Smoke Road Read online

  Smoke Road

  Luca

  Toby Neal

  Emily Kimelman

  Contents

  Launch Bonus

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Acknowledgments

  BURNT ROAD

  Launch Bonus

  Navigate to the end of the book

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  Copyright Notice

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

  © Neal/Kimelman 2016

  [email protected]

  ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. This book contains material protected under International and Federal Copyright Laws and Treaties. Any unauthorized reprint or use of this material is prohibited. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system without express written permission from the author/publisher.

  Chapter One

  Haunani

  Nani felt naked without the familiar weight of her shoulder holster and ankle rig, but only Secret Service agents were allowed to carry weapons on Air Force One. She buttoned the gray suit jacket over her tailored, nipped-in waist and smoothed the pants down for the hundredth time before slicking back a few tendrils of rebellious hair. With its thick, unruly waves, it came from her Hawaiian heritage, and warred against the orderly sleekness of her Japanese ancestry. That pretty much summed up Nani’s life’s journey so far—trying to control things that refused to be controlled.

  Like viruses.

  Nani’s hand slid into her pocket to rub the quarter-sized piece of clear turquoise beach glass she always carried. Touching it calmed and steadied her.

  She could do this.

  “Give me your cell phone. We’re going into SCIF.” Nani’s escort, a female Secret Service agent named McMillan, held out her hand. Nani nodded, slipping the phone out of her pocket, and gave it to her. A Sensitive Compartmentalized Information Facility meant all communications were controlled: no one had phones or any other devices. Even pens were subject to removal. McMillan talked into her earbud, checking to see if the room was ready and all the bigwigs present for Nani’s briefing. “Just waiting on the Secretary of Defense. The Secretary of the Army, the Joint Chiefs, NSA Advisor, the heads of Homeland Security, and the Center for Disease Control are present as well as the FBI chief and, of course, the President and Vice President.” McMillan rattled off the titles of some of the most powerful people in the United States government like they were ingredients in a recipe, and in a way they were, a recipe for dealing with disaster.

  Nani clutched her file on the Scorch Flu virus currently ravaging the Pacific Northwest and, at Agent McMillan’s signal, headed in to meet the President.

  The onboard “war room” was intimidating. A second story in the giant plane, the room was twenty feet long and decorated with flags. The US coat of arms was embedded in the nap of the carpet. Situated within the room was a horseshoe-shaped table fully occupied by brass. The President sat at the hub of the table. In the center was a raised kiosk filled with monitors, all displaying highlighted maps showing hot spots of the virus’s outbreak.

  Lines chiseled the President’s cheeks like runnels from a heavy rain, and his shoulders appeared rounded under the pressures of the office. Weary gray eyes lifted from the monitors, and all heads turned to look at Nani as she entered the room.

  “President Harrison, this is Dr. Haunani Kagawa. She is a bioterrorism and virology expert, and consultant to the FBI, Homeland Security, and the Centers for Disease Control. She is here to report on the Scorch Flu.”

  Her title sure sounded good. If only the news she carried was anything but the worst kind. Nani sucked in a breath as she glanced around the room. She’d thought their conference would be more private, but it was what it was. Nani straightened her spine. She never did anything halfway or less than her best. She could do this.

  “Mr. President, I’m pleased to meet you.” Nani approached the desk with a confident stride and extended her hand. Harrison stood briefly and shook it. He was shorter in person than he appeared on TV, just an inch or so taller than Nani’s five-foot nine.

  “Glad to have your outside perspective on this so-called Scorch Flu, and why the hell it’s spreading so fast. This thing should never have become a pandemic.”

  “You are right about that, Mr. President.” Nani opened her folder and took out a stack of reports, passing one to the President, as McMillan distributed the rest.

  “Tell us more about what we’re dealing with.” President Harrison quickly scanned the top page.

  “There’s no easy way to say this, and I know you prefer plain speaking, Mr. President. I’m afraid Scorch Flu, or A/3/H2H4, is a US developed, weaponized virus.”

  The room burst into exclamations at this bombshell. The President speared Nani with a piercing look. “That’s a hell of an accusation, Dr. Kagawa.”

  Nani’s cheeks burned and she stood ramrod straight. The edge of the folder cut into her fingers as she held it too tight, and the pain grounded her. “I’m sorry to be the bearer of bad news, butut I have intel that confirms it.”

