Patient Zero

Chapter Fifty-Eight

Crisfield, Maryland / Wednesday, July 1; 2:33 A.M.

WE TOUCHED DOWN behind a volunteer fire station a mile from the plant. A second chopper stood nearby and the lot was crammed with all manner of official vehicles, most of them painted to look nondescript. But I’ve seen enough of them to tell.

We piled out and hurried in through the station’s back door. Gus Dietrich was already there, standing by two wheeled racks of equipment. Each member of the team was issued a communicator that looked like a streamlined Bluetooth. By tapping the earpiece we could change channels. Channel one was secured for team communication, which would be monitored by Church and his command group in a van that was parked a half-mile away from the plant. Other channels were for full-team operations, should it become necessary to bring in the special ops, SWAT, and other specialists on standby. One channel was reserved as my private line to Church.

The Saratoga Hammer Suits had arrived and we all tried them on. They fit like loose coveralls and were surprisingly comfortable and mobile. I did some kicks and punches in the air while wearing my suit, and even with the Kevlar vest and other limb padding it didn’t slow me down much at all. Bunny’s was a bit tighter and he looked like a stuffed sausage.

We had our choice of weapons. I still didn’t have a sound suppressor for my.45, so I kept the Beretta M9, and anyway it was lighter and already loaded with nine-millimeter Parabellum hollow-points. When I looked up I saw Rudy watching me, his eyes showing doubt and concern.

“Si vis pacem, para bellum,” I quoted as I holstered the gun.

He squinted as he worked out the translation, “ ‘If you seek peace, prepare for war.’ ”

“Hooah,” Top murmured from a few feet away.

“That the trademark of the gun manufacturer?” Rudy asked.

“No,” I said as I checked the magazine and slapped it back into place. “The ammunition is nine-millimeter Parabellum. The name comes from a quote by the Roman writer Publius Flavius Vegetius Renatus.”

“At least formal education wasn’t wasted on you,” Rudy said. He cleared his throat. “Good luck to all of you. Come back safely.” He backed away and sat on the rear bumper of one of the fire trucks, hands in his lap, fingers knotted together in a nervous tangle. He was sweating but I doubt it had anything to do with the heat of this humid July night.

I gave him a wink as I put extra magazines in a Velcro pouch around my waist. Each of my four guys had MP5s fitted with quick-release sound suppressors. I strapped a sturdy fighting knife to my calf-the Ranger combat knife, which is ten and three-quarter inches from pommel to the tip of its black stainless steel blade and is nicely balanced for close fighting or throwing.

Grace Courtland’s chopper landed while my men were checking each other’s equipment; she led Alpha Team in and they immediately began sorting out their Hammer suits. She walked over to me.

“Enjoying your first day with the DMS?” she said with a wicked grin.

“Yeah. I find it very relaxing.”

“Well, maybe tomorrow we can go find some bombs to defuse.”

“It’d make a nice change.”

She grinned at me, but I could see ghosts behind her smiling eyes. St. Michael’s was still as current for her as Delaware and Room 12 were for me. The “mark” was there in her eyes and I knew she could see it in mine. I found the mutual recognition weirdly comforting.

“How’s your team?” she asked.

“Ready to do their jobs. Yours?”

“My team will be on deck throughout. You say the word and we’ll come running.” She paused. “I wish I was going in with you.”

“Thanks,” I said. “When this is over I would like to get drunk. Care to join me?”

She studied my face for a moment. “That sounds lovely. I’ll buy the first round.” She offered me her hand. “You’re a good man, Joe. Church thought so all along, and he’s seldom wrong. Sorry it took so long for me to catch up.”

I took her hand. “Water under the bridge.”

“Don’t get killed,” she said, trying to make a joke of it, but her eyes were a little glassy. She turned quickly away and headed over to where her team was loading their gear into the back of a fire truck.

I looked around and saw Church about fifty yards away just closing his cell phone. I signaled to him and went over. “Before we roll I want to set a few things in motion,” I said. “I want you to start building me a top-of-the-line forensics team. No second-stringers and nobody I don’t know personally.”

“Who do you have in mind?”

I pulled a sheet of paper out of my pocket. “This is a list of forensics people I know and trust. Most of all I want Jerry Spencer from D.C. I believe you already know him.”

“We offered to bring him on board, but he declined.”

“Make a better offer. Jerry is the best crime-scene man I ever met.”

“Very well.” Church touched my arm. “We have no leads at all on who the spy might be, Captain. That means it could be anyone.” He was looking past me to where Echo and Alpha Teams were gearing up. “Watch your back.”

He offered his hand, and I took it.

I turned away and yelled out loud. “Echo Team-let’s roll!”