. You aren’t filing the necessary reports.”
“I always give you a full report.”
“About your covert operations with Nick. But you’ve fallen way behind on your routine paperwork as an FBI special agent and that could start drawing unwanted attention. The last thing we need is anyone in D.C. scrutinizing your activity because you’ve become sloppy with your paperwork. Be happy you have Cosmo Uno helping you out. It could keep us both out of prison.”
“He’s in his cubicle, isn’t he?” Kate asked.
“Probably.”
Kate stepped out of the office and very quietly crept down the hall. She took a circuitous route to the elevator and was almost in the clear when she heard Cosmo calling her.
“Katie! Holy cow, I can’t believe it’s you. I almost missed you. I bet you came in to see me. Am I right?”
Kate took off at a flat run, bypassed the elevator, and took the stairs three at a time. Cosmo was a flight of stairs behind her.
“Wait for me!” he yelled. “Did you get an emergency call? Are you gonna use your Kojak light? Do you have one? I can get you one. I can fill out form GS4781 and requisition a light for you.”
Kate burst out of the stairwell, sprinted the rest of the way to her car, and took off. She stopped at a light and looked around. No Cosmo. She was in the clear.
I used to be by the book too, she thought. Although she had to admit she was never great with paperwork.
Boyd, Willie, Joe, Chet, and Tom left for Paris with Nick and Kate on a private jet out of LAX early the next morning. The in-flight entertainment was industrial videos of level-four biocontainment labs that played on the cabin’s various flat screens.
The first video they watched together was a tour of a lab from the point of view of scientists entering and going to work. The scientists entered the labs through an air lock leading to a locker room, where they undressed. From there they walked naked through another air lock into the dressing room, where they put on cotton scrubs, socks, and surgical gloves. They taped the gloves and socks to their scrubs, then went through another air lock into a room that had a dozen bulky white positive pressure suits hanging from the walls and coiled blue air hoses dangling from the ceiling.
Each positive pressure suit had a huge clear wraparound visor and built-in gloves but otherwise resembled a cross between an astronaut’s moonwalk suit and a wetsuit. Air nozzles with a snap coupling at the end hung like tails from each pressure suit. Once the scientists were suited up, they put on rubber boots, grabbed one of the coiled hoses from the ceiling, and snapped them to their air nozzles. The hoses rapidly inflated the suits and puffed them up.
“They look like balloons with people inside,” Willie said.
“More like the Stay Puft Marshmallow Man from Ghostbusters,” Joe said.
“What’s the point of inflating the suits like that?” Willie asked.
“If the suit gets punctured,” Kate said, “air is forced out instead of sucked in, blowing out the pathogen and buying you some time to get into decontamination before you can get infected.”
Kate had some understanding of dealing with deadly viruses. Her military training had prepared her for chemical warfare situations on the battlefield.
“In those suits, it will be difficult to convey our stories through body language,” Boyd said. “But thanks to those large visors, we’ll be able to express a lot of emotion and narrative with our faces.”
“We’re going to be silently squirting liquids into pipettes and squinting at viruses through microscopes,” Chet said. “Where’s the drama in that?”
“Because there’s a small tribe in Africa that is going to be wiped out if we can’t discover which variation of bird flu jumped from their chickens into their children,” Boyd said. “Not just the people but an entire culture are hanging in the balance. So yes, there’s drama.”
“Can that actually happen?” Tom asked. “Can a chicken sneeze and infect you with something?”
“Do chickens sneeze?” Joe asked.
“Who cares?” Chet said. “We won’t be talking and we’re going to be in those white suits. Nobody is going to know what’s going on.”
“They will know the emotion,” Boyd said.
Once the suits were inflated, the scientists in the video unhooked the hoses, walked through another air lock, and entered the lab, where they immediately connected their pressure suits again to coiled air hoses that hung from the ceilings.
The lab was filled with workstations, biosafety cabinets, incubators, microscopes, and centrifuges for working with pathogens, freezers for storing the pathogens, and autoclaves for sterilizing equipment. There were also cameras in every corner to allow for constant surveillance.
The scientists filed in one by one, and each went to a workstation. When a scientist walked as far as a hose could go, he unlatched the hose from his suit, set the hose on a hook overhead, then walked to the next station or piece of equipment and attached himself to a new hose there.
There was an adjacent control room, where people could observe the scientists at work and interact with them. It was separated from the lab by a large, super-thick window and an air lock. The observers could see images from the microscopes and the readouts from other devices in the lab on their computer screens.
“The scientists in the lab are isolated physically from everybody else, but they are connected to the outside world electronically,” Nick said. “The surveillance footage and the readouts from their equipment can be shared over a secure web connection to scientists within the building and all over the world. They call it the Biosecurity Collaboration Platform.”
“I call it an open invitation to hack into the entire system,” Joe said. “They might as well have a sign out front that says ‘C’mon in, everybody is welcome!’ ”
“What are those blue suits hanging in the control room?” Chet asked, pointing to suits similar to the pressure suits but not nearly as bulky. “I saw some in the balloon-suit room, too.”
“In case the positive pressure suit system fails, or there is some other emergency, those are protective suits with their own battery-operated air-purifying respirators attached,” Nick said. “The battery has a four-to-six-hour charge.”
“What happens if you’re in one of those white balloon suits and have an itch?” Willie said. “Or need to pee?”
“You have to leave the lab and go through decontamination,” Kate said. “You’re about to see that process now.”
To exit the lab, the scientists went through an air lock into a shower room, where their pressure suits were doused for eight minutes with decontamination chemicals. From there, they went through another air lock back into the suit room. They climbed out of the pressure suits, went through an air lock into another changing room, stripped out of their scrubs, gloves, and socks and stuffed everything into a biohazard hamper, and then went naked into another shower room. After showering, they went through an air lock back into the locker room to get dressed in their street clothes.
“How much of that do we need to build?” Tom asked.
“The lab and the control room,” Nick said. “We’re going to tunnel in through the control room wall. I’ll enter the lab through the control room air lock, retrieve the virus from a refrigeration unit in the lab, and off we go.”
“You’re not going to put on a balloon suit or one of those blue ones?” Willie asked.
“I’m stealing the vial, not opening it,” Nick said.
“Be careful,” Boyd said. “A horrific lab accident in the Congo left me impotent and destroyed my marriage. Six other colleagues weren’t so lucky.”
“You know the virus is fake, right?” Kate said. “There is no actual danger.”
“That’s the careless attitude that gets people killed,” Boyd said. “Do you want those deaths, and the shattered lives of their loved ones, on your conscience? I know a man blinded by a deadly lab accident. Now the only thing he sees are the people that he lost.”
“Oh God,” Willie said. “He’s in character already.”
“We all need to prepare,” Nick said. “The sooner the better. There are more instructional videos on board that you can watch. I’ve also got books on lab procedure and blueprints of typical biolabs for you to study. Let’s get to it. We land in Paris in ten hours…”
“That’s where Dr. Lyle Fairbanks will find his redemption,” Boyd said. “Or lose his soul.”