Wild Surge Read online

  The blonde's eyes sparkled with possibilities.

  My phone buzzed my pocket. I pulled out the device and looked at the screen. It was Isabella. "Excuse me, ladies. I need to take this."

  I stepped away, swiped the screen, and put the phone to my ear.

  "Seems like you stepped in the middle of a big shit-show," Isabella said.

  "What else is new?" I muttered.

  "I've learned the source of the virus."

  That definitely piqued my curiosity.

  "Word is it originated at USAMRIID."

  My brow lifted in disbelief. "What!?"

  USAMRIID was the Army's Medical Research Institute of Infectious Diseases. It was the front-line research organization dedicated to defensive countermeasures against biological warfare. It had a BSL-4 lab and employed a variety of military and civilian personnel.

  "Genetic analysis of the strain identified its origin," Isabella continued. "Someone within the facility must have leaked it. From there, it was exported out of the country, then genetically modified into its current form."

  "That would take a foreign BSL-4 lab," I said. "Who has that capability?"

  "Any kid on the Internet can buy a CRISPR kit, but this type of modification would need to be done in a high-end lab. Right now I can only think of a few places."

  "I think I know what you're going to say."

  "The Feds have tracked the strain to a specific sample within USAMRIID. It shouldn't take long before they have isolated a list of potential suspects that had access to that strain. They're calling it the Surge virus. It comes on very quickly, and is especially virulent, as you well know. This is all highly classified stuff, and I'm only getting bits and pieces of it. I'm looking into the origin of the container ship. My sources say it was a Chinese vessel that left port in Iran and was masquerading as a British ship."

  "You think the Chinese are supplying Iran with WMDs and biologic weapons?"

  "It's a possibility."

  "What's the target?"

  "I don't know. I'll keep digging."

  Isabella ended the call.

  I slipped the device into my pocket, then returned to the ladies.

  "Is everything okay?" Londyn asked. "You looked like you were involved in a serious discussion."

  I played it off. "No. Nothing major."

  "Good, because we're counting on you for a good time tonight. No Debbie Downers."

  I chuckled. "Something tells me you girls have no problem finding fun wherever you go."

  The two girls exchanged a glance and smiled.

  "We do okay," Summer said. "It's all in the attitude. I think you can make anything fun. Well, maybe not anything, but you know what I mean."

  "I'm sure you girls attract a lot of positivity," I said.

  "And a lot of creepers," Londyn added.

  Summer chuckled.

  Londyn put a hand on my arm, and with a glint in her eyes, she said, "But you seem more than capable of fending off the creepers for us."

  I grinned. "I'll do my best."

  I chatted with the girls on the way back to Coconut Key. We pulled into the marina, and Jack idled to our slip. I tied off the lines and reconnected water and power. The production crew unloaded their gear. The stylists hauled off the wardrobe. Summer and Londyn went back to their hotel to change and freshen up for the evening. We planned on connecting later.

  It took a little over an hour for the crew to break down all the equipment and restore the Vivere to its pristine condition. Sam shook my hand and asked me again to consider his offer.

  I told him we'd be in touch.

  Penelope said goodbye and echoed Sam's sentiment.

  JD and I stood on the dock watching the production pack up and leave. The semi-trailer truck full of gear, the Star-Wagons that housed the talent, a dozen cars that belonged to production assistants—they all scurried out of the parking lot, and the chaos of the film production was gone.

  The marina was quiet again.

  We headed down the dock toward Diver Down. I needed to collect Buddy and Fluffy and bring them back to the boat. As we reached the parking lot, JD's eyes went wide. "Son-of-a-bitch!"

  18

  You Suck Donkey Ballz was spray-painted in red on the door of JD's lizard-green Porsche. The seasonal colors made it look somewhat festive.

  JD's face reddened, and his eyes looked like they were about to pop out of their sockets. He stomped toward the car, and I followed. "I'm going to kill that little bastard!"

