Dead Love (5 page)

That was tempting, but she forced a smile, stood up, and said, “I’d better get back and tell the others about the subway threat. The questions may have already started. Thanks, guys.”

She opened the cockpit door, closed it, and heard the lock engage. Terry was in the galley, placing the used glassware in the metal storage bins. She started checking the warming trays in preparation for the meal service.

As she entered the kitchen, Maggie said, “Terry, you won’t believe this. The subway system in the city is shut down due to a terrorist threat of some kind.”

“Holy shit,” whispered Terry, her eyes widened. “Oh, I am sorry. But you know what I mean. What is going on?” Terry looked genuinely worried.

Maggie quietly responded, “I don’t know, probably nothing, but they have to be sure. You know how it is.”

“You’re right. It’s probably a crank.”

Maggie didn’t hear Terry’s remarks. She had crumpled to the floor, unconscious.

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12

I
n January, after a long day at work, Suzy pulled her Lexus into her garage and unlocked the door to her elegant townhouse. It was located in the exclusive Edgewood gated community called The Bayside Retreat. The much sought after property was tucked away in a beautiful wooded area, with walking trails, a large, well-equipped gym, a community room, and indoor and outdoor swimming pools. The townhouses were all brick colonial with lovely well-maintained gardens.

After walking in through the kitchen, she noticed a manila envelope lying on the hardwood floor near the front door. Suzy bent over and picked it up. There was no writing on the envelope.

“Strange,” she thought. It was most likely some ad or information from a real estate agent who had somehow gotten access after an appointment with another resident. The upscale community was on the list of the most desirable places to live due to its convenience, privacy, and amenities.

Suzy placed her purse and keys on the hall table in the foyer and opened the envelope, not sure what to expect. She was jolted by the typed cryptic message on a plain white sheet of paper. She knew it would come, but somehow, she was still caught off guard. The information was concise and clear in its instructions. It was signed, in type, “The Organization.”

There was no wiggle room. She had agreed to their terms, knew the risks, but still had not wrapped her thoughts fully around the mission. Her self-discipline would eventually allow her to complete her task. The rewards were significant, and she had been carefully chosen due to a variety of factors. They had been brilliant in in their selection of Dr. Suzy Chen. Unknown to her, she had been under scrutiny since her days as a coed at the University of Delaware. With impeccable credentials, graduating at the top of her class, getting her PhD in pharmacology and with a stellar recommendation from her superior at the pharmaceutical company where she had worked for five years, she easily landed her position in research and development at the Edgewood Arsenal.

She had her motives, and the Organization had theirs. The blend was perfect. If caught, the price was high, but she had some protection, operating with the help of this secret underground directive. Her skills were valuable to them, and they knew she needed them, as well.

She went into her office on the first floor and unlocked the top desk drawer, She paused only a moment to pick up the two yellowed photos, stare at them purposefully, and then carefully placed them back in the drawer, along with the sealed manila envelope containing the letter. She locked the drawer. Suzy exhaled, tried to shake off her racing thoughts and nervous reaction, and then began her usual at home routine. She changed out of her work clothes and into black running tights, a cotton turtleneck, and white sweatshirt. She would jog to unwind and then have dinner, something frozen, as she formulated her role in the plan and how she would implement it without discovery. She also thought of Max and her overwhelming love and desire for him. Their affair was still new, but images of him filled all her waking moments. They had a date Friday night, only one more night to wait. She knew he felt the same about her, but his job kept him in DC most of the week. She thought only of him as she stepped out of the side door, off the garage, bending to do some light stretching before she started off on her run. She enjoyed the cool temperatures, saw her breath in the air, and then her mind wandered to what she would wear tomorrow night. But the letter began to dominate her thoughts, and she mentally outlined the steps she would take, excited to begin the project. The exhilaration pumped her up. Suzy began a steady quick pace and finished her three-mile run, breathlessly, in record time.

