She had minimal intelligence, minimal and reluctant cooperation with mall management—Barone was good for
lip service and Will Stanton was hamstrung—and minimal medical backup. Local authorities couldn’t be activated and called up unless Homeland Security issued an authorization, and by the time it did, the assist would be too late to be of help.
If GRID did attack and release the virus at Santa Bella, there was no way Justin Crowe could be on all three levels, vaccinating everyone within two minutes. Special Forces were medically field trained and could assist with that, but even with their assistance, the person-to-person ratio was too low to be successful with a two-minute-injection window. And the antidote hadn’t yet been field tested, which meant there could be a significant number and types of unexpected reactions to it.
Feeling overwhelmed, Maggie gave herself a mental shake, dried her hands, then walked back out into the narrow hallway. Justin stood waiting for her, and if the worry lining his face accurately indicated his mind-set, he’d been doing the same analysis as she and had come to the same grim conclusion.
Their mission odds were a shade shy of impossible.
“Maggie?”
“Yes, Justin.” The next thirty-six hours were going to be too intense to stand on formality.
“In your personal opinion, based on all your experience, what are the odds GRID will attack this mall?”
Maggie leaned her shoulder against the creamy wall. “Based on all we know,
without
Special Forces being present here, I’d have put the odds at about fifty-fifty.” She paused, looked down at her feet, then went on, dread
ing the words to soon leave her mouth. “
With
Special Forces being on-site tomorrow, I believe Thomas Kunz and GRID will find the temptation to attack Santa Bella
irresistible.
”
S
anta Bella had been designed in quadrants.
The northwest quadrant was dedicated to women, the southwest to kids. Men’s stores, Jeweler’s Row and specialty shops from around the world were situated north of the administration wing in the northeast quadrant. Restaurants surrounded Center Court, where events were held. There was a stage with heavy red-velvet curtains and a deep marble pit, where the snow would be located. Knowing this much was fine for general purposes, but to do her job successfully, Maggie needed specific details. She looked across the waist-high counter at the front of the security office to Will Stanton. “I’m going to need a copy of the facility’s floor plan as quickly as you can get it to me. All three levels.”
“Yes, ma’am, Captain Holt.”
“Maggie.” She smiled at him. “Otherwise, we’re going to be tripping over tongues by this time tomorrow.”
“Maggie,” Will said with a nod. “Is there anything else you need from me right now?”
“No. I know you’re eager to get that listing of items to the store owners.” The sooner, the better for her, as well.
“Yes, ma’am.” He shoved a gold pen into his shirt pocket. It glimmered in the light.
“Thank you.” She stepped back from the counter. “We,” she said, meaning she and Justin, “are going to walk the facility. Afterward, we’ll likely have more recommendations to add.”
“We’ll plan on distributing a supplemental list, then. Doing two will allow the owners to get going on some of the recommendations now.” He nodded at Justin, then turned to his office staff of three women and two men seated at their desks. “Move on it,” he told them, then looked back at Maggie. “The twenty-six agreed to extra security, Maggie—if you ask for it. Overtime is authorized and backup guards are on call.”
Maggie didn’t miss his point. “I’m asking, Will.”
Relief lashed across his face. “You got it. We have thirty men trained for inside, an additional twenty for the north and south parking garages and the open parking in between. How many do you want activated?”
“I’m assuming the mall will be open all night, setting up for this Winter Wonderland. Is that right?”
“Yes, ma’am. It’ll take them at least nine hours to prepare the pit and set everything up. Harry and Phil Jensen, the owners, will have the crew start at midnight.”
“Then activate all the guards,” Maggie said, making the
call. “Start them at midnight and carry them through until we know we’re on the other side of this tomorrow night.” Maggie hitched her purse strap on her shoulder. “We’re also going to need personnel records on Harry and Phil, information on their company, and background data on the snow crew.”
“I’m on it.” Will looked over at the woman seated at the first desk and began reeling off orders.
Maggie glanced at Justin. Often lab rats got in the field and froze, but he stood quietly and calmly watching Will. Intense, but in control.
So far, so good.
“Ready?”
He nodded. “What exactly are we looking for?”
“Two things,” she said softly. “Vulnerabilities and familiarity.”
He pulled a pad and pen out of his briefcase. “I’ll take notes.”
“Thanks.” That surprised her, though it shouldn’t have. Of course he would feel more comfortable doing something familiar, having a tool natural to him in his hand. “Working with Darcy has spoiled me,” Maggie said for no particular reason. “No notes necessary.”
“Guess I’m a poor substitute for someone with her memory skills.”
And just how did he know about Darcy’s special skills? Maggie didn’t ask but lifted a questioning brow.
“Colonel Drake explained her gifts.”
