The lift bell chimed and Ruth flew out of the car before the doors had properly opened. The thickly carpeted floor muffled the sound of her running boots, and she pulled her jacket tighter around her body as she scurried towards the control room. The alarm on her phone had not gone off. Once again, she had overslept. As she neared the door, her footsteps lagged, a strange heaviness invading in her chest, the weight of emotional remnants held over from her dream. In her sleep, it had not been Lamott who had shown up at her door, but George. She had tried to keep him out, rationalising that he was not real, but he had stood in her room, convincing her that he was very much alive, so much so, that she had awoken, believing it to be true. She ran her hand through the rebellious strands of her hair. At some point, she would have to release the weight of the past and place her feet firmly in the land of the living, or she would lose sight of the shore and drown.
Slightly out of breath, she opened the door, the conversation halting as she entered, the rest of the team having already assembled around the table. Murmuring a cursory sorry, she hastily took a seat, forgoing a much-needed coffee. She kept her eyes lowered, deliberately avoiding Harry's gaze. A flutter of nerves rushed through her, and she wasn't sure if it was from seeing Harry or the fact that they were running out of time for the operation to pan out. Harry made no comment on her tardiness but continued speaking.
"Where were we?"
"We've got clearance so were going search Otero's and Morgenstern's rooms," said Lucas
"And if that doesn't bear fruit?" Harry prompted.
"It's not over till it's over," Lucas said wryly.
"There's still a session this morning and a luncheon." Beth glanced at the itinerary.
A pen sat on the table, and Ruth reached out for it with nervous fingers. Across from her, Harry's hand calmly rested on the table, his fingers splayed over the surface as if he alone were holding it down, the sheer force of will keep it in place. He was the magnetic centre that held the team together, everyone drawn into his orbit. She absently rotated the pen, her hand gradually gravitating in his direction. His fingers seemed to stretch toward her. Her grip on the pen tightened. Could she ever pull herself free of this man? She glanced up and their eyes met in a startling second of naked want. She quickly looked down, watching as Harry's hand curled up into a fist.
"Should we move on our contingency plan," Harry turned to Lucas.
"Already in place."
"I just don't understand." Ruth remained focused on the pen. "Everything pointed to this conference. Infectious diseases, the connection with Kessel, the fact that Morgenstern showed up here."
"Is it possible they're planning something offsite?" asked Beth.
"We'll just have to stay on our toes," Lucas cautioned
"Do you think Lamott is feeding you bad info?" Beth looked at Ruth.
"I don't think so; he was right about the meeting yesterday." Ruth rubbed her fingers along the embossed letters on the pen's casing. It had a satisfying weight, she might keep it. It could very well turn out to be the only take away from the operation.
"I think we're in it for the long game. We sit tight until they make a mistake," said Lucas.
"I should connect with Lamott," Ruth offered "See if he has any other information." Placing the pen back on the table, she stood up and moved towards the door, hoping to leave the room before her nerves were noticed. Harry spoke as she moved.
"Yes, let's hope his timing is better today."
There was an edge to his voice, and Ruth paused for a second, absorbing his words. Between them, he was the referring to Lamott showing up at her door, but she also felt there was an aspersion against her asset, the man she had cultivated. Without acknowledging his statement, she continued out into the hall, needing the space to gather her thoughts. There was no reason for her to feel protective of Lamott, he wasn't part of the team. She was being overly sensitive to Harry's comment. It was the fallout from their encounter. That was the problem; their actions could never happen in isolation, there would always be repercussions. She had no idea what to do. There would have to be parameters set, a discussion regarding expectations. She couldn't think about it now, she needed to pull herself together, there was too much at stake. On her way to the lift, she re-evaluated her priorities. The virus was in the building and she was determined to find it.
Threading her way through the crush of delegates, Ruth headed toward a large silver urn and poured herself a coffee. As she swirled the cream around with a plastic stir stick, she felt a presence by her side.
"I'm sorry that nothing came of the meeting yesterday." Lamott poured a large measure of cream to his coffee.
The stir stick paused in her hand. How did Lamott know nothing had come of the meeting? She must have told him at some point yesterday. She looked up in time to see that Otero had joined them.