  In addition to all the people McMillan had listed, the National Security Administration chief in charge of U.S. Cyber Command and the Director of National Intelligence, and even the CIA were present. Nani nodded respectfully to all and returned her attention to the President. “Mr. President. If you’ve had time to look at my biography, you know that I have a background with the FBI as well as my specialization in terrorism and virology. I’ve been tracking the outbreaks of the virus since it started. Please look at the map on page 3.” She used her pen to point to the map in his packet, and it also appeared on the monitors. “There’s no way for spontaneous outbreaks of this virus to have happened. The virus, developed as a research tool only, has been stored at the Army Research Lab, which as you know is a highly secure military facility. It could not have been released accidentally and infected this many people, this quickly.” Nani pointed to the spots of outbreak across the US map on the monitor with her pen. “Not only did we make this virus, but chemical markers on samples we’ve collected indicate that it was converted from the inert stored version and weaponized for highly contagious infection. Scorch Flu survives airborne for an hour, and on surfaces for up to twelve. Someone has stolen it and distributed it in an organized fashion.” Nani took a breath and blew it out. “We’ve been breached, sir. Scorch Flu is a bioterror attack.”

  The room erupted in noise again.

  “What do you know about how the virus got out of the ARL?” the chief of NSA asked.

  “I don’t, sir.” Nani turned to face the deceptively mild-mannered spy chief, whose habit it was to wear
a bow tie and a tweed jacket with patched elbows like an academic. “My tracking of the flu has focused on the information I’ve gained by interacting with the virus itself in the outbreak ‘hot spots.’ I have an MD as well as a PhD in virology, and I’ve been working with the doctors on the front lines to track Patient Zero—the first person known to have the virus. Through that investigation, I’ve been forced to conclude that there are at least five Patient Zeros strategically located throughout the United States.” In a room full of older, powerful white men, Nani had to keep her professionalism first and foremost. “I cannot speak to how or why the virus has appeared this way. I can only present to you that it has, and that it could not have been accidental.”

  The President’s eyes were sunken pouches of tired, purplish skin. He picked up a pair of reading glasses, slid them onto his nose, and peered closely at the map. “I take it you have run this information by the FBI, Homeland Security, and any other agencies we have whose purpose is preventing this sort of thing,” he snapped.

  “Yes, Mr. President.”

  “And she has all the facts?” Hal Pigeon, the Vice President, snorted as he spoke up for the first time. The VP looked like an Aryan poster child: buzz-cut blonde hair, a thick neck, and cold blue eyes that measured Nani—and found her not only wearing brown skin, but ovaries.

  Nani continued to address the President. “Mr. President, I am an independent investigator and scientist. I do not work for any government agency. Though I am well-versed in FBI and investigative procedures, I was chosen by the agencies to do this briefing for you, in no small part, because I am not a government employee. I have nothing to lose by telling you the truth, and I’m not good at kissing ass.”

  Harrison leaned back in his chair to stare at the coat of arms decorating the center of the ceiling, and gave a dry chuckle. “The girl’s got sand,” speaking to the VP on his left. “And she has a damn good point.”

  The VP did not reply, continuing to stare at Nani.

  “If I may, Mr. President.” Nani flipped a page in the President’s report and pointed. “The FBI and Homeland Security have identified a potential source of the attacks: a white supremacy group led by a persuasive and brutal leader, Tanner Hillish. His center of operations is in Texas.” She shared the bio on the man suspected to be the source of the flu’s devastating outbreaks.

  President Harrison turned to VP Pigeon. “That’s your home state.”

  Pigeon shrugged. “Everything is bigger in Texas—even the terrorists.” A chuckle circled the room like wind through dry branches—but this was no laughing matter.

  Nani continued. “Scorch Flu, dubbed by the media for the high fever that kills most of its victims, is swift and deadly. It’s also liable to keep mutating, thus making vaccination difficult.” Nani turned to a photo of the virus under microscope in her folder and picked up the clicker to show the photos on the monitors. “Here’s the original, cold storage version from the Army Research Lab. Here’s an early sample from one of the hot spots. And here’s a later sample.” She pointed out the changes. “We have a vaccine, but I worry it won’t be effective for long, and our supply is very limited.”

  “We need to keep this whole thing under wraps,” the VP advised. “The fewer who know about this, the better.”

  General Beauregard, the tall and craggy-faced Chairman of the Joint Chiefs, spoke up. “My recommendation is that we carry out a stealth operation and send a small investigative team to track this Texas terrorist, and possibly destroy the virus. We don’t want anything getting out about it being a US bioterror attack.”

  Nani ground her teeth. These men were more worried about the country’s international standing than stopping a pandemic that killed within a day from a critically high fever, or within a matter of a few weeks from respiratory drowning. Scorch Flu was effectively shutting down the country and they thought they could “keep a lid on it”?

  “Pardon my question, sir.” Nani inclined her head respectfully toward General Beauregard. “But wouldn’t it be better to have a national manhunt with all-agency participation? We could then bring superior numbers to bear upon the terrorists and unearth their cells. We think there are many of these nationalist skinhead groups, and they’re growing.”

  The chief of Cyber Intelligence spoke up. “She’s right. Our intel shows that these groups, including Hillish’s Great Nation America group, are recruiting at a staggering rate. They’re claiming that the Scorch Flu is the hand of God striking down the unrighteous and weeding out ‘impure undesirables’ from our nation.”

