A Sickening Storm, page 21
She typed in a code. “From here, we can see the browsing history. But we can do better. We can restore the previous version, which will give us much more leeway. Umm. There.” She clicked, typed, and clicked some more. “And, there it is. His browsing history.”
Together, Missy, Dora, and Mallard scanned the web addresses, with Missy clicking on some and ignoring others.
“Pretty much what you’d expect from a guy who was researching the world’s deadliest diseases,” Dora observed. “Finding, keeping, and transmitting. Accessing peer-reviewed articles, no less.”
“Along with some pretty out there conspiracy ideas,” Mallard added.
Missy said nothing; she just sat back and admired her work and the doors she had helped to open. She sat forward again. “We’re not done. This is just browser history. The files he has on the computer are encrypted.”
“And…impossible to get to,” Dora said, leaving the question open-ended. “…even for a librarian.” Missy smirked at her, aware she was teasing, then gave Dora a mock contemptuous glance. “Please. Ye of little faith.” She examined what she saw on her screen. “This is an encryption software called LockNet that encrypts everything on your drive so that it’s ostensibly impossible to read.”
“How do you defeat it?” Mallard wanted to know.
“With decryption software made for exactly that purpose.”
“And,” Dora added, “I suppose you have an example of just such a piece of software.”
“I do. Hey—I’m a librarian. The world’s information is at my fingertips.”
“Huh,” said Dora, who elbowed Mallard. “Girl has serious fingertips.”
“Ugh,” said Mallard, wincing.
“We just launch DeCryptit, click on the encrypted hard drive, and click ‘Go,’” Missy explained. “The software first shows us the files we might want to retrieve, then allows us to click ‘recover’ to set the process in motion. For security’s sake, I’m having the recovered files sent over to my computer, which I’ll back up, once I’m back in Adam’s office.”
“Can we look at them first?” Mallard asked.
“’Course,” Missy said, and sat back again so that Mallard could navigate the recovered files.
As the detective read, he nodded slowly. “It’s all here—and very organized—in what amounts to a murder spreadsheet. Information about Traxle and Ramesh, about Campbell and the hospital, and about each of the victims—their hospital records, their infection dates, and their responses to infection. And here’s information about each of the diseases, notes on proper handling, and modes of transmission.”
Missy took the mouse from Mallard, clicked on a directory, then on several files within it, and examined the information within them for several minutes in silence. “He was also obsessed with the classical music composer Antonio Salieri. Links to his music and articles about him.”
“Why is that significant?” Mallard wanted to know. Dora looked baffled.
“He was an Italian composer of classical music who was obsessed with Mozart. Salieri was a talented artist, but Mozart was better—the best. Mozart was a genius, and Salieri couldn’t handle that.”
“So, Babu is Spontana’s Mozart?” Dora asked.
“Looks that way.” Missy clicked the spreadsheet’s last row, which listed “Dr. Ramesh Babu,” to the right of which were the words“necrotizing fasciitis,” next to the current date.
“That’s the technical name for flesh-eating bacteria,” Missy said.
Chapter 24
Mallard called Detective Ganderson who put out a BOLO for Dr. Spontana. Mallard would immediately head to Dr. Babu’s lab, while Ganderson went to Spontana’s apartment, each with several officers as backup. Another two officers had been dispatched to Babu’s home.
Dora suggested they rendezvous with Mallard at Babu Laboratories. “Since Spontana couldn’t destroy the infectious disease center, he’s going after Ramesh Babu the man.”
“I think he was going to kill Babu all along. And I doubt Spontana would be at the lab, because Babu isn’t there,” Missy said as they got into Dora’s car.
“Where is he, and how do you know that?”
“It’s on Babu Laboratories’ website, under ‘News.’ I didn’t think of it until just this second. Babu is one of the featured speakers today on the advances in the treatment of infectious diseases at the MedSci Pro International Medical Conference.”
“He’s there now?”
Missy nodded. “It’s at the Long Island Hotel and Convention Center, and that’s where Spontana’s going.”
Dora started the car and they raced off in the direction of the main highway that would take them to the bridge off the barrier island. The convention center was fifteen miles north of Beach City, with the latter three miles being suburban streets which were likely to be congested in the late afternoon.
“From what I remember,” Missy said, “Babu is giving a series of talks as well as participating in a forum with several other scientists.”
“So he’ll be easy enough for Spontana to find.” Dora glanced at Missy, who was reading from Babu’s website on her phone. “Call Mallard and tell him what’s going on. The police need to get to that conference.”
• • •
“Sarah!” At The Chronicle’s office, Lemieux was calling from behind his computer. “Looks like something’s going down at the Convention Center—something pretty big.” He had been scrolling through a live online feed of police incidents in Nassau County.
Sarah had been rewriting an article about the previous night’s council meeting. She typed the convention center’s information into a browser window. “There’s a medical convention there, and—wait—Ramesh Babu is a speaker.” She stood up. “Got to be a break in the BCMC disease case.” She took a step toward the door, then bent forward in pain and moaned. A pain knifed through her belly, and she reached desperately for the top of her desk and managed to lower herself back into her chair.