"Hello, lovely translator." Otero chose a grape from a fruit platter and plopped into his mouth. "Will you be at my session this morning? I'm presenting my abstract on the resurgence of dormant viruses and their implication on modern immunity."
"Yes, I'll be there." Ruth gave him a weak smile.
There was an undercurrent to his flirtatious manner. Or perhaps her evening with Harry had thrown off her instincts. A shiver of doubt crept over her skin.
A bell rang and the delegates dispersed to their sessions. Ruth entered the room where Otero was giving his seminar, and took her seat at the back, donning her headphones. The laptop that Otero was using refused to function properly and he entertained the audience with charming remarks while a technician resolved the problem. When he finally launched into his presentation, Ruth chose to study the pattern on the floor, rather than look at that man who was causing her so much consternation. There was a soothing quality to his voice and she was easily lulled into the rhythm of his speech.
"There are limited resources in Latin America for detecting a resurgence." Otero scrolled through slides on his laptop. "For instance, a diagnosis of Dengue could actually mask Venezuelan Equine Encephalitis
Ruth's head jerked up. Otero's eyes skimmed over the area where she was sitting. The translation of his next few sentences was dropped and she struggled to get her mind back on track. He looked at her with a slight smile. She had the distinct impression that he was baiting her. It took all of her willpower to resist ripping off her headset and confronting him on the spot. There was no backup, she was alone in the room, so she remained motionless, giving nothing away. After what felt like an eternity, the session ended and the delegates flowed out into the hallway. Ruth tried to keep Lamott and Otero in her peripheral vision as she headed over to the spot where Beth was standing.
"Otero mentioned VEE in his seminar."
Beth nodded slowly digesting the implications of Ruth's comment. "I'll tell Lucas."
"Did anything come of the room searches?"
"No, nothing."
"It's as if he was taunting me." Ruth gritted her teeth in frustration. "I think he's overconfident. Something is going to happen."
Beth turned into Ruth and subtly handed her an earbud. "Here. Wear this. Sign on as Delta Two when you're ready." She casually walked away as if nothing had transpired between the two women.
Ruth ran her fingers through her hair, giving the impression she was merely fixing her appearance. She carefully planted the bud in her ear.
"Delta Two on Comms," she said softly.
"Copy Delta Two," Lucas' voice crackled over the piece. "It's Alpha One"
"Alpha Two in position," replied Beth.
"Bravo One ready," replied Dimitri.
"This is control," Tariq's voice called out.
"Delta One, on comms."
Harry's voice poured into her ear, rich and low. Ruth closed her eyes, the sound evoking their telephone conversation, late nights and lingering words. How could she concentrate with his voice in her ear? One more reason they should not be involved. She thought about removing the device and concocting a story that it was malfunctioning but that would jeopardise the mission. No matter what, she was going to peel back this operation. She focused on searching the crowd for Lamott, willing him to come over and tell her an explosive piece of information. He must have sensed her desire to talk for he worked his way over to her but not for the reason she wanted.
"That man over there," Lamott tilted his head. "He keeps looking at you."
Ruth subtly turned her head and looked across the room. Harry stood conversing with a group of sponsors. Her heart thudded in her chest and she felt a moment of panic before pulling herself together.
"He's just the man that asked me to dance the other night."
"You seemed very familiar with him."
"Has Otero said anything else to you?" she asked, guiding the conversation away from her and Harry.
"No, he hasn't."
A voice filtered through the public address system inviting the delegates to take their seats for the luncheon in the ballroom. Ruth walked alongside Lamott.
"Perhaps you could sit with me?" he asked hopefully.
"I don't think that would be a good idea."
He gave her a regretful look and opened his mouth to speak, but decided against it. Ruth watched him walk away, sensing that he was holding something back.
The room was completely different from the open reception. No amber glow or soothing ambience, only bright lights glaring off white tablecloths, the room echoing with loud voices. Finding her place at a table with fellow translators, she saw Harry, keeping up his legend as he sat with the sponsors. Her senses were heightened as her eyes swept over the room. This couldn't be the end. Had she completely misread every piece of information? She leaned back in her chair. Perhaps this is what happened to spies. Those who weren't cracked by conscience or killed in action were slowly led astray by floundering instinct.
