Authors: Dorian Paul
"Strong says nobody in the world knows more about TB production –"
"Reproduction."
"Yep. Nobody knows it better than you."
Except Dr. Black.
"Look, if there's somebody on that list who knows more about this than you, Dr. Ashe, you gotta let me know now. Clock's ticking."
She felt more exhausted than after finishing the Boston Marathon a few years ago, but knew full well this was only the starting line. She took a deep breath and concentrated on the list. Most of the researchers were familiar either from published articles or presentations at conferences. A few were former colleagues, and one she knew very well indeed. But none of these scientists or the military people from USAMRIID had her experience with TB replication. And none of them had seen Black's TB and what it could do. Don was right. She was the best person to lead the team.
"The list is pretty exhaustive," Bobby said. "My people included the folks who weren't killed in the van crash at that Vienna conference last spring." He paused and stared right through her. "You were supposed to go to that dinner, right?"
She was, but at the last minute declined because she'd just agreed to go to Morocco and work for a competitor of the drug company hosting the event. She bit her lips. "Bobby, were the men in Tivaz behind that crash?"
"Can't say for sure, but that crash sidelined a lot of folks who otherwise might be able to help on this. Bottom line, whoever's behind this is serious."
Nobody had to tell her that, but there was something she needed to ask, because she'd been thinking a lot about her final actions before leaving Tivaz with Tiger. "Bobby, if I didn't destroy Black's TB in Tivaz, would you have been able to get there in time to shut the whole thing down? Would this all be over?"
He shrugged. "Can't say for sure."
"But you might have."
"Maybe so."
No turning back from the challenge. If she'd made different choices then, maybe, but not now.
"Hey, look, we can't turn back the clock. You did what you thought was right, just like David when he blew his cover and stopped that guard from raping you."
"I didn't ask him for help." Her voice sounded defensive, even a little guilty.
"Doing the right thing's what makes us different from folks like Varat and Black. You gotta move on."
Move on? That's what she thought she was doing when she went to Casablanca after Ben's death.
"The best thing now is for you to pick the people you want. We've done security checks and they're all willing to help."
"Will they relocate and work out of Don's lab in New Haven so we can all be together and bounce our ideas off each other?"
"We're thinking here in London. Quicker start up, closer for some people on this list."
"But I don't know the research facilities here. Neither does Don."
"Your TB's in a lab that knows the drill. Run by a gal named Sandra Cook."
"I've never heard of her."
"I mentioned her to Dr. Strong. She doesn't work with TB, but she's first rate with vaccines. Been working on a lung cancer vaccine. He said you could count on her to give you whatever you need."
Bobby Keane obviously had his own plan and already cleared it with Don. It wasn't a battle worth fighting.
"The place is set up for Level 4 containment, the whole works, from the other project her lab did with the British Intel people. Strong thinks this makes sense, and says he'll be in touch as soon as we get him out of the Congo."
"He'll come to London, right?"
"If that's what you want, Dr. Ashe. You're in charge."
Maybe, but It sounded more like Bobby Keane was in charge. "Who exactly are you?"
"CIA. Let's just say I'm on your team, Dr. Ashe."
"Well, I need a place to stay. I don't mind a dorm room if the lab's attached to a university."
"It's hooked up with University College, but afraid a dorm room won't do. You need someplace secure. You've seen inside Black's lab so we gotta protect you 24/7."
She felt queasy, and it wasn't from the sickly sweet smell of the disinfectant hospitals used in a futile attempt to curb the spread of hospital-acquired infections.
"David Ruskin's got a house here in London that's safe. State-of-the-art security. That's where the two of you will stay."
The names on the list became a blur. "The two of us?"
"Yep. Varat's got it in for both of you. Keeping you together kills two birds with one stone."
She blinked and wondered if she heard him right.
"Sorry, Dr. Ashe. Didn't mean it the way it sounded."
Her arm was throbbing, her head splitting, and she wasn't exactly pleased at the thought of staying with Tiger . . . David . . . whoever he was. As far as figuring out Tivaz TB . . .
