"Hey," Aaron said, "don't get c.o.c.ky. This was just the first play of a long game. Marina gets the ball next."

Marina was sleeping in her hotel room when a phone woke her up. She had two cell phones: her regular gray one and a special one just for this a.s.signment. The latter was flashing, which meant only one person could be calling.

"Mr. Woods," she said in a rich, Russian accent. "I was hoping to hear from you, but not at one in the morning. Is there a problem?"

"I need money." His voice was so broken it was hard to understand.

"I gave you money."

"I spent it. I need more, five grand in cash, tomorrow."

"Do you think I'm an ATM machine?" Marina said coldly. "You'll have to work for your next paycheck."

"I'll steal a couple of files from the lab tomorrow."

"No. I'm not paying for sc.r.a.ps. There is only one deal I'm willing to discuss at this hour, and it pays fifty thousand American dollars, not five. We're going to conduct business like professionals. If you succeed, more and bigger deals will follow."

Woods paused. "What do you want?"

"The complete case history of every patient, living or dead."

He gasped. "Are you crazy?"

"It won't be hard," she said. "I'm sure you have all the information in your laboratory computers. Just copy the files to a flash drive and smuggle it out."

"I could go to prison for that!"

"I'm offering you complete financial freedom. You'll be able to settle all your debts and start your life again with a clean slate. At the same time you'll help the good people of Russia. Of course there are risks, but the rewards are much greater for you and for us."

"I... have to think about this."

"Do you want the money or not?" Marina said angrily. "There are others who are willing to do the same job, probably better than you, for less. I have no reason to be patient, and frankly, your att.i.tude irritates me. I like men who make decisions, not boys who whimper like dogs."

"That's not fair."

"I need your answer right now, Mr. Woods, or this relationship will end. I want to sleep."

Woods remained silent.

The door of the hotel room opened and Aaron walked in. Marina waved for him to be quiet. He pointed at the phone, and she nodded emphatically. He grinned.

"Others?" Woods said.

"Yes," she said. "I will get what I want with or without your help. Now, I can have the cash ready for you tomorrow. Used money, non-consecutive serial numbers, untraceable. Will that be satisfactory?"

He went silent again.

"I'm going to hang up now."

He mumbled.

"Excuse me?" she said.

"I'll do it for seventy grand."

"Fine, but don't disappoint me. If the goods don't meet my expectations or you call the police, you will be marked for death as an enemy of the Russian people. Do you understand?"

"Yes," he said softly.

"There is a diner across the street from your hotel called the Honey Spoon Restaurant. Meet me there at seven PM tomorrow. Good night." She closed her phone.

Aaron kissed her on the lips. "Sounds like you got him."

"Was there ever any doubt?" She kissed him back. "Let's celebrate our success."

"It's very late."

"So what? We can sleep in tomorrow-" She pulled him down onto the bed with her. "-while Woods does our work for us."

Chapter Five.

Timothy Smythe rubbed his tired eyes. He had spent the morning studying medical reports in his office, and the words were starting to blur together. He had hoped to find some clue everybody else had missed, but he had failed miserably so far. PRooFS was proving to be a diabolical foe. Meanwhile, every hour that pa.s.sed meant more innocent lives lost, and n.o.body could find the cause. Every conceivable theory had been tested, discarded, tested again, and discarded again.

He stretched his stiff arms. He tried to exercise every day, but he had missed plenty of days lately and that really bothered him. There was no good excuse for getting soft. He decided to take a vigorous jog around the hospital campus right now, before eating lunch. The activity would get his blood moving and provide some fresh energy. It wasn't like he was accomplishing anything useful in his office.

He took a jogging suit from his footlocker, which he kept in his office. While the footlocker was open, his gaze settled on his Army combat fatigues. He hadn't worn them in almost a year, and he might never again. The sense of loss was so painful he had to close the lid. It's not fair, he thought. I was just doing my duty.

After putting on the jogging suit, he walked out through the laboratory to reach the front door. He pa.s.sed several technicians along the way and nodded to each politely. He came to the a.n.a.lysis station where Mark Woods usually worked, but the chair was empty.

"Where is Woods?" Smythe asked.

"In the medical library," a nearby female technician replied.

"Why?"

She shrugged.

The "medical library" was actually a supply closet that had been converted into a small data center. Smythe sometimes used the computers to perform research. They contained a vast collection of medical journals in electronic form along with cla.s.sified reference material. Copies of all the patient files were also kept there.

Smythe was vaguely suspicious. Why would a mere technician need to do computer research?

He went to the library and found the door closed. He opened it without knocking.

Woods was seated in front of one of the computers, and he looked up with a startled, fearful expression. Smythe had known enough guilty men to recognize the look. Woods was up to something.

"What are you doing?" Smythe said.

"Writing a report, sir," Woods said.

"You have a computer at your desk."

"I needed to refer to some old files, sir. Do you want to work in here? I'll be done in a couple of minutes."

