Devil's Gold (41 page)

The noontime sun beat a steady heat onto the tarmac, creating a hazy wave of jet fuel along the horizon. But it didn't block the view of the distant mountains that cradled Salt Lake City. He turned his attention to their welcoming committee. A large, beefy man in a rumpled suit moved from the small crowd and met them at the base of the stairs. “Captain Anderson? I'm Lieutenant Dulaney.”

Jake absorbed the arrogant twist of the man's lips and immediately pegged him as a man of great self-importance. He didn't mind playing to the Lieutenant's ego to speed along the investigation. “Pleased to meet you, Dulaney. This is my associate, Dr. Lowell.”

Cassidy reached in front of Jake and shook the man's hand. “Thank you, Lieutenant, for your time and cooperation. We appreciate your assistance in this matter.”

Jake smothered a smile of pride at her intuitiveness. The man shrugged and pointed at a dark blue Crown Vic. “Let's get this over with.”

Jake followed Dulaney across the tarmac and slid into the front passenger seat. Cassidy's hand brushed his shoulder as she climbed in the back and a shiver of awareness snaked from the base of his neck and tingled across his scalp. The lieutenant pulled onto the main road, following another unmarked vehicle containing his deputies and Michelle. “I understand you located an abandoned helicopter. Have you processed it yet?”

Dulaney snorted, rolled down his window, and spit a wad of mucus onto the road. “Started. But the feds arrived about an hour after it was reported.”

Not wanting to find himself in the middle of a territorial pissing contest, Jake nodded and dropped the subject. He'd contact Colonel Price and make sure all evidence was piped into his computer. “We're heading to the Holiday Inn on North Temple, right?”

“Yes, sir.” Lieutenant Dulaney picked up his radio and confirmed his coordinates with central dispatch.

Jake glanced over his shoulder at Cassidy. She stared out the window, her shoulders slumped and an odd air of detachment written across her face. “You okay, Cass?”

She turned and faced him. “Oh, sure.” But her quick smile didn't cover the grief or fear that clouded her emerald eyes. “Just pondering my future employment opportunities…”
And the loss of my best friend, you jerk
. It didn't take a rocket scientist to finish her sentence.

Jake decided to ignore what he couldn't fix and instead flashed a cheeky grin. Her face blushed, which made his grin spread into a full-fledged smile. Dammit if he didn't affect her. That made things slightly better. “Don't worry. ZEBRA's not going anywhere.”

“Even without Sharpe?”

Jake frowned. “I'm sure of it. It's a worldwide organization.”

She raised her brows. “And a cover for an elite military group?”

He glanced sharply at Lieutenant Dulaney. The man seemed oblivious to their conversation, humming along to his radio. “This isn't the time or place to discuss these things.”

Cassidy's face reddened, and she bowed her head. “I'm sorry.”

Jake swore. He hadn't meant to embarrass or chastise her. “Don't be, Sunshine.” Before he made matters worse, he twisted around and faced the front. The highway was flat and straight shooting past the city's skyline. Salt Lake was nestled between two mountain ranges, one to the east and another to the west. Billboards for the tabernacle and a multitude of recreational resorts displaying sparkling white snow and golf courses scattered the edge of the interstate.

“What you guys hoping to find at the hotel anyway?” Dulaney spit another gob of mucus out the window and tossed Jake a questioning glance.

Jake hid his disgust at the man's obsessive need to hawk and spit. “I don't know,” he answered honestly.

“Well the feds are there now.”

Jake nodded and dropped into silence. He pretended to study the passing surroundings, but his mind kept returning to the woman in the backseat. Damn. Cold air blasted from the car's vents. He frowned and wondered if there'd be a chance of getting Dulaney to turn it down a notch. Glancing at the man's paunch and meaty fingers, he decided the evidence of too many donuts would negate his request. If he'd quit lowering the window and spitting, the car could maintain an equitable temperature instead of blasting frigid air into Jake's face.

