This wasn’t the moment. I had to catch himoff guard.
“Why Julie?” I asked. “Why is she thecarrier?”
Ask a man about something important to him,and he’ll never shut up.
“She’s one in a million. One in a billion. Itheorized that someone with her unique genetic markers might exist.Someone who could carry the virus and remain asymptomatic. You haveno idea how much blood we tested, how many false starts wehad.”
“You tried this before,” I stated. “Withothers.”
Pembrooke nodded, seemingly proud of thefact.
“Many others. Those free clinics are fundedby tax dollars, but used by those who contribute nothing to thiscountry. It’s about time those freeloaders gave somethingback.”
I’d met a few psychos in my time, but neverone who looked like someone’s grandfather.
“How many people have you killed while tryingto find a Julie, Pembrooke?”
He shrugged. “You know the saying. To make anomelet, you have to break a few eggs. Now inject yourself.”
I shook my head. “No way.”
“Either you let me sedate you, or I killyou.”
I held the syringe in both hands—
—then snapped it in half.
“That did nothing. I have more.”
“So go get it. I promise I’ll stay here andwait for you.”
I could see him working it out in his head,wondering what to do next.
I was wondering the same thing.
Then the obvious hit me.
Pembrooke wasn’t a pro. So I didn’t have totreat him like one.
I looked over his shoulder at someone whowasn’t there and made my eyes wide.
“Do it!” I yelled at my imaginary savior.“Now!”
I sold it well. And like any amateur,Pembrooke bought the act, craning his neck around to see who wasthere.
I moved forward, to the side of the gun,putting my palm on the hammer and squeezing so Pembrooke couldn’tfire, then twisting my body around and snapping my elbow againstPembrooke’s faceplate.
He went down, falling onto his ass as hereleased the gun.
I pointed it at his head.
“How many people are at this facility?”
“What?”
“Who else is here?”
“No one. Just us.”
“No guards?”
Pembrooke motioned to the men on the floorbehind me. “Those were the guards. Them and Johnson, in the deconshower.”
“If you’re lying to me—”
“I’m not lying. The full team won’t be hereuntil tomorrow. We have to take steps to make sure there are noaccidents, like there were last time.”
I searched his face, judged him sincere.
“Where’s Julie?”
“The other side of the facility. She’ssedated.”
“Thanks. That’s all I need from you.”
His eye went wide, and I had to admit to somebase satisfaction watching him piss himself.
“Please! You can’t kill me. Our country needsme! I’m the only one who can protect us! I’m a brilliant man!”
“You’re not brilliant, Pembrooke. You want toknow what you are?” I put the gun to his eye, let him see his owndeath down the barrel. “You’re an omelet. And I’m about to break afew eggs.”
“NO!”
I raised the gun, then clubbed him across theside of the head. He collapsed onto his side.
I checked the two men I’d put down earlier.They were both gone. I searched them, found some plastic zipties.
I pulled Pembrooke over to Kirk’s bed, andbound his wrists to the railing.
Then I took Kirk’s hand—the one that an hourago was touching me—and jammed the blood-soaked fingers intoPembrooke’s mouth.
“There you go, Kirk,” I said. “I didn’t haveto kill him. You did it yourself.”
I found Julie where Pembrooke said she’d be.As he’d also stated, there didn’t seem to be anyone else at thefacility. By the time I found Johnson, in the decontaminationshower, he was already starting to hemorrhage from the virus.
I put a bullet in his head to ease hispassing.
Then I went back to Pembrooke.
He was awake. And unlike Kirk, he despaired.He complained. He cried.
He also had two last words.
“Kill me.”
“Doctor,” I said. “Heal thyself.”
I stayed until he crashed and bled out.
My phone was in Pembrooke’s office, alongwith my clothing. I took a decon shower before dressing, and thengot to work. I was apparently immune to Ebola, but I didn’t want tospread the disease to anyone else.
It took me less than an hour to do whatneeded to be done.
There was only one final loose end.
Julie.
I tugged my purse over my shoulder. My purse,with the wire garrote in the strap.
Not such a bad way to go, being strangledwhile under sedation.
I went to her, stood at the foot of herbed.
And I did the only thing I could do.
“When an operation goes wrong, thoroughcleanup is a must,” The Instructor said. “Your value to the programdepends on few people knowing you exist. If you can’t preserve thissecrecy, others will be called in to clean up for you, and you willbe part of the mess to be cleaned.”
My phone rang when I had the MH-60M BlackHawk helicopter in the air over the island. I connected it to myheadset and answered the call.
“May I speak to Sheila, please?”
“Sheila is visiting her sister in Pensacola.Would you like to leave a message?”
“Jesus, Chandler. You’re okay. You scared thehell out of me.”
I smiled at the relief evident in Jacob’sslightly robotic tones. “Did you expect anything less?”
“I obviously shouldn’t have.”
I gave him the Cliff’s Notes version of allthat had happened since I’d last talked to him back at the West30th Street Heliport.
After I’d finished, he was silent for severalbeats. “Do you have the vaccine?”
“I am the vaccine,” I said. “From what Icould gather, Pembrooke believed he could use my blood to vaccinateothers.”
“I’ve got an eye in the sky on Plum Island.Is that you in the chopper?”
“Affirmative.”
“The director?”
“Dead.”
“Any survivors?”
“Negative.”
“You have the medical records?”
“I destroyed them.”
“The computers?”
“Likewise. What’s left is going to burn.”
I stared down at the facility, smoke alreadybeginning to leak out of the roof. With all of the flammablechemicals on the premises, the firefighters were going to have ahelluva job putting this one out.
“Ebola is a horrible weapon,” Jacob said.“One that can’t be controlled, no matter what people like Pembrookebelieved.”
“I’m glad we’re on the same page.” Ihesitated, waiting for the other shoe to fall.
“How about the girl?”
I hesitated, feeling sick in the pit of mystomach, unsure of what to say.
I trusted Jacob.
But more importantly, I needed him.
“She’s with me.”
“She’s alive?”
“Yes.”
“Chandler. This needs to end.”
My conscience was telling me the same thing.As the Typhoid Mary
