Page 52 of Airborne
If the responsible person was on Adam’s Island, she’d find out.
CHAPTER THIRTY
CHAD BREWED THE LASTof his organic blend coffee from Whole Foods—a reminder of his life’s work trickling away. He clamped both hands on the counter and fought the depression climbing into his whole body.
Since the FBI closed his lab, he’d found plenty of time to run trivial errands, the ones Heather used to do. He wanted to contact Jordan and vent, except the action gavestupida new definition in the dictionary. Jordan wasn’t pleased with his decision about divorcing Heather, and Chad feared losing his temper discredited his reputation. That would end his career. As of this morning, he’d been barred from the CDC secure site. He’d now learn new data as though he were an average person. But he wasn’t the only person in history who’d been successful after an attack on his good character.
Keep telling yourself that.
Tomorrow the FBI should grant permission to reopen the lab, and he’d resume his projects. He longed to begin at the CDCwith a spotless and vindicated record—even more, find a cure for H9N15 and deliver Heather and their son out of danger.
Useless to labor over his problems. Nothing within his power sped up the process. The one thing going for him was his laptop perched on the kitchen counter. His desktop sat behind the locked doors of his lab, but he could access his files here. This allowed him to catch up on paperwork until the FBI exonerated him from all charges.
Chad paused in his deliberation. The class4 lab in Galveston had the equipment to test the contents of his lab, and he had credentials to log into many of their reports. They might have answers. He opened the lid to his laptop and typed in his password.
Assurance of one item gave him momentary peace—he hadn’t been denied entrance. The downside was the FBI hadn’t used Galveston’s lab in growing cultures. How long before Houston authorities deleted his credentials to their lab?
After he poured a mug of coffee and added cream, Chad checked the various media for what gained the most attention. The top reporting networks offered a mix of New York’s CDC research, the FBI investigation, and the latest fake news on his criminal status. Not the desired national acclaim Chad craved.
A report from NCN indicated Heather could have a role in the virus scare. Media requested a full investigation of her and a credible link to Chad’s crime. Where did people come up with these outlandish ideas? What benefit could he or Heather have in spreading an uncontrollable virus?
He massaged his temples—a tension headache surfaced. Weariness settled on him, and his taste buds rejected the coffee. Without sleep, his productivity fell flat. He made his way to the bedroom and crawled under the sheets. He tossed and turned, played and replayed his conversation with Heather during the wee hours of the morning.
She’d never spoken to him with such... finality. The determination in her tone rattled across the miles separating them. Good for his future. But why didn’t he want to celebrate? He’d soon be free to carry out his life’s purpose unfettered. Aside from the devastation of being accused of a horrendous crime, he should break open a bottle of wine and make reservations at the finest steak house in town.
His mind spiraled to the depths of misery. He thought they’d be friends. She’d fly to Atlanta a few times a year, and they’d go out to dinner, but she wasn’t interested. Motherhood had changed her. She refused friendship and demanded he sign off on parental rights. Not sure he wanted to accept both stipulations.
In the long run, a complete break made sense.
Chad’s cell phone rang, and in his sleep-laden stupor, he snatched it from his nightstand without looking at the caller ID.
“Dr. Chad Lawrence, I’m a reporter for National Critical News. Lawrence Laboratories has been closed due to the incriminating evidence against you. What’s your statement about the FBI’s probe of your lab, and are you a developer of the H9N15 virus?”
“What?”
“Are you concerned of what the sweep will reveal?”
“I’m innocent, so why would I care?”
“Don’t sound naive. Is it true you developed the killer virus to eliminate your wife?”
Chad ended the conversation. His blood pressure soared while anxiety battled his emotions.
His phone sounded again—the same number.Forget it, buddy.
Less than thirty seconds later, his phone alerted him to a call from a different number. No thanks. He wasn’t an idiot to subject himself to repeated abuse.
Solitude usually calmed him when faced with problems, but unfair circumstances rumbled through his gut.
A third call unnerved him. Trembling, he silenced the device and navigated to a news network. One report claimed he was inFBI custody. Another blamed the FBI for not arresting him. Still another network exploited his CDC position. NCN gave the most damaging report. One of their social media commentators labeled him a mass murderer, a killer who should be put out of his misery.
Chad’s career in Atlanta was now flushed down the toilet like the remains of the container holding H9N15.
Who’d leaked the FBI’s sweep of his lab? Had Heather changed her mind after their verbal exchange?
His phone vibrated with calls from unknown numbers. People left questions, threats, and accusations via messages. And Chad couldn’t blame them. Whoever had infected so many people deserved a cruel death. Couldn’t the media figure out it wasn’t him? He tossed off the sheet and walked into the kitchen. The last of his coffee tasted lukewarm.
Chad’s gaze panned his furnished contemporary apartment resembling his current state of mind—cold, sterile, and yet functional. It seemed to mock his alienation from the rest of the world. Why had this happened at a crucial time in his life when his dreams looked close enough to grasp? He’d sacrificed so much to keep his promise while he projected his goal focused on grasping a holy grail in medical research.
