Chapter Twenty-three 9 page

Cam closed her eyes, but she could still see the white powder blowing in the air.

Chapter Sixteen

The dial tone that severed Cam's tenuous connection to Blair sounded as ominous as incoming shell fire. And this was an enemy Cam could not fight—not with force or skill or even her formidable willpower. This time she would have to rely on others to do that, and the prospect left her feeling helpless and impotent. Her fingers clenched the phone as the stifling air in the van closed in around her. A rush of anger and frustration filled her head, momentarily clouding her reason and fracturing her control.

"God damn it," she said as her fist struck the inside wall of the van with enough force to send a tremor through the vehicle. She didn't feel the pain as the skin split over her knuckles and a small fissure cracked in a bone in her little finger. She tossed the cell phone onto the narrow counter in front of Stacy Landers and pivoted toward the double rear doors, intent on reaching Blair. Someone behind her must have signaled, because the officer in the SWAT uniform blocked her way with an agile sidestep that she would have thought impossible for him to make, considering his bulk. "Step aside."

Her voice was once again modulated and calm. But her face was cold as death. From somewhere in the van, Captain Landers said, "I'm sorry, Cam. But you'll have to wait it out down here with the rest of us. There's nothing you can do up there now."

Perhaps it was the use of her first name, or the fact that Cam already knew that Landers was right, but she checked the movement that would have driven her shoulder hard against the SWAT team officer's chest. "I need some air."

"Good idea," Landers said. "Let her by, Lieutenant Maxwell."

"Yes, ma'am," the man said and smoothly shifted out of Cam's path.

She shoved open the rear doors and jumped down to the sidewalk. Immediately, she was surrounded.

"What's happened?" Renee demanded, her fingers clamped around Cam's forearm. "Has someone been wounded up there? Why the fuck won't they let us up? What about our people? What about Blair, Paula?"

Although the questions were reasonable, the tone of Savard's voice sent a warning signal that dissipated the remaining haze of Cam's anger. The FBI agent sounded as if she was about to crack. Cam took a close look at her, and what she saw made her shake off Savard's arm and point to the far side of the vehicle. "Let's talk over there, Agent."

Felicia and Valerie, standing nearby, moved to follow, but Cam shook her head and indicated they should wait. Both women looked impatient and concerned, but they accepted her orders. On the far side of the van, out of range of prying eyes and intrusive cameras, Cam said, "Let me fill you in, Renee."

"Paula? What about Paula? Is she hurt?"

"Paula is fine. I just talked to her. There's been exposure to an unknown substance, and they went to red alert status. SOP. We're waiting on a special decontamination team right now."

"I want to talk to her." Savard's speech was taut with tension and fear.

Cam shook her head. "You can't. You know the procedure. The longer lines are open, the more likely that transmissions will be intercepted and the greater the chance we'll have a media leak. In situations like this where the use of a biowarfare agent is a possibility, we could have widespread panic. Mass evacuations, civilian casualties. We can't risk it. You'll have to wait"

Savard's eyes flicked to the apartment building across the street, but what she saw were the Towers coming down and, everywhere, the devastation. The defenselessness and horror was suffocating. Gasping, she whispered in a tortured voice, "I can't."

"Yes, you can," Cam said quietly, placing both hands on Savard's shoulders and lowering her head until their eyes met and held. Her tone was firm, yet gentle. "You and Felicia and I are going to do whatever needs to be done to take care of the situation. Paula is counting on you to handle this, and so am I. This isn't like Tuesday, Renee. We're going to have a chance to fight back."

"I can't take it." Savard's gaze wavered as she opened and clenched her hands spasmodically. "I can't lose her. I can't. I just can't."

"I know."

Suddenly, Savard jerked, and her tormented eyes widened. Her pupils, dark passageways to her own personal hell, flickered wildly. "Oh my God. Blair? Is she—"

"Pretty pissed off," Cam said with a tender laugh. "But otherwise, she sounded fine."