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13

M
ike woke the boys and reminded them to wash their hands and faces, comb their hair, and get dressed. They were ages four and six and enjoyed the days spent with just their dad. They dressed in the clothes their mom had laid out for them—cute navy slacks, white polo shirts, and their favorite cool tennis shoes. All the students at Pembrooke Academy followed the dress code. It was tradition, and the polo shirts had the Pembrooke logo on the front. They felt special and grown up in their school clothes, aware that it was a really neat school. The girls at Pembrooke wore white blouses or pretty white T-shirts and navy Capri slacks or skirts.

Tim was the youngest and very bright, thoughtful, and a bit reserved. Mike Jr., also quite smart, was already acting as the older brother. He watched out for his younger brother, with no rivalry between them. Mike and Maggie loved their boys so much and were proud of them. They were kind and considerate and academically advanced for their ages. Maggie was sure they got their intelligence from their dad, but Mike assured Maggie that she was the smart one. Maggie had done well in college, getting her business degree at the University of Maryland. Mike had gotten his graduate degree there, and that was where they met. He was three years older, and Maggie had quickly fallen for this sexy grad student. He had seen her on campus and made sure to run into her as often as possible, in the student union, cafeteria, or library. He was captivated as well, and after some casual dates, both were sure of their love, and their chemistry was undeniable.

Mike had prepared their favorite breakfast of instant oatmeal with fresh berries. Plus they loved pop tarts and had one each morning with their milk. The boys had diligently combed their hair and washed their faces. Their good behavior was a result of the great love and gentle discipline of their parents, plus a reflection of what they had learned over and above their studies at the Academy.

“Okay guys, brush your teeth, and we’ll leave,” he said, seeing they had finished eating, and were taking their cereal bowls to the sink.

They rushed off to their bathroom and were soon out and ready to go, back packs in hand. Mike had on khaki cargo shorts and a T-shirt and was ready for the short walk to school. The boys enjoyed the camaraderie of the “guy talk” as they made their way to Pembrooke and were interested in the baseball game last night. Mike assured them he had recorded it, and they could watch it tonight. They loved the Yankees and couldn’t wait to attend a game this season, as their dad had promised.

They ran off, waving good-bye, after reaching the school’s gated entrance, and Mike began the walk home, looking forward to his coffee and bagel. It sure was hot, and he was glad he wore shorts. He got to the coffee shop, a bit crowded, waited in line for his café latte and bagel, and then sat at one of the small empty tables by the window to read the paper, relax a little in the cool air-conditioning, and listen to the news on the TV mounted above one corner of the shop. He put the paper down to listen to the sports report from last night. He had missed the end of the game. Jeter had hit another one!

“The boys will love seeing that replay,” he thought.

He and Maggie had gone to bed soon after putting the boys to bed. They knew they had to rise early, and they weren’t night owls anyway. Warm thoughts of Maggie were brilliant images in his mind, and he imagined she was probably already at the airport, getting ready for her flight. He never worried for her safety, but he was always glad when she got home.

Mike finished his bagel and walked home, sipping the rest of his coffee. He had work piled on his desk and began to mentally outline his day. He had the discipline to work in the home environment, and his office was strictly off limits to the family. He had many projects, including some articles to edit. They were fascinating to him. He often wanted to do actual research, not just read about studies that others were doing in various fields. He let himself into the apartment, did a quick kitchen cleanup, started brewing some coffee, and walked down the hall to his office. He turned on the radio, just for background music, opened his laptop, and began his day.

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14

N
one of the passengers could see Maggie on the floor in the forward galley. Terry opened the First Class coat closet and found the first aid kit, strapped to the right side bulkhead. She grabbed it, along with a pillow and blanket, and then she rushed back to Maggie, who looked like she was in a troubled sleep, sweat on her brow. She placed the pillow under Maggie’s head and the blanket over her. She placed a cool towel on Maggie’s forehead and checked her breathing and pulse. Both were steady but rapid. She tried speaking to her, but there was no response.

Terry picked up the intercom and rang Captain Wesley. “Yes, Terry. What’s up?”

“John, we have a problem. Maggie is unconscious, passed out in the forward galley.”

“I am sending Allen out,” John answered.

“Thanks.”

