Chapter Twenty
10:03 a.m.
River heard the word hospital and stopped pacing to look at the senator. Sweaty, flushed face, glassy eyes, and emotional.
“Does Ethan have a phone with him?”
“He left it in his room,” Mark Harris said. “He said he didn’t want the police to be able to find him until he was ready.”
“And that didn’t make you nervous, him talking about hiding from the police?”
“At the time, it seemed more reasonable.”
“How about now?” River snarled. “Still reasonable?” When the senator just looked at him blankly, River shook his head. “Where’s his room?”
“Up the stairs, second door on the left.” Harris’s shoulders drooped, and a sob shook him. “I’m sorry. He’s my son.”
River didn’t answer his plea for forgiveness. Neither did Ava.
He nodded at Castillo to stay with Ava, then went up the stairs to Ethan’s room. It had all the normal things a college student would have: bed, chest of drawers, desk with a laptop computer on it, and dirty clothes on the floor. The housekeeper hadn’t had time to clean up after him. Good. He’d bag up the clothes and give them to the FBI for their forensic techs to look at.
He opened the laptop and stared for a moment at the prompt for a password. He tried a few of the most popular ones with no result, then tried a few that might be on a home-grown terrorist’s mind. He hit pay dirt with jihad.
The computer was virtually blank. No files, documents, or spreadsheets. His internet search history was empty, and he had no email.
The shithead had erased everything.
But maybe not good enough. The FBI’s tech guys might be able to resurrect it.
A cell phone sat on the desk next to the laptop. It looked blank, too, as if it had been reset to factory settings.
He’d take both devices with him.
A look around the rest of the room didn’t reveal anything new about the kid or what he might be involved in. It was all so ordinary and average, but it was also all so superficial, as if he were a character in a movie and this was nothing more than a set. Hadn’t his father noticed any changes in his son’s behavior? Or was he just too wrapped up in his own little list of issues, grievances, and events to pay attention?
He picked up the electronics and dirty clothes, then left the kid’s room. Nothing left there but broken promises and discarded dreams.
As he went down the stairs, his ECC device beeped.
“River.”
“The GPS on that car isn’t functioning.”
“Thanks.” Fuck.
He raised his voice. “We’re heading back to the hospital.”
Mark Harris grabbed Ava’s arm and pulled her to a stop. “Please, help my son. I can’t believe he’d willingly do anything to hurt anyone.”
“You think he’s been coerced?”
“It’s the only thing that makes sense.”
“Ava,” River said. “We’ve got to go.”
They got into their vehicle, the sound of sirens everywhere in the city, and filled Palmer in as he turned the Hummer around and drove back the way they came.
“Do you think we’ll find Ethan Harris in time?” Ava asked.
“In time for what?”
“To stop whatever is supposed to happen next.”
“I don’t know,” River answered her. They’d been five steps behind the orchestrator of all this evil all day. “I’m not even sure we’ll find him alive.”
“That’s what I’m afraid of, too.”
“What are the chances he’s the brains behind all this shit?” Palmer asked.
“Nah, it’s not him,” River said. “How this kind of terrorist cell works is pretty consistent. A slightly older student plants a few seeds, talks about how government is too big and wants too much control over people’s lives and money. Then a teacher comes in, someone not too old or too young, to explain how the world really works and that America is actually the school-yard bully. The leader is the one who sells you bad weed and watered-down alcohol, then beats you up just to feel like he’s in control of something.”
They weren’t more than two minutes from the hospital now.
“Ethan Harris isn’t in charge, he’s cannon fodder. Disposable. But he might know enough for us to figure out who the leader is.”
“If he’s like Roger Squires, he’ll be prepared to die for his cause,” Ava said. “That makes him dangerous.”
“Makes him a weapon. Something none of us should forget.” River glanced at Ava and at the soldiers in the backseats to include them in the warning.
Ava met his gaze and nodded.
Palmer slowed the vehicle to a stop behind a line of cars and trucks. None of them were moving.
“I’ll check the situation,” Hall said as he hopped out and jogged down the side of the road and out of sight.
A minute later, he came back and went to River’s side of the van. He rolled the window down.
“Traffic is backed up a couple of blocks, and it doesn’t look like it’s going to get unblocked for a while.”
“Shit,” River glanced at Ava, then said, “Okay, let’s park here and walk in.”
