Title: Shall We Play A Game?
Author: FraidyCat
Disclaimer: per diem
A/N: This is an INTERACTIVE reader-influenced story. Enter at your own risk. Feel free not to enter at all. I contemplate your suggestions. Some excite me; some frighten me. Which ones have I chosen?
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Chapter Seven: A Plan Comes Together; and Another Falls Apart
Colby had booted Charlie's laptop and was trying his hand at hacking. Don was again leaning against the counter, sipping from a cup of coffee now, and arguing with Alan, who was seated at the table with a large glass of orange juice in front of him. The elder Eppes sniffed once before presenting his case in a slightly nasal whine. "Donny, I feel much better today. I can stay here by myself. I was home alone yesterday!"
Don snorted, almost blowing coffee all over the room. He swallowed and raised his eyebrows at his father. "Yeah, and look how well that turned out! I'm glad you feel better, Dad, but you're still sick. Your temp is elevated, you're moving like an old man..."
"I am an old man!" Alan interrupted, and Colby snickered behind the computer.
Sensing Don's glare, he glanced up and shrugged apologetically at them both. "Alan, you read the statement. We're not even sure what we're dealing with here; we don't know exactly what to expect. It's not a good idea for you to stay here alone."
His Team Leader nodded. Alan sulked. "Don't call me 'Dad' anymore, young man."
Don smiled behind his coffee mug and Colby's face fell as he looked back at the laptop. "Okay," he said in a small voice. Don wondered if Charlie had been tutoring him on the kicked-puppy persona.
It was certainly effective. Alan rolled his eyes and swallowed some OJ before slithering a hand across the table and patting Colby awkwardly on the arm. "Never mind, son. I'm cranky when I don't quite feel up to par." Colby looked pleased but a little embarrassed, so Alan changed the subject. "Can't crack the password?"
Granger sighed and shook his head. "Nah. This is a pretty ridiculous effort anyway -- like any one of us is going to hack into Charlie's database."
Don set down the mug and frowned. "We just want his address book, for Pete's sake! It's not like we're after Pentagon material!"
Alan rubbed his forehead. "So you just want access to Windows?"
Colby looked up and caught the motion. "You okay?" he asked anxiously. He turned to look at Don. "Dude, you got some Tylenol or something for Dad?"
Alan smiled. "I'm good, boys; just took some before I came down. What have you tried?"
Colby tapped a few more keys. "Charlie's birthday. Amita's birthday. Don's birthday. Your birthday." He lifted his head, his expression hopeful. "Do you know the date of the first time he and Amita..."
"Colby!" growled Don, and Granger shrugged again and looked back at the screen.
"I was just gonna say their first date," he mumbled. "I thought maybe an anniversary..."
"Margaret," stated Alan with conviction. "Stop looking for a numerical password; just type in 'Margaret'."
Colby did and his eyes immediately widened. He looked up at Don with a bright smile. "We're in!" he announced happily.
Don began to come around the table to where Colby was sitting. "Dad, did you know that all along?" he asked.
Alan grinned smugly. "No...but I know your brother." He cleared his throat and shot Don his sternest 'father face'. "I also know whether or not I can stay home alone," he deadpanned.
Don shook his head, trying not to smile. "Find Havercamp's number," he instructed Colby, pulling his iphone from the back pocket of his jeans. He looked at his father and smiled. "I think I'll just get Millie's opinion on that, Dad."
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It was just barely 9:00 a.m. in Atlanta, but Lieutenant Lee Havercamp had been at her desk since 3 a.m., shortly after the publisher of the Los Angeles Times had contacted the 24/7 CDC Emergency Contact Line and faxed Planet Green's missive. She had already spoken with administrators at nearly two dozen L.A.-area hospitals, and found that census numbers were indeed elevated, especially on the South side. Blood tests were not always ordered for patients who were admitted with influenza. The goal was to re-hydrate, lower fevers, treat pain. Unless a patient proved resistant to such treatment, and grew worse while in the hospital, most physicians did not go on many fishing expeditions when it came to a suspected viral condition.
Havercamp had ordered comprehensive blood tests of all patients reporting with flulike symptoms -- admitted or not. Lab technicians were instructed to use Sentinel Laboratory's guidelines -- standardized, practical methods to aid microbiologists in ruling out critical agents. The orders would bog down labs all over the city, and she knew that the sooner CDC agents could identify exactly what they were looking for, the better. One of the hospitals had a fatality already -- someone had died in the emergency room lobby the evening before -- but an autopsy on him might or might not help. No-one at the hospital was even sure why he was there. Apparently the individual was mentally disturbed. He had simply stumbled into a crowded ER and planted himself in the waiting area, talking only to himself. Still, she had ordered a complete post-mortem.
Havercamp and a hand-picked team would leave for L.A. on a CDC jet within the hour. During the trip, she would try to contact Dr. Eppes. He had been an invaluable asset in the past, and as a resident of Los Angeles himself, Havercamp was convinced he would be anxious to help. She was just about to leave for the terminal when her private cell rang. She almost ignored it, but checked the caller display to make sure her daughter wasn't calling with a last-minute problem. When she recognized the "626" area code, she smiled. Dr. Eppes must be calling to volunteer, already. She brought the phone to her ear. "Lee Havercamp," she said. "Dr. Eppes?"