It didn't take more than ten minutes to reach the hotel. They turned off the interstate and drove along a road lined with strip malls, motels, and fast-food joints. Dulaney pulled his Crown Vic up to the curb in front of a two-story Holiday Inn and shut it off. They exited the vehicle, the heat and bright sun of early afternoon ricocheting off the black tarmac and ratcheting the temperature up an uncomfortable notch. Jake reached for Cassidy's door, but she was already out and heading up the stairs.

He jogged after her. They flipped their IDs to the two federal agents that blocked the front door and were waved into the interior.

“The place hasn't been ransacked,” Cassidy said.

Jake scanned the corners, confirming her first impression. Two chairs cushioned with a burlap fabric remained upright and in position around a small pedestal table. The dresser and Edward Fiske's suitcase appeared untouched. “Sheet looks stained.”

“Urine,” a lab tech said, exiting the bathroom. “Who are you guys?” He was a slip of a man, with curly black hair cropped short. Small eyes were expanded by the wire-rimmed glasses perched on his nose.

“ZEBRA.”

“Right. The chief told me to expect some zoo animals.”

Cassidy glared at the skinny man, approached him, and planted her feet, blocking his path. “Considering our clearance is about fifty grades higher than yours, I suggest you cooperate and explain what's been found here.” She tapped her finger against his identification tag. “Or is that too difficult for your pea-brain to absorb?”

Jake turned his head and tried to muffle his laughter. The lab technician backed off, holding his hands up in front. “No insult meant, ma'am.”

“Doctor,” Cassidy said.

“Doctor, ma'am. You might want to take a look in there.” He pointed to the bathroom and Cassidy pushed past him.

Jake shook his head and sighed. “You picked the wrong person to call a zoo animal.”

The lab tech bent and gathered his tools together. “She sure is testy. It's prolly that …”

Jake gripped the man's shoulder, digging his fingers into nothing but skin and bones. “I wouldn't go there if I were you.”

“Yes, sir. We discovered a power cord that appears to belong to a laptop, and at first glance there doesn't seem to be anything unusual within his suitcase.” The tech pulled a clipboard over from the bed and read from the top sheet. “Pants. Shirts. Socks. Underwear. That's it. I'm running tox screens on the urine.”

“Good. Any other trace found?”

“Hair and prints. This is a busy hotel, which will make isolation difficult. Oh yeah, and I gathered everything in there as well.” He signaled over his shoulder with his thumb. “Where do you want the lab results sent to?”

Jake nodded toward the door. Michelle remained outside, chatting amicably with the federal officers. “She'll tell you.”

The technician stared at Michelle, his eyes resting on her gun. “Jesus,” he whispered.

Jake chuckled. “You'll be fine. But I'd suggest you refrain from any animal remarks.”

“Yes, sir.” The tech gathered up his clipboard and collection kit, heading toward the door with tentative steps.

“You need to see this.” Cassidy called from the bathroom.

Jake turned and walked through the narrow door. The small room heightened his awareness of Cassidy and he purposely flipped the all-business switch on in his head, refusing to acknowledge the light lavender scent that wafted upon the air.

She bent over the sink and stared at some odd markings on the mirror, the edge of the counter biting into her waist. Her jeans stretched across her rear, and Jake averted his eyes to focus on the glass in front of her. He moved closer for a better view of the scratches on the mirror but remained at a safe enough distance. “What's that?”

“A message written in soap.”

“Clues to where he's being taken?”

Cassidy shook her head. “Clues to the composition and possible antidote for CPV-19.” She pulled a pad out of her back pocket and copied down the white lettering. “I don't think Edward Fiske was an evil doctor. Everything he's done to date points to the fact that he honestly felt he was performing a task that would benefit humanity.”

Jake shrugged. “He did, right?”

She glanced at him and frowned. “Well, technically yes. But what was created from his experimentations is atrocious. He definitely walked a fine line between genius and monster.” Cassidy snapped her notebook closed and shoved it back where it belonged. “However, it appears that he had every intention of developing a cure or prevention of the virus.”

“How do you know that?”

“Because”—she pointed to the mirror—“this formula neutralizes the Fifth Disease factor of CPV-19.”

Jake's brain kicked in, and he studied what Edward Fiske scribbled on the mirror. “But we don't know if it'll prevent the coagulation or intestinal failure prompted by the parvo.”

