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folder again and withdrew another piece of paper. “This is a summary of account transfers made to Dr. Collins. As you can see, he received a substantial amount of money two months prior to the event and again one day after. I think you can appreciate that the timing is suspicious.”
    Kelly stared at the numbers in front of her, not really seeing them. Even she had to admit that this did not look good for George.
    “We think Dr. Collins provided the modified bacteria in exchange for money, which he used to pay for his wife’s chemotherapy.” Carmichael leaned over the table, his voice low and urgent. “We need you to help us catch him, so we can find out who he’s working for.”
    The weight of disappointment settled in Kelly’s stomach, and she found it hard to breathe. In her heart of hearts, she knew Carmichael was right. It all made sudden, horrible sense: George’s distractedness of late, the worry in his eyes. He had even snapped at her when she had arrived at the lab early on a Saturday and found him digging in the freezer. He had brushed it off, saying she had startled him, but now she realized he had probably been retrieving frozen stock and hadn’t wanted anyone to know.
    The worst part was, she could understand why he had done it. George doted on Ruth, loved her with everything he had, and everyone knew it. The fact that his devotion had been exploited for destructive purposes made it much more horrible.
    “Can’t you identify where the transfers came from?” she asked, gritting out the words from between clenched teeth. “How do you have access to his bank account anyway?”
    A small smile flitted across Agent Carmichael’s face. “The Patriot Act has substantially expanded our investigative freedom,” he said. “That’s neither here nor there, though. The transfers came from a Swiss bank account, and unfortunately, we can’t determine the account owner.”
    “Why do you need me?” Surely they could figure this out on their own or use someone else. George hadn’t confided anything to her, and she really had no idea how she could help them.
    “Kelly,” James said softly, leaning forward. “George trusts you—by all accounts, you run his lab. That gives you insight into his behavior, his habits, which means you can help us identify what he might do next or where he might be now.”
    “What do you mean, where he might be now? He’s on vacation—has been for the past week and a half.”
    James shook his head, and Kelly felt her stomach drop. “He’s not on vacation, Kelly. He’s on the run. And we need to find him before the bad guys decide he’s outlived his usefulness.”
    * * *
    It was three hours before they finished questioning her. Kelly had lost track of time in the windowless conference room, but seeing the orange evening light streaming through the windows of the main room made her realize how late it had become.
    She felt raw and exhausted, as if she was coming down with the flu. Agent Carmichael had questioned her over and over, going through one set of questions and then asking them again, sometimes changing up the order or the precise way he asked them. It was as if he was trying to catch her in a lie, except she honestly didn’t know anything. He hadn’t seemed satisfied with that, but it was all she had to give him.
    James touched her elbow, making her jump. “Sorry,” he murmured. “Let me take you home.”
    She didn’t want to spend any more time in the company of the FBI, but she was too rattled to take the Metro home. James guided her out of the room, but before she had taken two steps into the main office, Agent Carmichael called out and they paused.
    “If you think of anything, Dr. Jarvis, don’t hesitate to call.” She looked back to see him stand and reach for the papers spread out on the conference table. He formed piles before tucking them back into the manila folder. He glanced up at her and she nodded. He held her gaze for a beat before turning back