  "Don't worry about it. It will buff out," I assured.

  "I'm getting tired of buffing things out of the paint on this car."

  "Haters gonna hate. Maybe you should get a beater car to drive to practice?"

  Jack scowled at me. "That defeats the purpose of having a nice car if I can't drive it wherever I want to drive it." He clenched his jaw and exhaled through his nose. "There's a solution to this."

  "Let it go. The more you stir shit…"

  "Oh, I'm going to stir some shit, believe me." He continued to survey the damage. "Don't you have any security cameras in this parking lot?"

  I shook my head. "We've never really had a problem with vandalism here."

  "Maybe you should think about installing them."

  "Well, when I take ownership, I can make upgrades like that."

  "Donkey Ballz, huh?" a woman said, approaching behind us. "Is that your specialty?"

  Jack craned his neck at her and scowled.

  The woman was dressed in a gray pantsuit and white blouse. She had shoulder-length blonde hair and blue eyes. She was about 5'4", and if it weren't for her height, she could have easily been a model on our shoot this afternoon.

  She held up her ID card.

  I recognized it right away.

  "Kennedy Shaw. CIA. You have a minute to speak?" she asked.

  It wasn't a question.

  JD and I exchanged a glance.

  "Sure," I said.

  She nodded to the Vivere and started walking in that direction.

  We followed her down the dock. When she arrived at the gangway, she motioned for us to enter.

  JD returned the gesture and said, "After you."

  We crossed the gangway, pushed into the salon, and took a seat on the settee.

  Agent Shaw kept standing. "I'm sure you can guess why I'm here."

  "You're looking to charter a boat?" Jack answered, thick with sarcasm.

  "Sorry, I've already got one. A 206-foot cargo ship, filled with dead Iranian intelligence officers."

  That hung there for a moment.

  "I've read both of your classified files," Agent Shaw continued. "I'm familiar with your background. What we're about to discuss is classified. Nod if you both understand."

  We nodded.

  "So tell me how you came to discover the cargo ship?"

  I shrugged. "Just lucky, I guess."

  Her blue eyes narrowed at me.

  "Don't you know that already? I've told everyone. We were fishing. The boat almost collided with us."

  "Forgive me if I'm just a little curious about a former operative that happened to discover this at random."

  "It's your job to be curious," I said. "I get that." I paused. "You said Iranian intelligence. So this was a terrorist attempt?"

  She hesitated for a moment. "We believe so, yes."

  "What was the intended target?"

  Shaw said nothing. Then, "Were you currently running any type of operation with Cobra Company?"

  "No. Like I said, we were just out fishing. I don't work for Cobra Company anymore."

  "What about your recent excursion in Colombia?"

  "A favor for a friend."

  "That was some favor," she said, sounding impressed.

  "I know you've traced the strain back to USAMRIID. Do you have any suspects?"

  There was a hint of surprise in her face at my knowledge of the situation. That surprise faded quickly, given my background. She hesitated. "We have three suspects. We're tr
ying to narrow it down right now. All of them are denying any involvement. This is going to be a long, drawn-out affair, and I'm afraid the FBI will be chasing down rabbit holes for months. What is important now is stopping a potential threat."

  "It seems to me the terrorists were unsuccessful at smuggling in the virus," I said. "I'm sure another attack is already planned."

  A grim look washed over Kennedy Shaw's face. "We believe the virus has already reached its intended destination."

  I arched a curious eyebrow.

  "It's likely the cargo ship rendezvoused with someone offshore. The virus was transferred and brought into Coconut Key. Obviously, the crew members became infected during transit and the virus spread. Perhaps a container leaked? We may never know the exact specifics, but we believe there is a cell operating on the island, planning an attack."

  "Who?"

  "We are working up profiles now."

  "You must have a few leads?" I said.

  "We do. But time is of the essence."

  "Wouldn't the members of the local terrorist cell be infected?" I asked.