A rack against the back wall held eight computers plus networking and power boxes. Many vent fans filled the cramped s.p.a.ce with noise and heat, and Woods was sweating. He had obviously been in here for a long time.

"Let me see." Smythe moved towards Woods.

Woods reached for the mouse but didn't quite touch it. Then he backed away. "Yes, sir."

Smythe pushed pa.s.sed him. Judging by which folders were open, it appeared that Woods was examining the medical records of patients. That information was not considered to be very sensitive, but it was still confidential, like everything else in the laboratory.

"I saw some interesting test results for glycogen phosphorylase isoenzyme BB," he said. "I wondered if other patients had similar results."

Smythe raised his eyebrows. "That's good initiative."

"Thank you, sir." Woods smiled but there was still fear in his eyes.

Smythe knew something was amiss, but he couldn't chastise a man for working hard. Even though Woods had never shown such enthusiasm for his job before now, his story was credible.

There were bags under his bloodshot eyes and his hair was greasy.

"You're a wreck. Were you out late last night?"

"I had trouble sleeping again, sir," Woods said.

"Take a pill next time."

"If you don't mind, sir, I'd like to get back to my research. Patients are depending on us for their lives."

"Very well," Smythe said. "Let me know if you discover anything."

"Right away, sir."

Smythe left with a frown. He vowed to keep a very close eye on Woods for the next few days. The man needed constant watching.

Aaron looked through a pair of binoculars at the Honey Spoon Restaurant. It was a red building with plate gla.s.s windows. A neon sign above the door glowed bright yellow, except for the word "Spoon," which was dark. The sun had just set, an event that happened earlier every day as winter rapidly approached. He already missed the warmth of summer.

Marina and Woods were sitting in a corner booth inside the diner. She had a laptop on the table in front of her, and she was using it to examine the stolen data he had delivered to her. A steel briefcase lay on the table next to the computer. Large windows allowed Aaron to have a clear view of both partic.i.p.ants in the clandestine transaction. He didn't expect any trouble, but he was ready to intercede immediately if necessary. A light sniper rifle was lying on the car seat beside him.

Woods had a blank expression on his face. He was clearly too tired and emotionally drained to consider the implications of what he was doing. His gaze was focused on the briefcase instead of the beautiful woman in front of him.

Aaron rubbed his arms to keep warm. The night was surprisingly cold and his coat wasn't thick enough. He sat in a car on the other side of the street from the diner, but he couldn't run the heater because turning on the engine might attract attention. On a mission of such delicacy, it was impossible to be too careful.

He noticed a man in a car in the diner's parking lot. Aaron couldn't see his face.

c.r.a.p, Aaron thought. It was possible Woods had screwed up and the authorities were tailing him. Aaron had to check it out. This a.s.signment was going too well. We were due for a complication.

Aaron sprinted across the street with his head down. He crouched behind a tree where darkness and shadows made him invisible. From this angle he could see that the man in the car was none other than Timothy Smythe.

Aaron was baffled. Smythe was a doctor, not a military policeman, yet he was observing Woods like a detective. Aaron looked to see if anybody else was around, but it appeared that Smythe was alone. Why was he here?

Aaron checked his weapons. Along with a couple of knives, he had a .45 caliber pistol with a suppressor in a holster under his jacket. He took out the heavy gun and made sure it was loaded.

He boldly walked over to the driver's side of Smythe's car and pointed the gun through the closed window. "Open the door and slide over slowly," Aaron commanded. "Very slowly. I have an itchy trigger finger."

Smythe's eyes went wide when he saw the gun barrel just inches from his head. He unlocked the door and shifted over to the pa.s.senger's side. Aaron took his place.

"Take it easy," Aaron said. "Keep your hands out where I can see them. I just want to talk. I have no particular reason to kill you, but that doesn't mean I won't."

Smythe stared. "You're one of the a.s.sholes who broke into my lab and knocked me out. I bet that woman in the restaurant is your partner. I thought she looked familiar."

"Correct." Aaron kept his gun pointed at Smythe's face.

"Are you a spy? What government do you work for?"

"I'm a loyal American citizen like you."

"Liar." Smythe shook his head.

"It's true."

"Then you must be a criminal. You buy and sell secrets for money." Smythe clenched his fists.

"No," Aaron said. "I don't care about money. I'm not a terrorist either. I'm actually a soldier like you."

"What kind of soldier ransacks a medical facility in the middle of the night? What kind of soldier conducts business with a traitor like Woods? I know what's going on here, and it's disgusting."

"I'm not here to defend my actions. I can't tell you the truth, and you wouldn't believe me anyway. I want to talk about Woods. Why are you watching him? How did you know he was dirty?"

"The guy is a screw up," Smythe said. "He was acting guilty all day. You made a lousy choice when you picked a defector."

"We picked him because he's a degenerate gambler. He was very easy to bribe."

"Now I'm even more nauseous." Smythe pretended to spit.

"I know this is a ridiculous request," Aaron said, "but I want you to leave him be. He may be a maggot but he's not evil. He doesn't deserve to rot in prison."