“In that case, aren’t we all poor substitutes for her?” Darcy remembered everything and associated values based on educated judgment and years of experience as a top-notch operative. That was hard to beat. But equally important to Maggie, she trusted Darcy. Still, not wanting a war
with Justin, Maggie toned down her response. “So far, your assistance has been helpful,” she said, and meant it. “You have a calm manner, Justin. It went over well with the store owners.”
They turned the corner and he looked into the window at Macy’s. Giant red and gold shiny balls hung from green banners. “I’m really not the devil incarnate, Maggie.”
“I never said you were.” She stopped, looked down the length of the thoroughfare. Center Court’s stage and pit were to her right; specialty stores, to the left. She paused, mentally moving down the corridor and counting receptacles. “First on the list for Will is to have all the trash receptacles removed.”
Justin scrawled it down, his pen scratching on the page. “It’s going to get really messy in here.”
“No doubt it will, but trash cans are easy targets and impossible to protect, which means they have to go.” She walked on, sniffing intently.
After about three minutes, Justin’s curiosity got the better of him. “What are you doing?”
“Smelling. The mall is using aromatherapy to influence shoppers’ buying tendencies and to create positive subliminal messages to shoppers about being in the facility,” she said, flipping a finger toward his notepad. “Add a cease-and-desist to Will’s list.” Fragrance easily masked biological contaminates. “Also, make a note that we need to address aromatherapy with the individual owners.” She waited, but he didn’t write anything. She lifted a questioning eyebrow.
“Both are already on the list,” he said matter-of-factly. “Picked up on them immediately, and noted them.”
“Really?” she asked, suitably impressed.
“The mall thoroughfares and corridors smell like Christmas pine, and nearly every store has its own specific scent—coffee, lemon, fresh air, and even salt water, though I won’t hazard a guess as to why.”
“Fishing,” Maggie said. “It’s huge here.”
“Ah, of course.” Justin nodded. “All are distinct, though some of the scents are subtle. Others are blatant.” He grunted. “I wonder how many times people come here and never notice that?”
“A lot, I imagine,” Maggie said. “Few outside the field think in terms of fragrance masking bio-contaminates.” She paused and checked the center rounds. About eight feet in diameter, they were raised beds, home to potted plants and huge palms. “All of these rounds need to be netted.” They formed a line down the center of the common areas throughout all three levels.
Justin blinked hard, scribbled that down. “I missed that, damn it. It’d be ridiculously easy to drop in a vial.”
They walked on, through Center Court. On the far end, near the escalator and stairs, the stage stood empty. The heavy red-velvet drapes were tied to its white-column sides with thick gold ropes. “We’ll need to blockade that space under the platform.” Anything could be hidden under it. She looked down the wide marble steps to the pit that would be filled with snow. About three feet deep, it was roughly the size of a basketball court.
A ruckus erupted just outside the Tot Shop. Will Stanton surfaced right in the middle of it, planting himself between two shouting men. “Just calm down,” Will said, his voice carrying over to Maggie.
“We’d better see what’s up,” Maggie said, and walked over with Justin staying at her side.
The redhead from the auditorium meeting stood to the left of them, her round face pale. “I want him arrested. He’s in my store, spraying that…that…thing.”
Maggie looked at the “thing” and recognized it as an inhaler. She stepped forward. “May I see that?”
The wheezing man looked at Will, who nodded, then handed it over. “Asthma?” Maggie asked.
“Yes.”
She checked the label and then passed the item back to him. “Go ahead and use your inhaler, sir.”
“Sorry for the inconvenience, sir,” Will said. “We’ve had trouble with a couple guys playing with spray paint lately.”
Relief washed across the man’s face. He gave himself two sprays and then stuck the inhaler back in his pocket. His breathing cleared and the liquid sound disappeared from his chest. “If you’ve got a problem, lady,” he told the redhead, “you should ask a person before creating a ruckus.” Shaking his head, he then walked away with his friend.
“I had to check,” the redhead said. “It was an aerosol.”
“Gladys,” Will Stanton said. “Don’t make my life miserable. I can’t be so busy monitoring you that I miss an attacker.”
“Sorry.”
Maggie and Justin returned to their inspection. “Put your running shoes on,” she whispered. “It’s already started, but when the owners get Will’s lists, they’ll all be jumping at ghosts.”
“Annoying but inevitable, I suppose.”
“Yes,” Maggie agreed. “But this time tomorrow we’ll wish we had Rollerblades.”
By the time Maggie and Justin had completed the vulnerability-and-familiarity inspection on each of the three levels, and on all twenty-six A-stores and the B-stores, they’d also dealt with two more aerosol alarms. The first was on Level One at Queen’s In, a women’s clothing store. A shopper had used a perfume atomizer, and the owner had freaked. The second alarm was at a Level Three children’s furniture store, Half-Pint. A mother-to-be had tested furniture polish to make sure she wasn’t allergic. The clerk had heard the spray but hadn’t seen the can and panicked.
