Chapter 6: Running the Gauntlet
"Please tell me this is a practical joke." Lucy looked from Jack to Dimitrius.
"Believe me," Dimitrius responded, "I wish it were. Paul Greise didn't show up for work today, and when Dr. Dillingham took out a tray of samples they'd taken yesterday from a monkey that died of Ebola, there was a vial missing. Nobody else could have gotten into the "hot zone" without leaving some trace that they'd been there. The good news, if you can call it that, is that he at least packaged it according to regulations before he took it out of the lab."
"All right," Bobby added, his face registering a touch of the previous day's pallor, "but why? Are they going to drop it in the middle of the conference?"
Elizabeth looked up, watching them all. She could almost hear the gears turning as they silently brain-stormed about what this latest development could mean. Then she remembered something from the report Tara had given them on Ebola. "Wait. Didn't you say Ebola isn't currently known to be transmittable through the air?"
Tara replied, "Ebola-Reston is the only strain they've really even had any theories about being airborne."
"Myles said the vial contained Ebola-Zaire," D said.
Jack nodded. "So a large-scale attack is unlikely."
Sue caught a movement out of the corner of her eye, and turned. Elizabeth had brought her hand up to her mouth, and now Sue watched her green eyes widen and her breathing quicken, as she stared at the layout of the conference hall. WHAT? she signed.
I think I know what they're going to do, the psychologist signed back.
Sue touched Jack's arm and pointed to Elizabeth. He turned to look at her. "Dr. Dillingham?"
Elizabeth felt a little ill as she looked up at him. "Jack, I really hope I'm wrong on this, but…if you're looking to eliminate a scientist who is the sole source of treatment for a deadly virus, what more fitting way than to infect him with that same virus? By the time anyone else figures it out, he won't be able to help them modify his treatment — it's never been tested on humans."
Jack swallowed. "And it would take years to redo all his work."
Bobby pointed to the layout on the table. "Put a single man in, say, the balcony — easier shot at the podium, less people to get hit by mistake…"
"But how?" Sue asked. "A tranquilizer gun or something similar?"
"Could be," Bobby replied, "or it could be something as simple as a revolver-sized crossbow, or a bloody blowgun, for all we know."
A ring from the telephone brought them all out of their brainstorming. Tara answered it and listened for a minute. "Ok, hang on." She turned to the team. "Jack, Myles says they found Paul Greise in a storage room near the lab. He doesn't appear to be hurt, but he's not responsive. They've got him in Dr. Dillingham's lab right now."
Jack reached for his coat. "Tell Myles we'll be right there. Elizabeth, would you join us, please? We may need your help."
"Of course." The room emptied in a hurry.
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David Dillingham checked his assistant's pupils once again. "Still normal. He looks like he's in shock, but none of the other symptoms match."
"Well, we've got to come up with some way to get through to him," Bobby said. "We've got less than twenty-four hours to figure out what's going on and how to stop it."
Elizabeth was watching the young man in the chair. He didn't seem to be in any pain; he appeared totally relaxed, just unresponsive. Suddenly, the answer clicked into her head. "Agent Hudson, may I?"
Jack nodded. "Go ahead."
She pulled up a chair close to Paul Greise and looked probingly at him for a long minute. "He's in a hypnotic trance of some sort."
"Drug-induced, maybe?"
"It's possible. I can't imagine he'd go through it voluntarily if they grabbed him, and if he was working with them they wouldn't have had to do it anyway." She noticed something, and pushed Paul's shirt collar off the left side of his neck. There, at the base of his throat, was a small red dot surrounded by a faint red circle. "Vaccination gun."
Dimitrius paled a little. "Ebola?"
"No, I don't think so," Elizabeth replied. "From what I read, if he'd been infected with Ebola just last night, he'd still be responsive. I think this is where they gave him a shot of whatever's got him in this trance." She looked up at her grandfather. "Do you have the equipment in here to do a tox-screen — quickly?"
"Yes. And you're right about it not being Ebola – he'd be able to respond." He reached for a syringe to take a blood sample.
While the lab computer was processing, the team continued to discuss their options. Jack took the lead.
"All right," he said, "we have a problem. We could just shut down the conference—"
"And let our terrorists disappear with a vial of Ebola?" Myles was incredulous. "You can't be serious!"
Jack finished his sentence. "— but we don't want them to disappear with the Ebola." He raised an eyebrow at Myles, who raised both hands in an okay-sorry-I'll-shut-up gesture. "Or, we let the conference go on, and pray we can get this guy, or guys, before anyone gets hurt."