When Savard saw the pain shadow Cam's face and heard the tremor of desperate love in her voice, she understood that she was not alone in her agony. She drew her shoulders back and straightened. Her blue eyes cleared, and some of the color returned to her face. "What do you need me to do, Commander?"

Carp's expression hardened as she squeezed Savard's shoulders and then let go. "I need you to tap into your sources and get me as much information as you can about a similar occurrence yesterday at a government complex in New Jersey—the nature of the suspected toxic agent, number and type of casualties, whether any perpetrators took credit for the attack—anything. Get me that as quickly you can."

"Yes, ma'am. I'll be back as soon as I have something."

As Savard turned away, Felicia stepped up to Cam with Valerie just behind her. "The bomb team is still outside the building, so I assume we're not dealing with explosives this time."

"No," Cam said with a quick look around. Seeing no one close enough to overhear, she rendered a rapid recounting of what Blair and Stark had told her. As she spoke, she watched Valerie's face, looking for some sign that the news of a biological weapon did not come as a surprise to the CIA. "Do you have anything to add, Agent Lawrence?"

"When is the team from Detrick expected?" Valerie asked.

Cam checked her watch. "ETA eighteen minutes."

"Let's take a little walk," Valerie said, edging through the crowd that was clustered around the command vehicle.

The three women cut briskly through the milling bodies until they reached the gated entrance to the east side of the park. Cam removed her keys and opened the gate, letting it swing closed and lock behind them. While outside the block-square oasis of trees and flowers and wending walkways the streets and sidewalks seethed with activity, inside the quietude was seductively soothing. Cam strode twenty feet down a narrow stone path and then turned abruptly to face Valerie. "What else don't we know that we should have been told? If you people put her at risk, I swear I'll make someone pay for it."

Valerie shook her head. "I don't know what we know and what we don't, Cameron. I'm counterintelligence, not counterterrorism."

"You're a spy."

"I'm a field agent," Valerie said with an impatient shrug. "I have a broad assignment to monitor individuals who"—she hesitated—"might have information of interest to our government."

"Which means what?"

"Which means that I have no reason to be briefed on whatever intel Langley might have related to what's happening here. Have we suspected that certain unfriendly governments are intensely involved with developing bioweapons? Absolutely. Was there an indication of an imminent attack within this country? I'm not aware of any such intelligence."

Cam impatiently pushed a hand through her hair. "Can you find out? Or is this information highway only running in one direction?"

Unconsciously, Valerie closed the distance between them and placed her hand on Cam's upper arm. Her face and voice were filled with sympathy. "Cameron, I'll do what I can. But you must know how closed the system is, even to those of us on the inside. There isn't a more guarded organization in the world."

"Try," Cam said quietly. "Just...try."

Valerie nodded, stroking Cam's arm slowly. "I will."

They stared at one another, anger and compassion warring in their eyes.

Felicia spoke into the gathering silence. "What do you think the team from Detrick will do when they get here? That building is a security nightmare now."

At last, Cam turned and looked through the treetops, their leaves a riotous palette of oranges and reds and golds, to where the sun glinted off the windows of Blair's loft. Despite the fact that the apartment was fortified like a prison, within those walls Blair had had a certain degree of freedom. It was the one place where no one watched her; the one safe haven where she could create her art. Now, she was about to lose even that.

"They'll move them. Then they'll quarantine them."

"What did Cam say?" Blair asked.

"Not much, because I don't think there's much to tell yet," Stark answered truthfully. "The team from Fort Detrick will be here soon, though."

"And then what?"

"I'm not sure." Involuntarily, Stark glanced to the far end of the room where the remaining canvases stood, imagining she could still see the white powder drifting on the bright early-morning shafts of sunlight. "I guess it depends on what they think it is."