Cassidy shrugged. “In theory, it should. Parvo is attacking the intestinal cells because they divide at a rapid rate. Fifth attacks red blood cells because they also divide at a rapid rate, conveniently breathing life into the virus. Something within the genetic makeup of Fifth Disease has thrown the dividing cells into overdrive. If we shut down that aspect, we can concentrate on battling the parvo strain through correcting the dehydration and electrolyte imbalances.” She sighed and leaned against the wall. “In theory, that should work.”

Jake hated to burst her bubble. “Cassidy, parvo attacks the bacteria in the intestinal tract, and unless we catch it early enough before it moves into the bloodstream we won't be able to save the infected. Not to mention, the survival rate of the young, the old, and the weak will be zero.”

“I know, Jake. I'm not underestimating the danger of being infected with parvo. But the young, old, and weak are a small percentage.”

He stared at her, knowing his next words weren't going to be received well. “Not in the Niger Delta.” The pain that crossed her face was exactly what he expected, and he softened his voice. “This is a start, though. It's a great start.” Jake crossed his arms and stared at her.

“What?”

“Why wouldn't Fiske send this with the e-mails? If he's truly attempting to help us, he'd have given us all his information on CPV-19.”

Cassidy worried her bottom lip and nodded in agreement with him. “I thought that too. But if he'd sent us this stuff”—she pointed to the mirror—“would we be here now?”

Jake narrowed his eyes, thinking about her statement. “Probably not. We'd have gone straight after Cole.”

“Right.” Cassidy exited the bathroom. “And his chance of rescue eliminated.” Her excitement faded and was replaced with a shoulder-drooping defeat. “Whichever way we turn, we're screwed. They have the virus and the man who can provide an antidote. What do we have? Nothing.”

Jake chuckled. “We're close. They have a plan, and I'm afraid it includes us.” Cassidy's eyes widened, but she didn't voice any argument. He guided her out the door, reaching for his sunglasses. “I doubt very much they'll be releasing the virus the second they step foot within the Niger Delta.”

“God, I hope you're right.”

“I know I am,” but the twist in his gut spoke his doubts. New World Petroleum's motivation regarding CPV-19 remained an anomaly, and until that mystery was solved there'd be no guessing at a timeline for their agenda.

C
ASSIDY EXITED THE POLICE CAR, GLAD TO BE REMOVING HERSELF
from the lieutenant's presence. His affinity for spitting out windows reduced the grumbling in her stomach to nothing. Dark green delivery trucks marked with the insignia of the United States Army sat beneath the black-and-white-striped transport jet. Boxes stamped with an assortment of lettering that made no sense to Cassidy were being unloaded and carried up the ramp and into the belly of the plane by a group of uniformed men.

“What's going on?” she asked Jake.

He tilted his head and gazed at her as if she were out of her mind. “Loading up for our assignment?” Jake smiled and winked at her, creating an irritating flutter in her belly. “I doubt we'll be able to purchase this stuff in the local villages over there.”

Cassidy rolled her eyes at her stupidity. “Right. Of course.”

“You ready?”

“This is my life. Planes, choppers, and automobiles. I suppose I should be thankful that this mode of transportation has all the comforts of home.” She followed Michelle up the metal stairs and into the plane. She paused for a moment, barely recognizing the interior. Valerie bustled down the aisle, converting the comfortable seating sections into sleeping quarters. She lifted her head and smiled at Cassidy. “Good afternoon, Cassidy.”

“Hi, Valerie. Did you arrive with the supply committee?”

Chuckling, Valerie continued to pull levers and snap dividers into place. “Something like that.”

Cassidy watched the quick efficient movements of her administrator. This woman was in her early fifties and Black Stripe? If someone asked her to place a bet on that question, she'd certainly lose. Valerie's khaki slacks were neatly pressed, and the white collared shirt with a small zebra embroidered on the left breast pocket screamed corporate America, not international espionage.

“Where's your tattoo?” The words blurted from Cassidy's mouth, and she felt a wave of embarrassment color her face.

Valerie paused and laughed. “Honey, if I so much as walked into one of those places I'd faint from fear.”