"We'll have to have bio-gear available, just in case somebody gets hit," Bobby added. "But we can't be wearing it, or they'll spot us in a half-second."
"Dr. Dillingham..." Jack started.
The older man nodded. "I understand, Agent Hudson, believe me. But I don't want this virus out on the street any more than you do. 'Death begins today' is not the slogan I want this conference to end on."
Suddenly, Paul Greise stirred, shaking his head as if to clear it. He looked up at the group surrounding him. "What—? Where am I? What happened?"
Elizabeth leaned forward in her chair. "Paul, what's the last thing you remember?"
"Uh..."
"It's all right, Paul—take your time." Her voice was calm and soothing.
Jack's nerves were anything but. "What brought him out of it?"
Elizabeth turned to face him. "I suspect that the phrase 'death begins today' did. Whoever captured him probably planted it in his mind. It was simply a coincidence that Grandfather used it, or we'd have had to wait a lot longer for whatever drug this is to wear off." Her grandfather handed her a printout. She studied it for a minute, then nodded. "Benzo-diazapene. A mild tranquilizer, until you get into high dosages, like they used on him – then it's a powerful hypnotic."
Paul looked confused. "Hypnotic? I remember walking back to my car from class last night, then a couple of guys grabbing me and jamming a needle or something into my neck, then...nothing...until just now." He looked around again. "What's going on?"
"That, Mr. Greise," Jack said, "is going to take some explaining. Which we just don't have time for right now."
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Friday, 7 am
Friday morning dawned cold and clear. Elizabeth watched from the lobby of the World Health Organization's regional office as the sun came up, setting the ice-glazed sidewalk ablaze with light. In just two hours, the conference hall would begin filling with people, and she couldn't shake the intense foreboding that was churning its way through her body and her soul.
She didn't have to be here; in fact, she'd had eight different conversations over the past ten hours about just that, one of them in rapid-fire ASL. Even her grandfather had tried to talk her out of being here. But she couldn't leave. She had been part of this almost from the beginning; it just didn't seem right to walk out in the middle of it.
The one conversation that stood out in her mind most clearly was the last one. It surprised her that Myles had waited as long as he had to voice his concern ...
"You shouldn't be here," he said finally. They'd been going around and around the subject for ten minutes.
"Neither should you. Neither should any person with even a shred of sanity left in them." Her voice broke slightly at the end, and she had to swallow hard to regain control. She was exhausted, and nearing her limit.
He took her by the shoulders. "I have to be here. I thought you understood that. It's my job."
"I know." And that did it — the tears she'd been holding back for three days broke through, and she leaned against his chest, letting all the tension and all the worry pour from her soul like Sunday's blizzard.
He held her tightly, putting everything else on hold out of an understanding that he'd have denied to the death in front of his colleagues. He understood that it took training and experience to be able to clamp down the emotions associated with any case, and the fear that inevitably came with cases like this one. He understood, not only that Elizabeth didn't have that training, but also that her worry stemmed from emotions they hadn't explored yet—one particular emotion toward each other that he was only now realizing the startling power of. That was part of why she had stayed, and part of why he was trying so hard to make her go. And he couldn't say anything about it — now. Not when he needed to be clear-headed and sharp.
After a few minutes, he stroked her hair. "Elizabeth..." His voice was gentle, but it held a touch of command.
She nodded against him, and brought herself back under control. She took a deep breath, and looked up at him. "I'm sorry," she whispered.
"It's all right," he replied, "but..."
"I know. We need to get ready." She held a finger to his lips as he started to speak. "Don't try to talk me out of this, Myles, please. I can't walk away from this now any more than you can. It may be that I shouldn't be here, but I need to be here."
He nodded. "Just promise me you won't take any unnecessary chances. Let us do our jobs."
"You have my word." ...
She had stayed away from him since then, needing the distance to clear her head as much as she knew he did. In a few minutes they'd all go over last-minute details, but until then she'd stay out here and try to internalize some of the control she'd watched in each member of the team.
How do they do this, day in and day out? Why do they do this? Neither question brought a lot of comfort, but they did distract her. As she pondered, a thought popped into her head. It was from a movie she'd seen years ago; she didn't even realize she'd paid enough attention to memorize it, but now it brought an answer:
A knight is sworn to valor;
His heart knows only virtue;
His blade defends the helpless;
His might upholds the weak;
His word speaks only truth;
His wrath undoes the wicked.
