“For what? Enhanced soldiers?”
“Viral research,” said Church.
“What kind? Germ warfare?”
“Nobody uses that term anymore,” Hu said haughtily. “Baker and Schloss has government contracts for tactical-response bio-agents. TRBs.”
“Which means what?” I asked.
“Germ warfare,” said Church. “The point is that the situation is politically complicated. The title to the land is actually held by the U.S. Government. Baker and Schloss has access to it as part of their research contract.”
“Why is it in Scotland?”
Church said nothing.
“What?” I prompted.
Hu snorted. “It’s here because it’s not allowed to be in the U.S.”
I studied their faces. Church was a stone, but Hu was smiling, and he never smiled unless something unpleasant was happening. “I’m going out on a limb here and guess that it’s not allowed in the U.K., either.”
“No, it’s allowed,” said Church, “but only under the most exacting circumstances, which translates as ‘difficult and expensive.’ Those responsible for establishing this facility found it less expensive and more productive to simply move it outside of the scope of domestic regulars and congressional oversight. That itself is problematic in a variety of ugly ways. The nature of the work being done at Fair Isle contravenes half a dozen international agreements.”
“Why is it even in operation?” I demanded.
“It’s a holdover from a previous administration. And it’s one of those things that the layers of government power players fail to tell a new president.”
“How—,” I began, but he cut me off.
“There are too many secrets to tell any sitting president. At best the President can be briefed in general about the areas of research and given more complete information when the situation requires it. But the career politicians within the infrastructure have a skewed view of both ‘need to know’ and ‘plausible deniability.’ They believe they have the right to decide what the President is allowed to know, or not allowed to know.”
I knew what he was saying. As much as we don’t want to accept the truth, there were layers of government that remained in place no matter which party held power in the White House. Shadow governments, cells and cabals, some of which believed that what they were doing was in the best interest of the American people, though in those rare cases when someone was able to shine a light on them it became pretty clear that money and the power it purchased was the only enduring motive.
“If this got out,” Church said, “it could cripple the current administration and it would almost certainly result in some kind of criminal charges for key members of the previous administration.”
I started to say something smart-ass, but he headed me off at the pass.
“This isn’t a time to collect scalps, Captain. Playing politics has hurt our country too many times. And while I agree that those responsible should be held accountable, that’s something best done quietly on our own turf. Spilling this in public would do greater harm than good. The stock market is already taking very bad hits because of the Hospital bombing; this could crash it into a depression. It would also strip the power of the United States in critical negotiations with North Korea, China, and Iran.”
“Yeah, stones and glass houses.”
He nodded.
I said, “Tell you, though … if someone wanted to do just that, this would be a good way to go about it. We have to consider that this might
“No! Really?” said Hu dryly.
Church adjusted his glasses. “We face three separate problems.”
“Let me see if I can guess,” I said, and ticked them off on my fingers. “First, we need to contain the situation and prevent any bugs from getting loose. Second, we need to make sure this doesn’t embarrass the ol’ U.S. of A.”
“Right. And the third?”
“We have to find out why this guy is doing this. You said he wants to talk to someone from Homeland? Not the Brits? Not the press? That’s interesting.”
“Isn’t it, though?” said Church. “He said one thing that I find particularly intriguing. He said that there’s still time to stop this.’”
“That doesn’t sound like a threat,” I said. “Maybe he’s not a bad guy. Maybe he’s just a scared guy.”
“Scared of what?” Hu asked.
“Don’t know yet. But you don’t take people hostage if you’re not scared of something. Not unless you’re in it for the money, and this doesn’t have that kind of feel.”
“Agreed,” said Church.
“Or maybe he’s part of this thing, whatever it is, and got either cold feet or an attack of conscience.”
“And if the Kings are involved we might finally have a doorway into them.”
I nodded. “Couple questions, though.”
“Go.”
“First … why me? Where the hell’s the rest of the DMS?”
“Everyone healthy enough to report for work has been scrambled and assigned to investigation or protection in the States. As for our teams here, Gog is still on the job in Prague and Magog has gone dark in Afghanistan, though that’s expected at this stage of that operation. We can’t get either of them here in time and this situation needs a shooter.”
I gave him a sour look. “Swell. Joe Ledger, gun for hire.”
“If your feelings are bruised, Captain, let me put it more delicately: this situation needs finesse.”
“Thanks, but I wasn’t about to break out in tears.”
Hu made a small grunting sound that I was free to interpret any way I wanted. I considered siccing Ghost on him.
“We do have some local assets, however,” said Church. “Barrier is sending Lionheart Team as backup.”
“I thought we had to keep the Brits out of this,” I said.
“Officially, we have to keep the British
“Does Benson Childe know about this?”
“Officially, no. Unofficially, I briefed him on the matter and he advised me that Prebble’s goodwill is only going to last as far as containment. If there’s any kind of biological breach, then Prebble will disown us. As well he should.”
“As you would in the same circumstance.”
“Of course.”
The limo pulled out of traffic and through the gates of a large estate. A military helicopter was parked on the lawn behind the house, the rotors already turning, the engine whine rising to a scream.
Interlude Fourteen
Crown Island
St. Lawrence River, Ontario, Canada
Four Months Ago
Gault stepped out of the steaming shower and reached for a towel. It wasn’t on the rack. Instead Eris moved out of the mist and handed it to him.
Gault snatched the towel from her and pressed it to his naked, scarred face, turning half-away. But Eris moved closer still. She still wore the bikini top, but she had shed the tight pants and wore only the scraps of bright cloth that comprised the bottom of the bikini. Her body was strong and taut, with hard muscles under tanned