"I know this is gonna be rough on you."
Rough? He had no idea.
"Look, I wanna help. Anything I can do for you?"
"Can you get the things from my apartment in Casablanca?"
"Your place was pretty torn up. Something special you were looking for?"
Only her past. Photos of her parents, and her wedding day with Ben. "Pictures."
"I'll have somebody take a look. And I'll send a girl from the embassy over to get you set up with clothes and all that. You gotta concentrate on building your team." He opened his briefcase again and extracted a thick sheaf of papers. "Here's the resumes that go with those names. Check 'em out. Circle the names of the ones you want."
He left and she swallowed more pain pills, stared where the pink wall met the white ceiling, and gritted her teeth. She'd been here before: spared from death, hurting, and facing a new life on her own. But was she ready to step up to leading a research effort against a bioweapon that risked the world, even if Don had confidence in her? She'd watched him build teams before, but watching a master and doing it yourself wasn't the same thing. Still, if she added redundancy in critical areas, and chose good bench people as well as those with strong theoretical backgrounds, she might not go too far wrong.
She read the list again, ignoring Roscoe's name for the second time. She circled a few obvious individuals, reviewed the rest of the resumes in depth, and calculated whether she could get by without Roscoe. But she had to get this right. Dr. Black's work was beyond cutting edge, and she needed the best minds to pursue him to the outer limits of scientific knowledge. She'd be a fool to exclude Roscoe Smartz. Whatever baggage was between them, no one excelled in the rapid development of prototypes like Roscoe. To defeat Tivaz TB she had to have the right talent, not ignore someone because she didn't want to face him.
She circled Roscoe's name.
A hospital aide hustled in with a lunch tray. Why did they insist on using paper and plastic everything these days? Disposable plates and cutlery might be more hygienic, but eating off it was depressing, no recipe for recovery. Nor was she thrilled by the three-course meal that stared back at her: green salad, mashed potatoes with mystery meat, and a fruit cup. Starter, entree, and dessert.
Of course – beginning, middle, and end! That's how she'd start her team off. Brainstorming ideas into three categories: quick hits to put in place right away, approaches that were doable but would take a little time, and long shots that would kill Tivaz TB for certain – if they worked.
She scooped the maraschino cherry off the top of her fruit cup with a plastic spoon. She could get this team started . . . and Don would be here soon.
As for living with a beautiful tiger in a London safe house, that was another thing altogether. If only she had a mentor to guide her through that, she'd put up with paper plates and plastic silverware.
Chapter 10
Bobby grabbed a guest office at the American Embassy and called James while his computer booted up. "Dr. Ashe is on board. She'll stay at Sherborne House with David and head up research at Sandra Cook's lab. But seems like Tivaz TB's gonna be a tough nut to crack."
"I am told it's difficult to weaponize."
"Hate to pin my hopes on the other guy failing." His computer signaled it was awake, and a string of e-mails confirmed the world's other threats hadn't stood still because he hopped over to London for this crisis. There was even a message saying his mother had phoned a bunch of times – about Johnny. "James, we're better off staying on offense."
"David is seeking actionable intelligence through his North African connections."
He closed the e-mail window. This was no time to multi-task, especially when he was about to pass judgment on his best friend. "I don't think David should run point on this operation."
"Why ever not? He's been inside Tivaz, knows the players."
"Yep, and Varat and Black would be in our hands now if David kept his eye on the ball when he was in there."
"The guard's attack on Dr. Ashe put him in an impossible position. I'm not defending him, but what would you have had him do?"
"Activate his GPS from inside the compound. We might 'a got there before Varat and Black cleared out."
"If Varat picked up the signal, he would have killed David and Dr. Ashe and fled in any case."
"We'd be no worse off than we are now." Except he'd have his dead friend on his conscience.
"Perhaps, but David freed Dr. Ashe, and right now she's our best hope for an antidote."
