The Serpent's Kiss

26

Mary Linzey was starting to get nervous. After the last call from The Serpent, she had tracked down the FBI SAC, Matt Gray. During the Detroit terrorism trials post-9/11 she had dealt with Gray and understood him to be a by-the-book kind of FBI agent with some problems distinguishing between civil rights and criminal procedure. Since 9/11, of course, that was hardly unusual. The government had made it possible to call damn near anybody in the War on Terror an enemy combatant, ignore their civil rights, and throw them in a cell for as long as they wanted.

There had also been hints and rumors about a possible sexual harrassment lawsuit against Gray by one of the female agents, but nothing had come of it. Nothing official, anyway.

After she explained the second call, Gray had confiscated her phone and turned her over to another agent, who had taken her to an empty room in the WSU Administration Building, asked her to sit down, then disappeared. It occurred to her that being locked in a room anywhere at Wayne State could be deadly, and her unease grew. Who knew she was here? Well, Fred Ball did. He’d been taping the entire exchange. Figures. How would he report it?

“…representatives of the Federal Bureau of Investigation detained a local ABC journalist, WXYZ producer Mary Linzey, after she was contacted by the terrorist calling himself The Serpent…”

She checked the door. It was unlocked. She opened it and peered out. The FBI agent who had delivered her there was in the hallway yammering away on a cell phone. He looked a little young, the prototypical Fed, with dark hair cut short and parted on one side, chiseled features, blank eyes, in a dark suit. He pulled the phone away from his ear. “Yes?”

“What am I doing here?”

“Please be patient, ma’am.”

“Where’s my phone?”

“Laboratory,” he said.

“I want it back.”

“I’m sorry, ma’am. That’s not possible.”

“What if The Serpent calls me back?”

“I sincerely hope he does, ma’am. Now, please return to the room and wait until I can—”

She started walking down the hallway away from the agent. “Hey!” he shouted at her back. “Where are you going?”

She broke into a run. Enough of this. She wasn’t under arrest. She wasn’t going to be detained while the biggest story of her career passed her by.

She ducked into a stairwell and ran down three steps at a time, hearing the door slam above her. She was staying just ahead of him, and she knew this was crazy. Where the hell did she think she was going to go?

Then she was out on the main floor, sprinting out of the building. She stopped. The crowd was gone. The FBI agent stepped out from behind her and grabbed her arm. “What do you think you’re doing?”

“Am I under arrest?” she asked.

“No. You’re a witness. Please—”

”Let go of me,” she snarled, pulling her arm away from him. “Are you familiar with Freedom of the Press? I want my phone back.”

“That won’t happen, ma’am,” he said with a shake of his head. “They’re going to use it to track down his cellular phone. If… what are you doing?”

She had her tape recorder in her hand. “I’m taping this.”

“Ma’am—” He reached out for the recorder and she snatched it out of his reach.

“And what?” she said. “Is the FBI capable of tracking this guy down using his cellular telephone?”

“If it’s on, yes. We can track a phone to within one hundred yards if it’s on.”

“Do they have to be calling?”

“No.”

“And that’s what’s happening now?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Your name, sir?”

He seemed to take a deep breath. “Agent Roger Kandling.”

“Why didn’t you confiscate my phone for this after the first call?”

Kandling blinked, his eyes a deep blue, almost gray. “No comment.”

“Somebody screwed up?” she said.

“No comment.”

She turned off the tape recorder. “Off the record.”

He eyed the tape recorder, reached out for it. She handed it to him. He confirmed that it was off, and said, “Matt Gray fucked up. He should have locked you in a box and waited for the next call and had everybody ready to track it. We would have been able to cordon off the area and this whole mess would be over.”

“Why do you think he screwed up?”

“Because he won’t listen to anybody else. He’s got his undies in a bunch about this troubleshooter from DHS, who frankly is about three steps ahead of everybody else.”

Her attention sharpened. She took her tape recorder back. “Tell me about this troubleshooter.”

“His name is Derek Stillwater. He’s ex-Army Special Forces, an expert on biological and chemical weapons.”

She blinked. “The Chimera guy?”

“Yes. He’s the one.”

“I thought he was under investi—”

”The Bureau is investigating him. The Attorney General has warned Secretary Johnston that Stillwater should not be actively working. Frankly, most of us think he went off the edge a long time ago.”

“Yet he’s here,” she said.

“Yes, ma’am. And he was here at the University when this happened.”

She inhaled sharply. “There were rumors that he may have known more about the attack at U.S. Immuno, that he might actually have been an inside man.”

“No comment.”

“It is true, is it not, that Derek Stillwater was once a friend and team member with the terrorist behind the attack on the White House, on U.S. Immunological Research?”

“Yes, ma’am. That is correct.”

“Derek Stillwater is under investigation by the FBI for the torture/murder of a Russian citizen. Is that correct?”

“That is correct.”

“How did Derek Stillwater allegedly torture and kill this Russian citizen? It was a woman, correct?”

“He suffocated her using plastic bags,” Kandling said.

“Why is this man running around loose?”

“That’s a good question, ma’am. A very good question.”

She stared at him. “Do you think Derek Stillwater might have some inside information regarding The Serpent?”

Kandling swallowed hard. “Ma’am, I wouldn’t be surprised if Derek Stillwater was The Serpent.”