A Heartbeat Away - Michael Palmer [144]
Angie was working through her response to being turned down by Allaire when Egan reentered his office.
“Okay, Ms. Fletcher,” he said, taking his place at his small desk. “You’re in. It’s your story. Now, here’s what you’ve got to do.…”
CHAPTER 64
DAY 9
4:00 P.M. (CST)
The intercom conversation with Griffin Rhodes was about what Rappaport had anticipated—as icy as the Kansas morning, and as informative as a weather report. Yes, his computer program seemed to have succeeded in creating a program for an antivirus treatment, and yes he trusted his work enough to try it out on himself. Now, there was nothing to do but wait. He would be running tests on himself throughout the day, and as soon as he was confident things were still going well, he would notify Rappaport as well as the president. And finally, yes, he was aware that time was of the essence.
That was all.
Rhodes was impossible to deal with.
Frustrated and anxious, Rappaport did an hour of calisthenics and weights, caught up on some correspondence, and wandered over to the Staghorn Headquarters to check on progress with the video monitoring. There were technical delays, he was told, before their people could be suited up and sent into the hot zone. Another four hours, Corum told him. Maybe five. Marguerite Prideaux made him some tea, but then had to leave when one of her team reported on the technical problems.
Rappaport returned to his office, and called to check in on his daughter, who was still living at their home and was absolutely paranoid about the Secret Service presence there. She was also upset that the latest series of meds weren’t working, and she wondered if she should be back in the hospital.
After terminating their conversation as quickly as he could, Rappaport decided to check in on Rhodes again. He was crossing to the intercom when the satellite phone on his desk chirped, announcing an incoming call. He quickly pushed the key sequence required to connect with it. Then he put it on speaker and set his feet up on the desk.
“Secretary Rappaport,” he announced.
“Paul, it’s Jim. We need to talk.”
Rappaport felt himself tense.
Is this it?
“I may have some important news for you as well,” he said.
Allaire went on as if he hadn’t heard.
“A few minutes ago, I called Dr. Rhodes to check on his progress.”
“And you learned that he had dosed himself with the WRX virus.”
“You know?”
“Sir, I’ve been preparing a report for you. A few hours ago, Staghorn Technologies intercepted a lengthy, unauthorized communication from the Kalvesta labs to the cell phone of Angela Fletcher, the reporter who disappeared from here. She’s—”
“In Manhattan. I know.” Allaire’s voice had a weakness to it—an odd quaver, as if he had aged.
At that moment, there was a knock on Rappaport’s door.
“Excuse me for just a moment, sir,” he said. “Someone’s at the door. Come in.”
One of the day-shift agents stepped inside and announced that Roger Corum was there, that he had been checked over next door, and that it was important. Rappaport nodded to show him in.
The head of Staghorn entered, holding up another transmission.
“It’s Roger Corum, sir, the CEO of Staghorn Security.”
“I suspect what he is there for has something to do with why I’m calling. Mr. Corum, is this regarding the conversation I just had with Dr. Rhodes?”
“Yes, sir, it is. I have a transcript of it in my hand.”
“Remarkably quick work. Rhodes said there was no safe line down there in the lab. I guess he’s right. Just leave it there, Mr. Corum. The secretary can read it over after we’ve spoken.”
“Yes, Mr. President.”
Corum mouthed the words good luck, and backed out.
“I’ve been told Staghorn has highest clearance,” Allaire said.
“Yes, sir. I feel strongly that they can be trusted with whatever is in this transmission.”
“Excellent. Gary will brief you,” Allaire said. “You’re on speaker.”
After a beat, the secretary of defense