She drew in her breath quickly, letting the analogy take shape in her mind — Dragonheart — this virus, this threat, every threat, was a dragon in hiding, waiting to unleash itself on the innocent. Every single day, these men and women willingly placed themselves between the danger and the defenseless, in the name of justice and valor and the hope of peace. The armor and the weapons might have changed, but the principles were the same. She thought hard on that, letting it fill her with strength, and the control she sought.
"Liz?" Tara called to her.
The psychologist squared her shoulders and drew another breath. "I'm coming."
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Friday, 8:30 am
"All right," Jack said. "We haven't got any idea as to who we're looking for. There will be scientists here from all over the world in thirty minutes' time, so there's no way to pinpoint our target until he makes a move. Here's the setup: Tara will be in the command center. Sue and Lucy will be in the lobby. Bobby and I will be in the balcony. Dimitrius will be here," he continued, pointing to the layout, "at the front near the east side of the stage. And Myles will be on the stage with Dr. Dillingham."
"Just call me Bambi," came a laconic comment from the back. Myles was leaning against the wall, his arms crossed and his gaze unfocused. "Staring into the oncoming headlights."
Elizabeth looked over at him in shock, then realized she was seeing a tactic, as keenly devised as any of their planning. It was strange that such morbid humor could be comforting.
Jack finished up. "Elizabeth, I'd like you in with Tara."
She looked at him and silently made a decision. "You could use another set of eyes here, Agent Hudson," she said quietly, pointing at the west side of the stage, where a ramp allowed wheelchair access onto the platform. There was a small open area between the ramp and the stage wall.
"Elizabeth, no." She heard her grandfather and Myles in perfect unison.
Her gaze never wavered from the lead agent. "It's sheltered by the ramp, Jack. It's probably the safest angle in the whole building. I won't be in Myles' sight line. And you said yourself that the assassin could be anyone in the room. An extra set of eyes could make the difference. Please — let me help."
Jack saw Myles in his peripheral vision, shaking his head vigorously. He didn't turn, just kept his eyes locked with Elizabeth's, considering what he was going to say. Then he saw her eyes shift. Something took place in the long silent moment between the psychologist and the tall agent leaning against the wall. Myles' head dropped for a moment; he took a deep breath, then looked up at her again and nodded, just once. Her eyes flipped back to Jack.
Now he knew what to say. "We'll get you set up with a radio."
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"You're crazy, you know that?" The weak smile couldn't dim the respect she saw in his eyes.
Elizabeth didn't smile. "Most likely. But I can't just sit and do nothing."
Myles was very quiet for a minute, turning over in his mind a problem he had no immediate solution for. They were alone in the "mission room;" in about ten minutes everything would begin, and he was having a hard time concentrating. If he were going to be anywhere but on the stage, right in the bulls-eye, so to speak, it wouldn't be a problem. But he was, and he needed to be ready for it.
The solution presented itself, then — the one thing he'd been avoiding, to keep his head clear, was the exact thing that would clear it. It was time. He took a breath and looked at the woman, standing across the table from him, who had become such an important part of his life in so short a time.
"What is it?" she asked.
"Come here for a second," he said softly, holding out his hand.
She walked around the table to him. He gently stroked her cheek, then let his fingers tangle in her dark hair. "What were you going to tell me on the phone the other night?"
Her green eyes widened. "Why? Why now?"
"Because it's important right now. I almost said something to you that night, too. And I need to say it now, just..." He paused. "Just in case."
She started to respond, tears forming at the corners of her eyes, and he placed a finger on her lips. "I love you, Elizabeth Dillingham. I never thought I'd say that to anyone, certainly not after just three months, but I do – completely, hopelessly, passionately. Whatever happens, good or bad, I want you to know that."
A single tear streaked down one cheek, but her smile was like brilliant sunshine breaking through the clouds. "I love you, too, Myles. Whatever happens." She stretched up on her toes and gave him a gentle kiss. "With all my heart."
He allowed them both a moment longer, then he squeezed her hand and his voice was all business again. "Shall we?"
Her answer puzzled him, but she was out the door before he could ask. "The dragon awaits."
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Friday morning, 9 am
She could almost hear eight hearts pounding in rhythm with her own; the hall was nearly full, and they were no closer to an answer. There had been metal detectors at the doors, and nothing more lethal than a nail file had turned up.
There were people here from every nationality and ethnic group imaginable, fifteen hundred of them, and any one of them could be an assassin. Even revising the search to the balcony section alone didn't help much – five hundred potential dragons weren't that much different than fifteen hundred.
