The Serpent's Kiss

8

Matt Gray waved Jill Church over to the FBI command center, a motor home with an unusual number of antennas sprouting from its surface. Gray’s face was turning purple, which was never a good sign. She walked over and he snarled, “So what’s with Stillwater?”

Jill shrugged, which she knew infuriated Gray. “He’s inside.”

“Yeah? What for?”

“Matt, I think it’s his job.”

He glared at her. “We’re supposed to isolate him. You know that, right? I want him isolated. I told you that.”

“What did you want me to do, handcuff him?”

“You’d like that?” He smirked at her.

“You want to go on the record with that statement?” she said, voice low, keeping her temper in check, but not rolling over and playing dead, either. “Want another swing at a sexual harassment lawsuit? We had so much fun the first time.”

Gray flinched and flushed even more, but his gaze drifted away from her. “Sorry,” he said. “Out of line. It’s the pressure. Why’s he inside?”

“He’s an expert on this stuff, Matt. Chemical weapons.”

“He’s something. You’re aware—” He broke off, staring over her shoulder. “What the fuck?”

A Detroit fireman walked toward them, a sheet of paper in his hand. He looked hot and sweaty, a young guy with red hair cut short, his blue eyes dulled by stress and fatigue. His pale freckled complexion had a grayish-green tinge to it, like the underside of a mushroom. His gaze jerked back and forth between the two of them. “Is one of you Agent Jill Church?”

“Me,” Jill said, raising a hand.

The fireman said, “Um, can I talk to you for a minute, uh, alone? I’ve got a message for you.”

“For me?”

“Um, yeah.”

Jill thought this fireman looked about twenty. Not much older than her son. He’d clearly been inside the restaurant. What was this all about?

“Who’s it from?” Gray demanded.

The fireman eyed him. “I’m… I’m just supposed to give this to Agent Church.”

Gray reached out to take it, but Jill held up her hand and took the paper. On it were scribbled fifteen names and addresses. “Who’s this from?”

The fireman nervously said, “Um…”

With a disgusted sigh Jill walked away from Matt Gray, the fireman following close behind her. “That better?” she asked, once they were out of earshot of her boss.

“Yeah. Sorry. I mean, this hardass from Homeland was real specific he wanted this given to you and nobody else.”

“The hardass…?”

“Yeah. Dr. Stillwater. He told me to give it to you and nobody else but you.” He swallowed hard, Adam’s apple bobbing.

She wondered if Stillwater had threatened the kid. The kid acted a little afraid. Of course, what the kid had seen today…

“What is it? Is there a message?”

“Uh, yeah. Dr. Stillwater says he wants you to start running background checks on these fifteen people. They’re, uh, he says those fifteen are top priority.”

“Are they… where’d he get these names?”

“Um…” The firefighter licked his lips. “Some of the people inside. You know, the victims? He’s gettin’ names and I.D.s and he won’t let anybody move the bodies until he’s got sketches of where everybody is.”

“Holy hell,” she muttered. “And these are…”

“He said to tell you they were at ground zero in there.”

She stared at him, mind racing. She glanced back down at the list, running through the names. Jonathan Simmons. Melanie Tolliver. Brad Beales…

“Well,” she said, almost to herself. “At least it’s something to do.”

“Yeah.”

“Is that it?”

The firefighter looked even more nervous than before. He wiped sweat off his forehead. “Well, uh, Dr. Stillwater, uh, he said that you should do it yourself and not delegate it. He especially said I shouldn’t give it to Matt Gray. You were to do it.”

“Is that it?”

“Yeah. Just…”

“What?”

“I think he meant it. That guys got brass balls or something. I mean, the Captain wanted to bring the bodies out and this guy stood him down, man. Took right over. One of the FBI HMRU guys said go along with him, he knows what he’s doing.”

She glanced back at the list, then over to Matt Gray. “Okay,” she said. “Thank you. Well done.”

When the firefighter walked back to the tent, she returned to Gray, who had remained standing by the control center watching her.

“What the fuck was that all about?” he demanded, hands on hips.

She told him.

Gray snatched the list out of her hand, quickly scanned it, then crumpled it up and threw it in the dirt. “Who the hell does he think he is? We don’t work for him. Go do your job, Church. Keep your head down and keep Stillwater boxed in. Understand?”

“Yes, sir.”

Gray spun on his heels and strutted over toward a group of TV reporters. When she was sure he wasn’t watching, she picked up the crumpled list of names and headed for her car.