“And still would,” Tremont agreed. The accuracy of her memory was unnerving. “Primitive Indians with a cure for a fatal virus? But I know nothing about it,” he lied smoothly. “The way you describe what happened, I’m certain I’d remember. What do your colleagues say? Surely some worked in Peru, too.”
She sighed. “I wanted to check with you first. We have enough false alarms, and it’s been a long time since Peru for me, too. But if you don’t remember…” Her voice trailed off. She was terribly disappointed. “I’m certain there was a virus. Perhaps I’ll contact Peru. They must have a record of unusual cures among the Indians.”
Victor Tremont’s voice rose slightly. “That may not be necessary. I kept a journal of my trips back then. Notes on the plants and potential pharmaceuticals. Perhaps I jotted down something about your virus as well.”
Sophia leaped at the suggestion. “I’d appreciate your looking. Right away.”
“Whoa.” Tremont gave a warm chuckle. He had her. “The notebooks are stored somewhere in my house. Probably the attic. Maybe the basement. I’ll have to get back to you tomorrow.”
“I owe you, Victor. Maybe the world will. First thing tomorrow, please. You have no idea how important this could be.” She gave him her phone number.
“Oh, I think I know,” Tremont assured her. “Tomorrow morning at the latest.”
He hung up and rotated once more to gaze out at the brightening lake and the high mountains that suddenly seemed to loom close and ominous. He stood up and walked to the window. He was a tall man of medium build, with a distinctive face on which nature had played one of her more kindly tricks: From a youth’s oversized nose, gawky ears, and thin cheeks, he had grown into a good-looking man. He was now in his fifties, and his features had filled out. His face was aquiline, smooth, and aristocratic. The nose was the perfect size— straight and strong, a fitting centerpiece for his very English face. With his tan skin and thick, iron-gray hair, he drew attention wherever he went. But he knew it was not his dignity and attractiveness that people found so appealing. It was his self-confidence. He radiated power, and less-assured people found that compelling.
Despite what he had told Sophia Russell, Victor Tremont made no move to go home to his secluded estate. Instead, he stared unseeing at the mountains and fought off tension. He was angry… and annoyed.
Sophia Russell. My God, Sophia Russell!
Who would have thought? He had not even recognized her name initially. In fact, still did not remember any of the names of that insignificant little student group. And he doubted any would recall his. But Russell had. What kind of brain retained such detail? Obviously the trivial was too important to her. He shook his head, disgusted. In truth, she was not a problem. Just a nuisance. Still, she must be dealt with. He unlocked the secret drawer in his carved desk, took out a cell phone, and dialed.
An emotionless voice with a faint accent answered. “Yes?”
“I need to talk to you,” Victor Tremont ordered. “My office. Ten minutes.” He hung up, returned the cell phone to the locked drawer, and picked up his regular office phone. “Muriel? Get me General Caspar in Washington.”
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CHAPTER
THREE
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9:14 A.M., Monday, October 13
Fort Detrick, Maryland
As employees arrived at USAMRIID that Monday morning, word quickly spread through the campus’s buildings of the weekend’s fruitless search to identify and find a way to contain some new killer virus. The press still had not discovered the story, and the director’s office ordered everyone to maintain media silence. No one was to talk to a reporter, and only those working in the labs were kept in the loop about the agonizing quest.
Meanwhile, regular work still had to be done. There were forms to be filed, equipment to be maintained, phone calls to be answered. In the sergeant major’s office, Specialist Four Hideo Takeda was in his cubicle sorting mail when he opened an official-looking envelope emblazoned with the U.S. Department of Defense logo.
After he read and reread the letter, he leaned over the divider between his cubicle and that of Specialist Five Sandra Quinn, his fellow clerk. He confided in an excited whisper, “It’s my transfer to Okinawa.”
“You’re kidding.”
“We’d given up.” He grinned. His girlfriend, Miko, was stationed on Okinawa.
“Better tell the boss right away,” Sandra warned. “It means teaching a new clerk to deal with the goddamned absentminded professors we got here. She’ll be pissed. Man, they’re all out of their minds today anyway with this new crisis, aren’t they?”
