Encrypted (31 page)

Ronnie nodded
at
Quirk. He pulled out a small wireless detonator. He rested his hand on hers as she hit the button.

* * *

Zach watched as the red lights on the iPod flashed faster and faster. He’d always thought the lights were just part of Ronnie’s fashion sense, but now he realized
that
they also served as a countdown.

As they blinked at an accelerated rate, Zach hoped Ronnie would know that he forgave her. He wasn’t getting out of here
,
anyway. She might as well protect herself by destroying the evidence.

Jorge
smiled fiercely as the iPod’s screen bloomed red and the word “Boom,” flared white. Then the tiniest
pop
sounded.

Zach stared at the iPod, but it just sat there with
“
Every Rose Has Its Thorn
”
ready to play.

Jorge
,
however
,
was not so lucky. His eyes dilated
,
and his smile faded as blood dripped out of his ears.

He tilted back, then forward
,
before crashing
to the floor
—
dead
.

“Like I said,” Ronnie said over the speakers
,
“
r
elease him.”

Zach leveled his gaze at Grant. “You heard the woman.”

CHAPTER
13

El Paso FBI Field Office

9:15
a
.
m
.
MST

“Francois,” a voice
call
ed
.

But who would do so, especially flavored with a perfect French accent?

He opened his eyes to find a black-frocked
deacon
standing before his cell. Francois
’
blood ran cold, tingling the marks upon his arms.

“Francois. It is time to come home,”
Deacon
Havar
stated
as he extended a hand into the cell. His sleeve fell back
,
rev
ealing marks very similar to Francois’
own. Some blanched white with scarring.
Others
oozing fresh.
Just as Francois’. Only the
d
eacon’s
intent was far different than his
.

Francois’ were
carved for salvation.
The deacon
’s for damnation.

“Hey!” an agent called from behind. “Stay back from the cell. Don’t let that guy fool you. He goes from zero to sixty.”

The deacon
inclined his head and slipped his arm out of the cell, his sleeve
once again
covering their shared secret. “I would
like to
speak with your superior.”

It wasn’t until
Havar
moved away from the bars that F
rancois realized
that
the deacon
had not come alone. A cluster of four young priest
s
held
on
to his hem as if
they were
chicks
following
their mother. Only
one stood apart from the rest
.

Lino
.

His eyes pierced the air
, skewer
ing
Francois where he stood.

Francois’ scars flared again.

It was as if his own flesh knew that he did not have long to live.

* * *

Amanda sat beside Jennifer in the infirmary. Even though her assistant was hooked up to two different IV lines, she still typed frantically on her laptop. Not that Amanda was much better
.
B
y monitoring temperature spikes, she was about four hours behind Jennifer and Devlin. Those two must have been exposed to an early source of contagion
,
where Amanda and Henderson were hit in the secondary wave.

The director
also
typed away at the far side of the beds
.
Amanda balanc
ed
her laptop on her knees
, working
while the IV antibiotics dripped into her vein
s
.

Most other patients crammed into th
e
tiny medical station were more sensible.
They r
est
ed,
or watch
ed
the
only
television. Of course
,
the sole programming
consisted of
more and more reports of the Black Death’s march across
America and
the world. The only continent still untouched was Antarctica
.
S
ince the very first plague victim,
all incoming and outgoing air traffic was
shut down
—much as
Amanda suggested in the
plague’s
dawning hours.

How many lives could have been saved if that Venice flight
had been turned
around
in
midair?
Amanda felt that she
should have done more
to
convince Henderson. She should have insisted on being on the call with the
p
resident.

Back then
,
though
,
she was the girl
who
cried wolf.
But now that the wolf was literally at their door?
Now
,
she was the girl
who
everyone counted on. What if she couldn’t find the vaccinated populations? What if she couldn’t find a vaccine repository?

Jennifer tapped Amanda’s computer. The message
was
clear.
Work
.

Unfortunately
,
Jennifer was right.
No point in b
elaboring the past
—it was gone.
The
y had to find
Hidden Hand safe houses. Before she could get back to comb
ing
through hospital intake records, Devlin pointed to the television.

