Fatal (31 page)

“What did you learn?” she asked, clicking off the TV.

“Okay,” Rudy said excitedly, moving the TV tray table aside, pulling a coffee table over, and taking a seat on the arm of Ellen’s chair. “I took as my criteria any male who was on multiple flights with a person who subsequently became infected with Lassa. That includes flights out of Freetown and from Ghana as well. By my thinking, our extortionist has to be one of these four men.”

Ellen was hearing Rudy’s words, and at least some of them were registering, but the queasiness in her gut was intensifying.

“Go on,” she said, wondering if a bite of sandwich would help matters or hurt.

“Of course,” Rudy continued, “I think it’s a possibility—a good possibility—that all four of these men may be one and the same. Forged passports and IDs aren’t all that hard to come by for someone with enough money.”

“And whoever is bankrolling this extortion has enough, or will.”

“I suspect you’re right there. I have all of their names and addresses and . . . Ellen, do you want to take a break and maybe continue this in a few hours—or even in the morning?”

“You mean the wine?”

“I don’t see you as much of a drinker, and you
have
had a bit.”

“I’m fine,” she replied with far more snap in her voice than she had intended. “Really I am. Let’s just try calling information and shee . . .
see
if any of these four men are listed where they say they live.”

“Great idea!” Rudy exclaimed, seeming genuinely surprised and pleased with her contribution.

Three of the names Rudy had culled from the passenger manifests weren’t listed at all. The fourth, Vinyl Sutcher of Tullis, West Virginia, had a number that was nonpublished, at the customer’s request.

“I suppose we start with him,” Ellen said, now battling exhaustion as well as the nausea and dizziness.
Be brave,
she told herself. “Vinyl. It’s hard to believe he’d make up a name like that for a fake passport.”

“Must be some sort of family name,” Rudy said. “Or else a mother who liked to name her kids after her furniture coverings.”

“He’s a cute little baby. I think we’ll call him Naugahyde.”

“Maybe we should try and get an artist who will do a composite sketch,” Rudy suggested. “Or else we might try to get a photo of these four guys from the passport files at the State Department.”

“At some point we may have to,” Ellen managed. “But I am anxious not to lose that kind of time.”

“You know, I was quite impressed with that little air injector the Secretary is going to use on that baby.”

“You think that’s how Vinyl, or whoever, infected those passengers?”

“Either with a pneumatic injection gun like that or some sort of flat, hollow plate that fits in his palm and uses compressed air from someplace up his sleeve. Technically it doesn’t seem as if it would be too complicated to rig up. A little nudge, a jet of compressed air mixed with Lassa virus, and zap—instant disease.”

Ellen felt her eyes beginning to close.

“Rudy,” she said in the soft voice of a child, “I need to close my eyes now, just for a little while. Need to sleep.”

“You do that, dear heart,” she heard him say as she floated off. “You do whatever you need to do.”

USING THE REMOTE
, Lynette Marquand flipped off the television that had been wheeled into her office.

“Well, Lara, what do you think?” she asked.

HHS Secretary Lara Bolton was beaming.

“Brilliant,” she said. “Masterful. There’s absolutely no way to tell that most of that program was shot a month ago. Those guys are good—no, better than good. They’re grrrrrreat.”

“And my part?”

“Perfect. Just enough information, not too much. And you looked absolutely smashing.”

“Thanks. You liked the script, too?”

“It was right on—sincere and appropriately solemn, yet excited and humble. I loved it.”

“And the part about the kid?”

“You mean having you mention her but holding back on saying precisely who she is?”

“Yes.”

“I think it worked perfectly. Nobody can criticize you for putting her and her family on the spot or invading their privacy, but everyone everyplace will be wanting to know about her. We’ll do the rest. It’ll only take one or two anonymous-source phone calls, and in a few hours everyone will be buzzing about little, adorable Donelle Cleary.”

“And those calls?”