Elizabeth felt a little like a kid playing dress-up. Because the walls on either side of the stage were black, and her hair dark, it had been suggested that she be dressed in black as well, and she could be their close-up eyes, thanks to a small set of high-powered binoculars. Her face would be covered mostly by the wheelchair ramp, and the field glasses would camouflage the rest. She felt about as far out of her element as possible. Someday I'm going to get Grandfather for dragging me into this.
She let out her breath in frustration, and took a moment to reorient herself. She adjusted the binoculars, and began once again to scan the audience for any signs of ...anything. As she scanned the room, she was aware of the conversation going on in her ear.
"Does anybody see anything that's helpful?" Jack's voice on the radio mirrored her emotions.
"Naw," came Bobby's reply, "as far as we know, our assassin could be anyone from the Indian lady in the blue sari to the tall blond guy in the tropical shirt to the old guy wearing the purple fez."
"Got a couple of nuns in my sight line," D added, "or two guys in kilts."
"Nobody's popped any alarms in the lobby," Sue's voice was next. Her radio was unique; it relayed everyone else's comments as text, allowing her to participate. The FBI's "gadget" department had just finished it for her last week.
"Still running the attendees against our database," Tara added, "but it's going to take awhile to run fifteen hundred faces."
"That's not going to be an option, then," Myles intoned. "No offense, Tara Tech."
Tara's voice held a smile. "None taken – yet. I'll hack into your office computer later."
"Keep your eyes peeled, people." Jack quelled the levity, even though he knew it was simply his team's way of fending off the frustration. "Here we go. Myles, you're on."
The ten-year veteran agent took a deep breath, stood, and walked over to the podium, a sheet of paper in his hand with David Dillingham's introduction on it. In the interest of safety, the team had decided the fewer people who "stared into the headlights," the better.
Elizabeth didn't look at him, since she was intent on the faces in the audience, but she couldn't help but marvel at how calm his voice was as he read her grandfather's extensive credentials. He was essentially looking down the dragon's throat, and he could have been discussing his last golf game.
Down the dragon's throat... the image gave her a hunch, and she focused the binoculars into the balcony, concentrating on the center seats in each row, every seat a direct line to the podium. A woman in red plaid...a young black man wearing beige...an older lady in lavender...the faces began to blur together in her sight. A quick shake to clear her head, and back to it, this time starting in the front row...
"And now, ladies and gentlemen..."
...a man in green, bending over to pick up something he'd dropped, perhaps...
"...Dr. David Dillingham."
She saw the man's hand come up, and time seemed to stop. The dragon reared its head.
"Jack, Bobby, front row center, in green! He's going to fire!" Her voice, her thoughts, the action around her blurred into a montage...
A knight is sworn to valor...
Jack and Bobby made synchronous leaps toward the gunman, but it was too late. The weapon discharged silently, yet she saw the movement of the dragon's breath...
His heart knows only virtue...
Myles was on his feet already, made the podium in a single stride and shoved David Dillingham out of the way. The older man went sprawling across the polished stage. Myles dropped down behind the podium.
His blade defends the helpless...
"FBI, freeze!" Jack's voice rang out as he and Bobby grabbed the shooter amidst a din of panicked voices. Jack pulled a lead canister out of the man's coat. "Got the vial. He's clear."
His might upholds the weak...
"Ladies and gentlemen." Myles' voice resounded over the PA. He was standing at the podium again. "Ladies and gentlemen. Please remain calm. The situation is under control."
His word speaks only truth...
"We ask that you calmly exit to the lobby. The conference will resume shortly. Thank you for your cooperation." Elizabeth heard something in his voice that made her turn and look at him again.
He was still standing, but she noticed for the first time that his left hand was clamped over his right shoulder. She watched his face — he was fighting hard to stay on his feet. Oh, no...no...
His wrath undoes the wicked...
"Hands behind your head!" Bobby sank his knee into the assassin's back and slapped the cuffs on him. As soon as the man was secured, Bobby glanced down at the stage. He saw Myles leaning against the podium, as if he were having trouble standing. The Aussie watched his friend reach out toward Elizabeth, his right hand forming a sign of some sortindex, thumb and pinky extended, middle and ring folded down... I love you... and Myles collapsed in a heap on the stage.
"Elizabeth!" Bobby called over the radio, "What happened? What's wrong with Myles?" He watched as she scrambled up onto the stage. Then he heard her gasp.
"Bobby...he's got a dart in his shoulder."