Gene ignored them. "And you admit to hiring a second killer to kill the assassin who turned you down?"
Lefkowitz recoiled as if struck. "What! Why would I do such a thing?"
"Oh, come on," Paul said. "We already know that the hit man you hired to kill Parsons was attacked after Parsons disappeared. There's no point in denying it."
"Agent," the doctor said to Paul. "With what I have already admitted, why wouldn't I admit if I had done such a thing, if in fact I had? I don't even know the man's name or what he looked like. The only communication I have ever had with him was via phone or text-message."
"What about the fire at the storage facility?" Marty demanded.
"I don't know what you're talking about. What fire? And when?" His voice was puzzled and angry. "I set no fires."
Marty snorted, unimpressed. "So you honestly expect us to buy into the bullshit that you didn't try to kill us?"
"Wait a minute," Lefkowitz said. "A few weeks ago someone made an attempt on my life. Or did you think my bodyguards were just for show?"
Gene looked to his team. "Gather the proof. Call in as much help as you need. Let's get the doctor over to PC. We'll continue debrief there.
"Renner, you're with me," Gene said. He walked outside to clear his head and directed Paul to sit in the car. After ushering Paul to his seat, Doug stood with Gene, looking out across the suburban landscape of innocent-looking pre-fab houses and well-manicured lawns. "What's Renner's problem?"
"Don't know," Doug said.
"Do you think he's telling the truth?"
"He's a lying piece of shit. He hasn't told us everything, and you know it."
Gene held up his hand to forestall the rant. "Not Renner. Lefkowitz."
"Oh. Sam and Carl will figure that out for us, boss. But if he is, who tried to kill us on Houston Street? I'm afraid we've barely scratched the surface of this mess."
Gene exhaled. "What are we going to do about six hundred people who could go insane at any moment?"
"Gene," Doug said. Gene looked at him.
"What?"
"What if there was more than one clinic?"
Chapter 18
January 28th, 2:00 PM EST; CDC Headquarters; DeKalb County, Georgia.
Eighty degrees in January, Samantha Greene thought. Disgusting. She ruminated about the many reasons why humankind invented the indoors and huffed her way up the ramp leading to CDC HQ. The Centers for Disease Control Arlen Specter Headquarters and Emergency Operations Center was a great big curvy building outside of Atlanta, Georgia, comprising ten stories of glass atop three stories of brick, and barely a corner to be found anywhere. She clutched her briefcase to her chest and picked up her pace.
Inside the case were several hundred sheets of photocopied paper and a well-chewed ball-point pen missing its cap. The papers weren't marked classified. They weren't on any kind of official letterhead. They weren't even typed. Gene didn't trust Doctor Lefkowitz' handwritten notes to a courier, much less a fax or an e-mail. The only lab in the country set up to analyze this data in anything approaching a reasonable timeframe was the CDC, and the only person on Gene's team with a personal contact at the CDC was Sam Greene.
Air conditioning hit her like the breath of angels. She sighed and leaned against the inner doorframe. The receptionist was cute, blonde, deathly tan, and wore a headset. Instead of the Georgia twang Sam expected, she spoke with the generic accent that infected Middle America nationwide. "May I help you, ma'am?"
Sam nodded, not sure if she was ready to speak. "Yeah. I'm, um…I have an appointment with…." She flashed her FBI badge. If the receptionist was impressed, she didn't show it. "With Doctor Govind Agrawal."
Sam had gone to John Hopkins University with Govind and had suffered through several of the same computer classes. The truth was that she suffered while he found them to be "trivial" and "base." He was the one person in the world who could make her feel dumb in her chosen field. She contented herself with the knowledge that he made everyone feel dumb. He had three PhDs– computer science, epidemiology, and viral medicine—as well as his MD. He might possibly be the smartest person on the planet.
"One moment," said the blonde, then she hit a button on her computer and spoke. "Dr. Agrawal, your two o'clock is here?" She made it sound like a question. Perhaps it was, and it was her job to screen visitors. Sam imagined that the CDC attracted its share of raving loonies. The receptionist smiled and said, "Go right up, eighth floor, room eight-oh-six." She hit a buzzer and the elevator opened. There were no buttons on the outside. Fair share of loonies indeed, Sam mused.