  Nani shuddered at the twisting of her mother’s faith into something so hateful. She’d grown up attending church with her mom, a small, gentle woman who followed the teachings of her church with compassion and love. That was the Christianity Nani loved, even if she no longer followed it formally.

  The President shook his head. “That’s certainly compelling, but I’m sorry. The Vice President is right. We have to keep a lid on this thing for as long as possible. The more cooks in the kitchen, the greater likelihood of spilling the sauce—and the implications for us internationally if this information gets out would be devastating.”

  The Secretary of Defense spoke up via video connection. “I agree, Mr. President. If other countries realize the virus is US-made, it could raise accusations of bioweapons development that could lead to another world war.”

  Vice President Pigeon spoke up. “Mr. President, we need you out in front, sending a strong message that we have things under control and comforting the people. I think we should give Dr. Kagawa a chance to do more than talk, since she claims to be such an expert. General Beauregard and I can spearhead this operation while you focus on more important things. Meanwhile, I can think of no better person to head up the special investigation unit than you, Dr. Kagawa.”

  Nani stood frozen, her hand curled around the bit of sea-worn glass in her pocket, her eyes wide and mouth dry.

  “We have better qualified people than Dr. Kagawa to lead a military operation,” Beauregard objected.

  The president overruled him. “That’s an excellent idea, Hal. Dr. Kagawa has the multi-agency and educational qualifications to lead the team. She’s here right now and knows the stakes, and time is of the essence.” He stood up, buttoning his jacket as he addressed Nani. “Once you’ve positively identified the source of the virus’s distribution, we’ll send in the cavalry. You all hammer out the details. I’m off to do damage control.”

  “Yes, sir, Mr. President.” A sense of unreality permeated Nani as she stood respectfully with the other men. How had she gone from being a simple messenger to the lead on what sounded like a suicide mission? And yet these orders had come straight from the Commander in Chief himself.

  The rest of the meeting passed in a flurry of conjecture and planning.

  General Beauregard became her official liaison to the White House with Vice President Hal Pigeon.

  Beauregard called the National Guard Armory in Texas, closest to where the terrorist group was rumored to have its base of operations, while the VP told the President’s aide-de-camp to arrange for Nani’s transportation via military transport to Austin. Nani was to gather her team from the available personnel at the base there.

  “Don’t I at least get some Army Rangers? Green Berets? Navy SEALs? Really? I get Texas National Guard? I should at least have an FBI SWAT team!” Panic tightened Nani’s chest. This rush job was wrong. Why did it seem like she was being set up to fail? “Stopping the progression of this disease and putting the terrorists who unleashed it out of business is paramount. I need the best of everything to do the mission justice!”

  “Time is of the essence,” General Beauregard repeated. He cleared his throat and looked up from his BlackBerry. His gaze softened as he leaned toward her, close enough that Nani could smell the fresh scent of his aftershave. “The truth is,” his voice dropped to a soft rumble, “many of our best elite troops have been the hardest hit with the Scorch Flu.” His eyes flick
ed over to the VP, who was pacing as he talked on the phone. “I believe this operation has the best chance of success with the elements of stealth, speed, and surprise. You will have your pick of staff from the troops stationed in Austin, and all the tech you need for surveillance.” He looked back at Nani, brown eyes firm. “Once you’ve positively identified the source of the bioterror attack, we can send in the cavalry. It’s not up to you to stop them—just to search and identify.”

  Nani nodded, but her chest wouldn’t loosen: Dr. Haunani Kagawa and a few men from the Texas National Guard—versus hundreds of Great Nation America skinhead bioterrorists.

  This could not go well.

  Chapter Two

  Luca

  Captain Luca Luciano wrote a quick note on a Post-it by the coffeemaker:

  Great to meet you, Barb

  Had a lot of fun last night

  Need to run, sorry

  Five, seven, five syllables. A haiku blow-off note.

  No reference to the season, though. Haikus were always supposed to reference the time of year.

  Luca almost started to edit, but stopped himself. He had to get his workout in before his shift. He grabbed his sunglasses and kissed his German Shepherd, Peaches, on the nose. “Stay here and keep an eye on her.”

  Barbara had said she was just getting out of a bad marriage and didn’t want any attachments—but Luca had heard that line before, only to wake up with a woman who wanted to meet his mother. Women were sneaky like that: they said one thing, but meant another.

  Luca bounded down the steps of his apartment complex, a familiar ache burning his thigh. The scars were hidden under knee-length shorts, but he always felt the jagged bits of shrapnel they hadn’t been able to remove, particularly when he ran.

  Luca hit the trailhead at a fast walk and shifted into a jog under the canopy of live oak trees. The low, wide branches provided shade as he increased his pace. The heat of Austin in August had not really hit yet—the sun was just hovering at the horizon.