The Secret Service officer whom Melanie had banged into stuck his head in. “He’s here.”
Manny nodded, and the door opened wider. A white man in a suit came in. He was good-looking, Melanie thought. He had that first hint of softness around the stomach that comes with middle age, but he was only a couple of years older than she was. Even in the presence of the president and all the Secret Service agents, he looked sure of himself. He looked, Melanie thought, like what she wanted: a man. Certainly he was more appropriate than a graduate student. Even with his suit, he looked like a cop, though Melanie had been in DC long enough to peg the guy for FBI or CIA or some agency other than plain old PD. He was carrying what looked like . . . yeah. It was a pickle jar. Except that wasn’t a pickle.
Melanie took the jar out of his hands, noticing that the guy’s left hand had a bandage wrapped around it. There were holes punched into the lid, and other than the spider inside, the jar was empty.
“Madam President,” the man said to Steph. “It’s an honor. Agent Mike Rich. From Minneapolis.”
Steph shook the man’s hand, and without letting go, she looked into Mike’s eyes. “And this is the same one? This is the spider that came out of Henderson?”
Melanie looked up from the jar. “Wait. What? Came out of . . .” She put the jar down next to the insectarium. “Where’d you get this?”
“It came crawling out of a man’s face, actually,” Mike said.
Melanie stared at him. “No.” She said the word slowly then said it again. “No. I mean, where in the world?”
Manny sighed. “You know how you asked me a few minutes ago if you could ask what this is about?” Melanie nodded. “The spiders you’ve got here,” Manny said, pointing to the insectarium, “aren’t the only ones. When you say you think they are totally extinct except for the ones you’ve got here, I’m pretty sure you’re wrong. We think there are more of them.”
Melanie looked at the spider in the jar and then at the ones in the insectarium. “I can’t guarantee that these are the same spiders. At least on the surface, there is an apparent match, but I’d have to look a little more closely—”
“Melanie.” Manny’s voice was sharp. “When I say we think there are more of these spiders, I mean we think there are more of them. A lot more.”
Metro Bhawan, Delhi, India
He was not happy about having to work overtime. His supervisor had basically disappeared since those two scientists from Kanpur had come by. With the baby coming, he could use the money, but with the baby coming his wife expected him at home more often. At the thought, he hitched up his pants and then took his cell phone out of his pocket. She liked it when he remembered to text her regularly, to check in. She was due two days ago, and her temper had been rather short. He was a big advocate of trying to stop a fight before it happened, and dutifully, he tapped in a quick message saying he was thinking about her, asking how she was feeling. And then another one to apologize again for having to work but reminding her of the extra money it would bring in. The doctor said if she went another week, they’d induce.
He tucked the phone back into his pocket and walked down the corridor. The crew was already standing by the door. The scientists had raised all sorts of hell about the tremors, insisting they be allowed to go down, and presumably they’d gotten to see what the problem was, because he hadn’t heard any more complaints. And he hadn’t heard anything from his supervisor either. The man was probably out drunk somewhere again. He liked his supervisor, but the truth was that the man, even if he had not been a drunk, was not particularly competent. He was also not particularly demanding, so that was good.
He nodded at the men standing by the door. The meters in the tunnel were going nuts, but the crew couldn’t get the door open to check. They’d tried everything, including a master reset of the code on the door, but it was stuck. He didn’t know what the hell the scientists had done to it—or, more likely, his supervisor—but there wasn’t really any other choice: they had to get in. He sighed. He really would have preferred for his supervisor to make the call, but it had to be done.
“Okay,” he said. “Break the pins.”
The men went to work on the hinges, and he watched for a few seconds before he felt his phone vibrate with a text: Contractions. I think it’s time. Come home.
He hesitated, but then he typed back leaving now. It would take only another minute or two to get the pins out, and then he would head right home.
The first pin went, and the crew held the door in place while one man finished the second pin. He could see the door was heavy. They strained to pull it off and move it to the side, but once they had, there was a lot of talking.