Blair glanced over to where the male Secret Service agent stood at the window with his back to them, watching the street below. She didn't know him, and although she trusted him on principle, years of habit had made her circumspect; she hesitated to reveal her fears and uncertainties in front of anyone except those she trusted most. "What if they don't know what it is?"

Stark thought about the morning briefing and the possibility of anthrax or something far worse. Her stomach rolled, and she quickly suppressed the shudder of fear that followed. Her responsibility was to contain the situation, and although there was nothing she could do if they had been seriously compromised by some biological agent, she could carry the worry herself and spare Blair's peace of mind, at least for the moment. "I'm sure whatever it is, they'll know what to do."

The black van with the revolving red light on top edged slowly through the sea of bodies toward Blair's building, finally coming to a halt with the right front wheel up on the sidewalk. The side door slid open, and two men climbed out. A woman stepped down from the front passenger compartment. All wore Army uniforms. The driver, also in uniform, exited and hurried to the rear. Once there, he pulled open the

double doors and reached inside. With efficient movements, he passed full-body coveralls constructed of Tychem F, a material affording the highest level of protection against biological and chemical agents, to the three Army officers.

Cam and Stacy Landers arrived as the team members were suiting up.

"I'm Cameron Roberts, Egret's acting security chief. I want to go up with you," Cam said.

The older of the two men, a well-built redhead with sun-weathered skin and a military haircut, shook his head. "Sorry, Agent...Roberts, was it? It's against protocol."

"Look," Cam said sharply, unable to contain her frustration, "that's the president's dau—"

The only woman on the team, whose name tag read Captain R. Andrews, interrupted quietly. "We know who she is, Agent Roberts. Just as soon as we have determined the nature of the situation, we'll brief you. You'll be far more valuable down here in terms of coordinating the extraction and containing communications than you would be up there."

Cam studied the warm green eyes that looked steadily into hers. Andrews, her collar-length chestnut hair worn in casual layers, appeared to be in her early thirties. She was about Blair's size, but more muscular—a rower or a serious lifter, possibly. Her insignia indicated Army Medical Corps. There was an intensity in her expression that said she understood the source of Cam's concern. Cam nodded. "I want a report on all of them, ASAP."

"You'll have it," Andrews said.

Silently, Cam watched as the three zipped up their suits, pulled on the protective hoods, and adjusted their goggles and gas masks. The NYPD HAZMAT team and Landers's security forces had cordoned off a path to the front door, and the team from Fort Derrick lumbered into the building and disappeared, leaving her to wait.

Blair stood just behind Stark as she pulled open the apartment door. The sight that greeted them was like a scene in a science-fiction movie. Three people in space suits, gender indeterminate, stood in the foyer carrying oversized tackle boxes. Clearly, whatever they think is in here is something seriously dangerous,

"Please step back," a male voice said through a microphone. "Move to your left and remain stationary."

"Who are you?" Blair asked, backing up slowly as the three entered in single file.

"I'm Colonel Grau," the first figure informed her, advancing relentlessly, "and these are Captains Andrews and Demetri."

A female voice then said, "Please come with me, Ms. Powell," as the smallest figure stepped away from the triumvirate. "You too, Agent Stark. Follow me to the bathroom, please."

Blair realized, as she and Stark fell in behind the shrouded form, that she shouldn't be surprised that these people knew the layout of her loft. They undoubtedly knew her bra size and every other intimate detail of her life. She glanced over her shoulder and saw the male Secret Service agent being led toward the guest bathroom by the third team member. She stopped walking when she saw Colonel Grau opening his equipment box where her canvases were stored. "I want to see what he's doing."

Captain Andrews caught Blair's wrist in a thickly gloved hand. "I'm sorry, Ms. Powell, but that won't be possible."

Blair's response was immediate and instinctual. She'd been held incommunicado for several hours. She had no idea how grave the threat was, and she was angry and frightened. She couldn't see her lover, her life had once more been invaded, and now her last refuge was destroyed. Swiftly, she broke the restraining grip with a move she had practiced countless times in the dojo and in the training ring.

