Resistant (29 page)

“He gets migraines,” McCall said.

“They usually come on slower than what I saw, and give some sort of warning.”

“He’ll be fine.”

“This wasn’t a typical migraine. Let me check him out. I promise I won’t try to take off. You can come.”

McCall looked bewildered.

“Just stay right there,” he said. “Vaill gets these.”

After five minutes, McCall dialed his cell, leaving it on speaker.

Vaill picked up after six rings.

“I’m okay,” he snapped. Then he hung up.

Five more minutes passed, then another five.

“All right,” McCall said. “Let’s go and—”

The door slammed open and Vaill entered, still somewhat unsteady. His eyes were bloodshot, and the odor surrounding him said he had gotten sick.

“Sorry,” he muttered. “I’m fine. Let’s get on with this.”

“You sure?” McCall asked.

For a moment, Lou sensed the older agent was about to explode. Instead Vaill breathed in deeply through his nose, apologized again, and took a swig of Gatorade.

“Let’s get on with this.”

Lou looked for any signs suggesting a stroke, but clearly the man was improving. Vaill slid the folder over to him, and Lou, shrugging, opened it.

It contained a picture of Emily, extracted from her Facebook page, showing her with her two best girlfriends, both of whom Lou knew well. It was taken outside of Carlton Academy, with the girls’ arms draped around one another.

“What is this all about?” he exclaimed, pushing the sheet away as if it were on fire. The odd, distant look on Vaill’s face had now vanished, and it was as if the strange episode had never happened.

“It’s what you have at stake here, Lou,” he said.

“Why are you showing this to me? How dare you bring my daughter into this cesspool?”

“You don’t get it, do you?” Vaill said, on his feet once more. “Your daughter is a very big part of this. Listen to me, Lou. You’re facing some serious charges here. Chances are you’ll go away for a long time. Don’t do this to your kid. Think about it. We’re not your enemy. I told you about my wife. I was honest with you because I care. But we’ve got a job to do, and dammit, we’re gonna do it. So study that picture. My wife is dead, this girl is very much alive. You don’t want to ruin her life or humiliate her. You want to be around to take her to a ball game, go visit colleges, or whatever else lies ahead. And you’ll be able to do those things, too—but only if you cooperate. Give me a name. Where did you get the information about the bacteriophage?”

Lou stared at Emily’s image and touched it with his fingertip. He imagined only seeing her through the Plexiglas of some federal prison visitor’s room. Everyone knew of injustices done to innocent men and women by the vagaries or intentions of the government. He also knew that Humphrey would be useless without his help, and Cap would suffer as a result. Could he simply make up a name?

No chance.

How long would he be in prison? Could they actually do it to him? He was caught in a scenario that would do Kafka proud. Theater of the most absurd, only this drama was for real. And as Vaill had said about his wife, the real victim here would be the person he loved more than anyone in the world.

Emily …

“Humphrey Miller,” he heard his voice say in a strained whisper.

Vaill leaned forward.

“Again?”

“Miller. Humphrey Miller,” Lou repeated, more forcefully this time. He felt a weight lift from his chest, but there was no sense of relief. “He’s a pharmacy tech at Arbor General, but he is also a brilliant microbiologist. He was part of a team that was helping Kazimi develop a treatment for the germ.”

“So, what happened?”

“They had a fight—a falling-out because Kazimi didn’t believe Humphrey’s phage theory would work. Humphrey was either kicked off the team or he dropped out.”

“I think you’re messing with us.”

“Think what you want. I don’t believe Kazimi ever even met him. Humphrey isn’t a scientist. He’s a plain old hospital employee, who has debilitating cerebral palsy. He and Kazimi have communicated for years online, but they’ve never met.”

“This is ridiculous!”

“Well, it’s the truth. Humphrey never spoke to anyone at the hospital about his talents because people often ridicule him, and have trouble understanding his speech, and because the blowhard in charge of infectious diseases would never have taken him seriously. But Humphrey grew to trust me, and I understand his speech and respect his theories. I believe Humphrey can cure this infection using killer bacteriophage. If you’ve been researching it, you know it’s possible. They use the method in Russia and other countries.”

“Jesus,” Vaill murmured. “Why didn’t you tell us this?”