She refused a cup of coffee; she was already on edge without adding caffeine to the mixture. The room quieted down as the dishes were cleared away, the Chair of the Planning Committee taking the stage to announce the presentation of awards. The audience applauded politely, and a skirted table was wheeled out onto the stage bearing a number of plaques and certificates. The presenters were asked to come forward, and Ruth sat up straighter in her chair when she saw that one of them was Morgenstern.
"Morgenstern is on the stage," Lucas said over the comms.
Ruth waited impatiently as sponsors and various members of the Planning Committee handed out awards. As the presentations wore on, one award remained on the table; a large wooden base with a strange glass orb. Morgenstern picked it up and stood beside the lectern as a society member called out the name for outstanding research. There was applause and Vincent Otero rose from his seat.
"Otero is on the move," said Beth.
Walking nimbly up onto the stage, Otero crossed over to Morgenstern and the two men shook hands. They held the award between them as a photographer captured the moment. Ruth stared at their smiling faces.
"It's the award," she hissed.
"Repeat, Delta Two," said Lucas.
"The virus is concealed in the award," Ruth said, trying to stay calm. "That's how they're handing it off."
The two men moved from the stage as the audience applauded.
"They're not going back to their seats," Beth whispered urgently. "They're headed backstage.
"Bravo One, did you copy?" Lucas asked.
"I'm in position," Dmitri confirmed.
Beth headed towards the stage while Lucas slid through a door an emergency door. Ruth presumed that Dimitri was already stationed backstage as a pre-emptive measure. She half rose in her chair, unsure what she should do. Harry casually stood up and walked toward the exit. His voice filtered over the comms.
"Hold your position, Delta Two.
She licked her lips and sat back down, her eyes darting nervously around the room. She silently seethed that she was being kept away from the action, although she knew there must be a reason for it. The audience remained blissfully unaware of any drama unfolding backstage, and the Chair of the Committee resumed his position at the podium for his closing remarks.
Ruth tapped her foot, seconds feeling like hours. The comms crackled.
"There's nothing in it," said Beth.
Ruth stood up, ready to walk backstage.
"Are you sure?" asked Harry.
"The base was hollow, but there's nothing inside."
Ruth looked around the room as if the answer lay among the crowd of people.
"We've got two angry men on our hands," said Dmitri. "They're threatening to go to their respective consulates."
"Stand down," commanded Harry. "I'm coming over."
With a final round of applause, the conference ended. It was all over. Ruth stood in stunned disbelief. Delegates moved around her, laughing, talking, going unnoticed until Lamott captured her attention.
"I guess that's it." He looked at her with a sense of relief. "What should I do now?"
Her eyes moved to the stage and then back at him, trying to conceal her disappointment. "You might as well pack up and go home."
"There was some discussion about a research position for me at the conclusion of this endeavour.
"That's above my pay grade."
"It's not going to happen, is it?" He smiled at her, but his eyes remained hard. "I guess it wasn't that bad. Teaching. Worse things in life."
The resignation to his fate was strangely unsettling. Before she could respond, he turned and walked away. She rocked on her feet, debating whether to follow him or venture backstage. Frankly, she was ready to give up on the whole bloody business.
Deciding that the best course of action was to return to the command room, she headed out into the lobby. The outer door revolved as delegates checked out and new guests arrived. The sun glinted off the rotating glass, reminding her that she hadn't seen daylight in ages. That's what she needed; fresh air to clear her mind. She would retrieve her coat and walk out into the sun. The lift was crowded when she entered, instantly confirming her decision to find release out of doors. Making it to her room, she quickly grabbed her overcoat and returned to the hall. As she closed the door, a voice spoke in her ear.
"Delta Two."
It was Tariq. She sighed having forgotten that the comms device was still in her ear - a testament to how embedded the Service was in her head.
"Go ahead," she responded.
"We need the tracker back from Lamott."
"Okay." She rolled her eyes at the ceiling. "I'm going off comms for a bit."
Without waiting for a reply, she slipped the device out of her ear and crammed it into her coat pocket. The soft leather of her gloves brushed her fingers. As if on cue, the lift door opened and Harry stepped out. They stood for a moment assessing each other until Harry took the initiative and walked in her direction.
"I've been looking for you."
"I need to get the tracker off of Lamott."
She moved to walk past him, but he reached out and firmly placed his hand on her arm.
