“Fear.”
The pieces came together then. They had released the flu strain in isolated parts of Kenya a week before they had released it around the world. In the later stages of the virus, it presented like an Ebola-like hemorrhagic fever—an outbreak deadly enough to get every government’s attention. They had wanted to demonstrate what would happen around the world in a week if the virus wasn’t cured.
“You have a cure, don’t you?”
He flashed her a condescending smile. “We’re not monsters, Peyton. We have the means to stop the virus as soon as governments figure out their place in the new order.” He turned away from her. “Now as much as I’ve enjoyed our talk, I have some questions I need you to answer.”
“Screw you.”
“Your friend Dr. Watson has lost a lot of blood. My people tell me she needs surgery, urgently.”
Peyton stared at him, rage simmering. This man was responsible for Jonas’s death and Lucas Turner’s and so many others. He couldn’t be trusted.
“Give me answers, and we’ll help her,” Conner said.
“I don’t believe you.”
He turned the tablet around, showing Peyton a video feed of Hannah on an operating room table, a tube running from her mouth, the wound at her shoulder exposed and prepped for surgery.
Three people in masks and surgical gowns stood around the table, gloved hands held in the air.
“How do I know you’ll do it?”
“A show of good faith, Dr. Shaw.” Conner touched his collarbone. “Proceed.”
On the screen, the medical personnel sprang into action, converging on the wound. Others appeared from off-screen, pushing trays with instruments forward, within easy reach.
“You stop answering, or start lying, and we stop operating,” Conner said.
Peyton nodded, still watching the screen, her eyes locked on the blood pressure readings.
“Have you had any contact with Desmond Hughes?”
Peyton looked up. Desmond Hughes—the words were like a cattle prod. “Yes,” she said quietly.
“When?”
“Before I deployed.”
“How?”
“He called me.”
Conner looked confused. “You’re lying.”
“I’m not—”
“We tapped your mobile, Peyton.”
“He called me at home. On the landline.”
Conner spoke slowly, still suspicious. “What did he say?”
“Nothing—”
“Answer me,” Conner said, his tone hard.
“He was confused. He didn’t know who I was. He told me I was in danger. Then he hung up.”
“In danger of what?”
“He didn’t say.”
Conner considered her words for a moment. “When did you last speak with your mother?”
“What?”
“Answer.”
“When I landed in Nairobi.”
“What did she say to you?”
Peyton recounted the conversation, as best she could remember.
“When was the last time you spoke with your father?”
“My father? The eighties. I was six—”
“You haven’t spoken to him since then? No emails? No meetings?”
“Dead people don’t send emails.”
A smile curled at Conner’s lips. He turned away from her.
“When was the last time you spoke with your brother?”
Peyton was shocked by the question. “My brother? He died in ’91.”
Peyton waited, but Conner only stared at her.
“He was a WHO employee working on an AIDS awareness campaign in Uganda. He died in a fire near Mount Elgon,” she said.
“I know how, when, and where your brother died. Now answer my question.”
Peyton stared at the monster’s badly burned face, at the scars that ran down his cheeks, over his chin, and into his shirt collar. “Did you know him? Were you there in 1991?”
Conner touched his collarbone again. “Stop.”
On the screen, Peyton saw the doctors remove their hands. But they didn’t back away. They glanced at each other, seeming to weigh their decision, then resumed the operation. Another person wearing a surgical gown marched into the scene, raised a handgun, and pointed it at the closest medical worker. All three froze.
Peyton swallowed. “I haven’t seen or talked to my brother since the Christmas of 1990, in Palo Alto.”
“That wasn’t so hard, was it? One last question. Your login and password to the CDC VPN.”
“No.”
Conner motioned to the tablet, where the medical workers were still standing at the table, waiting. Hannah’s open wound oozed blood. “How long do you think she has? Another few minutes?”
Peyton considered his request. She had the highest level of security clearance: access to situation reports from the EOC, inventory levels at the strategic stockpiles, and notes from the labs investigating new pathogens. For these bioterrorists, her login was an all-access pass to the inside of the US response to their attack. It meant real-time intel they could exploit to kill more people.
“My login is [email protected]. Password: ashaw91#io.”
Conner turned the tablet around and typed quickly.
“You know, the problem with lying about your password is that it’s easily discovered. Seriously, Peyton, I’m gonna need that password. Right now.”
She swallowed and spoke with all the force she could muster. “You know, I’m a member of the Commissioned Corps of the US Public Health Service. We take an oath—to protect the public. So did Hannah. Telling you would violate that oath. I take my oaths very seriously.”
“Dear God. Why does everyone around here have to do things the hard way?” Conner punched a few buttons on the tablet.
Seconds later, Peyton heard the hiss of gas seeping into her cell. She lost consciousness almost immediately.
Conner touched his collar. “Resume. We may need Watson for leverage. And prep an interrogation room for Shaw ASAP.”
Chapter 54
In the observation room on the Kentaro Maru, Conner watched the techs administer the drugs to Peyton Shaw. The questions began soon after, and within minutes, she had revealed her CDC login. He relayed it to the team in ops.
“We’re in,” the operator said over the radio.