Dead Water

10

Christman and Phillips walked through the entry door of Northern Hunting Expeditions. The front showroom was impressive. Photos of celebrities shown on hunting trips were hung on the walls for display. Several large animals that had spent considerable time at a taxidermist were featured, including a large brown bear, a grizzly bear, an elk, and a moose that just barely fit under the ten-foot-high ceiling. A middle-aged man dressed in casual business attire walked up to greet them.

"Welcome to Northern Hunting. My name is Tracy Howard. How might I help you?"

Phillips spoke first. "I'm giving my brother a hunting trip for his birthday. He has always wanted to hunt in Alaska, so that's where we are interested in going."

"Well, why don't we go back to my office and let's see what I might be able to come up with?" suggested Howard. "We offer customized expeditions to try to match as closely as possible what our client expects. We have an excellent reputation, particularly with many celebrity clients."

"That is good to hear," admitted Christman. "I'm anxious to see what you have to offer."

"Well, let's get started."

With Phillips and Christman busy with Northern Hunting Expeditions, Starr and Styles had made their way close to a dock where three floatplanes were tied, not far from Northern Hunting Expeditions. They had discussed a basic approach. They saw a small office building with a sign above it proclaiming they had arrived at Seaport Flights. They walked inside and found a young man sitting at a desk.

"Be right with you gentlemen."

"Take your time," answered Starr.

Thirty seconds later, the man got up and walked up to them. "What's up?"

Starr replied, "Got a couple of questions. If we wanted to take a trip up to Alaska to do some fishing, you the guys we see?"

"Pretty much, although there are some spots we can't land in. We work close with a chopper company who can get you where we can't."

"What do you mean?"

"Well, some spots in Alaska are environmentally protected, and we can't land a plane on the lakes. In a case like that, some fishermen who are really particular where they go will charter a copter to take them close, and they hike in. We would take you as far as Bethel and chopper you in from there."

"No offense meant," continued Starr, "but say we wanted to drive. We've both always wanted to see Alaska or maybe just drive one way. Is there any chance you could set us up with that helicopter company?"

"No problem. We have some folks who do just that. You'd want to hook up with Inland Helicopter. We use them exclusively. In fact, I can give you a coupon that will save you 10 percent off the usual price."

Styles broke in, stating, "That would be great."

"Okay, then. My name is Jerry. Let me get that coupon and some brochures for you to take. My number is on the business card. Any way I can help, just give a shout."

"Thanks. We'll do that," answered Starr. He headed for the door with Styles. Before stepping through, Styles turned and asked, "Okay if we check out the plane? See how much gear we can take?"

"Sure, go ahead and check out the interior. We've got a mechanic down there performing some routine maintenance. I'll text him and let him know you're coming," said Jerry.

"Thanks," said Styles.

Walking out through the parking lot toward the dock, Starr queried, "Why do you want to see the planes?"

"Why not? You never know where you might learn something."

"I can't argue with that. He seemed legitimate enough."

"Remember, looks can be deceiving. Never take anything at face value."

"Sheesh, Marv, you're starting to sound like a philosopher."

"Yeah, that's me, all right. Hard to forget what you've learned the hard way, Starr."

"Again, can't argue with that."

Together they walked down to the first of three planes. Starr could tell they were older but maintained very well. "Look at those big radial engines. Those babies are torque monsters, just what you need to get off the water in a relatively short space. I'll bet they're loud as hell."

Styles had spotted the mechanic working on the second plane. The man was paying them no attention. Styles opened the entry door and hopped aboard. Starr followed. "There's quite a bit of room in here. Definitely enough to bring a lot of gear," Styles observed.

"More than I would have thought," Starr agreed.

Less than a minute later, they were both standing back on the dock. Styles walked toward the second plane but stopped at the big propeller in front of the one they had just been on. He looked as though he were studying the big rotary engine but in fact was checking out the mechanic. After about twenty seconds, he walked back toward Starr and motioned him back toward the parking lot and their rented Yukon.

"That mechanic is an Iraqi," Styles noted.

"How in the hell can you tell that from over a hundred feet away?" asked Starr.

"Easy. Remember where I've been the last fourteen years. I can tell the difference between an Iraqi, a Saudi Arabian, a Pakistani, or an Afghan. He's definitely Iraqi. He certainly did not want to be noticed. Most would have said something to us. He tried to hide behind his work. His mistake was working on the same spark plug. He was watching us."