  "Not if they knew the crew was infected and took precautions during the transfer," Shaw said.

  Silence filled the air.

  "The golf tournament," I suggested.

  Kennedy nodded. "We believe that is a high probability target. Especially given the fact that the President will be in attendance."

  That hung in the air like smoke.

  "I hadn't realized he was attending," I said.

  "He'll be making the announcement tomorrow."

  "These terrorists seem to have inside information," I said.

  She gave another grim nod.

  "Why are you here?" I asked. "What can we do?"

  "I don't want you to do anything. I want you to stay out of the way. You both have a history of rash and impulsive actions. You take risks. You violate protocol. You're loose cannons. Do you follow me?"

  JD's face crinkled.

  "So, you want us to sit back and do nothing?" I asked.

  "Given your profile and history, I know that is an unrealistic request. What I want you to do is contact me with any actionable intel. Do not take action yourself."

  I frowned at her.

  "There are some people within the Company that believe you are a great operative. They say you are bold, aggressive, and you get the job done at all costs. I am not one of those people, Mr. Wild. I think you are reckless and dangerous. I want you to stand down."

  Jack grumbled, "For the record, he's not the reckless one. That's all me."

  Kennedy shot him a look. "No, you’re the incompetent one.”

  Jack glared at her.

  “We have the situation under control. Go about your business, solve your petty crimes, keep chasing skirts. Your lives will be just fine."

  "Until a pathogen is released in our community and we end up with more bodies than bags," I said.

  "Give us a little credit, Mr. Wild. We're professionals."

  19

  "I don't think I like her," JD said after Agent Shaw left the Vivere.

  "I don't think I like her either," I agreed.

  "Who does she think she is, coming in here and telling us to stand down?"

  "A high-level government official," I muttered.

  "Well, that's a big negative. Sorry, but I couldn’t make out that last transmission."

  I grinned at Jack's defiance.

  For a moment, he had forgotten all about the vandalism of his car. He had a new reason to pout like a child who had his toy taken away.

  I called Isabella and updated her on our encounter with Agent Shaw.

  "What did you expect her to say?" Isabella said.

  "We're local deputies, and we have every right to investigate a potential terrorist threat within the county," I said. "See what you can find out about a possible local terrorist cell that has ties to Iran. There has to be some chatter out there."

  "I've got my ear to the ground," Isabella assured.

  By the time I ended the call, Jack was ready to grab a beer and suggested we go to Diver Down while we waited for the models to call.

  Sounded reasonable.

  Jack stared at the red paint on the car door as we strolled from the dock to the entrance of Diver Down. He grumbled and shook his head. More than a few curse words escaped his mouth.

  We took a seat at the bar, and Teagan's bubbly smile diffused his resurfacing rage.

  "What can I get you boys?"

  "Two beers," I said.

  She pulled a bottle opener from her back pocket, spun it like a gunslinger, and popped the tops off two longnecks. Air hissed as it escaped, and she slid the sweaty bottles across the counter.

  "Did you see anyone in the parking lot vandalizing my car?" JD asked.

  Teagan's eyes rounded, and she gasped. "What!? No. I didn't see anything!"

  JD frowned.

  "Sorry. It's been kind of busy."

  "What about your psychic ability?" JD asked. "You know who did it?"

  She shifted onto one hip and placed her hands on her hips and sassed, "No, I don't know who did it."

  "I know who did it," Jack stated. "I just want to see if you know."

  She huffed. "It doesn't really work that way."

  "You keep telling me you are psychic," JD said, still skeptical.

  Teagan scowled at him and threw her bar-rag on the counter. She marched around the bar and said, "Keep an eye on things," as she strutted into the parking lot.

  Jack watched her hips sway as she sauntered away.

  She certainly had a nice saunter, the cutoff jean shorts hugging her pert curves.

  "What the hell is she doing?" JD asked.

  "She needs a physical connection, remember?"

  "I need a physical connection," JD said, lasciviously.