Will Stanton met up with Maggie and Justin on Level One outside 24-Karat on Jewelry Row. “How’s it going?”
A woman pushed a stroller with twin infants down the corridor. “Good, Will,” Maggie said. “But we’ve got a lot to do.”
“Do we have a shot at getting it done in time?”
Maggie assessed it. “Yes, but it’ll take effort and focus.”
“I might have to hog-tie Gladys.”
The stout redhead. Maggie smiled. “More incidents?”
“Two, so far.” He grunted. “We might want to reconsider having her here tomorrow.”
“Can’t,” Justin said. “If she’s not here, her life’s not at risk. There’s no way she’ll keep quiet about the preparations going on here.”
Will listened to a quick transmission on his walkie-talkie—something mundane on Level Two—checked his watch and then looked at Maggie. “Why don’t you two grab some lunch at one of the restaurants while my staff finishes getting the floor plans together.”
“How much longer will it be?” Maggie pulled a mint from her purse, offered Will and Justin one.
Will declined. “We need a little while. Oversize copies. Linda Diel, Barone’s assistant, arranged with a local architectural firm to run copies for us.”
“Terrific,” Maggie said. No sense in pushing him; the man was clearly working at this as hard as he could. “Will an hour do it?”
“Linger an extra fifteen minutes over dessert, and we should be ready for you. The firm’s across town and the copying will take a little extra. I’m having them duplicate everything—fire, security—all of it. Some of the more sensitive plans are stored in the vault. We had to get access and Mr. Barone was a little reluctant, but Linda finally talked him around.”
Justin grunted. “No doubt, Linda convinced him with talk of legal liability. Little else would work with him.”
Will sent Justin a conspiratorial grin. “You got it in one, Doc.” He shifted his weight on his feet. “Maggie, Mr. Barone wants you to sign a confidentiality agreement.”
“Sorry, I can’t do that,” Maggie said. If GRID attacked Santa Bella, she had to share knowledge with the Threat Integration Center, First Responders and her entire chain of command. “But I will classify the plans top-secret.”
“That’ll be fine,” Will said. “I’ll explain it to Mr. Barone.”
Maggie didn’t envy him the task. “Thanks.”
Will’s walkie-talkie beeped. “Enjoy your lunch. If you need me, I’ll be stomping out fires.”
Maggie watched him go and then turned to Justin. “Name your poison.”
Surprise widened his eyes. “What?”
“Lunch,” she said, then rephrased. “Where do you want to eat lunch?”
“How about seafood at Emerald Bay?” He suggested a quiet restaurant facing the Center Court pit.
“Works for me.”
Ten minutes later they were seated at a small square table draped with a snowy-white linen cloth. Maggie scanned the menu and made her selection. “Linguini with white clam sauce, a small house salad and iced tea, please. Sweet.”
The thin waitress had high cheekbones and dimples. She wasn’t a pretty woman, but she had an interesting face and a sunny disposition that made her beautiful. “Sir?”
“Grilled shrimp,” he said. “The vegetable medley, please, and a salad with house dressing. Sweet tea.”
Only in the south did one order “sweet tea” instead of iced tea and then add sugar. Two months ago Maggie had returned to her last assignment, the Biological Warfare Review Board at the Pentagon in Washington, and remembered how her request for sweet tea had raised eyebrows. In Florida, where a sweet tea order is the custom, she still forgot to order that way half the time.
Midway through their meal, general chat turned serious. “May I ask you a question?” Justin asked.
Chewing, Maggie nodded.
“When you gave me the odds of a GRID attack,” he said softly so as to not be overheard, “were you being conservative or generous?”
Maggie tried not to take offense. He didn’t know her. Still, she felt that knot of resentment form in her stomach. “Neither,” she said, hearing disdain in her voice but unable to hide it. “I was being honest.”
Astute, Justin picked up on it, and that the disdain was
aimed in his direction. He frowned. “Maggie, have I done something to offend you?”
“No.” She stopped there, not eager to bring her personal bias or the sadness that rode shotgun with it out into the open. She felt and acknowledged both, true. But she didn’t want to have to admit it.
His expression tightened, dragging down the corners of his mouth, and his eyes turned cold and distant. “But….”
“Isn’t that sufficient?”
“Actually, no. It isn’t.” He dabbed at his mouth with his linen napkin. “If you have a problem with me, let’s get it out in the open.”
“All right.” She set down her fork. “The truth is, I’m not comfortable relying on you. It’s a position I’d rather not be in.”
“Why?” He looked baffled. “I’m just as reliant on you—likely more reliant, considering your added areas of expertise at what we’re facing—and I haven’t had the privilege of reading your dossier or performance reports. I don’t know nearly as much about you as you do about me.” He lifted a hand. “I’m a doctor, Maggie. I’m great in the lab and on bio subjects, but I’m not in the lab right now, and I don’t have the other essential skills you have.”