Captain Andrews did not try to stop her, but only said, "Are those paintings worth your life?"

The only thing Blair saw as she stopped her abrupt charge toward Colonel Grau, who had just cut a postage-stamp-sized piece of canvas from the center of a completed painting and dropped it into a test tube, was Cam's face. The only thing more important to her than her work, her freedom, and even her life, was Cam. If she had the choice, she would never do anything to hurt her. She wouldn't risk her life if it meant Cam would be the one to pay the price. She turned her back on what Grau was doing.

"I want to talk to Agent Roberts," Blair said.

"I know," Captain Andrews said. "Just as soon as possible."

Despite the flat, mechanical sound of her projected voice, Blair thought she detected a note of sympathy. For some reason, she believed her and didn't argue. Silently, she followed her into the bathroom.

The master bath, done in pale gold tiles and granite surrounds, was just off her bedroom. It contained a six-by-four-foot shower stall with two showerheads on facing walls in addition to the other standard features. There was room enough for the three of them to stand comfortably without crowding. Captain Andrews closed the door and knelt to remove a large red plastic biohazard bag from her equipment box. She straightened laboriously in her heavy protective suit and held it out to Stark and Blair. "Would you both please remove all of your clothing and place them in this bag."

While Blair and Stark disrobed, the officer opened the shower door, knelt once again, and proficiently removed the drain cover with a small screwdriver. Then she inserted what appeared to be a water filter in its’ place.

"What is that?" Blair asked as she crammed her clothing into the red bag. She averted her gaze from Stark, who stood stiffly beside her. Blair knew how embarrassed she must be. It wasn't her own nudity that bothered her so. much, but the loss of control that accompanied it. Nevertheless, she was determined not to become a passive player in this drama. "Captain?"

"It's a biofilter."

"What exactly do you suspect that we have on us?"

Captain Andrews faced Blair, her eyes unwavering behind the thick polyurethane of her protective goggles. "We don't know, Ms. Powell. But at the moment, we must assume that you have been contaminated with an active biological agent. Until we have determined otherwise, you must be treated as if you are infected."

Infected. Not a chemical agent. Something alive. The thought of something invading her body was strangely more terrifying than the possibility of having been poisoned. Blair drew a slow breath, needing the extra few seconds to force down the surge of panic. "How long before you know?"

"I can't say. Would you please step into the shower now?"

Chapter Seventeen

Blair kept her back turned to Stark as the hot water sluiced over her. Although the shower was more spacious than an ordinary stall, if she moved back an inch, her ass would be rubbing up against Stark's. Government efficiency. Jesus.

Methodically, she scrubbed her skin with the soft plastic brush and cleansing agent that Captain Andrews had provided, trying not to think about what might already have penetrated the fragile barrier and could even now be coursing through her bloodstream. The last time she'd taken a shower with anyone, it had been Cam. They'd made love while the curtain of water shimmered like a nearly tangible wall between them and all the forces that contrived to keep them apart. She focused on the memory of Cam's face as they joined—so fierce and tender—on the touch of her lover's knowing hands bringing her to orgasm, and on the sweet sound of their passion dancing on the falling water. The acrid scent of something oddly familiar drew her from her reverie.

"What is this stuff?" Blair asked. "Bleach?"

"Sodium hydrochlorite," Captain Andrews replied, opening two large foil packs and extracting synthetic mesh sheets slightly larger than bath towels. "Step down onto the mat and wrap this around you, please."

"Is that a fancy way of saying bleach?" Blair draped herself in the thin covering, discovering strategically placed Velcro tabs that allowed her to close it around her chest just above her breasts and at the waist.

"Yes."

"Well, that's a straight answer, at least."