“Turn it up!”

Craning her
neck
to see what all the fuss was about, Amanda found Anderson Cooper on
-
screen. So
,
it was going to be a major announcement. The reporter looked haggard. The usual spark in his eye
was
dulled. Even makeup couldn’t cover the dark circles. She’d seen it before.
In herself.
Anderson wasn’t just whipped
—
he was stricken.

“Authorities are urging everyone to stay indoors
,
and I couldn’t agree more. People
,
this isn’t the time to panic. This is the time to use common sense. Only venture outside
if
you must get a loved one to a hospital
,
and even then
,
wear a mask
,
or
—
”

Anderson stopped as a piece of paper was shoved at him from off camera. His eyes scanned the page once
, and
then again. He looked up, not to
ward
the camera
,
but to someone to the left of it.

“Is this for real?” Anderson asked.
The m
uffled
voice
answered
her
agreement. The reporter still asked, “
All
of it?”

Again
,
the muffled voice said
,
“
Y
es.”

Anderson shuffled in his chair
, and
t
hen his eyes found the camera. “I am so sorry, New York…”

So sorry about what?
Now everyone in the infirmary was glued to the television.

“The governor has…
The
governor has declared that New York City hospitals are now closed. They are overrun with plague victims
,
and can accept no more.”

Amanda looked
at
Jennifer. Neither
was
necessarily surprised. It was simply
S
tep
E
ighteen in the biowarfare manual. At some point
,
the health care system would become saturated and completely ineffect
ive,
w
hich only accelerated the death count. And not just from plague victims. Now
,
heart attack victims
who
could have been saved would die. Even cases of appendicitis or a child’s strep throat could result in death. The body count would balloon from here.

The only surprising
thing
was how horribly quickly
all
this was happening. This should be day three or four into the disease cycle. Not day one.

Anderson shifted in his seat. “But that doesn’t mean you
can’t
get treatment. Officials are rolling out a program where antibiotics can be delivered to you. Medics will bring the antibiotics to your door, knock, and you must wait at least a minute before opening your door to accept them.”

Amanda didn’t see why he was so nervous until he cleared his throat
, and
then had to cough. It was like watching America’s slow decline into the plague.

Finally catching his breath, Anderson continued. “They will identify homes in need of antibiotics…well…they are requesting
that
you put a red ‘X’ on your door. Again, I am so very sorry
,
New York.”

Amanda glanced
at
Jennifer. The “X” was not part of the plan. The plan was a coordinated online request form along with door placards to identify plague victims. However
,
Amanda could see why the New York authorities had foregone those niceties. Again, they weren’t supposed to get to this point until day three or four. That would have given officials two to three days to educate the public. Get the placards out to the neighborhoods before they were needed.

Now
,
though?
A bright red “X” probably was more representative of the dire circumstances.

Jennifer raised her eyebrow
s
.
Now
,
what are we going to do?
w
as
the clear question.

Which was an extremely good question. Amanda thought
that
she would have hours and hours more of data streaming in from the hospitals
,
and then the online data from antibiotic requests. How in the hell was she going to track red “
Xs
” on the door
s
?

“I am going to need more bandwidth,” Amanda said as Jennifer’s eyes slid over to Devlin. “And yes, access to the CIA’s database. Can you do it?”

Jennifer gave a sly smile as she typed like a madwoman.

Amanda had no idea how her assistant was going to carry out the task
ahead
.
H
owever
,
if it got her the data
that
she needed
,
she didn’t care. Not with the plague on the move.

* * *

Lino
ignored Brother
Loubom
. The man would be dead soon enough. His legacy of betrayal ended.
Lino
studied the half-burnt Picasso.
Such an ugly painting.
Why would one take God’s most perfect specimen, man, and distort it so?

Man was made in
God’s image
. S
uch a pai
nting was not just in bad taste; i
t amounted to heresy. It should be burned. Not to see what lay beneath the oils, but to destroy the thing
,
so tha
t no man’s eyes ever had to look
upon it again.