“Through that door,” said Hercules as they came to the end of the hall. A large metal door with a panic bar stood at his right.
Dean pushed outside. A wave of cold hit him; his teeth began to chatter.
“You really aren’t feeling well, are you?” said Hercules.
“No,” said Dean.
“Well, come then. This will be over quickly. One way or the other.”
36
Rubens paced behind the consoles, suddenly worried about Dean and whether he could pass the test. He thought about ordering his crash team in. Made up of Desk Three paramilitaries — all of them Black Suits specially trained in hostage rescue and terrorist suppression — the team could have Dean safe within eight minutes.
Eight minutes would probably be too late.
Dean had been a Marine sniper in Vietnam; he was used to dealing with uncertainty. Rubens knew intellectually he’d be all right and yet couldn’t shake the sense of dread and worry.
“There are two men in that first trailer, the one that has all the computer gear. That’s where they’ll take Dean,” said Telach. “I think they’re holding off the lab for later, if at all.”
“Have you tapped into the trailer’s computers?”
“Can’t. They’re not connected to anything. The only reason I know they’re there is from the infrared on the Crow.”
“Can Lia get into them?” asked Rubens.
“Not as long as there are other people in the trailer. Best bet is to get her inside the building once the guards complete their circuit. We’ll see what we can do from there.”
“The buildings are just for show, or just temporary,” said Rubens, realizing how the operation was set up. “The trailers are the key. See if you can get registration data, that sort of thing.”
“We’re already working on it.”
“Work harder,” said Rubens. “We have a man under the gun there.”
“And Lia.”
“And Lia, yes,” said Rubens.
37
Dean’s legs wobbled as he went up the steel steps at the back of the large white trailer. From the outside, it looked like a generic trailer, the sort that would be used in the States to transport any number of things, the kind that clogged the nation’s highways and byways. The only hint that it might be something more than a trailer was the second door behind the folded-out rear gate.
“Just turn the handle,” said Hercules, behind him on the steps.
Dean fumbled with the inset steel ring. The door opened with a slight hitch, and Dean felt a rush of crisp air hit him at the side of the face. The cold air helped, and his legs steadied as he walked inside.
Natural-hue fluorescents filled the interior with a soft light. Dean stepped across the threshold into a paneled room that could have been a waiting area for a dentist. A tall young man with a goatee stood at the door opposite the entrance. He had a smirk on his face and said something to Hercules that Dean didn’t understand.
“They’re going to quiz you,” said Rockman in Dean’s head. “They’re speaking Greek, but it’s not their first language. It may be for Hercules’ benefit, or it may be to cross you up since they know you don’t know it. We’re working on getting IDs here.”
Dean coughed as an acknowledgment. Hercules looked at him with some concern, then led him through the door into a room with computers, through that room, and into another set up like a small classroom or lecture center, with a white board at the front and six student desk-chairs crammed together. Hercules gestured at the front row and Dean sat down. A clean-shaven man in his late twenties came out from a door at the end of the room; he had a large metal detector in one hand and a device to search for bugs in the other.
Hercules started to object, speaking quickly in Greek.
“That’s been done twice,” interpreted the Art Room.
The man continued anyway, ending by directing Dean against the wall and patting him down. Finally satisfied, he directed Dean back to the chair.
“Tell me about your work with viruses,” he said.
“You don’t work with viruses, you work with bacteria,” said the Art Room specialist.
“What really are you looking for?” answered Dean.
“Perhaps you’d like something to drink,” said Hercules. “Coffee? Tea?”
“Water’d be good,” said Dean. “Boil it first, though.” The others laughed.
“Afraid of catching germs?” said the clean-shaven man.
The man smirked. “Any strand in particular?”
Dean suddenly felt angry at being jerked around. He was tired, and the fever that had started earlier now burned through him like a barn fired by kerosene on a hot July afternoon. He couldn’t deal with this anymore.
“You want to talk about water, or you want the antidote? What the hell is it that you want? One guy asks me about
“We want to make sure you’re not a spy,” said the clean-shaven man. “We understand Dr. Kegan has already been visited by the FBI.”
“Who says?”
“Don’t act for us.”
Dean held out his hands. “Do I look like the FBI? Would they send someone with a hundred-and-four fever?”
“Is your fever really that high?” asked the voice in Dean’s head.
The clean-shaven man glanced over at Goatee, but neither man said anything.
“Dr. Kegan assured us he would be here himself,” said the clean-shaven man. “And yet he is not. And he has not answered our E-mails.”
“I’m not sure about his plans,” said Dean. “He asked me to come to Europe in his place.”
“Then how do you know about our business?”
“I don’t,” said Dean. “I don’t know anything beyond what I’ve been told.”
The clean-shaven man frowned. The two men started talking. Even before Rockman told him that they were arguing whether it would be better just to get rid of him, Dean realized he was in trouble.
“Let’s take a guess,” said the Art Room scientist, whispering in his ear.
Oh sure, you take a guess and I end up in the sewer, Dean thought.
“My fever’s not part of your problem,” Dean told the two men. “Unless there are a lot of rats running around.”
The two men looked at each other.
Dean looked at him, trying to puzzle out what the man expected as the answer.
“The bacteria is
Or it was an innocent mistake, thought Dean.
“Moniliformis or spirillum?” said Goatee, in English.
