The Serpent's Kiss

55

Agent Janice Beckwith paced nervously around the waiting area at the Stanford Medical Center, keeping an eye on the television set. She was an athletic woman in her forties, a former military anti-terrorism investigator who had made the move to the Department of Homeland Security. Right now she wore a gray pantsuit, but she was just as comfortable in fatigues. Her hair was short, dark, shot with gray, her angular face unadorned by makeup. She was a tough broad, a term she used to describe herself without apology.

She had received a personal call from Secretary Johnston telling her to track down this college professor, and provided some minimal background. But when she arrived at the University, the place was in an uproar, Professor Schultz had come in to work and had a heart attack shortly after hearing news of the sarin gas bombs in Detroit.

She had gleaned enough information to understand that Schultz had been asking for another heart attack. She’d managed to get a look at the man and his chart. He weighed 402 pounds, his blood pressure was routinely about 155/140, and the man ate anything and everything he pleased.

Schultz was a professor of epidemiology at the Stanford Medical School, associated with U of C/Berkley, and was a consultant for some medical internet company spun off from Stanford called SKOLAR MD. He might know something about these killings going on in Detroit.

She had a bad feeling about this, because nobody she talked to gave Schultz much chance of surviving this heart attack, his fourth.

She was watching the news coverage on CNN like everybody else in the waiting room. The shit was definitely going down in the Motor City.

Her Iridium phone buzzed. She checked the incoming number and frowned. “Beckwith, DHS.”

“This is Derek Stillwater, DHS. I’m working the Detroit case. How is Dr. Schultz?”

“I need your confirmation number.”

Stillwater made a frustrated noise, then read off a ten-digit number. She nodded. “Do you want mine?”

“I received your number directly from Johnston’s secretary. We’re pressed for time.”

Beckwith had heard about Dr. Derek Stillwater, though their paths had never crossed. He was famous for his tirades, his clockwork letters of resignation, and his absolute disdain for protocol and procedures. Beckwith had come from the military herself, in her case the Navy, and she couldn’t fathom how this guy had survived a career in the Army.

“We always are, Doctor,” she said.

Several of the people waiting had shifted their attention from the TV to her. One guy nodded his head toward a sign stating No Cellular Phones.

She turned her back on him. “It doesn’t look good.”

“Can you talk to him?”

“He’s in surgery. He has been for a couple hours. I don’t think he’s talking to anybody but God anytime soon.”

There was silence. Then, “Okay, here’s what I need. This guy received at least one e-mail from William Harrington, a professor here at Wayne State in Detroit. Harrington’s The Serpent. He’s a professor of biochemistry and the director of the Center for Biological and Chemical Terrorism Research. This place wrote terrorism scenarios. We know that at least one e-mail was a scenario. I need you to get back to Schultz’s office and check his computer for these scenarios. Send all of them to me. Here’s my e-mail.” He read it off. She jotted it down.

“I may need a warrant for this. I’ll—”

”Beckwith. Listen to me. It’s what, 12:20 or so there in California?”

She checked her watch. “Yes.”

“The Serpent’s going to strike again at 1:00 your time. You understand? You’ve got forty minutes to get to the office, get that information if it exists and get it to me in time for me to evacuate wherever this guy plans on striking next.”

She hesitated, then nodded, already moving out the door. “Understood. I’m on my way.”