The other guy was a gangly, gawky collection of awkward limbs and comprehensive disapproval. Dr. William Hu, chief of scientific research for the DMS. He had a Mongol face, an Einstein brain, the pop-culture sensibilities of Joss Whedon, but the compassion of a ghoul. When I’d first joined the Department of Military Sciences I tried real hard to like him, but that got to be an expensive hobby. He didn’t burn up any calories trying to warm up to me, either.
“Captain Ledger,” Hu said in exactly the same way you might say “painful rectal itch.”
“Dr. Hu,” I said, meeting him on the same ground.
We didn’t shake hands.
Ghost sniffed the hand Church extended, gave the fingertips a tiny lick, and then sat back. Then Ghost turned and eyed Hu like he was a steak dinner. Hu never attempted to touch Ghost. Hu was an asshole, but he wasn’t stupid.
Gus Dietrich put it in gear and the limo pulled away from the curb like we were fleeing the scene of a crime. I grabbed an armrest to keep from falling out of my seat. “Where are we going?”
“Scotland,” said Church. “Specifically Fair Isle. Shetland Islands, in the North Sea, very remote, ultrahigh security. A chopper’s waiting.”
“Why? Has there been another attack?”
“More complicated than that. Short answer is that there is a situation at a viral research station there. A staff member is holding the rest of the employees hostage.”
“Why?”
“Unknown.”
“He connected to the Kings?”
“To be determined.”
“Working alone?”
“Possibly. It’s the impression he’s conveyed so far. Uses ‘I’ and ‘me’ rather than ‘we.’”
“Demands?”
“Aside from the usual precautionary requirements—keep our distance, don’t try anything, et cetera—he’s asked to speak to a representative of Homeland Security.”
“Homeland? Does this guy know he’s in Scotland?”
“He’s American,” said Hu. “Baker and Schloss lease half of the island from the Brits.”
“Baker and Schloss? The male enhancement company?”
Hu grinned. “Yeah, the pecker pill people. They’re a medium-sized pharmaceutical company with a board made up of American, British, German, and French members. Majority stockholders are the Baker family of Martha’s Vineyard. Old money. The male enhancement drug put them on the public radar, but they make their real money from government contracts.”
“For what? Enhanced soldiers?”
“Viral research,” said Church.
“What kind? Germ warfare?”
“Nobody uses that term anymore,” Hu said haughtily. “Baker and Schloss has government contracts for tactical-response bio-agents. TRBs.”
“Which means what?” I asked.
“Germ warfare,” said Church. “The point is that the situation is politically complicated. The title to the land is actually held by the U.S. Government. Baker and Schloss has access to it as part of their research contract.”
“Why is it in Scotland?”
Church said nothing.
“What?” I prompted.
Hu snorted. “It’s here because it’s not allowed to be in the U.S.”
I studied their faces. Church was a stone, but Hu was smiling, and he never smiled unless something unpleasant was happening. “I’m going out on a limb here and guess that it’s not allowed in the U.K., either.”
“No, it’s allowed,” said Church, “but only under the most exacting circumstances, which translates as ‘difficult and expensive.’ Those responsible for establishing this facility found it less expensive and more productive to simply move it outside of the scope of domestic regulars and congressional oversight. That itself is problematic in a variety of ugly ways. The nature of the work being done at Fair Isle contravenes half a dozen international agreements.”
“Why is it even in operation?” I demanded.
“It’s a holdover from a previous administration. And it’s one of those things that the layers of government power players fail to tell a new president.”
“How—,” I began, but he cut me off.
“There are too many secrets to tell any sitting president. At best the President can be briefed in general about the areas of research and given more complete information when the situation requires it. But the career politicians within the infrastructure have a skewed view of both ‘need to know’ and ‘plausible deniability.’ They believe they have the right to decide what the President is allowed to know, or not allowed to know.”
I knew what he was saying. As much as we don’t want to accept the truth, there were layers of government that remained in place no matter which party held power in the White House. Shadow governments, cells and cabals, some of which believed that what they were doing was in the best interest of the American people, though in those rare cases when someone was able to shine a light on them it became pretty clear that money and the power it purchased was the only enduring motive.
“If this got out,” Church said, “it could cripple the current administration and it would almost certainly result in some kind of criminal charges for key members of the previous administration.”
I started to say something smart-ass, but he headed me off at the pass.
“This isn’t a time to collect scalps, Captain. Playing politics has hurt our country too many times. And while I agree that those responsible should be held accountable, that’s something best done quietly on our own turf. Spilling this in public would do greater harm than good. The stock market is already taking very bad hits because of the Hospital bombing; this could crash it into a depression. It would also strip the power of the United States in critical negotiations with North Korea, China, and Iran.”
“Yeah, stones and glass houses.”
He nodded.
I said, “Tell you, though … if someone wanted to do just that, this would be a good way to go about it. We have to consider that this might be a Seven Kings operation.”
“No! Really?” said Hu dryly.
Church adjusted his glasses. “We face three separate problems.”
“Let me see if I can guess,” I said, and ticked them off on my fingers. “First, we need to contain the situation and prevent any bugs from getting loose. Second, we need to make sure this doesn’t embarrass the ol’ U.S. of A.”
“Right. And the third?”
“We have to find out why this guy is doing this. You said he wants to talk to someone from Homeland? Not the Brits? Not the press? That’s interesting.”
“Isn’t it, though?” said Church. “He said one thing that I find particularly intriguing. He said that there’s still time to stop this.’”
“That doesn’t sound like a threat,” I said. “Maybe he’s not a bad guy. Maybe he’s just a scared guy.”
“Scared of what?” Hu asked.
“Don’t know yet. But you don’t take people hostage if you’re not scared of something. Not unless you’re in it for the money, and this doesn’t have that kind of feel.”
“Agreed,” said Church.
“Or maybe he’s part of this thing, whatever it is, and got either cold feet or an attack of conscience.”
“And if the Kings are involved we might finally have a doorway into them.”
I nodded. “Couple questions, though.”
“Go.”
“First … why me? Where the hell’s the rest of the DMS?”
“Everyone healthy enough to report for work has been scrambled and assigned to investigation or protection in the States. As for our teams here, Gog is still on the job in Prague and Magog has gone dark in Afghanistan, though that’s expected at this stage of that operation. We can’t get either of them here in time and this situation needs a shooter.”
I gave him a sour look. “Swell. Joe Ledger, gun for hire.”