Encrypted (62 page)

What did the Hidden Hand know that Ronnie didn’t?

* * *

Amanda chewed on the edge of her thumbnail. Not very sanitary in the middle of a plague, but what the heck
?
She already had it, right? Dr. Henderson sat on the edge of her desk
.
H
is shoulders
were
slumped. A tall
,
proud man
—
nearly broken in half.

He absently
scratched his
itch
ing
arm. Probably a boil. Amanda physically had to stop herself from taking her nails to her skin
.
T
he burning sensation
was
nearly undeniable. Her own throat
,
choked by her lymph nodes
,
expand
ed
to the size of small lemons.

“We should hear what he has to say,” Henderson declared.

She shook her head. “How exactly is he going to explain
that
?

Amanda indicated the five
—
count them
,
five
—
slides where they had reproduced the same effect. Each one came back positive. Devlin had preexposure antibodies. Not a whole lot of ways you could get those besides a vaccination.

“Still,” Henderson said frowning before he paused. It seemed to take a moment to gather his strength back again. “He would know if he was vaccinated intentionally.”

Amanda made sure to keep her face placid. This
was
one of those times
that
Jennifer would have stomped on her foot to speak up. Instead her assistant was in a near coma under the table. Amanda wanted to tell Henderson everything, but she feared how he would take it.

She wasn’t sure how he would take her little texting adventure, and Amanda didn’t want to end up tied to a chair next to Devlin.

“We’ve got to try,” Henderson stated as he stood up. The director leaned over Devlin. “If you scream…”

Honestly, at this point, who would hear the CIA liaison
,
or more importantly
,
who would care? With everyone in various stages of the Black Death a mouthy operative was the least of their concerns.

The CIA liaison nodded
,
so Henderson removed the gag.

“I’m not the traitor
;
she is,” Devlin said, indicating Amanda.

“See?” she said hoping she didn’t sound too guilty.

Dr. Henderson eyed her then focused on Devlin. “How do you explain having active,
IgM
-
type antibodies in your blood stream? Antibodies that take weeks to form?”

“I have no idea,” Devlin asserted
.
“But I
do
know that she sent state secrets to an unknown party!”

Amanda shrugged as Devlin went on to give the entire incriminating evidence. The guy did have a good memory
—
she had to give him that.

Henderson turned to her. “Well?”

She stuck to the facts as best she could. “When I realized that Jennifer and Devlin had been infected
with
in the same time frame
,
and
that
his
lymph nodes weren’t even enlarged
,
he attac
ked me
.
S
o
,
I defended myself.”

Amanda hoped that was close enough to the story she had given Henderson when he walked in on her. By the cloud over his features he still wasn’t convinced
,
so she
motioned toward
the computer. “Check it yourself.”

A little too quickly
,
he took her up on her offer.

“Check for a upload link,” Devlin offered.

Behind Henderson’s back
,
Amanda frowned at Devlin
,
which only fueled him more. “Plus
,
her phone. Check her phone for unauthorized numbers.”

Her boss finished with the computer. “Nothing there. He’s right, though. I should check your phone as well.”

Amanda had done an excellent job covering her tracks on the computer
,
but Jennifer’s phone? She’d been lucky to clear the call log.

She handed over her phone,
and
then made a show of pulling out Jennifer’s as well. “Here are
both
of our phones.”

Henderson sat down, squinting at the tiny screen. Finally he set both phones down. “They look clean.”

“No. No. No. No.” The CIA liaison said thumping his chair forward then back. “You’ve got the wrong
—
”

Her boss stuffed the gag back into Devlin’s mouth. With a deep sigh, Henderson slumped into a chair. “Now
,
what do we do with him?”

Amanda felt her stomach drop. She had no idea what to do with Devlin, but she had assumed that Henderson would. “Tell someone at the CIA?”

“Who
,
though?” Her boss postulated as he rubbed his temples. “How do we know they didn’t vaccinate Devlin and send him in?”

“There’s got to be someone you trust
,
r
ight?
”

Henderson was the director of Plum Island. He had to have connections. He had to know someone who could get the information to someone who could act on it. Amanda didn’t want to think that she had to rely solely on the person on the other side of a text to save the known world.

* * *

The time for gawking was over. Ronnie handed Zach a vest.

“What’s this?” he asked.

“Your bulletproof vest,” Ronnie answered
,
then turned to the pilot. “Bring us into the landing coordinates.”

Zach held up what on the surface might look like a sweater vest. “This? This is bulletproof.”

“Yep,” she said, pulling on hers, tucking it under her weighed down equipment belt. “Think of Kevlar
,
only we’ve added some metal ions to the mix.”