Lara Bolton made a pretense of checking her watch.

“I believe they’ve already been made, Mrs. Marquand,” she said.

 
CHAPTER
28

HAL SAWYER WAS WAITING FOR MATT AND NIKKI IN 
the lobby of OSHA headquarters on Constitution Avenue. He was dressed more like the commandant of a yacht club than a med school professor—white trousers, navy blazer, blue pin-striped shirt open at the collar, but his expression was grim. He embraced Matt, then shook hands with Nikki and introduced himself.

“I’m relieved you’re both all right,” he said.

“Thanks to you,” Matt replied. “We barely made it out of the FBI office without having to explain to them why a chief of police thinks I shot a guy in the head and then tried to burn the evidence.”

“They might not have even known yet. But Grimes is definitely turning up the heat, so to speak.”

Matt managed a weak smile.

“Is it safe to be here?”

“There’s no reason to think Carabetta knows anything at this point. I wouldn’t suspect OSHA is on the routing map of all points bulletins for murder.”

“Lord. Mom okay? Does she know I’m not around?”

“For a few minutes at a time she seems to. But then just as quickly she forgets. I’m really sorry for all you’ve been through. You, too, Dr. Solari.”

“It’s Nikki, please,” she said. “I appreciate your concern. This whole business doesn’t seem to be getting any better.”

“It will. Grimes has a lot of power around where we live, but he doesn’t have a lot of power everywhere.” He lowered his voice a notch. “I know some excellent lawyers we can go see after we get this mine business straightened out. You still think Grimes is doing all this to protect BC and C?”

“I’m pretty certain of it, yes,” Matt said, pointedly ignoring Nikki’s expression of doubt.

“In that case, maybe I’d better start watching
my
back. I’ve come in contact with these cases, too, you know.”

“I hadn’t thought of that,” Matt said. “All the more reason why we have to get our evidence and put the clamps on Grimes as soon as possible.”

“Oh, speaking of evidence, I’ve found Darryl Teague’s brain, but so far Ted Rideout’s is a no-show.”

“Could someone have taken it?” Nikki asked.

“Well, we like to think we take decent precautions against such things. For the moment I’d prefer to believe it’s been misplaced. We have a storage facility for specimens over a year old. Even though Rideout’s death was less than a year ago, maybe it’s over there.”

“I hope so.”

“By the way, Nikki, I was very upset to hear about Joe Keller. I met him once at a meeting. He seemed like quite a guy.”

“Thanks, he was. The people who murdered him took all of Kathy Wilson’s specimens. It seems possible they might be after the ones you have, too.”

“Maybe. I intend to be careful and to try and gather up all the specimens I have and get them someplace safe.”

“The man Matt and I are supposed to have killed was one of the thugs who kidnapped me. Grimes was at the cabin with him, questioning me about Kathy’s death. It was clear Grimes was the boss.”

Hal whistled softly through his teeth.

“Well, he says you two killed the guy, then tried to burn the evidence, so to speak. I told him Matt wouldn’t have bothered with the fire because he knew I was a sharp enough medical examiner not to miss the bullet hole in the guy’s skull even if he was incinerated, but he wasn’t interested.”

“Well, he either shot the guy or more likely had it done,” Matt said. “At least now you see what kind of person he is.”

“Now I see,” Hal said somewhat ruefully.

“He’s banking on support from those country club cronies of his who think I’m way off center to begin with, and probably capable of anything.”

“I’ve known Bill, pretty well I thought, since he came to town. Just goes to show how wrong you can be sometimes. Well, it’s time for counterattacking. Let’s visit with Fred. Matthew, I’m going to let you speak with him alone. Nikki and I will wait in the reception area. If he doesn’t agree to the inspection you want, it will be my turn.”

“Whatever you say.”

Fred Carabetta was waiting for them in a neatly maintained single-windowed space with a worn leather couch and built-in bookcase. The office would have been relegated to a low- or mid-level manager in the private sector, but in government service, indicated some clout. There were pictures around suggesting a wife and two teenage girls, and interests in deep-sea fishing and golf.