“Screw her,” Specialist Takeda swore cheerfully.
“Not in my worst nightmare.” Sgt. Maj. Helen Daugherty stood in her office doorway. “Would you care to step in here, Specialist Takeda?” she said with exaggerated politeness. “Or would you prefer I beat you senseless first?”
An imposing six-foot blonde with the shoulders to offset all her whistle-producing curves, the sergeant major looked down with her best piranha smile at the five-foot-six Takeda. The clerk hurried out of his cubicle with a nervous show of fear not entirely faked. With Daugherty, as befitted any good sergeant major, you were never fully sure you were safe.
“Close the door, Takeda. And take a seat.”
The specialist did as instructed.
Daugherty fixed him with a gimlet eye. “How long have you known about the possibility of this transfer, Hideo?”
“It came out of the blue this morning. I mean, I just opened the letter.”
“And we put it in for you… what, almost two years ago?”
“Year and a half, at least. Right after I came back from leave over there. Look, Sergeant, if you need me to stick around awhile, I’ll be—”
Daugherty shook her head. “Doesn’t look like I could do that if I wanted to.” With her finger she stabbed a memo on her desk. “I got this E-mail from the Department of the Army about the same time you must’ve opened your letter. Looks like your replacement’s already on her way. Coming from Intelligence Command over in Kosovo, no less. She must’ve been on a plane before the letter even got to the office.” Daugherty’s expression was thoughtful.
“You mean she’ll be here today?”
Daugherty glanced at the clock on her desk. “A couple of hours, to be exact.”
“Wow, that’s fast.”
“Yes,” Daugherty agreed, “it sure is. They’ve even cut travel orders for you. You’ve got a day to clear out your desk and quarters. You’re to be on a plane tomorrow morning.”
“A day?”
“Better get at it. And best of luck, Hideo. I’ve enjoyed working with you. I’ll put a good report in your file.”
“Yessir, er, Sergeant. And thanks.”
Still a little stunned, Takeda left Sergeant Major Daugherty contemplating the memo. She was rolling a pencil between her hands and staring off into space as he enthusiastically dumped out his desk. He repressed a war whoop of victory. He was not only tired of being away from Miko, he was especially tired of living in the USAMRIID pressure cooker. He had been through plenty of emergencies here, but this new one had everyone worried. Even scared. He was glad to get the hell out.
__________
Three hours later, Specialist Four Adele Schweik stood at attention in the same office in front of Sergeant Major Daugherty. She was a small brunette with almost black hair, a rigid carriage, and alert gray eyes. Her uniform was impeccable, with two rows of medal ribbons showing service overseas in many countries and campaigns. There was even a Bosnian ribbon.
“At ease, Specialist.”
Schweik stood at ease. “Thank you, Sergeant Major.”
Daugherty read her transfer papers and spoke without looking up. “Kind of fast, wasn’t it?”
“I asked to be transferred to the D.C. area a few months ago. Personal reasons. My colonel told me an opening had suddenly come up at Detrick, and I jumped at it.”
Daugherty looked up at her. “A little overqualified, aren’t you? This is a backwater post. A small command not doing much and never going overseas.
“I only know it’s Detrick. I don’t know what your unit is.”
“Oh?” Daugherty raised a blond eyebrow. There was something too cool and composed about this Schweik. “Well, we’re USAMRIID: U.S. Army Medical Research Institute for Infectious Diseases. Scientific research. All our officers are doctors, vets, or medical specialists. We even have civilians. No weapons, no training, no glory.”
Schweik smiled. “That sounds peaceful, Sergeant Major. A nice change after Kosovo. Besides, haven’t I heard USAMRIID is on the cutting edge, working with pretty deadly Hot Zone diseases? Sounds like it could be exciting.”
The sergeant major cocked her head. “It is for the docs. But for us it’s just office routine. We keep the place running. Over the weekend there was some kind of emergency. Don’t ask any questions. It’s none of your business. And if any journalist contacts you, refer them to public affairs. That’s an order. Okay, there’s your cubicle next to Quinn’s. Introduce yourself. Get settled, and Quinn will bring you up to speed.”