The Genesis Plague (2010)

was at the cave when I was there. He was outside the cave, making a cell phone call. Something about test results on samples he’d sent out. I overheard him mention an AMS lab where he’d sent samples for testing.’

‘AMS lab?’

‘Accelerator Mass Spectrometer. The machine used for carbon-dating studies.’

‘Remember the name of the place?’

She tried to recall, but couldn’t. ‘No. Damn.’ Then she remembered something else. ‘But there were other tests results he’d mentioned. Biological cultures or something. He was reading from a report that had an official seal on its cover. Some kind of insignia, I think. But it was weird, because I remember it had a symbol representing a DNA helix, or chromosomes. And it had a long acronym that began with USA …’

Flaherty tightened up, fearing he knew what she meant. ‘Did the insignia have a five-pointed star to the right of the helix and a circular symbol beneath it?’ He tried tracing the layout in the air with his index finger to help her picture it.

She fished her memory. ‘Not sure.’

He checked the mirror to ensure no one was shadowing him then pointed with his chin at the BlackBerry and said, ‘Type in this web address.’ He had to repeat the tricky URL three times before she got it right.

Once Brooke brought up the home page, she immediately recognized the insignia. ‘Yeah, that’s it! That’s the insignia!’ She held the BlackBerry out for him and pointed to it on the mini LCD screen.

For Flaherty, this was anything but good news. ‘Great,’ he grumbled.

There was a long acronym beside the insignia: USAMRIID. ‘I remember the two “I’s” in the name too,’ she said. ‘Reminded me of Roman numerals. Says here “United States Army Medical Research Institute for Infectious Diseases”.’

‘Exactly,’ Flaherty said. He let out another sigh. This assignment was fast snowballing into something much bigger. ‘Among other things, that’s America’s bio-weapons division.’

25

IRAQ

‘What do you mean she got away?’ Crawford snapped through the sat-com’s microphone in a loud whisper. He practically bit the filter off the Marlboro that dangled between his lips.

‘There was someone else there already. A detective, I think,’ the caller replied.

‘So?‘ He circled around the MRAP to avoid be overheard by the marines milling around the camp.

‘I had her pinned down. Was moving in to finish her. The guy came out of nowhere. Took me down with his car, started shooting. He managed to take her away.’

The inept assassin’s recap of what had transpired at the museum pushed Crawford’s rage to the boiling point. ‘Isn’t that Jim-fucking-dandy,’ Crawford spat. ‘You listen to me, you incompetent scumbag … You find her, you kill her. Or I’ll have your head, you hear me?’

‘I’m already tracking them. I’ll take care of it.’

‘You better be calling me real soon with good news.’ He terminated the call. He pulled a long drag on the cigarette, then flicked it at a scorpion scurrying through the sand. Deliberating on how to inform Stokes about the mishap, he finally settled on sending a text message - short and sweet. The he shut the phone and slid it into the pocket of his flak jacket.

Who was this detective that beat them to the archaeologist? Only someone on the inside could have sent him. Maybe Stokes had something up his sleeve. Seemed unlikely, because, even though Stokes wasn’t exactly the lucid soldier he’d known for so many years on the battlefield, he was no idiot. In fact, Stokes seemed hell-bent on covering his tracks, as evidenced by the way he’d commenced countermeasures the moment the cave was infiltrated by the militants. Considering the fact that the woman’s ID badge had been sitting next to Yaeger’s computer left little doubt as to the true culprit.

Crawford bounded over to the command tent where Sergeant Jason Yaeger and his linebacker-sized tech were helping the marines prepare the recon robot. They were loading gas canisters into the rotary magazine of what resembled an oversized tommy gun mounted on the robot. Crawford stood back a minute, reined in his fury, and considered how to approach Yaeger. Unfortunately, this clever kid was no automaton - wouldn’t be doing this kind of work if he was. Any guy who passed the psych profile to go deep cover wouldn’t be the type to back down or conform to protocol. If Yaeger had an agenda, he certainly wasn’t going to divulge it. Autonomy was poisonous, thought Crawford. Especially on the battlefield.

‘Yaeger,’ Crawford finally called out.

The mercenary looked up. ‘Yeah.’

‘Need a moment with you, son.’

Jason handed the last gas canister to Meat, then went over to the colonel.

‘Walk with me,’ Crawford said, pacing away from the tent.

Jason kept step beside him.

‘I need to know if you’ve spoken to anyone about what’s happening here.’

Jason’s response was forthright: ‘You, air command …’

‘Don’t be coy with me, Sergeant,’ Crawford warned. He needed to be direct, without raising undue suspicion. ‘Someone on the outside. Did you communicate with non-military, civilians perhaps?’

Jason was a master of reading between the lines. Best to answer him with a question. ‘Why would I do that?’ He could tell Crawford was unsure how to push the issue.

Crawford turned and tried to decipher Yaeger’s gaze, but read nothing. ‘Until we confirm exactly who’s holed up in that cave, I want all communication running through me. I know you want this guy in there to be Al-Zahrani. But until we’re absolutely certain, this operation has to be airtight. Let me have your sat-com.’ He held out his hand.

Jason merely stared at the hand. ‘You know I can’t do that, Colonel.’ He waited for the hand to go down, then looked deep into Crawford’s hard eyes. ‘No one is more sensitive to secrecy than me. Same with my men. We survive on trust. From what I see, none of your boys have surrendered equipment and it’s far more probable that a leak or mole might exist in your platoon. Don’t make me remind you that I’m accountable to a different authority. So if you have a concern, best for you to voice it. I don’t like playing games. Especially not when the stakes are so high.’

Jason knew he struck a chord, because Crawford’s jaw was jutting out again.

Folding his arms tight across his chest, Crawford shook his head like a disappointed parent. ‘Yeah, the stakes are high. Ten million high for you, isn’t that right? Free agents like you don’t get it, Yaeger,’ he said with venom. ‘True soldiers aren’t motivated by a 401(k) plan and bonuses. And don’t cry to me about your story, ‘cause I’ve already heard it: how your brother died in the Towers and, instead of grieving, you dropped out of Dartmouth and did your time with the marines. This little vendetta of yours’ - he twirled a finger up and down at Yaeger’s outfit - ‘seems too personal. One might say it compromises your objectivity.’

Jason kept his cool, and his distance. ‘Since you’ve done your homework, you should know that my psych examination suggests otherwise,’ he replied levelly. ‘My profile shows that I approach my work quite clearly and without bias. Don’t forget that I have people too. And I’m starting to feel that I need to check your background.’ He saw Crawford’s jaw extend to the max. ‘I called for backup. I didn’t call for a dick-measuring contest. Unless you’d like for me to file a formal complaint with the brigadier general, I suggest you start helping me. Stop talking to me like I’m your bitch.’

Crawford let out an exasperated sigh, flashed a sardonic grin. ‘Until we know what and whom we’re dealing with up there’ - but Stokes had already provided concise details - ‘I’d appreciate it if you could not stir the hornets’ nest, is all I’m saying.’

While staring into the colonel’s shifty eyes, Jason counted to five to decompress. ‘The bot’s prepped and ready,’ he replied calmly. ‘I’ve got work to do.’ He didn’t wait to be dismissed - just sidestepped Crawford and strode to the tent.

26

LAS VEGAS

Randall Stokes stared at the computer screen wondering when Frank Roselli’s elusive e-mail would make an