Carabetta was a rotund, balding man around fifty, short enough to seem nearly as round as he was high. He had the tendency of constantly rubbing his fleshy thumbs across his sausagelike index and middle fingers. Probably aware of the nervous habit, he kept his hands in his lap much of the time. To the man’s credit, Matt thought, Carabetta listened patiently to his account of locating the toxic dump, only occasionally interrupting to clarify a point. Matt purposely left out any mention of Joe Keller’s death or the assault on Nikki. He didn’t know Carabetta at all, and to this point at least, there was nothing about him that suggested fearlessness or a commitment to justice.

“Well, now,” he said when Matt had finished, “that’s certainly not a tale one hears every day around here. Knowing you were coming, I did a little research on Belinda Coal and Coke. There
have
been some complaints filed against the company over the past few years, but for whatever reason, all of them were submitted by you.”

“And there was never any action taken on any of them,” Matt replied, way too intensely. “Most of the allegations were never even responded to.”

“I assume you’ve tried the EPA and Bureau of Mines?”

“Only a few dozen times in the past. The issues I wrote about were never this big or easily documented. But I don’t have any credibility. I need someone with respect and clout to corroborate what I have to say. That’s why Hal suggested you.”

“I appreciate that,” Carabetta said. “I hope you won’t take offense, Dr. Rutledge, but there is a great deal of speculation and hearsay supporting those allegations, and very little fact.”

“I’m aware of that, but—”

“And there is another consideration at work here as well.”

Matt knew what was coming.

“Namely,” he said.

“Namely Senator Nick Alexander.”

Matt rolled his eyes. Alexander, the influential, conservative—some might say moral rightist—senior senator from West Virginia, was in bed with the mining companies. He was a consummate politician who, over the years, had skillfully quashed any number of bills that would have caused hardship for the owners.

“The best I’ve ever been able to get from his office are a few ‘We’ll be sure to look into it’ letters.”

“Well, you may or may not know it, but Alexander is the chairman of the subcommittee that oversees this bureau and its budget.”

“I’m not surprised.”

“He may be in line for Secretary of the Interior in Marquand’s second administration. There is no way I can just barge into a company like BC and C and demand a spot inspection without hard evidence.”

“This is crazy,” Matt said, struggling to keep his voice even. “I was there. I saw that dump. You have a chance to be a hero.”

This time it was Carabetta who rolled his eyes.

“Dr. Rutledge, I have never been a mover or a shaker or a hero of any kind. I expect to work in this agency until I retire. By then I will have moved up the GS ladder a couple of more notches. My pension at that level will serve me and my family well enough. The last thing I want to do is jeopardize that master plan.”

“I understand,” Matt said, resigned.

“There’s one more thing,” Carabetta said. “I have a graduate degree in chemistry, but I studied a good deal of biology as well. Over the ten years I have been in this division of OSHA, I have been involved in the evaluation of more chemical accidents and exposures than I can count. To my knowledge and experience, there is no toxin that causes the sort of neurologic condition you have described—especially in a woman who lived five hundred miles away and had probably never been in a mine in her life.”

“But don’t you agree that toxic chemicals can cause mutations?” Matt asked. “And don’t you wonder why the mine would send four thugs out to my friends’ farm to stop them from telling anyone what we saw inside that cave?”

“Perhaps,” Carabetta said. “Dr. Rutledge, I’m sorry. I just don’t see how I can go any further with this matter at this time, given your lack of concrete evidence. Maybe a report to the police is the way you should go.”

With a sigh, Matt stood and shook the bureaucrat’s hand.

“Thanks for listening,” he said, taking no pains to mask his frustration. “Hal asked if you might have a few minutes to speak with him.”

“Of course. Send him in.”

Matt crossed the small reception area to where Nikki and his uncle were waiting.

