Holden wiped at his forehead with a handkerchief from his pocket. His hand shook. He paused, resting a hand on the wall.
“Are you alright, Doctor?”
“A funny turn, my dear,” he lied. “Nothing to worry about. With everything that’s going on, and well, I’ve not been sleeping much. I’ll be fine. Just give me a moment.” Holden gulped down some air. “Shall we continue?”
They arrived at a large, double security door. Holden punched in the security code and the doors slid open. The first time Holden entered the cavernous room, it felt much like the DSD containment centre in Aberdeen. As time passed, he picked subtitle differences. While the DSD containment facility was a construction of necessity, fragmented and fluid, with temporary walls, and makeshift rooms, here every part had a definite purpose. The room was segregated into sections, each one containing an individual area for holding an infected. More personal for study.
An armed guard gave them a sombre once over before allowing access. Jane’s eyes were wide and her mouth ajar. Holden silently took stock of his own reaction. Nothing. He had been at this task too long, too desensitised. The door slid shut behind them and automatically locked.
Within the open-plan lab several pods stood evenly spaced around the interior. Each pod contained a research station, a small containment facility for a single infected and a line of computers and cameras. Documenting the work was key to progress. Nothing could be missed. Clean and sterile like an operating theatre.
Holden did not enjoy the work but he understood its importance.
Due to his skill set and position in the research team, Holden was given an additional workspace, a small office to work from, away from the rest of the lab. Jane followed him like a lost puppy, staying close.
“Sit down, Jane. Let me explain what we’re doing here. Out there, each pod contains an infected. The work being conducted will yield important information about their durability. We know the virus grants the infected superior strength, a superior sense of smell and hearing, and similar endurance. They need little sleep, can run for hours when stimulated and can tolerate injuries that would cripple a normal man. We’ve seen some indication that the virus bestows limited regenerative properties; however, we’re in the early stages of understanding this. The virus and all its hallmarks are still very much a mystery. Do you have any questions so far?”
Jane’s eyes flicked from Holden to the floor and back again. “How long does infection take to occur?”
“Initially, we believed that infection travelled all three stages in seven days. More recently, specifically those who have contracted the virus through a bite or similar succumb to the infection in a matter of hours, sometimes less. It could be a natural immunity that sees the disparity, but we simply don’t know.”
“And treatments?”
Holden pushed his glasses up to his forehead. “There are none at this time.”
Jane sat back. “On the news, they said there were treatments for those in the first two stages.”
Holden shook his head, with genuine regret.
“A story told to prevent a situation where those with symptoms would refuse to report to the authorities. A white lie to protect lives. If there was any other way, be assured we would have taken it.” His words of assurance sounded hollow to himself. He stood. “Come, it’s time. I need to inspect the work.”
Jane followed without comment. Holden lead her to each pod in turn. Each one contained an infected, strapped down, powerless, no longer a threat, now just a source of data. Some of the infected were being deconstructed, limbs surgically removed. Others had their core temperatures increased or decreased. Many were intentionally wounded to study the regeneration the virus gifted. A few were to be starved, some blinded and a few remained untouched for now. It was a grisly sight, one reminiscent of Victorian battlefield surgeries.
Jane hid her shock and outrage poorly, remained quiet, stunned to silence. Holden could understand. It bothered him a small amount that he was devoid of those reactions now. They were lost some way back on the path he now walked.
Chapter Three
Pressure
Ryan Bannister stirred in his bed. The sharp screech of a cell phone cut through the calm of the apartment with a rancorous certainty. He had not heard that ringtone before. He sat bolt upright. The tone came again. He leapt from the bed and ran to his desk, pulling open the top drawer with such force it came free, crashing to the floor and spilling all its contents. Ryan scrambled until he found the cell.
“Hello. Who is this?” He knew it could only be one person.
“This is Mr. Nippon.”
Ryan mustered a grunt of acknowledgement.
“You’re coming to us. Your flight leaves tomorrow. The details have been emailed to you securely.” Mr. Nippon’s voice, normally eloquent and serene, was electronically distorted.
“Why?” The word slipped out in an automatic plea.
There was a pause, the soft crackle of the voice disrupter and the rain hitting the window the only sounds.
“We have some loose ends to tie up, Mr. Bannister. I trust you’ve been watching the news?”
The line went dead. Ryan threw the phone onto the bed. Outside, Seattle endured another rainstorm. The dreary grey matched his mood. Since returning from Scotland, Ryan isolated himself from people, spent days in bed, dreaming, regretting, wishing. Since Aberdeen with Brutus, Ryan questioned himself like never before.
He picked up the television remote control, his finger hovering over the power button. Sweat trickled from his unwashed armpits. He pushed the button. The television burst into life. It was on mute. He flicked through several channels. All covered the same story. Words flashed across the screen streaming updated reports.
Gunfire heard within the city.
Military aircraft flying into the heart of the city.
