“How about Peter Howell? Does he recognize her?”
Klein coughed. “I’m sorry to say that Peter Howell is missing. We’ve been unable to contact him through the secure line that he maintains for MI6. They’re as concerned as we are.”
Smith’s dread increased with this news. Howell wouldn’t ignore a contact from MI6 unless he was in deep cover, dire circumstances, or dead. Smith shook off the last thought.
“I have a call from Russell. Perhaps she has news?”
“I didn’t inform the CIA about the photos yet. Don’t need them digging into your status and possibly stumbling over your Covert-One activity. But feel free to follow up with her on the Dattar angle and the coolers. I assume that WHO’s director-general has briefed the CIA on the situation by now. Were you able to get any information out of the terrorist you found on the street?”
“Collecting intel from them is going to be a real problem, if not impossible. Each one we got our hands on died. Not from wounds, you understand. They just…died. Beckmann promised autopsy results. But for now I want to locate that woman. I think the photos, the attack on the hotel, and Dattar’s escape must be related. If I can find her, I might be able to find the coolers.”
“I agree, but I warn you, do not return home. And be prepared for what’s happening at Fort Detrick. The media is slavering to speak to you, and both areas are surrounded. I’ve arranged for a short press conference from DOD headquarters at 1600 hours. We’ll feed the media beast and hope they move on to other subjects.”
“I seem to have an escort waiting.”
“That was handled by USAMRIID. After the press conference I’ve arranged for you to stay a couple of nights at the Four Seasons Hotel.”
“Four Seasons. Pretty fancy stuff. Why not a safe house?”
“You’re bound to be followed by some overambitious paparazzo. Let’s do the unexpected until the media storm dies down. The hotel staff are experts at protecting their guests from anxious journalists.” Smith wasn’t worried about journalists, he was worried about assassins, but he figured that anything was better than heading to his home.
“Were you able to get a laptop?”
“Yes. It’s on hold at the hotel, and there’s a car parked there for your use. Are you sure the time you’re spending on finding this woman is worth it? You may be chasing down the wrong lead. She may know nothing that will help us recover those coolers.”
“My instinct tells me she’s in DC or New York. Maybe Chicago on the outside, but nothing smaller and her clothes don’t match the West Coast.”
“The bigger the city, the tougher it will be to locate her.”
“That’s why identifying the photo is so important. I’ll get on it the minute I reach the hotel.”
“I’m willing to let you devote a couple of days to it, but let’s not lose sight of the real goal. We need to recover those coolers.”
“I understand, but I can’t help shake the feeling that Dattar’s escape, the attack on the hotel to obtain those coolers, and the photos must be related. I’ll keep you informed.”
Smith descended the rolling metal stairs from the airplane. He saw the MPs snap to attention at the sight of him despite his casual clothes. For a brief moment he wished he’d put on his BDUs before getting on the airplane, but they were back in the Grand Royal. He returned the soldiers’ salutes and nodded to the car.
“Take me to the grilling.” The nearest soldier, a young woman with short dark hair and heavy eyebrows, grinned at him, revealing two slightly overlapping front teeth.
“Private Mercer, sir. Won’t be that bad, sir.”
“You promise to stay by my side?” He smiled at her. Her look warmed.
“Private Warren and I,” Mercer indicated the young man with an upright carriage and serious expression standing next to her, “are ordered to protect you, and that’s what we’ll do.”
“Any chance of rustling up a uniform? Mine’s back in Europe.”
“Yes, sir. There will be one waiting for you at Department of Defense headquarters.”
He settled into the backseat, which was separated from the two soldiers by a thick protective window, and hit redial on Russell’s missed call. He was surprised to see her private cell phone number run across the screen. He’d expected her to call from CIA offices.
“Are you all right?” she said, without preamble, her voice registering relief. Smith hurried to put her at ease.
“I’m fine and just landed in DC. I used a military charter. No frills and no onboard Internet so I couldn’t let you know what’s been happening.”
“I hope you took the opportunity to sleep since it was clear from your clothing that you’d been trying to when the hotel was attacked.” Russell’s voice held a tinge of humor.
“I did. Thanks again for Beckmann. Any news on the autopsy?”
“Only a confirmation that they didn’t die of any obvious wound. We’re going to have to wait twenty-four hours for the pathology report. Beckmann’s vowed to find another one before he ‘dies of fright,’ as he puts it. I hope he does because we need some information and our usual intelligence network has been silent on the attack. Still no takers claiming responsibility.” She paused. “On that note, something strange is going on.” Smith listened while Russell filled him in on the incident at her home.
“Did they swab the light?”
“They did. It’s off to the labs, but I’d feel a lot better if you could have a look at it as well. I know that USAMRIID is on the cutting edge of new bacteria.”
“Of course, but I’m avoiding Fort Detrick right now. I’m told it’s surrounded by the media, all waiting to snap a photo of me driving through the gates. I have a friend who runs the lab at George Mason University. Can you send it there?” He gave Russell the address. “Any news on Dattar?”
“Nothing. He’s just vanished.”
It was all Smith could do not to tell her about the photos, and in particular, the photo of the woman. He toyed with the idea of telling her a half truth, that he’d found only Howell’s photo and the woman’s, but he thought that would be worthless. Russell could spend a lot of time tracking down dead-end leads because she wouldn’t have the whole picture.
“I’m in town and staying at the Four Seasons after I give a press conference at the DOD. Let me know when the cultures arrive and I’ll check them out.” The car turned in front of DOD headquarters, and Smith pressed a button that lowered the window.
“Showtime?” he said.
Private Warren gave him a nod. “Yes, sir.”
Thirty minutes later Smith was dressed in a crisp starched military uniform and standing on a raised dais behind a podium, answering questions fired at him from a room full of press. Privates Mercer and Warren were positioned on either side of the room and General Randolph, his supervisor at USAMRIID, stood behind him. He’d run through the bulk of the questions and was nearing the end of the session when a journalist asked about Dattar.
“Colonel Smith, were you aware that Oman Dattar escaped from custody that evening?” Smith tensed but did his best to keep breathing. Just hearing Dattar’s name made him grit his teeth.
“I’m aware of that, yes.”
“I seem to recall that you were involved in a humanitarian mission in Dattar’s region some time ago. Were you scheduled to testify against him in the trial?”
Smith felt the mood in the room darken. “As I said, I traveled to The Hague to attend a WHO conference on infectious diseases. While I’d been notified by the prosecutor that he might need my testimony at some point in the future regarding the handling of a cholera outbreak in the region, I was not scheduled to appear before the tribunal.”