They climbed into the Yukon, Starr driving, and pulled away.

"Marv, you sure picked up on shit that got by me."

"It's because of what I've done is why I picked up on it. If he'd been working on that first plane, you can bet your ass he wouldn't have been there by the time we got there. As it was, he didn't have time to leave. That I'm sure of."

"You can sure read people, I'll give you that."

"Only reason I'm still alive."

Phillips and Christman were leaving Northern Hunting Expeditions with several brochures on different hunting packages featuring expeditions all over North America.

"So what do you think of that group?" asked Christman.

"Hard to tell. We only really spoke to that Howard guy. He seemed legit. I didn't notice anything other than your run-of-the-mill computer system. Then again, that place may only be a front for whatever. I'm going to dig into that company big-time. Let's get back to the hotel."

Right then, Phillips's cell phone rang.

"Hey, Starr. We're just leaving, heading back to the hotel." She hung up.

"What's up with him?" Christman wanted to know.

"We're meeting up back at the hotel. He didn't say anything else."

"Guess we'll find out then."

President Robert Williams paced back and forth in the Oval Office. He felt very frustrated about the time it was taking to gather confirmed intel on the Alaskan fish kill. He grabbed the phone and spoke with his new chief of staff, Laura Green. "Laura, get Michael Lang on the phone."

"Right away, sir."

Ten minutes passed before the president's phone rang. "Michael, what have you found out?"

"Nothing positive yet, Mr. President. I have my best people on it, and we're working three different theories, but I cannot confirm any single one as of yet."

"Do you have any idea of when you might?" demanded the president.

"With certainty, no. My best guess would be within the next twenty-four hours, perhaps a bit sooner. Sir, we are running every test we have available to us, but we cannot afford to guess."

"No, you can't. I need you to do whatever it is you can, but you have to be certain of any results; that I agree with. Keep me posted."

"Absolutely," Lang was able to interject before the president hung up.

The president's secretary, Alice Pritchard, called him. "Sir, remember you have that ceremony in Baltimore tomorrow."

"What ceremony, Alice?"

"Honoring the governor. He's celebrating forty years in public service."

"Oh yeah. You're right. I forgot. I suppose it's formal?"

"Of course. Don't worry, I've got your nice tux all set. Plus you have your entire staff to help dress you."

"No need for sarcasm, Alice."

"Sir, whatever do you mean?" Alice asked innocently.

Director Lang then called Olivia Watson, his assistant director. "Tell me you have found something."

"Getting close, sir. Larkin appears to be correct; it seems as though this agent is synthetic. Someone created it. We still don't know how it seems to disappear. Larkin is now working on the theory that it somehow turns on itself. I tend to agree with this. There just doesn't seem to be any other plausible explanation. Whoever thought this up is a diabolical genius. Nothing in nature does this. It's an entirely new concept. Once this process starts, there doesn't seem to be any way to stop it. It just dies its own death in an unnaturally short amount of time."

Director Lang was short with his assistant. "I want a detailed written report on what we've found so far on my desk in thirty minutes," he said, slamming the phone down. He then called the White House and spoke with Laura Green. "Please tell the president I will have a report for him within the hour."

"Will do." The conversation ended without pleasantries.

Lawrence Larkin looked up as Joey Tanelli entered his office carrying two cups of coffee and sporting an angry look on his face

"I'll be damned if I can figure out just how this bug disappears. I can't positively ID this residue we've found in the blood. I've been working bioagents for over twenty years, and I've never seen anything like this," Larkin said, exasperated, taking the coffee.

Tanelli agreed. "It's beyond me. With everything we've done, we still don't know shit about how this works. Worse, we have no clue how to stop it." He sat down in the brown leather chair opposite Larkin's desk, placing his coffee cup on a cork coaster.

"I'm thinking the only way to stop this is simply not let it get started. It acts so fast, by the time any countermeasures could be taken, it's going to be too late, anyway. I'm inclined to believe the only way to beat this is to find whoever is responsible and remove the threat entirely," Larkin declared. "I doubt Lang is going to like this."

"Are you kidding? He's still pissed that you called the DPO, never mind his ass couldn't be found. I've worked under five directors, and this guy is a clown," fumed Tanelli. "The only thing he's really interested in is his power and keeping his ego intact. I was really hoping that with the change in the administration we'd get a new director. I still do."

"Good luck with that one."