“Pueblo is not that far from Colorado Springs, Mandy. Any speculation that the governor’s assassination may be related?”
“We do know that Peter Bilsky had spent time in Colorado Springs as late as three weeks ago, but no one is commenting on a connection.”
Reisch didn’t care about the Governor; the sketches were a different matter though. Under normal conditions, he could project any appearance he wanted, but he wasn’t in a normal condition. “Sleep, that’s all I need,” he said, closing his eyes for the third time in twenty-four hours.
Chapter 26
It was late, and Martin was surprised to see so many people out walking the neat sidewalks. They flashed by at three times the legal speed limit, but no one seemed to be bothered by it. In fact, no one seemed to even notice. The Suburban braked suddenly, and Martin strained against the shoulder harness. The big vehicle turned sharply to the right, and he was squeezed against the door. McDaniels sat comfortably, convincing Martin that marines really were immune to the laws of physics. The driver accelerated for a moment and then once again braked sharply. Martin lurched forward as the lead vehicle stopped in front of a large, well-lit brick wall, where they waited only long enough for an oversized wrought-iron gate to swing open, and then both trucks were off again. They raced down a lane lined with tall, well-tended ivy hedges, and even if there had been enough light, Martin doubted he would have seen anything more than just a blur of green.
A half mile later, the driver finally pried his foot off the accelerator and expertly coasted to a stop in front of a large Tudor manor. Old money, Martin thought as he scanned the front of the mansion. At least three stories, the façade was as tall and as long as the Suburban allowed Martin to see. Etched lead-glass windows with brass inlays framed a two-story portico. Marble steps lit by a sparkling silver chandelier led to massive oak doors. This wasn’t one of the McMansions that were springing up all over the greater Atlanta area; this was wealth with a capital W.
“This is the place,” McDaniels said.
For once, Martin was at a loss for words. He tried to think of something clever to say, but the ride, the anticipation of seeing Avanti, and the fact that he had no idea what he was doing here, tied his usually glib tongue in knots. “Okay,” was the best that he could manage.
“All we need from you is a threat assessment. Let him lead the discussion. Don’t try to be clever, just listen.” McDaniels tried to sound encouraging, but to Martin’s ear, he sounded more like an old baseball coach who was forced to put him into a close game, all the while hoping that Martin didn’t screw things up too badly.
He had to stop himself from saying, “Okay, coach.” Instead, he said, “I understand. I guess I’m doing this alone.”
McDaniels nodded.
“Do I wear a wire, or something?”
“No, I don’t want you to be a secret agent. I just want you to listen, and tell me how badly we’re screwed.”
The driver of the Suburban suddenly opened Martin’s door, and he jumped. “You’re not even coming in?” The pitch of his voice was rising.
“No. It’s just you and Avanti.” McDaniels saw the color leave Martin’s face. “You’ll be fine. He can’t hurt you.”
“How do you know?” The words were out of his mouth before he even registered the thought. “I’m sorry; I’m just a little out of my element.”
McDaniels gave an almost imperceptible nod to the enlisted man who reached in and helped Martin out of the car. “I know. Just listen to the man. You can do that.”
The sergeant led Martin up the marble staircase. They’re too grand to be steps, Martin thought as the young marine quietly opened one of the twelve-foot doors. “He will be waiting for you in the library, sir. Across the foyer, first door on your right.”
Martin stepped into the dark entranceway, wondering how a marine sergeant came by the word “foyer.” The door closed behind him with a small but resounding click. It was dark, and if it hadn’t been for the lights of the two SUVs shining through the thick glass, it would have been completely black. “Hello,” he called out tentatively. His voice echoed as if he were on a sound stage.
“In here, Dr. Martin,” returned a thickly accented and gruff voice.
Martin immediately recalled the distinctive voice and followed it into a dark room. His eyes had started to adjust, and he could make out several wing-backed chairs arranged around a large table. One of the chairs was occupied. The thick smell of books filled the air, and he was suddenly reminded of his medical school’s library.
“Excuse the darkness. I no longer have need for light, but if you feel it is necessary, there is a lamp on the table.”
Martin found it and clicked it on. The harsh light momentarily blinded him, but he could see that the man in the chair didn’t react.
“It is somewhat ironic that I prefer this room, don’t you think, Dr. Martin? It’s the smell, I think.”
Martin remained standing, taking stock of what was left of Jaime Avanti. He was blind — that much was obvious. His pupils were as wide as they could be in the harsh lamplight, and the whites of his eyes had taken on a sickly yellow hue. But that paled in comparison to the other physical changes. He had always been a thick, robust man, the prototypical Russian. Ukrainian, Martin corrected himself, but time had not been kind to Avanti. Gone were the large belly and the powerful arms and shoulders; what remained was a skeleton, a shadow of his former self. Even his trademark hirsuteness was gone. Patches of white hair covered a wrinkled skull, and a thin beard reached down to his sunken chest.
“I am told that my appearance has changed over the past fifteen years. I’m guessing that yours has as well, but hopefully not as much as mine.”
“No, it hasn’t,” Martin said in a voice full of surprise and disgust. He hadn’t really thought about how he would feel seeing Avanti, a man he once knew who had chosen to become a terrorist. “You look like shit, Jaime,” he said with undisguised loathing.
“That’s what I like about you Jews, no beating around the bush. Yes, I probably do look like shit, but that’s not why you are here. What have your military people told you?”
“That you broke into my lab and stole samples of Ebola, among other things.” Martin moved to a chair opposite Avanti and sat down, completely comfortable that what was left of Jaime Avanti posed no physical threat.
“‘Among other things?’ You are exactly as I remembered, Nathan, pompous and self-absorbed.” Avanti’s voice was tired. “A slow-acting virus has been released into the population of Colorado. It is a mutated and less virulent form of the virus you know as EDH1. I believe that this may have been one of the ‘other things’ General McDaniels shared with you.”
“We have reviewed a case of viral encephalitis from Colorado, and electron microscopy does confirm an unknown virus that looks very much like EDH1. However, it is a single case, and hardly worth all this drama.” Martin tried to keep his voice relaxed and casual.
“I estimate that over the next three months, more than twenty-three thousand citizens of Colorado will die as a direct result of the infection, and a much larger number will be affected by, shall we say, the consequences of the infection.” He turned his face towards Martin and smiled wide enough to expose his yellow teeth. “Perhaps that’s worth a little drama.”
Martin was glad that Avanti couldn’t watch the color drain from his face.