“Costa Rica. He plans to wait out our demise while sitting in a tropical jungle,” Amanda said, and Lisa stared back at her curiously. “I saw it in his mind when we were at the hospital,” Amanda explained. ”I saw everything,” she added quietly.
* * *
The check-engine light was on continuously and the temperature gauge was well past the red line. Reisch let loose a string of profanities in three languages, but his predicament didn’t change. He was going to have to find another mode of transportation, but in rural New Mexico, three hours after a nationwide curfew had been established, that was going to be a difficult task.
He had been warned that something like this might happen; Jeser’s network of support was virtually nonexistent outside major American cities, but Reisch was comfortable in his abilities. For more than three decades, he had survived so well that his very existence was questioned by some.
“You were a professional then,” Pushkin said, appearing suddenly and darkening Reisch’s already dark mood. “You followed the rules and did things correctly; you prepared yourself to complete your task and to disappear. Years ago you never would have done anything as amateurish as this.”
Reisch wanted to ask what he meant, but the answer would quickly turn into a lecture over his behavior the last two months.
“It’s not just the last two months,” his mentor said after reading his thoughts. “It’s been the last seven years; really your troubles began when you went to that sewer in the desert. You had no business passing yourself off as a security guard for a bunch of Arabs.”
“If you remember correctly, it was you who introduced me to Avanti. Besides, I’ve heard all of this before; do you have anything constructive to contribute, or did you pop in just to harangue me?”
“You rely more on this mind-reading crap than training and experience, and look where it’s gotten you.” Pushkin said under his breath. “Turn the radio on,” he commanded suddenly.
Reisch glanced at the shimmering form of his old teacher and flipped the knob with obvious irritation. He changed the channel several times looking for a classical music station, but all he heard were news reports.
“Stop,” Pushkin ordered, and for a moment, Klaus didn’t know what he meant. “Did you hear that? Go back to the last station.” Reisch found the station and listened with horror.
“. . still coming in, but what we do know is that there has been another incident in Los Angeles similar to what happened in New York yesterday. The military is being very cautious about this, but it appears as if another terrorist has been caught or killed in a suburban Los Angeles mall as he was trying to release the virus.. . ”
A longer string of profanities drowned out the announcer’s next words. Los Angeles and New York were critical to success.
“. . optimism, and that the threat remains. There are no plans to modify or lift the quarantine and all noncritical people are to remain indoors. All those caught in violation of the quarantine order are being held in contamination centers throughout the country.”
Pushkin listened intently, and when the car engine finally seized he turned to Reisch. ”It seems that your difficulties leaving this country may have a purpose.” White smoke began to pour out from beneath the hood. “You should have kept the Mercedes,” he said as the stolen sedan coasted to an unscheduled stop.
Reisch climbed out of the car and Pushkin followed. They hadn’t seen any signs of life for hours; the high desert was cold, wind-swept, and completely dark. The night sky was alight with a universe of stars, and a full moon was just beginning to rise over the mountains to the east. Off in the far distance, two dark shapes glided through the thin air; a pair of eagles out for a late night flight, completely oblivious to the larger plight of humanity, or the more immediate plight of Reisch. “Three or four miles up the road, there’s a farm,” he said to Pushkin’s ghost, and pointed to a small collection of lights. He was angry, but consoled himself with the fact that he had been tested before and had always prevailed.
“I guess we walk,” Pushkin said staring up the road, and Reisch looked at him questioningly. ”We could always wait for someone to carry us, but I’m guessing it will be a long wait.”
Reisch retrieved his small oversized suit bag, slung it over his shoulder, and started down the dark street. Pushkin started in on him in less than fifty paces.
“Why do you always use German cars?” The steaming sedan had been an almost new Audi A8; Reisch found it in a Pueblo used car lot, and with less than ten thousand miles on it, he could never have anticipated its failure after another one hundred.
“Usually, they are quite reliable,” Reisch said slightly defensively. “Why do you always speak in English?”
“I speak the language you speak,” Pushkin answered.
Reisch walked on pondering Pushkin’s answer. “If they admit to finding two, they probably have found more,” the German said after a long pause. “It had to have been Amanda,” he said simply. “She saw everything.”
“You’re probably correct. It’s possible Avanti told them, or they simply stumbled on to it, but I think she’s responsible.”
“I’m responsible. I should have listened to you and everyone else. If I had done this in Miami as I was supposed to, none of this would have happened, and I’d be safely away.”
Pushkin’s silence was accusatory. “What are you going to do?” he finally asked.
Reisch thought quietly. There were still nine more moles out there; the plan could still work, but their margin of error had been erased. “I’ll wait, and do what’s necessary.” The weight of the two vials sewn into his coat became a little more noticeable.
Chapter 57
“Morning, Greg,” Linda Stout said quietly. She was the first female detective in the small Colorado Springs Homicide Unit because seventeen years ago Greg Flynn had taken a risk.
“Hey, Stick,” he said swinging his old chair away from the window and facing the six-foot-one-inch senior detective. Lisa weighed less than one hundred and thirty pounds and the nickname had plagued her since junior high. The only person in the world who could use it without the threat of imminent physical harm was her old boss.
“I see the office still fits,” she said.
“It’s only temporary,” he said to Linda and to God’s ear. Rodney Patton was in a Los Angeles hospital being treated for the infection he had helped to stop.
“I’m sorry about your priest,” she said somberly.
“He was a good man,” Greg said softly. Oliver had been flown home to Chicago to join his sister and parents five days earlier, and both Greg and Lisa had resolved to celebrate his life and not mourn his passing. “What have you got there?”
Lisa carried a folder that bulged with police reports. “A hunch about our German friend.” Greg waved her into the office and into a desk-side chair. “We found the car he had used to run down our officer last week. It was in the garage of an auto repair shop. That same auto repair shop reported that one of their customers had a Mercedes SUV stolen from their parking lot the very next day, just before the curfew started. With all that was happening, no one followed up on it or put the two together.”
“It’s taken almost a week to make that connection?” Ordinarily Greg wouldn’t have been so critical, but the nonstop stress was eating away at his restraint.
“We’re down to a skeleton crew. The FBI took the BMW and left the grunt work with us, and frankly, we dropped the ball.” Linda looked away and Greg felt bad about his comment.
“So the bastard is probably driving a Mercedes SUV. This is a break, Linda,” Greg tried to pump up his deflated protégée.