Although the sheet reached almost to Blair's knees, the shape of her body was clearly outlined beneath it. She glanced once at Stark, similarly covered, noting the curve of her small breasts and strong thighs. Oh, poor Paula. This must he so hard for her. Blair indicated the thin white covering. "Tell me you have something else for us to wear."

"Yes, I do." Captain Andrews passed a surgical mask to each woman. "These hook behind your ears with the elastic str—"

"The clothes?" Blair asked pointedly, slipping on the mask.

"Once we exit the building, you'll be provided with temporary coveralls."

"And just where exactly are we going to change?" Stark asked.

"On the sidewalk."

Cam paced the sidewalk in front of Blair's building, alternately checking her watch and scanning the building's facade, as if she might at any moment be able to see through the brick and glass to her lover. She wheeled around when she heard the driver's radio crackle to life and hurried over to him. Stacy Landers reached him at the same time.

"What's the status, Lieutenant?" Landers asked.

"They're on their way down." He carried a stack of silver packs the size of small knapsacks to the zippered front of a white polyurethane enclosure that he had erected between the side doors of the black vehicle and the double glass doors of the building's lobby. The entire structure, resembling a long narrow tunnel, extended like an accordion from inside the vehicle and was supported by thin semicircular hoops at four-foot intervals. When he unzipped the flaps and folded them outward, he created a chute that led directly from the front door of the building to the car. Then he placed a stack of foil-wrapped packages on the plastic floor just inside the front opening.

From a few feet away, Cam observed everything warily. She could feel the dozens of eyes on her back as the first responders clustered behind the barriers that had been hastily erected to keep even the emergency personnel back from the immediate scene. "Environmental protection suits?"

"Yes, ma'am."

"I want you to suit me up so I can go in the vehicle with them."

He shook his head, his eyes fixed on the front door, his posture erect and alert. "I'm sorry, ma'am, but I can't do that. Authorized personnel only."

She took one quick step forward before Landers caught her arm. Cam whipped her head around, a sharp retort on her lips.

"Just hold it together a little longer, Cam," Landers said in a low but forceful tone. "Let them secure the assets, and then we'll worry about access."

Assets. Packages. Targets.

Cam swore, but held her ground. Suddenly, the glass doors opened, and the three officers in protective suits exited in a cluster, each guiding a figure shrouded in white. Cam sought Blair's gaze above the surgical mask, and for one brief instant, they connected. Her lover's blue eyes, so clear and strong, called to her.

"Blair," Cam whispered.

And then she was gone.

Cam stood on the sidewalk, feeling more alone than she ever had in her life, while all around her, activity escalated. Landers ordered the HAZMAT team back into the building to complete decontamination procedures, while firemen were dispatched to secure the main water and electrical supplies. The perimeter that had been hastily erected around the square had traffic snarled for blocks in every direction. The wail of police sirens was a constant backdrop to her own clamoring thoughts. For the first time in her life, she couldn't formulate a plan. Someone had taken Blair, and that single devastating fact left her reeling. It didn't matter that those in charge were presumably friendly. She trusted no one and struggled to subdue the panic that ate at the edges of her reason.

"Cameron."

Cam glanced down at the manicured hand loosely holding her wrist. She recognized the slender fingers, the perfect oval nails, the practiced touch. She raised her eyes to Valerie's and saw that the CIA agent had a cell phone cradled against her ear. Valerie smiled faintly and nodded at her, and Cam's head cleared.

Where? Cam mouthed.

Valerie nodded again but said nothing, obviously still listening to whoever was on the other end of the line. Standing nearby, Felicia watched just as acutely, and the instant Valerie closed the phone, snapped, "Well? Do you have a location for us?"

"Walter Reed," Valerie announced,

"Let's go," Felicia said, starting toward the street.

"Wait a minute," Cam instructed. Both women looked at her in surprise as she removed her radio and clicked to a secure frequency. After a few seconds, she said, "This is Roberts. Are you in the loft? Okay, describe for me the location of the paintings.. .In what?.. .Which crate?.. .Okay, thanks."