Naval ships patrolling offshore.
No contact from within the city.
Power outages.
Reports of mass loss of life to the infection.
Ryan dropped the remote to the floor. The back sprung open and the batteries spilled out. He sank down to the floor next to them. He shivered. He wasn’t cold. He watched the television without sound. He did not need to hear the words.
“What have they done?” he sobbed into his hands. “What have I done?”
***
Brutus watched the blades of the fan spin above the bed. It was still dark outside. The Thai woman lying next to him did not stir. He reached out and casually caressed her nakedness under the light sheet. He had paid for her company and it was money well spent. Not that such a monetary decision was a concern. Brutus had plenty more cash. His services in Aberdeen had been well paid for. The dollars allowed him to disappear, to escape the snow and blizzards of Scotland, and become anonymous in Phuket, Thailand.
For the first few days he discovered the city, drank in many open-aired bars, brushed off pushy pedlars, and found countless women ready to spend the night with him for a relatively small fee. Afternoons were spent on Hua Beach, beautiful and secluded, golden sand touching crystal water. It all provided a measure of peace, an indulgence of sorts. And it remained only momentarily, for Brutus was a man of war. The chaos of conflict was food to Brutus, and so often in life it called to him in a way that was impossible to ignore.
The sea breeze danced in through the patio doors. The distant waves could be heard, the heartbeat of the ocean rhythmic and eternal. Perhaps a few more days and he would move on to a different part of the country, or perhaps jump on a plane and head for somewhere new, somewhere south, somewhere north, east or west. His eyes began to close. The girl next to him moved from his reach, turning with a stretch.
The satellite phone rang as he knew it would. He reached under his pillow, felt the reassuring presence of the Glock, and next to it, the phone.
“Do you know the goddamned time?”
Andor Toth, a double agent at the DSD gave a slight chuckle. “I’m enjoying my lunch, Brutus. You failed to provide a longitude and latitude, so consideration of an opportune time is mere guess work.”
Brutus heaved himself off the bed and walked to the patio doors. “What do you want?”
“Are you alone?”
He looked back to the prostitute. She slept. In any event she did not speak much English, only enough to effectively ply her trade.
“I’m alone.”
“It’s time for you to go to work, Brutus.”
“I’m on holiday.”
The playful tone in Toth’s voice disappeared. “Things are moving faster than we anticipated. You’re needed.”
Brutus cultivated a silence. He looked over at the holdall, stuffed full of cash, mostly American currency. How difficult would it be to disappear permanently? Easy to fall off the map and live comfortable for several years, but permanently? It was not that simple. It never was. He knew just enough to be considered a liability. If they could unleash the Carrion Virus on Aberdeen then knocking off Brutus would be a breeze.
“When and where?”
“Cairo, in two days. We’ve sent the assemble order to your team. I’ll meet you on the third day for a briefing.” The line went dead.
Brutus switched off the phone and placed it on the table. He pulled the Glock from beneath the pillow, placed the edge of the barrel against his forehead, the cool metal interrupting the persistent heat.
The girl stirred again. She pulled her long dark hair from her face, fixed her eyes on the gun, and broke into a babble of broken English.
“Get out,” said Brutus.
She continued with her noise and crawled to the far edge of the bed.
Brutus lifted the gun, the sight set on her forehead. With his free hand he pointed to the patio doors. “Get the hell out. Now!”
She grabbed her clothes from the floor and dashed out the door.
Brutus grabbed a cigar from the table and sat it between his lips. Two days to get to Cairo without alerting the authorities to his passing. It was tight, but doable. Tomorrow he would go back to Hua Beach one last time. He did not know when he might get another chance. The work that was to come would be bloody, of that he was sure. It was the only type of work he was good at.
***
The midmorning traffic crawled along at a frustrating pace, at times almost to the point of a gridlock. Brutus wrapped a knuckle against the half-opened window of the taxi. The driver sang along to a tune on the radio. Brutus could have left earlier in the morning, instead, he spent a few hours on Hua Beach drinking fresh, fruit juice and enjoying the sun. The beach was a perfect place to be, but he had to get back to work.
Toth expected him to leave first thing in the morning. He disliked being summoned like an obedient dog. Tardiness was an apt protest. That’s why he left later. Well, that and because he did not fully trust Toth or the people he worked for. The difference between getting on a plane to the next objective and having his throat slit while he slept was as thin as an assassin’s blade.
He kept his arm resting on his holdall while scanning out the window. “How much longer?”
“Not long, mister,” said the driver.
Brutus gave the window a final wrap. He could see the airport ahead. “I’ll get out here.”
Brutus threw a bunch of crumpled notes at the driver, and stepped out into the midday sun, slinging his bag over his shoulders. He slipped on his aviators and closed the taxi door behind him. It may not have been more time efficient to walk the remainder of the distance, but the driver’s singing was getting on Brutus’s nerves. He pulled his mobile from the pocket of his shorts and punched the only number stored.
