As he sauntered toward them, Gray saw that he held something in one of his large mitts. Once Kowalski spotted them on the bench, he hurriedly shoved his arm behind his back. Gray remembered a certain fixation Kowalski had back in Hawkshead.
As he drew abreast of them, Gray called over. "So is that a gift for Rachel?"
Kowalski stopped, suddenly sheepish. Caught, he pulled the teddy bear into view. It was white, plushy, and dressed in a nurse's uniform. He stared down at it, over to Rachel's room, then finally glared at Gray and shoved the bear at him.
"Of course it is," he growled.
Gray took the bear.
Kowalski stomped off heavily, no longer whistling.
"What was that all about?" Monk asked.
Gray leaned back. "You know, I'm not sure I'm ready to talk about it yet."
Chapter 33
October 23, 10:14 A.M.
Washington, D.C.
They all met at Senator Gorman's office on Capitol Hill.
Painter was seated next to General Metcalf. On his other side, Dr. Lisa Cummings sat with her legs crossed.
One toe of her shoe lightly brushed Painter's pant leg. It was not done casually. He and Lisa had been apart for too long. And since she had returned from vacation, she had been busy, often red-eyeing out to the Midwest to oversee the medical crisis out there. The two of them captured whatever spare moments they could together.
Metcalf continued reporting on the manufacture of the antifungal compound. Painter had already reviewed the report.
Instead of listening, he watched his girlfriend's reflection in the window behind the senator. Lisa had her hair up in a French twist and wore a conservative suit to match the mood of the meeting. He daydreamed about undoing that twist, unbuttoning that shirt.
"We're spraying all the production fields," Metcalf continued, "covering a safety zone of fifteen miles around each site. The EPA has mobilized with the National Guard to monitor and continue testing samples of surrounding vegetation for another thirty miles out."
Gorman nodded. "On the international front, all the planted fields have been scraped and sprayed. We can only hope we've stamped this out in time."
Lisa spoke up. "If not, we'll be ready. The initial human trials have been successful. Minimal adverse reactions. The early cases have responded well. It will be a boon to medicine across the board. While we have a slew of powerful antibiotics, our arsenal of antifungals, especially for systemic infections, has been limited and is burdened by high toxicity levels. With such a new compound readily available-"
"And free," Painter added.
She nodded. "We'll keep this disaster in check."
"Speaking of free," Gorman said. "I dropped in on Ivar Karlsen after visiting the Viatus production plant for the drug."
Painter drew his attention back. Karlsen was in a Norwegian penal facility, still awaiting trial. He continued to oversee business from his cell. As partial restitution, the man had voluntarily turned over the full resources of his corporation's biotechnology infrastructure to manufacture the compound. It was shocking how quickly they were able to start mass-producing it.
Lisa had tried explaining to Painter that the antifungal compound was derived from a genus of lichen found only in sub-Saharan Africa, that its chemical structure attacked a unique sterol found only in fungal cell membranes, making it both effective and safe for treating both mammals and plants.
Painter glazed out after further details. All he needed to know was that it worked.
"You should have seen his prison cell," Gorman said. "It's practically a suite at the Ritz."
"But it's a suite he won't be checking out of any time soon," Painter added. If at all, considering the man's age.
Metcalf stood. "If we're all done here, I still have matters to address back at DARPA headquarters."
Gorman stood and shook his hand. "Whatever I can do to help, I'm in your debt." The words were spoken to Metcalf, but Painter noted Gorman's glance in his direction.
After events in Norway, they'd been forced to reveal Sigma's existence. The senator would have kept digging anyway and only made matters worse. The knowledge also gave them a powerful ally on Capitol Hill. Already Painter had noted a change in sentiment regarding Sigma among the various U.S. intelligence agencies. For once, the wolves at their door had been dragged back. Maybe not leashed completely, but it allowed Painter more freedom to fully secure Sigma.
And he knew they would need it.
The Guild would come gunning for them.
After saying their good-byes, Painter and Lisa walked with General Metcalf through the halls of power. Painter was still waiting for confirmation from the general on one extremely sensitive matter.
"Sir...," Painter began, meaning only to remind Metcalf.
"She's your problem," the general said instead. "I can't countermand the order to have her apprehended. Her crimes are too tangled internationally. She'll have to stay low, and by low, I mean crawling through the sewers." Metcalf stared over at him. "But if you think she'll be an asset?"
"I do."
"So be it. But it's on your head."
Painter always appreciated such enthusiastic support. With a final few words, Metcalf headed off toward another meeting on the Hill. That left Painter alone with Lisa as they crossed into the morning sunshine.
He checked his watch. The funeral service started in another hour. He had just enough time to shower and change. Despite the bright day, a somberness settled through him. John Creed had died saving his life. Since Painter had sent men and women into harm's way all too often, he had honed a level of detachment. It was the only way to stay sane, to make the hard choices.
He couldn't do it here.
Not with Creed.
A hand slipped into his. Lisa tugged and leaned into his arm.
"It'll get better," she promised him.
He knew she was right, but somehow that only made it worse. To move past meant forgetting. Not all of it, but some of it.
And he never wanted to forget John's sacrifice.
Not any of it.
3:33 P.M.
Monk wandered through the rolling hills of Arlington Cemetery with Kat at his side, hand in hand, bundled in long coats. It was a crisp fall day with the massive oaks fiery in their splendor. The funeral service had ended an hour ago. But Monk hadn't been ready to leave.
Kat had never said a word.
She understood.
Everyone had shown up. Even Rachel had flown in from Rome for the day. She headed back tomorrow morning. She didn't like leaving her uncle alone for long. Vigor had just gotten out of the hospital two days ago, but he was recuperating well.
During their slow walk, Monk and Kat had wandered in a full circle and ended up back where they had started. John Creed's grave sat atop a small knoll under the limbs of a dogwood. The branches were already bare, skeletal against the blue sky, but come spring they'd be full of white blossoms.
It was a good spot.
Monk had wanted everyone gone for a moment of privacy at the gravesite, but he saw that someone still knelt there, both hands gripping the headstone. The posture was a sigil of raw grief.
Monk stopped.
It was a young man wearing army dress blues. Monk vaguely recognized him from the funeral. The man had sat as stiffly as everyone else. Apparently he'd also wanted an extra moment to say good-bye.
Kat tightened her fingers on Monk's hand. He turned to her. She shook her head and drew him away. Monk gave her a questioning look, sensing that she knew more than he did.
"That's John's partner."
Monk glanced back and knew she wasn't referring to a business partner. He hadn't known. He suddenly remembered a conversation he'd had with Creed. Monk had teasingly asked him what had gotten him drummed out of the service after two tours in Iraq. Creed's answer had been two words.