“It’s okay, I’ve got what I need,” she replied. In her left hand was a small vial inside a clear protective plastic case. She held it up. “You’re not going to believe what’s in here.”
He started for the door and she fell in behind him, slipping the vial into her pocket. “I have no idea.” Gordon reached the door and looked out into the hallway. It was clear. “What’s in the vial?”
“The virus.”
Gordon stopped in his tracks. “What?” he said. “What do you mean, the virus?”
“The hemorrhagic virus that was terrorizing the country. We just found the real lab where the virus was developed.”
“Jesus Christ,” Gordon said, starting down the hallway at a fast pace. “Are we infected?”
“No, the virus I found is dead, but I can still see the molecular structure.” She fell in beside him, her legs moving fast to keep up with his long strides. “Andrews created the virus in this lab. Or at least he had Dr. Wai create it. And my guess is that he never planned on releasing it. He just killed a few people and threatened to dump it on the population to create a crisis.” They reached the fork in the hall and took a left. “Once the government was convinced they had a terrorist ready to kill millions of people, he suddenly holds up an antiviral drug that’s been languishing in nowhere land waiting for FDA approval and says, ‘Hey look what I’ve got. The cure.’And everyone buys it. Andrews is the hero, and he gets his drug through the FDA.”
“That’s it?” Gordon asked. “That’s what this has been all about? Getting a new drug through the regulators?”
“That’s my guess.”
“Why? Why kill all those people? Why create something this dangerous? Where’s the upside?”
“Money, Gordon. A lot of money. If I had to guess, I’d say in excess of two billion dollars a year in sales, maybe three. A new antiviral drug, even with side effects that would keep the FDA from approving it, is a gold mine. But they’re hard to get approved, because they all have some rather disturbing side effects. And with a viral drug, you don’t take it all the time, so the effects take years to show up. But the damage is being done. And since the FDA had this new drug stalled, it must be pretty bad.”
“Holy shit,” Gordon said. They had reached the steel security doors, and he reached for the button on the wall to open them. Then he froze. Looking directly at him through the small glass window was the driver of the Crown Vic. Gordon had only caught a fleeting glimpse of the man when the car went flying by the Jeep, but he was sure it was the same person. “Jennifer, let’s go,” he yelled, grabbing her arm and pulling her back the way they had just come. A clicking sound behind them indicated that someone had tripped the automatic locking system and the doors were opening. Just as they reached the fork in the hallway, they heard a strange muffled sound and a bullet chewed into the wall inches from Jennifer’s head. She screamed as they rounded the corner, moving at a full run.
“They’re shooting at us,” she managed to gasp as they ran.
“The hall’s too long,” Gordon said. “They’ll be at the fork before we reach the end. Quick, open one of these doors.”
They stopped abruptly in front of one of the blue doors and she swiped her card through the reader. The light blinked red. “Shit,” she said, turning her card over and swiping it again, this time with the magnetic stripe on the right side. The light turned green and she opened the door. A second bullet hit the metal doorjamb and sparks flew. They piled through the door and pushed it shut behind them. They heard running footsteps coming toward them and it sounded like there was more than one pursuer. Jennifer flipped on the light, they took a quick look around, and she snapped the light off.
They were in a small lab, perhaps one-quarter the size of the lab Andrews had used to create the virus. Two long lab benches, anchored securely to the floor, ran perpendicular to the wall that housed the door they had just entered through. They were covered with equipment and sophisticated-looking machines. There was a secondary exit at the far end of the lab and Jennifer headed for it, groping her way in the dark and trying to remember where the lab benches were from the brief glimpse she’d had when the light was on. Gordon moved to one of the benches and ran his hand along until he found a sharp metal spike used for stirring liquids. Then he returned to the door and rammed it into the light switch. Outside, he could hear the men on the phone calling back to the security desk with the lab number.
“Move, Jennifer,” Gordon said quietly as he came up behind her. “They’re talking to the security guard. They’re probably asking him to open the door remotely for them.”
