Pandemic

Haldane chuckled sympathetically. "My job involves dealing with emerging pathogens, but I don't beat myself up every time some new virus or parasite pops up."

She smiled warmly, which wiped the fragility from her face but left the melancholy in her eyes. "You're sweet, Noah, but it's not a fair comparison." She touched his hand. "Anyway, don't worry about me. My capacity for self-recrimination is very limited. And I can handle the press… I think."

He grabbed her hand and squeezed it in his. She held on to his hand for a few moments, before giving it one long squeeze and then releasing her grip.

WASHINGTON, D.C.

It was late afternoon by the time they touched down at Dulles International Airport. An entourage from the Department of Homeland Security's staff met them at the gates and led them out to waiting limos. Outside, in the brisk Washington afternoon, the light was waning in the gray sky. A wind blew occasional flakes of wet snow into their faces.

Treading carefully, McLeod avoided the slushy snow on the sidewalk. "Christ, Haldane! And I thought Glasgow was dreary in the wintertime," he said.

As they loaded into the waiting limo, one of the DHS staffers said almost apologetically, "Secretary Hart left strict instructions to take you straight to his office for a debriefing."

Gwen shook her head. "We need to make a stop, first."

"Where, ma'am?" the young aide asked.

"Langley," she said.

Haldane vacillated as to whether to join the others at the CIA headquarters or race straight home. In the end, he decided that business matters had to take precedence, but as the cars pulled up in front of the steel and glass buildings on the west side of the sprawling CIA complex he felt anguished knowing that he was less than three miles from Chloe on the other side of the Potomac.

After clearing security, which included metal detectors and a manual pat-down, they were ushered into a wide-open hallway with marble walls and pillars. A man dressed in an expensive-looking navy suit and pale blue shirt, but no tie, strode purposefully toward them. Haldane estimated that the man with the gelled black hair and Mediterranean good looks was, like him, straddling forty.

The man walked straight up to Gwen and gathered her in a tight hug, causing Noah an unexpected pang of jealousy. After he released her, Gwen pointed to her two companions. "Alex, these are my colleagues Noah Haldane and Duncan McLeod."

"It's a pleasure, Doctors. Alex Clayton." He shook their hands and flashed his best Pierce-Brosnan-playing-007 smile.

In spite of Clayton's affability, Haldane resolved not to like the CIA man.

Clayton led them through a maze of corridors and up two separate elevators, before they reached his spacious office with the gold nameplate that read: "A Clayton, Deputy Director of Operations." In front of his mahogany desk, a circular meeting table stood with six chairs around it. Lost in conversation with Gwen, Clayton nodded at the table, indicating to Haldane and McLeod to take a seat

"Shite, Haldane, my whole department could be run out of this office," McLeod grumbled as he joined Haldane in a seat beside him.

Eventually, Gwen sat down beside Haldane, and Clayton beside her. Once seated, she continued to update Clayton on the developments in Moskor's laboratory. He nodded several times and once even whistled appreciatively. When she finished, he beamed. "Gwen, this could be the break we needed."

"Or it could be absolutely nothing," McLeod grunted with his arms folded on the table and his head perched on them.

Clayton turned from Gwen and appraised McLeod with an amused smile. "You're not exactly 'the glass is half full' kind of a guy are you, Dr. McLeod?"

"Depends what's in the glass," McLeod said without lifting his head. "If it's just a bunch of monkey piss, I don't get too excited even if the glass is flowing over the top."

"Touche." Clayton laughed.

"Alex, I think I've shared all our developments with you," Savard said. "Your turn."

"Fair enough." Clayton nodded. He pointed at a white screen on the far wall as he opened his laptop computer. "I'll need visuals for this."

"Let's begin with the intercepted e-mail from the Cairo police detective, Achmed Eleish." Clayton tapped a few keystrokes and the picture of the murdered Vancouver terrorist popped up on the screen. "The Egyptian government has corroborated most of Eleish's story. This woman is exactly who he said she was, Sharifa Sha'rawi. She used to be a regular at the Al-Futuh Mosque, home to many of Cairo's extremists. So far the Egyptians and our people have got nothing out of the mosque's Sheikh and his followers, but it's still a work in progress."

He tapped away at his keyboard before Hazzir Kabaal's groomed image filled the screen. "Okay, Hazzir Kabaal. Up to now only a financer of terrorism, but when the Egyptians raided his home and office they found all kinds of material — from Islamist literature to books on microbiology and viruses — that fit the bill."