Germ

"Funny thing. Our training at the Centers for Disease Control including handling weapons in a biosuit—you know, those floppv astronaut-looking outfits? Never thought I'd be chasing germs in a South American jungle, wearing duct tape and gardening gloves, but it doesn't feel that different from my training."

"Did you think you'd ever need that kind of training, that bio-cop stuff?"

She thought about it. "In this day and age? Sure. But I pictured going into a skyscraper in Manhattan with a SWAT team and a platoon of biologists."

"And after I left the service, I thought the scariest thing I'd be doing was covering Parliament for the Times. Have a Charles Douglas-Home Prize on the mantle by now." He held the Beretta out to Stephen.

"No thanks."

Tate shoved the pistol into his waistband at the small of his back and began replacing the gardening tools he'd taken from the locker He opened the one next to it and removed a safari hat, black police-issue gloves, and a web utility belt, already rigged with a holstered pistol, a knife, a flashlight, a coil of rope, and a machete. He tugged a knapsack out of the locker, checked its contents, then slung it over his shoulder. He shoved a fat cigar in his mouth, already lighting it with a match cupped in his other hand. He snorted out blue smoke, tossed the spent match over his shoulder, and spoke around the cigar: "Ready?"

Julia and Stephen looked at each other.

Tate leaped to the ground. He approached what appeared to be a solid wall of vines, branches, and leaves at the front of the truck. In one fluid motion he drew the machete and cleaved a long vertical line in the wall. He pushed himself into this opening, as though through a curtain, and disappeared.

eighty-eight

Descending the stairs to the underground complex, Karl Litt called to Gregor on his handheld. When he reached the anteroom at the bottom, his security chief finally answered.

"Where are you?" Litt demanded. He put his face in front of the thermal reader, and the heavy door serving the primary corridor unlocked.

"Inspecting the perimeter. What's up?"

"I had an interesting conversation with Atropos . . . one of them." Litt paused, leaning against a curving wall of rusted, corrugated metal. Ahead, the corridor came to a T: left to the laboratories and infirmary, right to the living quarters.

Gregor said nothing.

Litt said, "Parker's brother and Matheson, Gregor? Did you forget to tell me?"

After a moment, Gregor said, "Atropos was on it."

"That's not the point. How did they track Parker here? Who else knows?" He closed his eyes.

Gregor's incompetence had reached the pinnacle. Sixty years ago, when Gregor had failed to show an aptitude for science, Litt had convinced Kendrick to find another use for him. Gregor went away, then returned with military and security training. After Litt left Elk Mountain, he sent for Gregor, who'd come without hesitation. Even then, Litt had known Gregor's lack of intellectual acuity was not limited to science but was systemic to the man himself. Still, he was diligent and loyal; more important, he was a friend. Over the years he'd demonstrated a talent for keeping the compound secure and secret— not an easy task considering its constant need for supplies and human subjects, coupled with Kendrick's determination to find Litt.

Now, however, Gregor's efficiency had evaporated: the polygraph had failed to detect Despesorio Vero's intentions; Gregor's insistence on hiring Atropos had not resulted in Despesorio's quick capture or recovery of the evidence he had smuggled out of the compound; and now he'd allowed outsiders to find them. More than once lately, Litt had wondered if these slips were not so accidental. Perhaps, like Despesorio, Gregor had become disenchanted with life on the compound. Could Gregor be concerned that his role there would diminish with Ebola Kugel's successful launch? He should know Litt would always need security, as long as it was good security.

"Karl, I've got the situation under control."

"You do?" He shouldered himself off the wall and continued walking. "Do you know how they found us? Do you know who helped them? Who they've talk to about it? I don't think you have the situation under control! Find them. Find out what they know. I shouldn't have to tell you that." He waited for a response.

Gregor said nothing.

Litt dropped his handheld into a hip pocket and walked away, his anger growing with each strike of his heel on the dirty concrete of the corridors. By the time he opened Allen Parker's cell, he was ready to pummel the prisoner's face into a bloody mess. He stopped short.

Parker lay face up on his cot, his mouth agape, thick saliva oozing out. His head rolled back and forth. His hands crawled like nervous spiders over his torso, clenching at his chest, then his stomach, side, returning to his chest. A cardiac monitor had been wheeled in. It plotted the beats of Parker's lethargic heart.

"Bradycardia," a voice said.