cell phone from his pocket and spoke into it. His face stiffened, and when he spoke again it was in low and urgent tones.
Finally he finished and looked at Carson.
“That was Dr. Porter,” Krewell said, and Beck could see the ashen cast that had spread on his features. “He was on his way to the airport when a call was transferred to him. CDC has just been formally contacted by its counterpart in the Russian Federation. They’ve had eighteen people die in the past two days, six in Moscow alone. Some kind of flu, they think.”
Chapter 6
28,000 Feet over Central Virginia
July 21
The matter of how Beck found himself aboard the plane that carried Carson back to Washington was not quite clear, least of all to Beck himself. “Ordered” was too strong a word, but “asked” was too cordial to cover it, either. However it happened, it had been some time since Beck had experienced the almost sybaritic pleasure of top-level government travel.
Beck had not changed from the clothes he had worn to Atlanta. The Air Force sergeant who had escorted Beck to his seat had been unruffled, but Beck had caught her quick appraisal of his outfit.
“You from Iowa, Sergeant?” he asked, settling against the pearl gray leather seat back.
“No, sir. Alabama.”
“Should have worn my ‘Roll, Tide’ shirt, then. I save it for formal occasions.”
He was rewarded with a quick, surprised smile before the no-nonsense expression of the professional soldier won out again.
“Yes, sir. I wear one under my Class A uniform, myself.”
At that moment, Carson and Larry Krewell entered the cabin. As the sergeant retreated forward, they took seatsflanking Beck. Both men snapped their seat belts tight before Carson spoke.
“It’s been a while, Beck. Dr. Krewell says you have signed on with us again.”
“It looks that way,” Beck said. “You’d think I’d know better by now, wouldn’t you?”
“Actually, yes,” Carson said. “When you left government service, you didn’t have much good to say about us. Though perhaps I can’t blame you, given the condition you were in.” He examined his fellow traveler with a skeptical eye. “You certainly look fit, Beck.”
“Thank you. I eat a lot of roughage.”
“You no longer see the Company’s psychiatrist, I mean.”
“I’ve left the CIA behind me,” Beck said. “Along with everything associated with it.”
“You haven’t missed it?” Carson made an impatient gesture at Beck’s expression. “I don’t mean the fieldwork, necessarily. It was foolish to play the cowboy so often; you had to know it was inevitable that the odds would catch up to you.”
He leaned forward, ignoring how his companion pulled back at the movement. “But the analysis, Beck. The access to so much data, to the secrets that people kill for— die for. Taking it, piecing it into a coherent picture. In that, you were quite good indeed. Surely you miss it?”
“Not much. I miss believing that it was worth what was expected in return.”
Carson again studied Beck wordlessly. Then he turned to Krewell. “We meet with the President immediately; there will be a helicopter waiting at Andrews when we land. Brief him, please.”
The craft’s turbines spun up with a vibration that penetrated even the ultraefficient noise insulation of the fuselage. Outside, Beck saw a man in Air Force coveralls, the flashlights in his hands moving as if he were conducting an orchestra. There was only a small lurch when the plane beganto roll. It was a tribute to the skill of the pilot and an acknowledgment of the status of his passengers.
“Here’s the thing, Beck,” Krewell said. “There’s no doubt now, with the Russian outbreak and the new Florida cases, that the President will declare a health emergency. Health and Human Services will be in charge, nominally; I’ve been detached from CDC to serve as liaison, coordinator, whatever. By tomorrow afternoon, we’ll have involvement from every federal office
Finally he finished and looked at Carson.
“That was Dr. Porter,” Krewell said, and Beck could see the ashen cast that had spread on his features. “He was on his way to the airport when a call was transferred to him. CDC has just been formally contacted by its counterpart in the Russian Federation. They’ve had eighteen people die in the past two days, six in Moscow alone. Some kind of flu, they think.”
Chapter 6
28,000 Feet over Central Virginia
July 21
The matter of how Beck found himself aboard the plane that carried Carson back to Washington was not quite clear, least of all to Beck himself. “Ordered” was too strong a word, but “asked” was too cordial to cover it, either. However it happened, it had been some time since Beck had experienced the almost sybaritic pleasure of top-level government travel.
Beck had not changed from the clothes he had worn to Atlanta. The Air Force sergeant who had escorted Beck to his seat had been unruffled, but Beck had caught her quick appraisal of his outfit.
“You from Iowa, Sergeant?” he asked, settling against the pearl gray leather seat back.
“No, sir. Alabama.”
“Should have worn my ‘Roll, Tide’ shirt, then. I save it for formal occasions.”
He was rewarded with a quick, surprised smile before the no-nonsense expression of the professional soldier won out again.
“Yes, sir. I wear one under my Class A uniform, myself.”
At that moment, Carson and Larry Krewell entered the cabin. As the sergeant retreated forward, they took seatsflanking Beck. Both men snapped their seat belts tight before Carson spoke.
“It’s been a while, Beck. Dr. Krewell says you have signed on with us again.”
“It looks that way,” Beck said. “You’d think I’d know better by now, wouldn’t you?”
“Actually, yes,” Carson said. “When you left government service, you didn’t have much good to say about us. Though perhaps I can’t blame you, given the condition you were in.” He examined his fellow traveler with a skeptical eye. “You certainly look fit, Beck.”
“Thank you. I eat a lot of roughage.”
“You no longer see the Company’s psychiatrist, I mean.”
“I’ve left the CIA behind me,” Beck said. “Along with everything associated with it.”
“You haven’t missed it?” Carson made an impatient gesture at Beck’s expression. “I don’t mean the fieldwork, necessarily. It was foolish to play the cowboy so often; you had to know it was inevitable that the odds would catch up to you.”
He leaned forward, ignoring how his companion pulled back at the movement. “But the analysis, Beck. The access to so much data, to the secrets that people kill for— die for. Taking it, piecing it into a coherent picture. In that, you were quite good indeed. Surely you miss it?”
“Not much. I miss believing that it was worth what was expected in return.”
Carson again studied Beck wordlessly. Then he turned to Krewell. “We meet with the President immediately; there will be a helicopter waiting at Andrews when we land. Brief him, please.”
The craft’s turbines spun up with a vibration that penetrated even the ultraefficient noise insulation of the fuselage. Outside, Beck saw a man in Air Force coveralls, the flashlights in his hands moving as if he were conducting an orchestra. There was only a small lurch when the plane beganto roll. It was a tribute to the skill of the pilot and an acknowledgment of the status of his passengers.
“Here’s the thing, Beck,” Krewell said. “There’s no doubt now, with the Russian outbreak and the new Florida cases, that the President will declare a health emergency. Health and Human Services will be in charge, nominally; I’ve been detached from CDC to serve as liaison, coordinator, whatever. By tomorrow afternoon, we’ll have involvement from every federal office
Similar Books
