Upon A Pale Horse

FORTY-THREE Exposure

Jeffrey listened as the phone rang and rang, and then Kaycee’s voicemail engaged.

“Hi. This is Kaycee. Leave a message, or breathe heavy, or whatever, but keep it interesting…”

The beep sounded more like a warble on his cheap burner phone, and for a moment his heart caught in his throat at the sound of her voice. He didn’t stop to think his reaction through, and instead launched into his message.

“Hi, Kaycee. This is the guy you held the shotgun on last week. I need to speak with your grandfather. It’s…” — he checked his watch and quickly calculated the time on the east coast — “… seven o’clock in the morning there, I know, so pretty early. I’ll try back in an hour. It’s very important that I speak with your grandfather. Hope everything’s okay on that end.”

Jeffrey found himself wanting to say more, but instead he softly pressed the end call key and stared at the phone. He was back at the hotel, in the stairwell on his floor, so that just in case his U.S. cell was picking up sound in the room it couldn’t eavesdrop on his call. He’d read online about how the NSA could activate the microphone in a cell phone anywhere in the world without it appearing to be powered on, and he had to expect that those who were behind the virus had the capability to access it at will.

He’d laid out a plan of attack for Bertrand, who had reluctantly agreed that his proposed course of action was likely to be effective. Short of taking out a full-page ad in the New York Times laying out the whole scenario, which they both knew would never be printed, they didn’t have any alternatives, and they shared his sense of urgency. Bertrand had already begun making calls as Jeffrey walked out the door, and they’d agreed to follow up with each other the next day.

The hour back in his hotel room crawled by like he was being waterboarded, and he practically sprinted for the stairwell at the end of the empty hallway, scanning to confirm that he wasn’t being observed.

This time Kaycee answered on the first ring, and Jeffrey realized when she said hello that he was grinning like a punch-drunk buffoon, in spite of the dire circumstances. He hoped that his voice sounded normal when he began speaking.

“Kaycee. It’s me. How’s everything on that end?”

“Hello, ‘me.’ Everything’s fine. Is this a social call?”

“Wouldn’t that be nice? No, I need to talk to your grandfather. How’s he doing?”

“Cranky and troublesome as ever. But I manage. Can I tell him what you want to speak with him about?”

Jeffrey had anticipated this first hurdle, and braced himself for the pushback. “It’s about what we discussed when I was there. I have more information for him.”

Kaycee didn’t say anything, and he could hear the line crackling, as if an occasional electron was veering giddily off course and obliterating itself in a sonic blaze.

“Your last discussion left him agitated for days. I had to deal with the fallout. I’m not sure it’s such a good idea to do a repeat performance,” she said.

Jeffrey was about to try the response he’d rehearsed to her inevitable protest when he heard Sam’s voice booming in the background.

“Kaycee? Are you out there?” he called, and then there was a rustling on the line.

“Look, don’t take this wrong, but I can’t deal with this right now. He’s just now back to normal, and I—”

“Kaycee, it’s really important. As in life or death.”

“Yeah, I’ve been hearing that since I was a child. I think I’m going to exercise executive privilege here and just say no. Sorry,” she said, and hung up.

Jeffrey swore and took several deep breaths. He’d give her a minute to calm down. He could see her perspective — he was just stirring up troubling history for no reason, and she was her grandfather’s protector. Ordinarily he would have agreed with her.

But these weren’t ordinary circumstances.

He pressed redial and listened. One ring. Two. Then her voice again, this time decidedly frosty, none of the musicality and slight teasing quality of the first call’s opening words.

“Kaycee. Just listen, okay? I have information that I need your grandfather’s help with — his advice. I’m in Europe, and I’ve been attacked. This is serious. I’m not making it up.”

“Attacked? What are you talking about?”

He told her about the mugging.

“Please, Kaycee, put your grandfather on. You can listen on the speaker if you want. If you think there’s anything he shouldn’t hear, you can mute it and tell me there’s a problem, okay? But there’s a lot in the balance and I don’t know who else I can turn to,” he pleaded.

“What’s in the balance, Jeffrey? Try telling me that, and maybe I’ll do as you say.”

He sucked in breath between his teeth. “I know it sounds crazy and melodramatic, but the entire human race is at stake, Kaycee. No lie. I’m dead serious.”

“Have you been drinking? Did you fall and hit your head?” she asked, her voice disbelieving, but also lighter than when she’d answered again.