"If he didn't blow the mission we wouldn't be worrying about a fucking antidote." Even as he said it he knew he was being a hard-ass, but his job was on the line too.
"We do not know that for certain. Varat may well have stockpiled the germs elsewhere."
James was defending David, and that's what you wanted your boss to do when shit happened in the field. And he wanted to cut his friend a break too. But that was the problem. David was his friend, which was all the more reason not to cut him slack with other lives at risk. "I'm still not convinced David's right for this job."
"Why? Surely you agree no one has a greater interest in bringing Varat to justice than he."
"Yep, he's definitely obsessed with Varat."
"Such feelings, properly channeled, can sometimes pay handsome dividends."
"Or make a man lose his edge." God, it sucked to say that about somebody he'd risked his life for and would do so again if necessary. "Look, Bouchta was a U.S. lead. I handpicked Tiger for the job. He screwed up, and I'm in the hot seat."
"I appreciate your situation with the powers-that-be, but we are all under pressure and I see no reason to relieve David of his responsibilities at this time."
There was a soft knock and he decided it wasn't worth it to push James anymore on this. He'd just have to be mighty careful he kept David on short leash. He paused to open the office door, and the girl he tasked to buy clothes for Dr. Ashe smiled and gave him thumbs up. Guess she fell for Claire Ashe too. The woman was too damn smart, charming, and committed . . . traits she shared with David. To top it off she was a looker.
"Are you still on the line?" James asked.
"Yep, sorry." Why should it matter to him if the brainy scientist with auburn hair and fierce determination had taken his playboy pal by storm?
"Anything else?" James asked.
"Can you double the surveillance on David and Dr. Ashe? Varat's gonna make a run at them once he sees they're living together, and with extra back-up we might pick up a thread before this blows up on us."
"I shall. And may I ask that you not give up on David just yet?"
"Hear ya."
Bobby'd flown into London at the crack of dawn this morning, expecting to return to D.C. on the last flight tonight. But after what he'd learned today he decided to extend his trip, visit Casablanca with David, and judge for himself if his friend could do the job. He cleared his backlog of requests and authorizations, and it was late evening when he crossed Grosvenor Square and looked back at the American Embassy. Eero Saarinen's post-war building, crowned by a massive eagle, projected great power. Appropriate when image matched reality the day conquering Ike rose to the Presidency. But now the building cowered behind concrete barriers defending the Red, White, and Blue against determined fanatics.
Bobby's crepe-soled shoes gripped the damp pavement as he walked to the Haybrooke, a small hotel constructed from a series of nineteenth century townhouses. The historian in him liked staying in Mayfair, established by British nobles during the Regency period of George III. Nothing wrong with soaking up a touch of aristocracy if he was going to spend time with David, whose Ruskin heritage predated the age of the Prince Regent.
The impoverished boy in him loved the elegance of the Haybrooke, and the fact that he could afford to splurge once in a while. There were tea tables off the lobby, and silver bowls of apples on the mahogany reception counter. But it was the bar, with its old leather globes and game hunting trophies that personified his youthful view of the British Empire. He took a seat at the rail, ordered a bitter, and wondered if the world on display here ever existed outside his imagination. Tonight, his only companion was a leggy dark-haired beauty at the end of the run of stools. East European by her looks, and on the prowl.
She twisted his way, stretching her beige turtleneck over impressive breasts. "Hello, I'm Marta. You just arrived?"
"Touched down this morning."
"Good flight?" she asked. Her accent was Romanian.
"Dandy."
"And now it's bedtime, but you're wide awake."
"Got that right, honey."
Marta's smile displayed white teeth that must've cost a fortune. "I can rock you to sleep. American cowboys tell me I give a good ride."
This gal was hot!
He wanted to take her up on the offer and maybe he should. He was the one sleeping alone every night, unlike David who never needed to look for somebody to get laid. Although it was unlikely Claire Ashe was one of his conquests by the way she practically recoiled at the thought of shacking up with him at Sherborne House. Remembering her expression made him smile.