There was a pause. Then another voice answered -- one that was still somewhat familiar. "Dr. Havercamp, this is Don Eppes. Charlie's brother? F.B.I.?"
She nodded. "Of course, Agent Eppes; I remember you well. If you're calling about the bioterrorism threat, I should be there before noon. I'm hoping Dr. Eppes can help us on this."
Another pause. "There could be a problem with that."
The hairs on the back of Havercamp's neck began to tingle and she leaned back in her chair. "Dr. Eppes is compromised?"
She heard Don sigh. "He's pretty sick. He was admitted to the hospital yesterday. My father has been ill as well. Agent Granger thinks he has a lead on the point of origin."
"That's good news," the doctor responded, "although it disturbs me greatly to hear of your family's possible exposure. I've already talked to all the hospitals in the area; find the one with the shortest line -- or take your father to his personal physician -- he needs blood tests. I'll contact the county health department and have a haz-mat team dispatched to the location Agent Granger suspects. Hopefully, by the end of the day, we will know what to look for in your father's blood."
"If he's correct, Agent Granger may have been exposed also. I'll make sure his blood is drawn as well."
"Good," confirmed Havercamp. "Whatever we're looking at could be spread by human contact," she continued, "so you'd better include yourself while you're at it."
Don swore. "It sounds like the entire state of California needs a blood test. Everybody in the office has been exposed -- and not just from Colby. Charlie was there yesterday; that's where he first lost consciousness!"
Havercamp closed her eyes. "It might come to that," she answered quietly. "Let's try to find out what we're dealing with before we start that kind of panic." She paused, opening her eyes again. "What are your brother's symptoms?"
"He has a really high fever," Don answered. "Last night they packed him in ice; it was over 105." He could hear Havercamp's intake of breath while he continued. "He was complaining of back pain, general malaise, a headache. He seemed to have a sore throat. You know...the flu..." he concluded miserably.
Havercamp responded with more confidence than she felt. "We'll deal with this, Agent Eppes. My team and I are on the way."
"Thank-you," he whispered. "Thank-you."
"You're welcome," she said gently. Her tone grew brisk again. "Now let me speak with Agent Granger. I need to get directions for the haz-mat team."
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When Sarah showed up at the apartment that morning and reported her incident with Bernie, Cracker was livid.
Most of the Planet Green leadership was there -- Dawn, Patty, Aaron, Marcus -- as well as several of the newer recruits. There had been a celebratory atmosphere when Sarah arrived. Then she had taken Cracker to one side in the kitchen and delivered her news, and he began shouting at her. "You IDIOT!", he bellowed. He was only a few inches taller than she was, but he stood close enough to her that his anger was intimidating anyway. "We TALKED about this, Sarah! You should have remembered to order extra milk. Tell me you at least remembered to destroy all the ice cream!"
"Of course I did," she snapped back. "What are you so upset about, anyway?"
His upper lip curled in a sneer and he placed his hands on his hips. "You shouldn't have quit your job. We need eyes at Bernie's, so we know when they make the connection -- and to make sure the search comes up empty. Now you've given that fat slob the perfect target to point a finger at; I can't believe you were so short-sighted! You're better than this, Sarah."
She turned away, tossing her hair. She would not let him humiliate her in front of the others. "I don't know why you had me dump the milk in the first place," she huffed. "What does it matter what the first point of release was? We haven't told them about the hospital."
Cracker regarded her back as if she was something he just scraped off the bottom of his shoe. "Because, Sarah, the damage we do with the Brucella can be magnified tenfold by fear, distrust, wasted resources and delayed treatments while the pigs try to put the pieces together..." He snorted derisively. "Did you drink some of the milk yourself? You didn't used to be this stupid." Several people tittered and she whirled, furious. Before she could defend herself, Cracker continued. "You cannot come back here, or contact any of us -- you have made yourself a liability to our safety. Why don't you go down to our San Diego chapter? Help the Steering Committee plan something of their own to complement our efforts."
Her mouth dropped open and Sarah stormed back to stand in front of Cracker. "No! You can't do this! I've been part of this group almost since the beginning! Joe...Joe would never let you do this!" She looked around frantically at the other leadership; some standing, some sitting at the table. None of them would look at her. She grabbed at Cracker's t-shirt, bunching it in her hand. "Joe must be avenged! We have to plan our..."
Dawn suddenly stepped up and placed her own hand firmly on Sarah's. "Joe is not the issue here," she said firmly, pushing Sarah away from Cracker. "He never was. He was a fool to get himself killed. He took two good men with him, and he compromised our objectives for years. You have been laboring under a delusion, if you think we released the Brucella to avenge Joe."
Sarah stood shocked and silent in the middle of the kitchen. Cracker made a motion with his hand and the others began to shuffle away. At the rear of the line, he stopped to whisper in her ear. "Don't think you can lead them to us, Sarah. We're going deep under to plan our next move -- even you will not be able to find us." He stepped away from her, and spoke more loudly when he turned back at the doorway. "Get out. Go to San Diego, if you know what's good for you. If I see you again in L.A. -- I'll kill you myself."