The door clicked and it opened, throwing a beam of light from the hallway into the lab. Gordon and Jennifer were on the far side of one of the long tables and out of the light. The man entering the lab tried the light switch, but the metal spike had destroyed it. He cursed and moved slowly into the semidarkness, searching for Gordon and Jennifer.
“You can’t get away,” he said quietly. His voice carried through the empty room. “Just come out and we’ll talk. We need to talk with you.”
“Bullshit,” Gordon whispered to Jennifer. “Andrews’s guys. They need to kill us.”
He could barely see her shape in the darkness, but he could tell she was nodding. “The rear exit,” she whispered back. “Let’s get out of here.”
They crawled along the floor, staying below the level of the lab benches. Jennifer’s hand bumped into a stool, and it wobbled for a second until Gordon caught it and stopped it from toppling over. They remained motionless for a minute, then continued. Behind them they could hear the sounds of unsure feet shuffling across the tiles. Jennifer reached the exit and asked quietly, “Are you ready?”
“Ready.”
She gripped the handle firmly and pulled. An alarm instantly sounded and the emergency lighting system kicked in. Jennifer was already through the door, and Gordon dived after her. He had a fleeting glimpse of a man with a pistol aimed at him, then that strange sound and a searing pain in his right leg. His momentum carried him through the doorway, and Jennifer slammed the metal door behind him.
“Damn it,” he said, grabbing at his leg. His hands came away bloodied. He pulled his pant leg up and looked at the wound. There was a small hole in the calf muscle where the bullet had entered. He felt on the other side of his leg and found another hole. “It went through,” he said, struggling to his feet. “Just a flesh wound. Now get out of here. Head for the exit at the south end of the building and I’ll be there in a minute.”
“I’m not leaving without you,” she said.
He grabbed her by the shoulders. “This isn’t a movie. And it sure as hell isn’t time to get heroic. Get back to the cab. I’ll be there in a couple of minutes.”
She opened her mouth, then shut it. He was serious. She set off down the secondary hallway at a brisk run. She glanced back at a corner in the hall and saw Gordon kicking in a door with his good leg. Then she was alone, running for her life down the dimly lit corridor.
Gordon smashed in the wooden door marked MAINTENANCE.
Inside was standard fare for cleaning an industrial building. He pulled a mop off its hanger and swung it hard against the wall. The mop broke off, leaving just a splintered handle. He grabbed a bottle of ammonia and unscrewed the lid. A second later, the door crashed open and a man entered, a silenced pistol in his outstretched hand. Gordon stabbed at the man’s hand with the sharp end of the mop handle, the splintered wood driving into his attacker’s wrist. The gun flew from his hand and he howled in pain, the shattered handle shoved clear through his arm. He looked up at Gordon with disbelief in his eyes and saw a liquid coming at him. The ammonia hit his exposed eyes and he dropped to the floor, screaming and clawing at his face. Gordon gave him one well-placed kick in the head and he went silent, unconscious.
The alarm from opening the back door had ceased; that worked for Gordon, as he needed the quiet. He knew from the footsteps in the hall that there was more than one person after them. He took deep slow breaths, his ears in tune with every noise. Nothing for a few seconds, then a slight scraping sound just outside the door. The second attacker was right there, just on the other side of the wall. Gordon put his foot on the first man’s arm and pulled the mop handle out. Then he moved back a couple of feet and rammed the sharp end of the handle into the wall. It punctured the drywall on both sides of the studs as if it didn’t even exist, then hit something solid. Gordon heard a strange sound, something he’d never heard in his life. It was like air escaping an enclosed space, except that it was accompanied by the strangest gurgling sound. He waited a minute until the sound had diminished to almost nothing, then ventured a quick peek around the corner. The sight brought bile to his throat.
The second attacker was impaled by the broken handle, like a pig on a barbecue spit. Blood poured from his