“Lemieux,” she gasped. “Go to the Convention Center, get the story, write it—and be sure to get some art. Send Esther in here. Ohhh, fuck.”
Esther, who had overheard, rushed into Sarah’s office.
“Get me to the ER.” Sarah’s eyes overflowed with tears of desperation and terror. “I think I’m losing Olivia.”
“Ambulance?” Esther asked.
Sarah shook her head. “Just help me up, let me lean on you—and get me there fucking fast!”
• • •
The crowd at Rudy’s was despondent and silent. It was early evening and the bar was open, and the union crowd took up three tables in the back. Hakeem stood quietly to one side while Keisha addressed the assembled crowd. Craig Balboni watched and listened quietly from one of the tables with some fellow construction union members.
“I’m proud of you all. We really did fight a good fight, but what they did in the end—they bought the vote out from under us. They paid for the union busters to come in and scare the hell out of y’all, and to your credit, most of you voted with us. Most of you did. And for those of you who didn’t, I can’t blame you. You have your families to think of. Your children, your spouses—even some of your parents.”
Hakeem stepped to the center of the room; he looked briefly at the people at the three tables of union organizers. “This,” he promised, “is the beginning. They got a few of us—three, to be exact—scared off. But if we keep at it, work hard, and continue to point out the facts, we will get the union in at some point down the road—and soon!”
Hakeem and Keisha embraced, while the rest of the organizers applauded.
Slowly, Craig Balboni rose, walked to the center of the floor at the rear of the bar, and motioned for quiet. “As you know, work is beginning on the new infectious disease wing at the Beach City Medical Center. Who’s building it? My guys.” His eyes wandered over all of the faces—faces that had been so full of hope so recently, and were now very nearly devoid of hope.
“I so admire what you’re doing.” He tapped his chest, over his heart. “And so do my people. We’ve been right here with you, all the way. We’ve been rooting for you, and when we saw what the hospital’s union busters did—well, we decided to see what we could do.” He paused, looked at Hakeem and Keisha. “So, I asked my guys, and ladies—we have ladies too,” he chuckled, “to consider lending our support to your cause, and they want to do it. They voted to do it.”
Hakeem looked confused. “What does that mean?”
“What it means is that my guys—the union that is building the new infectious disease wing of the hospital—will strike in solidarity with you people.”
“Won’t they bring in scabs?” Keisha asked.
Balboni smiled. “They might try. But we’ll…convince the scabs that it is not in their interest to cross our picket line and take on our work. But honestly, I already have word that it won’t get that far. Lonnie McQuade, our chief negotiator, has already had some preliminary talks with BCMC management, and I can’t promise anything, but it looks good. There’s a lot of momentum behind this new infectious disease facility—especially with staff shortages, with COVID, with the gala canceled and with the bad press the hospital’s getting about these fatalities.” He smiled. “I think there’s a pretty good chance you’re going to get your union.”
A moment of stunned silence was followed by raucous cheering and applause that went on for a long time. As the applause died, Hakeem approached a thin man who was sitting at a nearby table and bent to speak to him; the man had removed his glasses and was wiping the tears from his eyes with a closed fist.
“Wilbur. A bunch of us have been talking and we’re hoping you’d consider being our union rep.”
Wilbur blinked. “What, me?”
Hakeem nodded. “You’d have to be elected, but we need someone who’s honest, knows the truth when he or she sees it, and has a good heart.”
“You sure you got the right guy?”
“Damn sure.”
Wilbur managed a hint of a smile. “Best to answer without cussin’.”
Hakeem laughed. “Yes, Wilbur. We’ve got the right guy.”
• • •
The Long Island Hotel and Convention Center was a sprawling complex comprising three buildings—an atrium, a hotel, and a convention hall. The complex was in the center of an enormous series of connected parking lots several miles off the highway exit.
Missy had already called Mallard and informed him of their location as Dora parked in a fire lane and jumped out of the car, and began running toward the main entrance, with Missy not far behind. “Convention hall,” Dora called back toward Missy.
She ran right past an easel that held a placard with the conference logo, past sign-up and sign-in tables and security personnel stationed there. “Excuse me!” a woman called after them, and several uniformed security guards shouted “Hey!” and “Stop!” and chased after the two women.
Inside the cavernous hall were row upon row of exhibit booths, each representing a company that offered some science-related product or service. The rows were filled with crowds of attendees, many of whom wore N95 masks, though the state mask restrictions had been lifted only days earlier. As they passed each booth, its representatives smiled and asked if they would like to hear about whatever it was they were selling.
Dora and Missy ignored them, rushing up one aisle and hurrying down the next, dodging visitors and patrons, waving away food samples, and leaving the security guards behind. Dora stopped at the bottom of the return aisle. “We’re in the wrong building. They’ve gotta be the atrium.”
They ran back out of the building and into the atrium, which was indeed configured as a conventional auditorium with a stage, audience seating, and lobby.
“Ticket?” a woman wearing blue glasses and an official-looking sticker asked.