“Freddie. It’s me. You ready?”
“Ah, yes, Mr. Brutus, sir.”
“Meet me at the drop off point in five minutes.”
“Very good.”
Nodding Freddie, as he was known, due to his habit when speaking, was a fixer of sorts. Brutus was put in touch with Nodding Freddie by an old acquaintance, Ash Gibbons. For the right price Freddie could negate all security measures, sneaking you through passport control and customs. Nodding Freddie was a backdoor in and out of Thailand.
Brutus powered on, picking up his pace. Since Aberdeen, he was confident his face would be on a watch list. He touched at his eye, beneath his glasses. The scar still hurt, made worse by the hours spent in the sun. If anything, that bitch made him more recognisable. A scar on his face. It was not a death sentence but it made international travel more difficult.
Nodding Freddie in a garish Hawaiian shirt, yellow with green palm trees, waved Brutus over.
“Inconspicuous shirt.”
Freddie nodded. “Sorry, Brutus, sir. Should I change?”
“The flight is in an hour. I need to be on it.”
“Of course. I will need the … ah …” He rubbed his thumb and index finger together.
Brutus gripped Freddie on the back of his neck and pulled the slender man into an embrace. While close, Brutus slipped enough cash to keep Freddie in alcohol and hookers for the next few months.
Freddie nodded as their bodies separated. “Very good. Follow me.”
Brutus paused at a waste bin, pulled out his Glock which was wrapped in a plastic bag, and threw it onto the pile of trash. He would never make it through security with the firearm, despite the money he was paying. He felt naked without it, but even unarmed Brutus was a dangerous man. Besides, he trusted Freddie just enough to know that he was not stupid enough to cross him. Brutus had a reputation and in some instances it was better protection than bullets.
***
Eric stepped out of the car and into the cold night. A light covering of snow whitened the ground underfoot. It was nothing like the adverse weather in Aberdeen, but enough to excite children on a day off school. The house was quiet, the windows dark except for the dull light in the living room.
Eric raised a hand to knock, frowned, and pulled a key from his pocket. The grandfather clock in the hallway ticked its perpetual tempo. He locked the door behind him, dropped his pack, removed his coat and placed it on the banister. Christmas cards hung on a string extending over the far wall. A small wooden advent calendar sat on the table, the numbered drawers waiting to be opened. A familiar scent struck him, a perfume that Jacqui wore for special occasions. He bought it for her on their one-year anniversary. It reminded him of better times.
The living room door creaked open. Jacqui gave an optimistic smile. She rushed over and he took her in his arms.
“Thank God you’re back.”
Before Eric could speak his wife placed a firm kiss on his lips.
“Not here, the kids are asleep. I don’t want to wake them.” She led him by the hand into the living room and closed the door.
The last time he had been home, things were strained. The kids did not warm to Eric, and Jacqui seesawed through phases of hating him and rescuing him. When they parted, Eric felt there was hope for something better than they had before. So far, that hope was being proven true.
Eric eased himself into the armchair, Jacqui sat across from him. He longed to sit next to his wife, have her in his arms but a nagging caution urged him to sit where he was.
“I was so worried, Eric. I didn’t know if you were safe. It doesn’t make sense what they’re reporting on the news, and the few times you called, well, you could never say anything.”
“You know the rules when I’m working.”
“I know. I know. I’m not blaming you.”
Eric felt his face harden. Not in anger, but in thought.
“What happened there, Eric? Can you tell me now?”
He let a long moment of silence pass. What to tell her? The whole truth would frighten her. Not enough of the truth would underprepare her.
“It’s complicated, Jacqui.”
“Try me. Please.”
“You know it’s a virus?”
She nodded.
“It’s more widespread than reported. People are getting sick all over the city. There’s nothing the government can do. There’s no cure.”
“And the sick people?”
“Locked away until they can be treated.”
“So they can be treated then?”
“Not yet. Nothing’s been discovered.”
Jacqui tucked her legs up and hugged them to her chest. “Did you lose people?” Her ask was soft.
He didn’t answer.
“Eric?”
“Too many. Too many.”
Jacqui unfolded her legs, crossed the space between them and sat on the floor. Her hand kneaded his thigh. “We’re safe, aren’t we?”
Eric forced a smile. “Of course. I’ll not let anything happen to you and the kids. I promise.” He brought Jacqui’s hand to his mouth and kissed her palm. “Can we go to bed?”
Jacqui smiled. “You want your Christmas present early, huh?”
***
Their lovemaking had been awkward at first, two people once so close, trying to rediscover that intimate familiarity. After, they lay together, Eric pulling Jacqui close. He could feel her heart beating against his chest. He was safe, even just for a night. Outside the wind flurried, snow tapping at the window. He stroked Jacqui’s hair, breathing in all that he had missed for so long.