“Because Humphrey is wheelchair-bound. He has poor use of his hands and not much of his legs. He wanted my help setting up a lab in a storage space in Arbor General, so we could conduct experiments to prove his theories, and I needed him to do it quickly.”

“You mean an unsanctioned lab?”

“Yes, in the subbasement. He hacked into the hospital’s computer system and ordered all the supplies and animals he needed. Thanks to me, it’s all ready to go. Now please, Cap’s life is at stake. You can’t stop Miller now.”

“Jesus,” Vaill uttered again, shaking his head.

He turned to McCall.

“Chuck, call Beth and give her the name Humphrey Miller, a pharmacy tech at Arbor General. See what she wants to do.”

“You got it. Meet you at the car.” He hesitated at the door and gestured toward Lou. “Tim, you believe this guy?”

“I don’t think he’s a whack-job if that’s what you mean. But I’m not the least bit sure I can say the same thing about this Miller.”

Vaill helped Lou to his feet and put handcuffs on him once more.

“What now?” Lou asked.

“Now, you get to take a nap in a bedroom with bars at the U.S. Marshal’s place, and we get to do what we do.”

“I told you what you wanted to know. Aren’t you letting me go?”

“Um, let me see.… No.”

The word echoed like a judge’s gavel.

Vaill escorted Lou out the door and past McCall, who was already on his phone, presumably talking to their supervisor.

Lou knew that he had made a mistake caving in. The government was famous for messing up situations like this one. There was no chance they would ever step back and let Humphrey do his work. No chance for Cap.

Vaill guided him out of the building and into the cool, early morning air. Overhead, the sky was drenched with stars.

“What time is it?” Lou asked.

“Two thirty in the morning,” Vaill said, checking his watch.

Lou took a deep breath, no longer sure if he’d ever breathe fresh air as a free man again.

CHAPTER 36

           A Neighbor often needs a community to reach his goal. Therefore, if deemed reliable, others may be hired or enlisted into the order for specific purposes, but they shall not be offered a number unless there is an opening and they are acceptable to the director.

        
—LANCASTER R. HILL,
100 Neighbors
, SAWYER RIVER BOOKS, 1939, P. 57–8

Vaill rarely felt sorry for criminals, but he made an exception for Lou Welcome. From his read, Welcome seemed like a decent guy, a caring father, and a devoted physician who got caught up at the wrong time in a deadly set of circumstances. But the laws were the laws, and more than a few men and women were trudging around in orange jumpsuits with numbers on their backs because they made bad choices.

Putting his feelings aside, Vaill had done what had to be done. As an agent for the FBI, it was his duty to conduct sensitive national security investigations and to enforce hundreds of federal statutes. Regardless of what Lou Welcome was holding back, he was involved in a case the government considered priority one, and Vaill had done his job and done it well. Next it was up to the federal prosecutors to build a case and officially charge him with a crime. Meanwhile, Vaill would do his best to support those efforts, while in this case secretly rooting against them.

It was four o’clock in the morning when he finally emerged through a side door of the Atlanta City Jail. McCall had elected to stay at FBI headquarters for the rest of the night and write what was sure to be a lengthy report on the events leading up to and following their encounter with Lou Welcome at the Blue Ox Tavern. After that, he would get a ride back to their hotel from one of the guys, and they would meet later in the morning.

There had been virtually nothing said between them about the episode in the interview room. As before, he had lied to his new partner about having migraines, and as before, as far as he could tell, McCall had bought it.

Sometime around nine, Vaill would retrieve Welcome from his cell and ferry him to a magistrate’s hearing in the courthouse. After that, it would be up to Lady Justice to decide the man’s fate, and Vaill could, and most certainly would, join his partner in continuing to track down Alexander Burke.

During the short walk to the jail parking lot, Vaill tried with no success to immerse himself in the serenity of the early morning. Something wasn’t right with his brain, and the headaches seemed to be getting worse and more distracting. Once he had nailed Burke, he would consider going back for a consultation with Dr. Gunter, his neurosurgeon. Maybe another MRI. But not until Maria’s killer was behind bars … or dead.

Vaill’s cell phone had rung several times before the sound intruded on his thoughts. He checked the caller ID and was not surprised to see his boss’s name.