“We’re part of a police investigation.”
A tall, blond man in a blue shirt with a patch identifying him as another member of convention center security, stepped forward. “Identification, please.”
Missy handed him a business card. “We’re private investigators, working with police, who will be here any minute.”
“I need to see a badge,” the man insisted.
“Is Dr. Babu speaking?” Dora asked, and the man glanced at her, then back at Missy. “I think so, yes,” he said, whereupon Dora pushed past him and into a hallway that ran alongside the auditorium and, presumably, the stage. The security man chased after Dora and Missy took the opportunity to walk up the side aisle within the auditorium, searching for Spontana.
Meanwhile, Dora had found a door marked “Stage Door.” Inside was a dark, cramped area that led to the wings of the stage. Wood and canvas sets from other events were stacked against a wall, next to a fire extinguisher, a long metal pole, and an open tool box.
“And who are you?” asked a woman in a uniform.
Dora handed her a card. “I’m working with security and the police. There’s an active security threat. We need to get Dr. Babu out of here.”
The woman took a walkie-talkie from her belt and spoke quietly into it. “Please come with me,” she said, and stepped through the door that Dora entered and back into the hallway. As she held the door for Dora, the woman was jarred sideways as a dark shape hurtled past her and into the backstage area.
“Spontana,” Dora called, in a loud whisper.
The man whirled. It was indeed Clay Spontana, though he had shaved his mustache and beard. His eyes were a bottomless black. He did not look angry, only calm and focused.
“Sir!” the security woman protested.
“Apologies,” he said, his voice reasonable and friendly. He ignored Dora and focused on the woman in the security uniform. “I’m the next speaker. I’m waiting to go on. I’m…just a little nervous.”
The security woman nodded, smiled, and stepped away from the door and into the hallway. The last Dora saw of her, she was bringing her walkie-talkie to her ear.
Dora dropped back into the shadows; she could see Spontana, who had stepped from the lit hallway into the darkened offstage area.
Dora knew that she had to get to him while Babu was still onstage speaking, which was probably the safest place for the scientist at the moment.
“Dr. Spontana,” she whispered, loud enough for him to hear.
Spontana was at the side of the stage now, edging toward Babu, who was speaking and using a clicker to advance a PowerPoint presentation.
Dora crept silently up behind him.
“Spontana!” Her whisper was loud now, and he whipped around, and she could see the glass of the syringe in his hand refracting the light from the stage lights. Instantly he lunged toward her, with the syringe arcing toward her neck.
Dora snapped a block to his forearm, hoping to dislodge the syringe, but he somehow managed to hold onto it.
“You’re not getting in my way,” Spontana growled. “It’s his time.”
“You’re gonna waste Babu’s shot on me?” Dora tried to match Spontana’s calm tone.
“You think I don’t have backups? I have backups of backups!”
He jabbed suddenly forward with unbelievable speed, and Dora felt the scrape of the needle against the skin just below her jaw. She prayed he had not had a chance to push its plunger.
Spontana’s motion continued to carry him forward so that Dora was able to trap his elbow between her arm and her body and twist, snapping his arm at the elbow. The syringe skittered to the floor.
Babu was still on stage, speaking. He glanced in their direction, but Dora was pretty sure that the light onstage was brighter than that in the wings, so that he could probably not see clearly enough to understand what was going on.
Spontana was lying on his side on the ground, moaning and clutching his arm. He was struggling to crawl to where the syringe lay. As he extended his body, Dora could see he wore some sort of leather utility belt with thin, half-open pockets that held two more syringes.
“You piece of garbage.” Dora spat the words out, stepped to the fallen syringe and, as Spontana reached to his belt for another, jabbed the needle into his thigh and pushed the plunger.
Spontana screamed, and at that moment, the stage door opened and the security woman rushed in, followed by Detective Ganderson and Officers Catherine Trask and her partner, Lieutenant Mitchell Weiss. The latter picked up the spent syringe with a handkerchief he took from his pocket, while Lieutenant Trask put a hand on Dora’s shoulder.
“You okay, Ellison?”
Dora, who was shuddering with adrenaline, managed to nod.
Detective Ganderson ignored Dora and roughly dragged Spontana to his feet, pulled his arms behind him and slapped cuffs on his wrists.
“You have the right to remain silent,” Ganderson began.
“She stuck me! That woman infected me with flesh-eating disease! She’s the one you need to arrest!”
“Save it, asshole,” Ganderson snarled. “Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law. You have a right to an attorney. If you cannot afford an attorney, one will be appointed for you. Now, come on.” As he was about to drag Spontana from the room, he glanced at Dora, his face expressionless.
“You’re welcome,” Dora said.
“Foolish.” Ganderson shook his head. “I’ll talk to you later.”
“Hey Ganderson…” Dora looked back at him. “Don’t you have another suit?”
Epilogue
Once they had finished giving their statements to the two detectives at the police station and speaking with Dr. Babu, who was doing the same, the two investigators returned to Missy’s apartment and sat cross-legged, and facing one another on Missy’s living room floor.
