44. Chapter Forty-Four
Chapter forty-four
Sam closed her eyes and rubbed the back of her neck.
She needed to finish coordinating half a dozen different government agencies, but first she just needed a moment to breathe.
She’d been running full speed ahead for over two hours, trying to alert all the necessary players and make sure everyone was ready for what happened next.
Her back ached, her skull throbbed, and the edge of her desk was biting into her bottom.
“Going to be a long night, Sammy girl. Just take a minute and breathe.”
“You Gunn?”
Sam looked up.
A hulk of a man with a beard and a beer gut held a sealed envelope out to her.
“Yes,” Sam said. “What’s this? What department are you with?”
“Alibi shop,” he told her.
“Alibi shop?” Sam said as he reached for the envelope.
The Alibi Shop is the internal nickname for CIA’s office of technical services, which supplies the gadgets people think of when they watch spy movies.
More importantly, they create all the false identities and cover legends for intelligence officers in the field.
“You got a guy going down for the count, right?” He motioned to the package. “That’s his cover. You’ll have to figure out how to get the documents onto him. That’s not my department.”
The package suddenly seemed to weigh hundreds of pounds, straining Sam’s muscles to their limits. She stared at the slightly bulky contours. There would be a driver’s license, credit cards, voter ID, and all the usual pocket liter authorities expected to find on a person’s body.
“Thank you…” Sam started to say, but the OTS man had already turned to leave.
She placed the package carefully on the desk, taking a moment to square the corner with the edge of the desk, then looked at the phone.
She hadn’t heard from Trevor since his first call to let her know he’d been infected.
Had he tried calling while she’d been busy on the phone?
Not likely. She would have gotten a voice mail.
Was he already dead?
Sam shook her head. She didn’t want to think about that. Her eyes went to the manila envelope with the cover identity for Trevor de Camp. What was the name on the driver’s license? What name had they chosen to for the official records?
Tears were mounting up in a fresh wave and Sam did not want to start crying. Too much to do. Too little time. She had to stay focused. She still had calls to make. She picked up the phone, started to dial, and found herself dialing Mathew Burke’s number instead.
He picked up with the usual cover line about security solutions for modern businesses.
“Hey, boss,” Sam said. She had worked directly under Burke after graduating the Farm. “Do you miss me?”
“The prodigal daughter,” Burke said. “You thinking about coming to the private sector? I could certainly use someone like you on my team.”
“Afraid not. I’m quite happy where I am. At least… I’m usually happy.”
“Trouble in paradise?”
“We’ve got a situation unfolding,” Sam told him. She lowered her voice, “In fact, that’s why I’m calling.”
“Bring all your cares and worries to big poppa Burke, young grasshopper.”
Sam dropped down into her chair and closed her eyes. “The assignment you had for our mutual acquaintance was in Serbia, right?”
“We on the record?”
“Absolutely not,” Sam assured him. “In fact, we are way far off the record.”
“Then, yes. He’s in Belgrade check on something for me?”
“What’s he working?”
Burke fetched a sigh and asked, “Where’s this going, Sam?”
She thought about how much to tell him. “We have a terror group making moves in Serbia, centered around Belgrade. I’m wondering if our thing and your thing might be connected.”
“It’s… possible,” Burke hedged.
“You want to read me in?”
“Not without a very good reason.”
Sam picked up a pen from her desk and chewed the end while she considered how she wanted to play this. Jake was in Belgrade. The terror group working on a deadly virus was in Belgrade. She thought about poor Trevor puking up his guts on a commercial airliner and decided she had to take the risk.
“A few days ago, there was a viral outbreak in a village outside Belgrade. There were only two survivors. Whole village was wiped out. The virus, labelled LB426 by the CDC, is nearly one hundred percent fatal and definitely man-made.”
Burke let out a low whistle.
“Yeah,” Sam agreed. “It’s bad. Worse, it’s traveling.”
“Oh, lord,” Burke said. “Where?”
“That part is priority-one,” Sam said. “But don’t go to the airport.”
“Message received.”
“Your turn,” Sam said. “What are you working?”
“Old friend of mine, Bill Handley and his wife Milena, went missing recently,” Burke recounted.
“I sent our friend over to investigate. Bill used to work for your company. Back in the late nineties, he spent time in Serbia, during the Kosovo war. He and his wife were responsible for uncovering war crimes by several Albanian military leaders. Sent them to jail for war crimes. Looks like some of the Albanians are out for revenge. They scooped up Bill and Milena. We think they might be dead. Our friend is looking into it.”
“Trust me with names?”
Burke thought that over and finally said, “Captain Valmir Zeqiri.”
Sam used the pen to jot the name down. She said, “I’m going to dig into Zeqiri. Will you let our friend know there is an infectious virus loose and he needs to be careful.”
“Of course,” Burke said. “You keep me looped in on your end. I’ll let you know if there is anything new on my side.”
“Deal.”