Page 86 of Airborne
A mic planted in his face.
The nightmare from the hospital attack played in real time.
The passenger in the SUV grabbed his arm and assisted him into the rear of the vehicle. Once inside, he willed his heart to slow.
“Are you all right?” McNally pulled away from the curb.
“I think so. Guess the email hacker hasn’t given up.”
“Recognize anyone?” McNally said.
“No.”
McNally wove in and out of New York’s traffic to the FBI building. He spoke a few more words than their prior meeting but nothing substantial for Chad to lock on to. Once at the building, McNally showed Chad the security footage from the assault. Although Peale had avoided security cameras, a woman had identified him as the man who’d attacked him.
In a small FBI interview room, Chad and McNally faced Peale and his lawyer, Karen Hightower, a slender middle-aged woman who oozed with expensive tastes.
“Dr. Lawrence has identified Mr. Peale as the man who assaulted him, and he has a few questions,” Agent McNally said.
“They’re noninvasive,” Chad said.
Hightower folded her hands on the table. “Your humor escapes me. My client doesn’t have to answer anything.”
Chad fixed his gaze on the charged man’s face. “Mr. Peale, this past Saturday, you called me a ‘murderer’ and laid a fist into my face. I’ll file charges unless you cooperate with the FBI by giving the name of who paid you $8,000 to attack me.”
Not a muscle twitched. Mr. Peale must be accustomed to interrogation. “You’re not making sense.”
“Odd,” Chad said. “Selective memory?” He turned to Hightower. “Who paid your retainer? I doubt if your services are pro bono. Your tailored suit didn’t come from Amazon.”
The woman lifted her lips in a smirk. “Where is your legal representation? No one agreed to take your case?”
Chad’s attorney had an unmovable schedule and opposed Chad’s decision to forge ahead alone. Hightower might not be far off. “I have an FBI agent with me.”
“For the record—” Hightower leaned closer—“Mr. Peale made a mistake when he spoke to the FBI. Since then he has pleaded not guilty to the charges. Neither has there been any deposits to his bank account.”
“Cash is an easy cover-up,” Chad said. “There’s a witness.”
The woman aimed a cemented smile at him. “Strange, Dr. Lawrence, with all those people at the scene of the incident, why has only one person identified my client as the one who assaulted you? You’re being investigated about a horrific crime that has killed over thirty innocent people and infected over a hundred suffering victims. Even if my client had pleaded guilty, his motive would appear to right your deplorable actions.”
The name of the game was for the good of the people. Simon Peale had performed a justifiable act of retribution. Could Peale legally escape conviction? “I’m filing charges. I saw who hit me.”
The woman’s phone buzzed, and she read her screen. “Bad news, Dr. Lawrence. The woman who identified my client? She’s withdrawn her statement, an error on her part. Guess it’s your word against my client’s.”
CHAPTER FIFTY
HEATHER CRAWLED INTO HER BEDon Adam’s Island for a nap. The extra day in the hospital had built her energy, but her body still craved downtime to recuperate. Little Levi kicked more often, giving her sweet moments of joy. During those times, she touched his active body and whispered her love. Anticipation for who he might resemble spun like golden threads in her mind. Catherine read on her bed, no doubt to keep an eye on the pregnant woman who no longer had an appendix.
Before the helicopter transportation to quarantine, Heather had dragged her IV pole, which she’d referred to as another appendage, to meet Mr. Engels. The huge man with bulging biceps and stark carrot-colored hair sat upright in his bed. He expressed concern she’d tested positive for H9N15. “My appendix needed an escape plan.” They chatted for a few minutes, and he relayed his appreciation for her paving the way for his wife and family to talk to him. Heather breathed a prayer of thanks for good news amid a difficult situation.
His memory of the time before boarding the plane and thecrisis afterward didn’t further the investigation. He believed someone planned the perfect crime.
“I understand Thomas Powell has pledged to assist us financially,” Mr. Engels said. “Very generous of him. My first impression labeled him a rude idiot.”
“You met him before the flight?”
“I stood behind him at Starbucks near our gate. The barista messed up his order, and he exploded. Shouted at her and turned the drink upside down on the counter. I told him his behavior looked like he needed a few lessons in manners. He ignored me and walked away. If not for getting tossed out of the airport, I’d have forced him to clean up his mess. On the plane, I saw him assist you in an arrest.”
She left Engels’s room and texted SAC Bischoff and ASAC Mitchell.