They all got out of the vehicle and strode at a not-quite jog toward the center of the chaos. River took the point position, with Ava and Palmer right behind. Hall and Castillo brought up the rear. People gave them a wide berth as they moved.
The guard herded them through a smaller checkpoint and had them wait for Dozer to meet them.
“Any leads besides the GPS?” Dozer asked.
“We’ve got Harris’s laptop and clothing,” River said, handing them over. “I’m hoping he didn’t manage to delete anything permanently. The clothing might be able to tell us where he’s been.”
The agent took the bag of stuff with the air of a man who had a lot on his mind. “Is the senator sick?” The question was directed at Ava.
“I think so. He’s showing most of the symptoms.”
“Damn.” For a moment, Dozer stared at the ground, then he glanced at the two soldiers. “You gentlemen should report back to your command.”
“Yes, sir,” they said in unison. They gave River a respectful nod, and another to Ava, then left.
“Sergeant River,” Palmer said, rubbing his head with one hand. “I’m sorry, but I think the adrenaline wore off. My head…”
“Get yourself checked out,” Ava told him. “You might have a concussion after all.”
“Yes, ma’am. I’m sorry,” the police officer said with a wince.
“We’ve got a triage station for personnel working the emergency setup over by the decontamination area,” Dozer told him. “They’ll get you sorted out.”
“Thank you, sir.” Palmer headed out after giving them all a wave.
Dozer regarded River and Ava for a long moment, then said, “Until we get a fresh lead, we’re at a standstill with the investigation. I’d like the two of you available to head out on a moment’s notice. Eat, and get some sleep. You might get half an hour or several hours, but take the downtime while you can.” He turned and went back into the hospital.
“Let’s hit decontamination,” River said, nudging her in that direction.
“I’m not all that hungry,” Ava protested.
“Eat anyway.”
They got cleaned up, grabbed a couple of MREs and water, then ate as quickly as possible. The clean room was full of people, some eating, others sleeping on the cots that filled every available space.
River didn’t have to say anything to Ava—she followed him out of the clean room and over to Henry’s corner of the area. She knocked and asked if they could use his tent to rest in again.
His answer was to come out to talk to them. The guy looked as if someone had gutted him.
“What happened?” Ava demanded. “Another explosion? What?”
“The number of deaths have really jumped.” Henry told them. “Campus security did a sweep of all their buildings. They found a lot of bodies in several dorms. The death toll is now approximately three hundred and forty-two dead and seven hundred sick.”
“Approximately?” How could there be an approximate number? Either a person was dead or not.
Ava gasped and covered her mouth, her hands shaking.
“There are so many people coming in now that it’s difficult to get a firm count.” Lee’s laugh was devoid of humor. “They’ve run out of space in the morgue.”
River wanted to let loose a few colorful words, too, but Ava’s cool pallor and distress told him he needed to keep that shit in his mouth. “We’re on standby until further notice.”
“Right,” Lee said, looking around. “What the hell, use my tent. It’s where Rodrigues will look for you first anyway.”
“Thank you, Henry.” Ava’s voice was a little wobbly, and that was enough to cripple River where he stood.
She went into the tent, and he followed.
“Is there anything worse than this?” Her voice was barely audible.
Finally, he had an answer for a question. “A complete and utter clusterfuck.”
“Yes. Okay.” She nodded. “That. So, how do we deal with a clusterfuck?”
He snorted. “You just do.”
“I thought you guys always had a plan.”
“The situation is too fluid for any plan to last longer than the next new piece of information or event.”
“So, no plan?”
“You plan for the worst.” He smiled at her. “Good thing we’re dressed for it.”
Ava sighed. “Do you ever not have a comeback?”
“Sure. That would have been the last time I got shot.”
She rolled her eyes. “You guys are such a pain in the ass when you’re like this.”
“Like what?”
“Making jokes about everything.”
“Hey, it’s the only way to stay sane in my line of work.”
“Eh,” she said, her voice squeaky. “I’m not convinced.”
“Don’t hospital staff make jokes sometimes?” River asked. “Maybe even when it’s not politically correct?”
“Yeah, but we tend not to do it when we can be overheard by nonhospital staff, ’cause we don’t like to get, you know, sued.”
“At least no one is shooting at you.”
“Depends on how you define shooting.”