"Why do you have your coat on?"
"I was going outside to get some fresh air."
"Is that all?" His jaw moved, a slight tell of disbelief.
"Of course." She turned to face him straight on. "What else would I be doing?"
"I don't want you to do anything rash." He kept his hand steadfastly on her arm.
"Why would I do something rash?" Resentment bubbled up; she wasn't a schoolgirl to be chastised for leaving her floor.
"I don't want you to feel you're responsible for the outcome of this operation."
"Do you think I'm responsible?"
"No, I meant-"
"Maybe I am." Her words poured forth in a stream of frustration. "I was the one who made all the conclusions. Found this convention. I was the one who pushed for Lamott."
"You don't have to solve everything."
She turned on him, unable to contain her resentment over the operation. "You wanted me to fail with Lamott."
His grip tightened on her arm. "That is not true."
"Then why aren't you angry that everything fell apart?"
She stared at him, her chest heaving, holding back tears, knowing in the depths of her hearts that she was talking about more than the operation. His fingers dug into her arm, an almost imperceptible grimace of pain stealing across his face.
"I am. But I've been around long enough to know that endings aren't always clean."
"No, they aren't." She slid her arm out from his grasp, her movement underscoring their own unresolved situation. "I have to go find Lamott."
"Ruth," he called after her as she hurried to the lift.
Mercifully, the elevator opened as soon as she pushed the button and she was spared any further conversation. On the journey to Lamott's room, she steadied her breath and collected her thoughts, rehearsing what she would say to him. She only needed to get the tracker, go back to the Grid and start again.
Finding Lamott's room number, she lightly tapped on his door. There was no answer. She waited a moment in indecision. She knocked again, her knuckles rapping harder. Nothing. She held her ear to the door, there was no sound from inside. What if something had happened to him? What if Otero and Morgenstern had figured out that he was passing on information? Overcome with apprehension, she fished the key card out of her pocket and swiped it through the sensor. The lock released and she cautiously opened the door.
"Paul?" She had only used his first name once before and didn't know why she decided to use it now. "Paul?" she called again.
She stepped into the room and let the door swing softly shut behind her. The sun shone brightly through the window, and her eyes squinted as they adjusted from the dimness of the hallway. Two forms stood in silhouette. A blue cooler bag sat on the table between the two men.
"Evelyn?" Lamott walked towards her. "What are you doing here?"
"I was worried." She fished for words trying to process what was actually happening in the room. "I didn't know what had happened to you."
"You shouldn't be here," he cautioned.
She slid her hands into the pocket of her coat.
"What are you doing?" he asked.
"I was on my way outside to get some fresh air." She pulled out her gloves, the contents of her pocket falling unnoticed onto the floor. "I just wanted to check on you. But if everything's okay, I'll be on my way." She turned toward the door.
"Why don't you stay for a while, lovely translator?"
Even though her back was turned, she knew that the other silhouette was Otero. Instinct told her to slip on her gloves. She remained facing the door, her spine stiffening as another voice joined the conversation.
"The question is what are we going to do with her?"
Morgenstern. The saliva in her mouth instantly evaporated leaving her throat bone dry. The door was only a few steps away. A floor plan of the hotel flashed in her mind; down the hall, the stairwell, up instead of down. She closed her eyes, breathing deeply, focused. She bolted for the door, her hand reaching out for the handle. As she turned the knob, a body slammed into her, pulling her arm away from the handle and yanking her backwards so that she spun into the room. Flailing, she stumbled into Morgenstern, vainly struggling to pull her arm free from his grasp.
"Sorry, you know too much." Morgenstern gritted teeth as he wrestled with her.
She opened her mouth to scream, and his hand shot up to silence her. He slammed her back against the wall, her head thudding against the plaster. A stab of pain shot through her skull, her eyes welling up in response. She squeezed them shut. She would not cry. She stopped struggling.
"Are you going to be good?" Morgenstern hissed into her ear, his arm pressing into her ribcage.
She blinked and then nodded. He removed his hand from her mouth, testing to see if she would scream. When she did not, he let go and stepped away. She stood against the wall, panting.
"I'm sorry Evelyn," said Lamott. "They know who you are."
Her mind kicked into overdrive as she scrolled through her options. Three men; she could not physically overpower them, she needed to use her wits.