  We peered into the parking lot as Teagan strolled around the car. She knelt down, examined the door, and placed her hand on the bodywork. She focused on it intently.

  A few minutes later, she stood up and walked back into the bar. She rounded the counter and took her usual position.

  "So?" JD asked. "What did you come up with?"

  "Someone is very mad at you," she said.

  "Obviously."

  "That's all I really know." She paused. "I saw long blonde hair."

  JD wasn't sure how to react. It seemed he was excited and disappointed at the same time by her revelation.

  "Am I right?" Teagan asked.

  "Maybe," Jack muttered. "Rip has long blond hair."

  "Who's Rip?" Teagan asked.

  Jack shook his head.

  "Jack replaced him as the singer of Wild Fury," I said.

  "Ah, a little jealousy is at play," Teagan said. "Take it as a compliment."

  "These compliments are starting to get expensive," Jack griped.

  Teagan frowned. "Sorry."

  "It's not your fault."

  "The guy is clearly upset," Teagan said. "Maybe you should invite him out for drinks, bury the hatchet."

  Jack looked at her like she was crazy.

  "I'm serious,” she said. “When people do things like that, they are hurting inside. He probably needs a friend."

  "Well, he's gonna be hurting on the outside, and all over, if he keeps this shit up."

  20

  "I want you to pick up Charlie Knox and bring him in," Daniels said when he called.

  "What's up?" I asked. "Did the lab find something?"

  JD and I were still sitting at the bar in Diver Down.

  "The nylon rope found in Knox's van is the same type that was used to bind Lauren James."

  Lauren James was the second victim attributable to the Seaside Stalker.

  Daniels continued. "Several hair strands found in the van are consistent with Heather Newman."

  "I don't think that does much for us," I said. "Knox admitted Heather was in the van, and he said the sex was consensual."

  "The lab found DNA on the bedsheets that belonged t
o both Heather Newman and Lauren James."

  I lifted a surprised brow. A rush of excitement fluttered in my stomach. "Good thing Knox doesn't do laundry often."

  "Don't get too excited," Daniels cautioned. "But that connects him to two of the three victims. It was enough to get an arrest warrant. Let's put the squeeze on him and see how he holds up under pressure."

  "Will do," I said with enthusiasm.

  I ended the call and slipped the phone into my pocket.

  JD had listened curiously.

  "Come on," I said. "We gotta roll. We're taking Knox down."

  "Now?" JD asked. Concern and disappointment washed over his face.

  "Yes, now."

  "But… But… We have models!" He looked like a sad puppy dog.

  "They'll have to wait."

  JD frowned, and his shoulders slumped. He looked utterly deflated. "All I can say is this punk better be guilty."

  He texted Londyn, telling her we had urgent official business to take care of and that we would hook up later.

  Jack waited eagerly for a response.

  I called Hammerhead and spoke with Chip. He said Knox was currently on shift, working the patio bar. I told him we had a few additional questions for Charlie and not to alert him.

  We left Diver Down and hopped into JD's Porsche. It was the official kickoff of Fusion Fest, and Oyster Avenue had been blocked off. Deputies stood at the barriers, directing traffic. Hordes of revelers flooded the avenue, hopping from bar to bar. Overhead banners spanned the street, promoting the event. We had to park on a side street a few blocks away.

  After a short stroll, we met deputies Erickson and Faulkner on Oyster Avenue just outside Hammerhead. I showed them a picture of Charlie Knox on my cell phone.

  "Is he armed?" Erickson asked.

  "Unknown," I said.

  "Do you expect any trouble?"

  "I always expect trouble," I said.

  "Why don't you guys cover the exits, we'll take him down inside the club," I said. "If he sees uniforms, he might bolt."

  The uniformed deputies nodded. They moved around the side of the building to cover the parking lot and the rear exit.

  JD and I pushed through the main entrance. It was early, and the crowd was still thin. I gave a nod to Chip behind the main bar.