A Heartbeat Away - Michael Palmer [16]
Collins’s lack of appreciation for Horace should have been a sign right from the start, but he was urbane, witty, and handsome as hell—clearly in the top ten of D.C. eligibles, as her girlfriends had ranked him. That was undoubtedly why she had hung on as long as she did, although ultimately, it was he who had decided they should “see other people.” As tired as Angie was of dating, and as anxious as she was to connect with a mate for life, and as aware as she was of the statistics on maternal age and fertility, the breakup was a two-ton weight off of her back.
She slipped her toasty peacoat off of Horace’s shoulders and grabbed the red wool cap from the top of his stand. There was something going on at the Capitol complex. She could feel it. Her instinct for news was what made her one of the most sought-after reporters at The Post. She understood that any story breaking on Capitol Hill would be covered by the political and national teams, and would probably have nothing to do with her expertise in science and technology. But the thought of missing out on an event unfolding in her own backyard was unacceptable, and the sudden, specific, universal loss of signal from the State of the Union screamed “Event!”
Having decided to spring for a cab, she was searching for her purse underneath the piles of stuff on her kitchen chairs, when her phone rang. She frowned at the name on her caller ID. Before she met Bill, it had been John Davis, chief of staff to one of the more powerful congressmen on the Hill. Davis had pursued Angie with such intensity that it made her at first uninterested and soon, uneasy. He had not called since her last plea just a few months ago that as nice as he was, it simply wasn’t going to happen between them—especially since she was dating someone else. She let his call go to voicemail.
Then he called again.
Strange, even for someone as persistent as John, she thought. He had to know she was watching the president’s speech. In fact, unless he had been fired, he had to be at the president’s speech. Perhaps he had lost the signal and did not get put through to voicemail. When he called for a third time, she answered.
“John?”
“Angie! Thank God you’re there,” Davis said in a coarse whisper. “I didn’t know who else to call.”
It sounded as though he were afraid somebody might overhear.
“John, what’s going on? I’m on my way to the Capitol right now to see why all the broadcasts have gone dead.”
She located her purse, grabbed the brush on the chair beside it, and pulled it twice through her shoulder-length hair—reddish brown that day, and most of the time. Then she gathered it back in a ponytail and secured it with a scrunchie, flashing for a pleasurable moment on how annoyed Collins was when she wore it that way.
“I don’t think you’ll get within five hundred yards of this place,” Davis was saying, “but I need your help. I think I may have been exposed to something. We all have.”
“We all? What are you talking about?”
“I’m at the Capitol and I’m talking about everybody at the State of the Union Address having been exposed to something biological, a virus, Allaire said.”
“Oh my God!” The news sent Angie’s heart racing. “Are you all right?”
“For now, maybe. But I’ve started coughing and I’m really freaking out. We all are.”
“Hang on a second.”
She pulled on her peacoat and hat, and grabbed one of the ubiquitous spiral-bound notebooks that dotted the landscape of her life.
“You still there?” Davis asked.
“I’m here, I’m here. Now try to calm down and tell me what’s going on.”
“I don’t know. It was some sort of biological weapon or something, we’ve been told. Allaire said Genesis has something to do with it.”
“Damn. John, I can barely hear you. Can you speak up?”
“I can’t. I don’t want to be