“McCall gave me the lowdown,” Beth Snyder said, “and we’ve started running things down. Good job on the interrogation, Tim.”

“My pleasure, ma’am.”

“You think this Humphrey Miller is really a player here?”

“Could be. Lou Welcome, the doctor, is safely tucked away until he goes to court in a few hours. By then, I hope we’ll have something on Miller.”

Vaill’s knees and back creaked as he climbed into the motor pool sedan, and the rumbling in his stomach had him considering a frozen burrito from the first all-night convenience store he could find. But there was another stop he wanted to make first.

“Have you gotten Miller’s address yet?” he asked. “I’ll drive over there right now.”

“No,” Snyder said, perhaps a little too quickly. “Take a rest until you’re due to pick up Welcome. I want to get a search warrant to check out this secret lab of Miller’s. If it’s there, getting a probable cause warrant to search his apartment will be a no-brainer. Better to get all our
I
’s dotted and
T
’s crossed when we make the move on him. Last thing we want is for Miller to get off on some technicality, especially if this handicap of his is as severe as McCall tells me it is. Chuck didn’t think we had to rush on this one, and I agree. Besides, it sounds like you could use some rest. In case you’ve forgotten, you’ve been through a lot.”

I’m not resting until I find Burke.

Vaill kept the thought private. Having worked under Snyder for many years, he knew how she’d respond:
The FBI is not the place for personal vendettas
.
Agents go on vendettas, agents die.
Something in the way Beth ordered him to get some rest had him wondering if McCall had said anything to her about the headaches. He didn’t want to give away the intensity of the problem by making a big deal about it, but perhaps it would be best if he and Chuck had a talk.

“Actually, I’m feeling surprisingly perky,” he tried. “It’s no problem to do a quick drive-by and at least check out Miller’s place from the outside. Knowing the setup there might make it easier serving the warrant when you get it.”

“That’s a negative, Tim. What you’re feeling is the adrenaline left over from a very long, grueling interrogation. You promised me you’d take care of yourself if I let you get in on this case. Well, getting some rest is taking care of yourself. I’ve got to protect my soldiers, especially ones who had their head operated on not so long ago. So the answer is no. Now, you’ve got a few hours. Go back to your hotel and get some shut-eye. Whether you believe it or not, you need it.”

“You ask, I do,” Vaill said, knowing this was a battle he couldn’t win.

“That’s the old agency spirit. I’ll have the gift shop send you out a pennant and a mug. So listen, Tim, while you’re on your way to your hotel, tell me what your take is on this Dr. Welcome. Who’s he playing for? How hard should we put his feet to the fire?”

“Believe it or not, Beth,” Vaill said, turning onto the near-empty highway, “after working on him for most of the night, I think he’s playing for his friend.”

CHAPTER 37

           Any piece of legislation passed by Congress, approved by the Senate, signed by the president, that in turn erodes liberty must not be viewed by the American people as the law of the land, for it is in truth the beginning of the end of our world.

        
—LANCASTER R. HILL, MEMOIR (UNPUBLISHED), 1940

Humphrey Miller had four different in-home aides who assisted him throughout the week—three women and one man. There were others who tended to his needs on weekends. The aides generally worked for two hours then left or accompanied him to the van for transport to his job at Arbor General. The nighttime help took care of preparing his dinner and the subsequent cleanup, addressed his bathing and grooming needs, changed him into his bedclothes, and physically moved him from his wheelchair into his adjustable bed.

While he slept, many of Humphrey’s CP symptoms went dormant along with the rest of him, offering a brief but welcomed respite from his daily physical travails.

On weekday mornings, Humphrey’s favorite aide, Cassie Bayard, would let herself into the apartment to help get him ready for his workday. He always wished her time with him could last longer. Cassie was a strikingly beautiful Jamaican woman, tall and long limbed, with ebony skin and caring eyes, and was the focus of most of Humphrey’s fantasies. He often lightly referred to her as Mama Teresa, but it really was a fitting moniker. Dependable as sunrise, Cassie, a single mother of three, always brought a lift to the start of Humphrey’s day. Like many with CP, most of life’s many mundane tasks were mini-mountains he was forced to climb time and time again. Cassie’s enthusiasm made his daily trudges up Mount Life all the more manageable.