“Rifle, pistol, bullets. How do you define it?”
“Syringes, needles, medication.”
River snorted, old disappointment in the belief that medicine could cure all a person’s ills a grinding ache in his gut. “Yeah, all you need to solve a problem is the right magic potion.”
“Bullets are a better way?” she asked, the challenge in her tone sharp enough to put a metallic taste in his mouth. “How many problems can you solve with violence?”
She couldn’t be that naive. “Sometimes force can only be met with force.”
“That’s not problem solving, that’s war.”
“What do you think we’re in the middle of? A picnic? A party?” He glanced at her, noting her crossed arms and furrowed forehead. “Terrorism has been a part of every war since the beginning.”
“So has using bacteria and viruses as weapons,” she retorted. “People have been dipping arrowheads into feces in a deliberate attempt to infect their targets with lethal pathogens for thousands of years. In the fourteenth century, the Tartars threw plague-infected corpses into the city of Kaffa to cause an epidemic. The Russians did the same thing to Reval, Estonia, in 1710. Weapons that can only be combated by your so-called magic potions.”
“It’s an underhanded way to fight a war.”
“Is there a good way?” She shook her head. “These people aren’t going to follow the Geneva Convention or any other rules of engagement. They want to win, even if they have to kill everyone on both sides to do it.”
“It’s fucking crazy.”
“Yes.” She sat on the cot and leaned toward him. “So, how does a crazy person think if they’re trying to kill everyone?”
Unfortunately, he knew the answer to that. “They use a bigger bomb.”
“What kind of bomb?”
“Why settle for just one?” He shrugged. “If it were me, I’d get as many bangs in for my buck as possible.”
Ava gasped, as if he’d stabbed her in the chest with a red-hot blade. “The more the merrier, huh?” she asked, sour disillusionment twisting her words. “Kill as many people as you can. That’s the goal?”
River stared at her for what felt like a long time. It was probably only a few seconds, yet it seemed like forever, before he said, “No. Fear is the goal. Killing in large numbers is part of how they drive the fear.”
“Why use an infectious disease as a weapon? Wouldn’t blowing things up be enough?”
“An outbreak and explosives have two things in common,” River said softly. “Shock and awe. They’re loud, large, and flashy. One is quick, the other slower, leaving no place safe.”
She stared at him. “That’s just…evil.”
“And they aren’t done yet.”
“So, more explosions?”
“Likely.” He nodded. “It’ll be something visible and shocking.”
“Okay,” she said, sounding like she was choking on the word. “I’m scared now.”
He glanced at her. “No, you’re not really scared yet.”
“How do you know? We’ve known each other all of what?” She looked at her watch. “Not even twenty-four hours.”
“Have you ever been certain you were about to die? Absolutely sure?”
She blinked. “No.”
“Then you haven’t been scared enough.”
She wet her lips. “So, scare me.” It was a challenge and a dare.
He moved to stand in front of her, then crouched down so he could easily run the back of his fingers down her face. “Scaring you is the last thing I want to do.”
The things he wanted to do to her, with her, required time, privacy, and a large bed. He tried to imagine how long it would take to work her out of his system and…couldn’t. She delighted him in every way from her soft skin, deep eyes, and sharp intelligence to her stubborn strength of will. She was his match.
Fear rolled over him in a dark, icy tide. Violence was his business, and it followed him with the mercilessness of a shadow, tainting everything he touched and every thought in his head.
He didn’t deserve her, not with the ghosts of his fragmented memories haunting him, ambushing him. He was damaged. Wounded in mind and body.
But, some of his missing memories had surfaced. He’d finally let go and trusted someone—her—in a way he hadn’t been able to since he’d been kicked in the head. His memories were coming back.
Could he have more than just a day-to-day existence? What if he left the Army? It had crossed his mind more than once, but with nowhere to go, it had just been a passing thought. What if he looked for work in…Atlanta…where the CDC was headquartered?
She covered his hand with hers, keeping it trapped against her soft skin. “Every time I think I understand you,” she whispered, “you go and say something that confuses the heck out of me.”
He shrugged, enjoying the feel of her under his hand in a way that satisfied something ravenous deep at his core. “I’m a simple soldier.”
She tilted her head to one side. “No,” she said slowly. “No, you’re not.” She leaned forward and kissed him.