"I will be missed," she tried to muster as much bravado as she could.
"Yes, I'm sure that salesman will miss you," Lamott said bitterly.
"Except we know he's also a spy," said Otero. "You overplayed your hand when you went for the award. Or rather, you underplayed it with our friend Lamott."
"Friend?" Ruth asked, looking at Lamott.
"You were never going to give me a research position. You were going to drop me back in that forsaken life. DynaGen has offered me more."
"You don't want to do this." She pleaded with him, not wanting to believe he had turned on her.
"How do you know what I want to do? You only know facts, not human beings."
"You don't know what they will do with your research."
"Science is pure. It's governments who makes it evil. My research will save lives."
"They don't care about humanity. It's about money. It always is."
"This is not a debate," Morgenstern cut in. "We need to leave before they come looking for her."
Ruth looked at Lamott, betting that he was still the weak link in the chain.
"They're going to create bioweapon and sell it to the highest bidder. If it gets into the wrong hands-"
"Get the bag," Morgenstern ordered Otero.
"You were so busy watching us you didn't suspect one of your own." Otero picked up the cooler bag.
"There is no way you can get it out of the country," she said desperately.
"We got it in, didn't we?"
"Stop talking. I have to think." Morgenstern held up his hand to silence everyone. "How long does it take for that virus to kill?"
Ruth's heart dropped into her stomach. What would Ros do? What would Harry do? How do you appeal to the ethically challenged?
"Do we have to be so drastic?" Otero carried the cooler bag to where she stood. "Would you like to visit Buenos Aires? We can make things very comfortable for you."
Ruth's mind stalled, the prospect of being torn from her life once again too much to contemplate. They would have to get her out of the hotel. Her necklace. They could trace her.
"Alright," she agreed with Otero, as the other men looked at her wearily. "I don't owe the Service anything. They took my husband. They took my son."
"Why is it I don't believe you?" Morgenstern challenged.
"It's all about self-preservation, isn't it?" She smiled at Otero. "Besides, I hate the cold."
"I always did like you." Otero smiled.
"She's playing us," Morgenstern objected.
"Oh, I'm not that smart."
"That's the problem," Lamott reached up and twisted his fingers around the chain of her necklace. "You're very smart" He ripped the necklace from her throat. "We can't take her with us."
Ruth winced, her skin stinging from the pull of the chain. Lamott casually unzipped the blue cooler bag. She thought of Amaani, the young woman lying in pain, her body covered with sores.
"Paul," her voice quavered as she tried to maintain her dignity.
"Don't make it any harder on yourself." He extracted a pair of latex gloves, the elastic snapping as he put them on his hands.
"Looks like we made the right decision in getting rid or Kessel," Morgenstern observed.
"Could you help Evelyn, or whatever her name is, off with her coat?" Lamott pulled out a vial labelled 'Insulin' and held it up to the light. "Beautiful isn't it?" He brought his face in close, his lips near hers. "Perhaps next time you won't be so cavalier with people's affections." He plunged a syringe into the bottle. "But there won't be a next time."
If only he knew how many lives she had shattered. In the tally of things, her rejection of him was a blessing compared to what she had done to George. Or Harry, whose heart she had woefully mishandled on more than one occasion. She turned her head away. The end was not going to be by fire or ice, but by the innocuous prick of a needle. Let it be quick.
Morgenstern placed his hands on her shoulders, tugging at her coat. Her body moved in passive resistance, her head wobbling as they handled her.
A faint beam of red light glanced across the wall. It quickly disappeared. Had she imagined it? She held her breath, waiting, praying that it would reappear. A red dot formed on Otero's shoulder. She stared at it, her heart suspended. She looked at Lamott, the whites visible around her eyes, telegraphing what she had seen. He swung his head to look at Otero. Everything in the room accelerated. Lamott shouted to Otero as he drew the needle back, building up momentum to plunge it in her arm. A hole blasted through the window, shouts of alarm rising in a cacophony of voices. A body pushed her to the floor, the needle pressing into her coat, the vial rolling near her face as her head hit the carpet. The bottle touched her hand and she tried to move away. A weight fell heavily onto her back, crushing her chest. She gasped, struggling for breath, refusing to give up, but the effort became too much. She closed her eyes. Blackness.