Now he tried listening for the sounds beyond the hole that was just a foot over his head. He managed enough courage to push himself up and peek out. His eyes flew to the treetops and he scanned the branches. Before the earthquake, explosion—whatever the hell had happened—he had seen tiny green monkeys scurrying up the hallway outside his room. He looked for them now. Surely they were harmless, but what did he know about monkeys?
He crawled out onto jagged rocks slick with mud. Only then did he notice that his feet were swollen and covered with tiny cuts. It must have been the glass on the floor. His arms were cut, too, the shirtsleeves shredded. He had only been concerned about his hands as he dug his way out.
In the open air he felt light-headed. Blood dripped from his nostrils and he wiped his nose with an arm stained with dried blood. He heard a noise behind him and spun around so quickly he slipped in the mud. He came down hard on his knees. So hard he felt it in his jaw.
His eyes searched for the cause of the noise. There! Behind a tree not fifty feet away he saw someone duck into the bushes. Tate kept completely still. Lowered his body closer to the mud, keeping to the ground where he’d be hidden by the debris. He never let his eyes leave the spot where he swore he had seen a face.
They were still here. And they were still after him. He knew it wouldn’t be safe up here. His heartbeat kicked against his ribs. He could barely hear over the sound of it pounding in his ears. This close to the ground he could smell something awful, like sewer gas. Still, he slithered his way through the mud and over the sharp edges of metal and rock poking up out of the ground. His eyes stayed glued, watching the bushes and the tree that he’d seen the face disappear behind.
He found the hole and slipped back down into the space he had spent hours digging his way out of. But this time he started looking for provisions he’d need: water, light, and most important—a weapon.
17.
Washington, D.C.
Benjamin Platt knew better than to offer assistance to the man walking beside him, despite his slow and laborious effort. The two men saw each other almost every week either at meetings or during their weekly lunch together. Colonel Abraham Hess had been Platt’s mentor for almost twenty years. He was the backbone of DARPA, a valued consultant at USAMRIID. Never once would Platt think to use the word “old” to describe Hess, yet today he thought he glimpsed a tired and worn-out fatigue in the man’s step.
He knew that Hess was concerned about the DARPA facility affected by the landslide in North Carolina. But Platt sensed there was something more than just concern. By the time they reached Hess’s office, Platt could hear the older man’s raspy breathing. Perspiration beaded on his upper lip and forehead. Platt watched him as they took their seats, careful not to let Hess know that he saw him using both hands to steady himself as he dropped into the club chair. His office was massive and included a huge desk and floor-to-ceiling bookcases. There was also a sitting area with a small kitchenette in the corner.
“Should we have some coffee?” Hess asked.
Platt knew the offer meant that Hess wanted his guest to make and serve it. He didn’t mind. He was on his feet before he answered with “That sounds good. I’ll make us a pot.”
“Little Ellie Delanor,” Hess said, shaking his head and smiling. “She turned out to be a beautiful woman. She was all knobby-kneed and skinny as a girl. She has her father’s eyes. Reminded me how much I miss him.”
“I never had the pleasure of meeting Colonel Delanor.”
“He was one of the best men I ever knew. I’m glad to see his daughter is on our side.”
Platt knew “our side” simply meant a public official willing to stay out of the way of their jobs to research and develop what was necessary to keep the military and U.S. citizens safe. He wasn’t sure what made Hess think Ellie Delanor was on their side. As soon as they had left the conference room, Hess was handed a subpoena by a young staff member whom Platt recognized as one of Senator Delanor’s.
He said nothing, however, as he scooped and measured coffee grounds from the economy-sized, discounted can. The man could more than afford one of the fresh-ground designer brands and still chose this one. Platt saw it as a telltale sign that the genius behind so many innovative and technologically advanced ideas still liked to keep some things just the way he’d always had them.
“I need to ask a favor of you, Benjamin,” Hess told him as Platt handed him a ceramic cup that rattled against the saucer as soon as the two were in Hess’s brown-spotted hands.
“I already told you, Abe, I don’t mind testifying. The committee should hear about all the groundbreaking research USAMRIID is working on. All of us could be affected by the results of this hearing.”
“And I appreciate your help, but that’s not what I was going to ask.”