“Oh, no, I disagree. Take
“So you’re saying—,” Smith started, but she kept talking — whether to him or to herself he wasn’t sure.
“And what about
She began pacing back and forth across the crowded office, occasionally pausing to look at a particularly interesting note stuck to the walls or furniture. “So what we potentially have here is a parasite that’s spread through blood — thus the bleeding from the hair.”
“And the violence,” Smith said.
“Exactly. You’ve got to get the blood into your victim, and what better way than to attack them, open cuts, and then bleed into them. It’s similar to your viruses. They cause you to sneeze or cough or have diarrhea. All simple strategies to move from one host to another.”
“So what do you think? Bottom line.”
“I think there’s a very good chance you’re dealing with some kind of pathogen. Based on the documents you brought and the complexity of the behavior, I’d say a parasite is your best bet. It’s really quite incredible! We’ve never seen anything like this in humans. I mean,
“Did you say ‘drivers’?”
She nodded. “Might have something to do with appetite for risk. Not really sure. So are you going to Uganda?”
“Based on what you’re telling me, I don’t suppose I have much of a choice.”
“Is there time for us to swing by my house?”
“Excuse me?”
“I just need to grab some gear before we leave.”
Smith opened his mouth to protest but then caught himself. She had extensive field experience in Africa, was the world’s foremost parasitologist, and based on the photo on the wall, could handle a rifle. No point in being hasty.
Jim Clayborn sat in the grass on the University of Cape Town campus, keeping an eye on an Iranian exchange student who had taken an intense, and extremely suspicious, interest in Dr. Sarie van Keuren.
In his peripheral vision, he watched the young man casually retrieve his cell phone as van Keuren appeared with a tall, fit-looking man who according to his rental car agreement was Colonel Jon Smith of the U.S. Army. The Iranian snapped a few shots of van Keuren being introduced to an older man who stank to high heaven of British special forces.
Clayborn tapped a brief text into his own phone, then ran it through a state-of-the-art encryption algorithm before sending it off to Langley. They weren’t going to be happy. Things looked like they were about to get complicated.
23
The gloom was dispelled by a slide projecting an elegant line of stone buildings against a mountain backdrop. Brandon Gazenga zoomed in on three people standing at the top of a set of stairs.
“Starting at the far right, we have Lt. Colonel Jon Smith, a medical doctor and microbiologist attached to USAMRIID. He—”
“Brandon,” Lawrence Drake said, not bothering to hide his impatience. “Dave and I have a meeting in ten minutes. What’s so important about this that it couldn’t wait?”
“Yes, sir, I understand. But we have reports that a week before this photo was taken, Dr. Smith was at Camp Lejeune talking to the surviving SEAL from the Uganda operation. Apparently, he was there when he committed suicide.”
Drake leaned forward, feeling the muscles around his stomach tighten. “Okay, Brandon. You have my attention. Who’s the woman?”
“Sarie van Keuren, a name I think you’re familiar with.”
“The parasitologist. Are the Iranians still watching her?”
“Yes, sir. They have roughly the same photo you’re looking at.”
“And the man she’s shaking hands with?”
“That wasn’t as easy to figure out — he’s traveling on an Argentine passport under the name Peter Jourgan. His real name, though, is Peter Howell. Former SAS, former MI6, now retired and living in California.”
“If he’s retired,” Dave Collen said, “what the hell is he doing in Cape Town talking to van Keuren?”
“I should have said
“I assume you’ve accessed the army’s records,” Drake said. “What are Smith’s orders?”
“He doesn’t have any. He’s officially on a leave of absence.”
“Bull. Is he military intelligence?”
“He’s been attached to Military Intelligence in the past,” Gazenga responded. “But there’s no evidence that he’s associated with them now.”
“And if he
“I agree,” Gazenga said. “You probably remember that Smith was involved in the Hades disaster through his job at USAMRIID. After that, though, he starts turning up in a lot of places that can’t be as easily explained.”
“Someone recruited him after he brought down Tremont,” Drake said.
“I think it’s a safe assumption, sir.”
“Who?”
“I can’t find anything that would even indicate a direction to look. If he is working off the books for someone, they’re incredibly good at staying in the shadows.”
Drake settled back in his chair and examined the stark blue of Smith’s eyes. Who had the juice to recruit and operate an asset like Smith? And who had an undue interest in Caleb Bahame? The answer to those questions had the potential to lead in a very dangerous direction.
“Where are they now?”
“On their way to Uganda.”
Collen turned his chair toward his boss and spoke under his breath. “Jesus, Larry…”
Drake nodded silently. “I want them followed, Brandon. I want to know everywhere they go, everyone they talk to, and everything they learn. And I want to know it in real time. Do you understand?”
“Yes, sir.”
“I also want to know who the hell they’re working for.”
Gazenga nodded obediently but seemed increasingly uncomfortable.
“Do you have something else to say, Brandon?”
“No, sir.”
“Yes, you do. Speak up.”
