Germ

A sound startled Julia out of sleep. She was sitting on the bed, leaning askew against the wall where a headboard would be in a nicer motel. Sunlight filtered through the tattered curtains, brightening the room almost reluctantly.

Julia looked around for whatever had awakened her. Bolts of pain shot up from her stiff neck. She became aware again of aches in her throat and side and other injuries, but realized they were less severe than they had been the night before.

She started to rise, and her leg bumped the computer, which had toppled off her lap and onto the bed sometime during the night. She tilted it up to look at the screen and tapped the track pad to bring it out of its own automatic slumber. The screen lit up. It showed Bonsai's web site and the words transfer complete.

The computer must have chimed to signify that Bonsai had received the file. That was fast. She looked at her watch and realized it hadn't been so fast. It was 9:28 a.m. She'd slept for seven hours. She wondered how long it would take for him to figure out the encryption.

She picked up her cell phone from the bedside table and turned it on. It rang immediately.

Yes!

"Bonsai?"

"Where in the name of Clint Eastwood have you been!"

She instantly recognized the gruff voice of Edward Molland, her boss. Each word rang as sharp as a rifle shot.

"I have been dialing this number since yesterday afternoon."

She thought of slamming the phone down, just dropping it and leaving the motel.

"The phone was off, sir."

"Well, why haven't you called? Why didn't you check in with the Bureau's Chattanooga office? Man alive! The fiasco down here. The death of a federal agent, Julia—Donnelley! And whatever that was you were involved in last night—the bloodbath they called me about. Sounds like you were smack in the middle of it, then just disappeared. They wanted to put an APB out on you, get a warrant for your arrest—your arrest, Julia! I convinced them to wait. Now you have to convince me."

"Arrest me? On what grounds?"

"You name it. You know how this works. At the least, you're a person of interest. They want to talk to you, and they'll find a way to haul you in, if you don't haul yourself in first."

"I'm trying to work a few things out first."

"Work what out? Julia, you are a federal agent. You are part of a spin-off agency of the FBI, if you need to be reminded. We have procedures, protocol. You've broken at least a dozen regulations that I know about. This is not like you, not like you at all."

He didn't say anything for a long time, and she didn't know how to respond. She wanted to cry or scream or . . . something. She could picture Molland, tapping manicured nails on the surface of his immaculate desk, hair just right, suit tailored just so, looking more like a politician than a chief law enforcement officer. Oddly, she wondered if someone was sitting on the black leather sofa in his office. If so, would their expression convey professional concern for her behavior or conspiratorial delight at having found her? She pushed the thought away. If there was a mole in the agency, the chances of it being Molland were slim. Goody had always trusted him. That was why he'd agreed to leave the Bureau for CDC when Molland had asked.

He cleared his throat. "What's the take on that guy you and the locals zapped last night?"

"I have no idea, sir. Hired gun. Very professional."

"You know he's gone?"

The blood in the base of her neck chilled, then cascaded down her spine.

"What do you mean?"

"Someone broke into the morgue this morning. Stole the body."

The room grew darker, as if the sun had slipped behind a cloud.

"Why?"

"That's the question. Coroner went in this morning, and the corpse was gone. Like he got up and strolled out."

"He had to have been shot two dozen times."

"That's what I heard."

Long pause. Molland spoke again, his voice much softer, even compassionate.

"Look . . . Julia. I'm sorry about Goody. I can't tell you how much. I know you two were close. I understand that you panicked, freaked out. But it's time to get back on track. Let's catch his killers, huh? What time can you be here? One? Two?"

"I need more time," she blurted. "I mean, I haven't slept, and I need to get organized." What she really needed was to sort through her notes and memory, then make a definitive decision either to go to the Bureau with her suspicions or to go somewhere else, like directly to the attorney general. She also wanted to give Bonsai time to decrypt the information on the chip.

"Okay. I understand. How about three?"

"Tomorrow morning would be better."

"Tomorrow?" He didn't say anything for a while, then: "Okay, look. You've been through the wringer. Take the day off. Be here first thing in the morning, right? My office."

"Thanks, Ed. See you tomorrow."

"Julia?"

"Yeah?"

"First thing in the morning. I mean it."