“I wish. No… I mean, yes, I hit my head, but no, I haven’t been drinking. I got a concussion when I was mugged, but that’s the least of my worries.”

“Tell me what’s going on, Jeffrey. No more games,” she said, suddenly all business.

“There’s a pathogen that’s going to be released at any minute. A flu that will kill almost everyone. It’s connected to the cattle mutilations. Your grandfather was completely right — that was medical experimentation and a cover-up. But this is the end result. A global reset.”

He could hear her on the other end, her breathing faster, and he knew what she was going through. A man she’d only met at gunpoint was talking like a lunatic, making wild-eyed claims that defied belief.

“What do you expect him to do about it, assuming you aren’t out of your mind?”

“That’s what I need to talk to him about. I need to pick his brain. See if he has any ideas or contacts. Because otherwise, in a matter of no time, we’ll all be dead, Kaycee. That’s what I’m trying to tell you. So please, put him on.”

She paused, and he sensed it could go either way, and then the line clicked. “You’re on speaker. My grandfather’s right here.”

“Professor. Sam. It’s Jeffrey. We spoke recently…”

“Yes, Jeffrey. I remember. I may be old, but I’m not senile yet. Or at least not that far gone that I don’t remember a week ago. You’re the Vietnamese cleaning woman, right?”

Jeffrey was taken aback, and then Sam continued.

“Little joke, there, Jeffrey. Sorry. But if you’re not going to torment the young when you get to my age, what are you going to do to pass the time, right?” Sam said, stifling a chuckle.

“I wish I was calling under different circumstances. It’s a good news, bad news situation, but mostly really bad news.”

“Lay it on me, Jeffrey. I can handle it. Believe me, nothing would surprise me anymore.”

“Well, it all starts back with the cattle mutilations…”

Ten minutes later, he finished. Sam and Kaycee were mute with shock. Sam spoke first.

“These people are psychopaths. Textbook cases. Living, breathing monsters.”

“I agree. But the question is, do you have any contacts that I could share this story with? The only way I can see this being stopped is if I can get the information into the hands of other governments — governments that would lose everything if the plan moved forward. I’ve thought it through, and come at it every way, and that’s the only hope. Nothing else makes sense. We can’t trust the media, and frankly, I don’t think the people behind this would care whether the public knows or not, once it’s done. What are they going to do — except die, I mean? Besides, who would the public even blame? The government would just deny it and run its propaganda machine to paint it as conspiracy tripe,” Jeffrey said.

“I don’t have any viable contacts any more, but you should talk to Kaycee,” Sam said.

“Kaycee? What are you talking about?”

The tone of the line changed and suddenly Kaycee was back on the phone, now off speaker mode. “I told you I’m a translator. In New York.”

“Right. I remember.”

“I never told you where I work.”

“Maybe now would be a good time.”

“I’m a translator at the United Nations.”

The words barely settled before Jeffrey’s mind was racing again. “But… so you know people?”

“You could say that. I guess the question is what proof you could get me and how soon. I can’t promise anything, but my hunch is I could get it into the hands of the Chinese delegation, and maybe a few others. I know one of their translators extremely well. We had drinks together and went dancing just before I came here.”

“I could get you an entire analysis from the Pasteur Institute, as well as a characterization of the virus. It would leave nothing to the imagination,” Jeffrey said.

“How soon?”

“Probably by midnight tonight. My time. No more than eight hours, tops. They’re already working on a report. Top secret, of course, but not to us.”

“I’ll give you my email.” She held the phone away from her mouth as she spoke to her grandfather. “Grampa, I may need to leave for a day and do this in person. Will you be okay without me?” she asked, her words muffled.

After another few minutes of back and forth, parsing logistics, he terminated the call. Kaycee’s network would be invaluable, assuming she could get the documents to the right officials. At this point, he had no better alternative, other than Bertrand’s contacts in the French government, but he wasn’t convinced they would move quickly — bureaucrats tended to duck conflict or anything problematic, so it was more likely that they would drag their feet rather than take immediate action. Fortunately, Bertrand had intimated that he too had back channels, and would be working those, just as Jeffrey was working his.

Now all Jeffrey needed were the documents.

He placed a final call, and Bertrand answered with a terse, “Oui?”

Jeffrey gave him Kaycee’s email, and told him to send the report from a blind, newly-created account as soon as he could.

Bertrand didn’t comment except to say “Oui” again, and the line went dead.

Now it was in the Frenchman’s hands. The fate of the world.

Hopefully, not too late.