The Genesis Plague - Michael Byrnes [71]
It amazed Brooke how such seemingly isolated events could ripple through human history.
‘Here you go,’ Flaherty interrupted.
Brooke turned as Flaherty set a plate and can of soda on the table in front of her.
‘Turkey and provolone on wheat,’ Flaherty said, pointing to the sandwich. ‘The best I could do. I saw some chips and cashews in the galley too …’ He thumbed towards the front of the plane.
‘No, this is perfect, thanks,’ she replied gratefully. ‘I feel like I should be leaving you a tip.’
‘Very funny.’ Flaherty settled into the comfortable leather cabin chair opposite hers. ‘Not too shabby, eh?’ he said, raising his eyebrows and circling his gaze around the jet’s spacious, sleek interior, aromatic with new-car smell. The rich furnishings included two mahogany tables inlaid with chequerboards of onyx and pearl, a fifty-two-inch LCD television, a fully stocked wet bar and leather divans.
‘Sure beats flying coach,’ she admitted. For Brooke, the jet further confirmed GSC’s deep pockets and clout.
‘I could sure get used to this. Wicked nice.’ He cracked open his can and swilled some cola.
‘I take it this is the first time you’ve been on this jet?’
‘First time,’ he confirmed. ‘This treatment is usually reserved for VIPs, not the peons.’
‘Well then I guess I should feel honoured.’
A phone suddenly rang and Flaherty had to look around before spotting the portable handset mounted in the fuselage wall.
‘I guess that’s for us,’ he said, getting up to retrieve the phone.
‘The odds are in our favour,’ she said.
‘Agent Flaherty here,’ he responded into the handset.
Pause.
‘Wow, that was fast,’ he said, turning to Brooke and giving a thumbs-up.
While eating her turkey sandwich, Brooke watched Thomas Flaherty for a solid three minutes as he kept the phone to his ear and jotted away on his mini notepad. She caught herself examining Flaherty’s hands for a wedding ring.
Who were these people? she wondered. How could they simultaneously work for the government and outside of it? Justice certainly had many faces, and checks and balances were needed. Even the watchers needed watching, she decided.
Flaherty ended the call and returned the phone to its mount on the fuselage wall and came back grinning.
She spread her hands. ‘So?’
‘Good stuff,’ he said, sitting. ‘Remember back in 2008 when the FBI nailed that guy for mailing anthrax-tainted letters to a couple of senators right after 9/11?’
She nodded. On the coat-tails of the terror attack of September 11, 2001, it was hard to forget the frenzy resulting from the incident that killed five and infected seventeen others during September and October 2001. Letters containing refined anthrax had been mailed to Washington, New York and Boca Raton. She recalled that network news offices were among the targets, including ABC, CBS and NBC.
‘Okay. Well, turns out the guy, Bruce Ivins, had been a senior biodefence researcher at USAMRIID. He was working on a vaccine for anthrax … and supposedly wanted to test it out in a real-life simulation. Bit of an eccentric … wound up dead before he was formally charged. Officially from suicide, unofficially murdered. Anyway, after those investigations implicated USAM-RIID, Fort Detrick set out to account for every vial in the Infectious Disease unit’s inventory. Took them four months to complete it. By June 2009, over 70,000 samples had been catalogued … 9,000 of which had not been previously documented in the agency’s database. Everything from Ebola to’ - he paused to check his notes - ‘stuff called “equine encephalitis virus”. And among the overlooked samples were some very interesting specimens procured by one Colonel Frank Roselli.’ He looked