Page 65 of Airborne
“I’m sure you have an agenda. Two visits without your partner in one day signals desperation to make an arrest. I do have a topic to toss out.” Chad hoped Javier didn’t laugh at the bizarre idea. “Would you help me clear my name? Unreachable for me to tackle by myself. You claim you’re driven to take vengeance for your sister’s death. Says to me you’re a perfect candidate. We could work on the case after your scheduled FBI hours.”
Javier laid his loaded fork on his plate. “You want me to assist you in finding who developed and spread H9N15 while I’m also investigating you?”
“Exactly. Put yourself in my shoes. Could you live with yourself if people believed you’d developed a killer virus? I figure SAC Bischoff will claim the idea is ingenious. He’ll commend you on your ingenuity to spend extra hours in my company and the many opportunities for you to scrutinize my words and actions.”
“Even if I received permission for your insane idea, you cannot be privy to FBI reports or activity on the case. If the public doesn’t receive the info, you won’t either.”
“I don’t expect preferential treatment. My proposal unites our private goals.”
“Unites? Strange choice of words.” Javier excused himself and stepped into the hall of Chad’s apartment building.
He expected him to call SAC Bischoff with the request. The two men would strategize how to make the arrangement work for the FBI, which was what Chad wanted. He reached for his journaland pen on the counter. Ten minutes passed before Javier entered the apartment.
“What’s the decision?” Chad said.
“Off the books. I’ll go along for a while.”
“And you’ll make SAC Bischoff aware of what we do?” Javier confirmed, and Chad moved forward. “Take a pic of my notes so you can follow my thoughts. Been at this most of the day.”
Javier snapped his phone camera over the journal while Chad turned pages. He hadn’t taken time to note how much he’d written.
“Where do we start?” Javier said.
“Honesty. I’ve looked at every name on the manifest, specifically those seated in business class.”
“The FBI has conducted interviews since the case started.”
Irritation threatened to spoil his facade, but Chad recognized Javier’s limitations. “It’s clear more people are sick from the business class section.”
“I’ve read the data.”
“A no-brainer that the virus was released there, and the remains were placed in one of the toilets. That narrows the suspect list. No need to respond, Javier. I’m right.”
“You are entitled to an opinion.”
“While you were outside my apartment door, the media concluded the same thing. Ironic, don’t you think? Still the same report didn’t negate me as the developer because Heather was in business class. I’ve been accused by the best of well-meaning citizens. But you’ve only questioned me about Taversty, Anslow, and the Kareys. Why?”
“You have no idea who’s been interviewed.”
“How do you intend to work the trust issues between us?” Chad said.
“Like any other case. Has to be earned.”
“Deal.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT
HEATHER WOKEwith the same pain in her navel area as earlier in the evening, a sharp, knifelike twist. She’d been asleep since after dinner. Nausea added to the mix. She tossed back the thin blanket and rushed from the bed to the bathroom and vomited. The virus had invaded her body. What about her baby son? The dread of facing a miscarriage covered her like a death shroud. She should have gone to Jordan’s office when the pain first appeared.
Please, God.
Death chased her baby, and she had no bullets to protect him. She should trust God, but an assault against her precious gift was unfounded. Anger rolled and rumbled against God for the injustice. The unfairness.
She’d taken care of the sick on the plane. The fingers of guilt pointed back at her. If she were infected with the virus, her baby’s life was in danger. And it was her fault.
She vomited again—her body doubled over with pain. Afterwashing out her mouth, she stared into the mirror. A ghastly pale woman looked back at her. Hollowed eyes and sunken cheeks.
A knock on the bathroom door and Catherine’s voice met her. “Heather, what’s going on?”