“I still don’t get the ‘bulletproof’ part.”

Ronnie kind of loved it when he got a Doubting Thomas on her. “Put it on.”

After he donned the garment she flicked a finger at his chest. Which she should have known better than to do as her nail hit solid metal. “Ouch,” she said sucking on her stinging finger.

Zach thumped his chest as well, then shaking out his hand. “How the hell…”

“Just like the metal ions in the CIA’s device aligned under a microwave burst,” Ronnie explained, “these align under pressure. The more pressure, the more the ions bond.”

“Creating a thicker and thicker shield?” Zach postulated.

“Bingo,” she said as the pilot swooped down into a clearing near the castle and hovered over the landing spot. Ronnie turned to Francois. “You aren’t going to stay in the chopper like you promised are you?”

The Frenchm
a
n cock
ed
his head
slightly
. She tossed Francois a vest. Of course because she’d had to give her nice sleek black one to Zach, Ronnie was wearing Quirk’s
,
which of course had a prominent Hello Kitty on the front
,
which meant that Francois got the backup vest with
Chococat
. She and Francois were just going to have to deal with it.

“We’re ready,” Ronnie informed the pilot.

“I’m just going to touch d
own,” he answered. “Let you off-
load the equipment, then dust off.”

Yes, she had gotten used to his aversion of actually landing the chopper. Heaven forbid.

* * *

Francois helped lift a large disc from the helicopter as the helicopter’s rotors spun dizzyingly overhead, adding even more force to the storm’s pounding rain. Ronnie tossed a metal case over his head. It landed on the soaked grass and bounced. Yet other items Ronnie handed Francois with the reverence of a saintly relic.

Next to him, Zach hauled a crate off the deck
, and
then stumbled back. Francois caught him by the elbow. Then he
,
too
,
felt a shifting underfoot. It could not be an earthquake
—
not this far north
and
not this close to strip
p
ing the Hidden Hand of all they held dear.

Underfoot
,
large metal hooks ripped through the meadow waving in the air like so many heads of a snake.

“Liftoff!” Zach yelled above the wash of the rotors.

Ronnie responded
,
but
the wind snatched away
her words. Whether the pilot heard
,
or he attempted to get the helicopter in the air
of his own accord
, but the hooks latched onto the struts of the craft, jerking the craft back toward the ground.

Zach
pushed
Francois to the ground as the helicopter tipped nearly on its side, bringing it
s
swirling blades
just
inches from their head
s
. Crates, bundles, and computers tumbled from the open bay door. Above them
,
Ronnie clung to a cable
. T
hen
, she
lost her grip and crashed beside them.

“We’ve got to
stay
clear of the rotors,” she groaned, nursing the shoulder
that
she fell on.

Francois could not
agree
more. Then
,
the helicopter tipped upright
,
as hooks from the other side brought it level. Trapped
,
but level. The pilot fought fiercely, testing the restraints on one side
, and
then the other.

Zach tugged on one of the hooks
.
“They must be magnetized.”

A strong
,
unseen force might have held them on
.
B
ut one of the hooks broke, sending the helicopter tilting wildly to the side. At the least
,
the rotors were away from them as they scrambled to safety.

But
was it truly safe
?
Quirk cried out from the helicopter, “Incoming!”

Through heavy
rain
drops, even Francois’ old eyes could make out at least six missiles heading their way. And with the helicopter flailing violently, they had a clear target.

“The countermeasures!” Zach yelled, but Ronnie tugged them toward the tumble of equipment.

“Find the EM rifle!”

Zach complied, but Francois stared out across the soaked field, past the
moat
to
the topmost turret.
Lino
would be watching from there
—regardless of
a veering helicopter or inbound missiles.

Francois would not flinch.

CHAPTER 30

Cutler, Maine

4:12
p
.
m
.,
EST

Zach ripped a crate open
, revealing
a bunch of what looked like ninja stars
—
but no rifle
s
.

“Here!” Ronnie yelled as she tossed him what seemed like a typical pump-action rifle. “You’ve got to aim pretty damn close for the EM pulse to work.”

Her words sounded impossible
.
B
ut which of her words had sounded reasonable? Trusting Ronnie, Zach wiped the rain from his eyes and swung the rifle up, targeting the nearest missile. He braced his back leg, ready for the recoil. Yet when he pulled the trigger
,
there was no more kick than a regular weapon. Did it work? Did the rifle actually shoot something?

Then the missile pitched and wavered, sailing over the helicopter and crashing into the field, exploding in a brilliant red flash. Zach couldn’t waste any time staring at the sight. He had five other missiles to take down. Pumping the rifle with one hand, he caught it with the other and aimed.