She disconnected and turned to her team members. "The HAZMAT officer says the paintings came out of one of the crates labeled 9/6. That's the date of Blair's last show."

"Do you think the toxin was planted at the gallery opening?" Felicia asked, her face creased with concern.

"It's possible. Foster was there," Cam said grimly. "And the crates with the paintings that were sold that night are still there now, waiting to be inventoried and shipped."

"Oh my God," Valerie murmured. "Diane."

Felicia looked at her watch. "It's almost eleven. They'll be opening right about now."

Galvanized, Cam pointed to Blair's building. "Valerie, find Landers and have her dispatch another team to Diane's gallery. Felicia and I will head over there-—"

"No," Valerie said sharply. "I'm coming with you."

"Fine," Cam said, knowing there was no time to waste and that she would not be able to dissuade Valerie in any case. "Felicia, brief Landers."

"Got it, Commander."

The five-minute walk to where Cam had left her vehicle seemed to take an hour as they pushed and squeezed their way through the dense crowd. Once they were on their way, traffic forced Cam to drive at five miles an hour even when they were several blocks beyond the cordoned-off area.

"God," Valerie groaned, "I could walk there faster than this."

"It's unlikely that anyone will disturb those paintings," Cam observed, threading her car between two yellow cabs and earning irate oaths from both cabbies.

"Those bastards."

Cam glanced at Valerie, fairly certain that she hadn't meant the cab drivers. She could never remember hearing Valerie raise her voice before, let alone curse. She wondered if it was something more personal than the attacks earlier in the week that provoked her response. "Was Diane part of the plan?"

"God, no," Valerie answered quietly.

"But it wasn't an accident you were at the gallery opening." Cam glanced at her watch. It had only been eighteen minutes since they'd left Blair's building, but it felt like eighteen hours. And nothing she could do would get them to Diane's any faster. She doubted that even Landers's team could get there quickly, considering the state of traffic. "Did they tell you to establish a relationship with Blair's best friend?"

"Our orders are never as direct as that, and we often only get a clear picture of the greater plan after the operation has begun. Sometimes, not even then." Valerie stared ahead into the clogged Manhattan streets, her thoughts turned inward. "No. I was just as surprised as you were when I got the call to show up there."

"You hid it well."

"That's my job, don't forget," Valerie said in a slightly mocking tone.

"Are you really an art dealer?"

"As a matter of fact, I am."

Much to Cam's surprise, she realized that her initial resentment at discovering she had been the victim of an elaborate deception had turned now to a curious form of respect. Valerie was, very much like Cam, bound by duty. Both answered the call without question, often at significant cost to themselves and those who loved them. It was difficult for Cam to remain angry when she herself carried much of the same guilt.

"When did they recruit you?"

Valerie smiled softly at Cam. "Even sooner than you. I was a senior in high school."

"Jesus."

"I was bright and idealistic, and I came from a long line of patriots. Both my parents were career Navy."

"Do they know?"

She shook her head sadly. "No. And my father died thinking that I had tossed over the guiding principles they had taught me in favor of an extravagant lifestyle."

"I'm sorry," Cam said, meaning it.

"Well, I could have taken a more traditional route, but," she shrugged and laughed, "there was something about the secrecy that appealed to me."

"No regrets?"

A beat of silence passed, then Valerie answered quietly, "Only one."

"If it makes a difference," Cam said, "I understand."

"That means more than you'll ever know."

Cam finally turned onto the street where Diane's gallery was located, swerved into an illegal parking place in front of a fire hydrant, and cut the engine. As they hurried up the street, she said, "I want you to get Diane and the rest of the employees out of the gallery. If they haven't moved the paintings, there is no reason at this point to believe any of them have been contaminated. You take Diane home while I wait for Landers's team to show up and secure the space."

Date: 2015-12-11; view: 867