Allen came out of the cockpit, walked the few short steps to the galley, and knelt down beside Maggie. He checked her pulse, listened to her breathing and tried the amyl nitrate, which he found in the first aid kit. There was little response. Maggie moved her head slightly, but didn’t wake up. He and Terry looked at each other, both deeply concerned.

Allen spoke first. “I’ll notify Captain Wesley and let you know. We may turn around or make an emergency landing at the first possible airport. We are nearing BWI. Let the aft crew know what’s going on. We’ll make an announcement about the intermediate stop, and you find out if there is a doctor on board.”

Terry nodded. “Okay.” She picked up the intercom handset, her hand trembling.

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15

T
he ringing telephone woke Dave and Chris. It was around 9:30 a.m., and they were still wrapped in each other’s arms on the office sofa. Dave got to the phone first, in case his wife was calling. He would have a good excuse for working past his shift and he wanted to protect Chris if possible, though, at this point, almost everyone knew they were lovers. It was Dr. Frank Edwards, one of the daylight shift ER physicians.

“Sorry, Dave, did I wake you?” asked Edwards.

“That’s okay, Frank. What’s going on?” asked Dave, on alert quickly.

Dr. Edwards spoke with directness, “There has been a terrorist threat to the subway, and the Mayor shut down the entire system. An investigation is underway, and all hospitals and medical facilities have been notified, in case patients arrive with unusual symptoms. We are being asked to note if there is any commonality of their symptoms. Also, we are to ask them if they had used the subway station in question, and so forth. A suspicious object was found at an Express Subway Station, and it is currently being transported by air to the FBI lab at Quantico. The CDC has been notified, as well.”

Dave hesitated and then spoke, “I will stay on duty as backup and will alert the hospital administrator in case we need extra staff.”

Frank appreciated the offer and said “Thanks, Dave. I hope we don’t have to deal with anything out of the ordinary. I guess in this city, that is considered routine,” he said with a laugh.

Grant agreed, “You can say that again,” thinking of some of the bizarre incidents he had observed since he moved to New York.

He redirected his thoughts. “Call me if anything comes up. I am going to order some breakfast and will be here in the office.”

After Dave explained to Chris what Dr. Edwards had said, she asked, “Shall I stay?”

She had gotten dressed while he was on the phone and felt unusually nervous about the call. There had been alerts before, but this felt different. She sensed that Dave thought so as well.

He said, “Let me call the staff lunchroom and order some breakfast, and we can wait for a short while and may know something soon. I hate to leave, face a long commute, and have to come back again.”

He followed her questioning look with, “Yes, call the on-duty charge nurse, and let her know you are here.”

Chris knew Connie and felt comfortable talking with her, especially in her current compromising situation.

Connie answered from the desk, “Hi, Chris, I didn’t know you were here. Guess you had a long night, but you and your staff did a good job tying up the loose ends on all the patients. Those that had been waiting for admission are now in their assigned rooms. The cardiac patient is in ICU. Dr. Stone will see him this morning. Most have been sent home, stitched, or whatever. We have had several more arrive in the meantime, nothing unusual so far.”

“It’s all yours, but call me either in Dave’s office or on my cell phone. We are going to have breakfast then maybe we will know something after that. Did you have trouble getting to work?” asked Chris.

“Hell, yes. It was a nightmare, but thankfully I caught a bus, which was packed, but I got here okay. Traffic is a mess, but fortunately most people got to work before the shutdown. Living in the city is a daily pain in the ass, even without a crisis, right?” said Connie, with her wry sense of humor.

“So true,” Chris said in agreement. “Keep us informed. I’ll let you know when I am leaving.”

Dave and Chris were finishing their toast, cereal, and orange juice when Dave’s phone rang.

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16

G
eorge had directed her agents, already on the scene, to isolate the station in question, with no one but authorized personnel allowed in or out. George and Mark were in phone contact with those inside the station manager’s office and those on the platform. All FBI agents in the area in question were wearing special breathing masks with hoods for protection against any dangerous airborne contaminants, including chemical, biological, radiological, or nuclear. Additionally, they were fully armed. George had spoken to Regional Homeland Security Director, Tom Bennett, several times, assuring him that she would call the moment they knew anything further.