“No go,” he said. “Not enough hard evidence for him to risk taking any chances—especially crossing Big Nick Alexander.”

“Freddy, Freddy, Freddy,” Hal sighed. “You two wait here.”

He adjusted his sport coat, flexed his neck, and marched into Carabetta’s office. Fifteen minutes later he emerged and motioned Matt and Nikki out of the reception area and into the hallway.

“Are you sure you can get us back to the cave at night?” he asked.

“Positive. Once we’re through the cleft, there are no real forks in the tunnel, just twists and turns. Finding the cleft may be the hard part.”

“Don’t worry about that. I know where it is,” Hal said. “I grew up running through those hills. Well, the news is, it’s going to be tomorrow night. You’ll both stay at my place until then. We’ll put your motorcycle in the garage, Matt. You both can just relax, empty the fridge, and watch videos until Fred arrives.”

“You did it!” Matt exclaimed, pumping his fists. “Way to go!” Then, just as quickly, he dropped his hands. “Hal, you had to pay him, didn’t you?”

“I was hoping your enthusiasm and persuasiveness would win him over, but the truth is, all along I suspected it would come down to money. Fred and I have had such dealings once before, and believe me, I’m not the only one.”

“Can you tell me how much he cost? I want to help if I can.”

“Being right about this cave is all you are required to contribute. And as for how, um, difficult Fred was to convince, let’s just say that at the moment my uncle points should be at an all-time high.”

“Well, you sure have a hell of a grateful nephew. And don’t worry—unless they buried it, the dump’s still there. Speaking of which, the guards may be there as well.”

“I thought about that,” Hal said. “I actually have made a few inquiries searching for someone who deals with such things professionally and might accompany us. Now that I know when we’ll be going, I’ll make a call.”

Matt gave his uncle a hug.

“You know, there’s no reason you have to go in there,” he said.

“On the contrary,” Hal replied. “With the sudden investment I have in Freddy Carabetta, I wouldn’t miss this for the world.”

ELLEN AWOKE TO 
an unpleasant buzzing in her head. An unnatural film covered her tongue and palate. Well, she thought disdainfully, it had certainly been a blue-ribbon day. All she had done was gotten drunk in front of Rudy, passed out, and now was in the slow process of waking up with a nasty Merlot hangover, having managed still to say absolutely nothing of what she had done. And to make matters worse, a two-day-old girl was just forty-eight hours from the first formal dose of a supervaccine containing a component specifically included to halt a lethal epidemic that Ellen now knew was totally man-made.

She held her eyes closed tightly, wary of the dreadful spinning likely to ensue from opening them. Finally, more to check the time than anything else, she forced her lids apart a bit. The walls and ceiling stayed reasonably still. She was in Rudy’s guest room, not, she suddenly realized, in the chair where she had nodded off. She was dressed as she had been, and still covered with the maroon throw. The curtains were drawn, but there was enough light to check her watch.
Five
. Assuming it was the same day, she had been out for four and a half hours. Not bad for a rank amateur.

She rolled over and switched on the bedside lamp. There was a single, beautiful, long-stemmed rosebud in a vase beside the lamp. And propped against the vase was an envelope identical to the one she had torn open. Her name and address were written on the outside in Rudy’s hand, and in the upper right-hand corner was a stamp with today’s postage. Her hands shaking, she gently opened the envelope.

Dear Ellen,

So, now you know. What a relief! I have debated more times than I can count whether to send the letter or hand it to you or wait. Now whichever fate decides such things has taken the choice from me. Well, so be it. I love you, and the next time I see you I’ll probably tell you to your face. There is no need for you to respond one way or the other when I do.

Please don’t let what I wrote change our friendship. That would hurt me as no rejection from you ever could. I have dealt with my feelings for you for many years. If necessary, I’ll deal with them for many more. Please don’t feel bad over having opened the letter. It was meant to be.