The Nine Page 19

  Alex nodded. “Easy. The Judas Agency excels at gathering information and secrets. They make big brother look like a closet loving hermit.”

  “If they accessed the athlete’s records, it would be easy to find the ones who possess immunity as long as they knew what to search for.”

  Alex blinked. “That’s a pretty good theory.”

  “Try not to look so shocked.”

  I let go of Alex’s arm and waved at an old truck heading toward us up the road.

  “It gives them a target and exposing only the immune would allow the disease time to spread before it’s discovered. Plus, infecting an athlete guarantees maximum delivery because they’ll be shaking hands, making public appearances, signing autographs, you name it. They’ll spread the disease world-wide in a matter of weeks.”

  The truck slowed down, and the driver, an ancient hard-faced farmer wearing a plaid shirt with rolled up sleeves, eyed Alex and then looked at me. “You folks got trouble?”

  I leaned into his passenger window and nodded. “My cousin left us stranded out here.”

  He eyed Alex again. “You folks get into an argument or something.”

  I flashed him a sad smile and lowered my voice. “He’s never liked my wife. Can’t look past the outside to see what matters in the middle, you know?”

  I waited for a second while the farmer considered this. He nodded and turned his gaze toward the road. “I know the type. Have a brother like that. Haven’t talked to him in years. Called my wife a whore because she wore a skirt above her knees to the school dance.”

  The farmer looked back at me and winked. “Always liked those knees.”

  I laughed. Alex tilted her head to the side, looking impatient.

  “Your cousin didn’t call her a whore, did he?” The farmer’s eyes narrowed a bit when he asked the question.

  “Let’s just say we found ourselves in need of a different direction.”

  “Well, hop in,” the farmer said. “I can take you into town. From there you can catch a bus or make a call. Whatever you need to do.”

  I stepped away from the window and motioned for Alex to jump into the cab of the old Chevy. She slipped past me, an expression of pure astonishment on her face. I got in behind her and slammed the door.

  “You kids need any cash?” The farmer lifted his left hand from the side of his seat and revealed an old thirty-eight service revolver. Adrenaline lit every nerve in my body for a moment, but the farmer tucked the gun under his seat as if he had stowed an old rag. Alex never flinched, and it reminded me that regular weapons couldn’t hurt us up here. Had he been holding a rainwater squirt gun, however ...

  Alex stared as the old farmer moved with a sort of ancient grace that betrayed a wisdom and strength only a lifetime of hard labor could teach. He produced a twenty from his front pocket and offered it to Alex.

  “Here ya go, young lady.”

  Alex held a hand up in protest, but the farmer insisted.

  “You and your husband remind me of my wife and me when we were young.”

  I tried to imagine the conservative farmer standing at the altar with his tattooed, blue-haired bride-to-be and had to smile.

  Alex took the twenty. “Thank you.” She gave me a cynical wink. “If your wife is half as lucky as I am, she has had a wonderful life.”

  The farmer nodded and put the truck in gear, without looking at us. “I do my best, ma’am.” He smiled. “Matter fact, why don’t you tell me where you’re headed. I need to give the old truck a stretch. If you don’t mind a stranger’s company, I’d be glad to run you folks wherever you want to go.”

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  I waved at the farmer as he pulled out of the parking lot of the Salt Lake City Olympic Center. Cars lined the parking lot like endless crops of glass and steel, surrounded by a sea of strollers, sunglasses, and lunch coolers. The tide of people flowing into the huge stadium complex reminded me of an hourglass, sifting its infinite sand through the tiny opening in the middle. I couldn’t even imagine how many people the center was capable of holding if this represented a small fraction of the day’s attendants.

  “This is a stupid idea.” Alex motioned toward the pulsating crowd. “We’re never going to find them.”

  I squinted and pretended to scan a few of the faces. “Yeah, this might take a few more minutes than I thought.”

  “A few minutes? We could be here for a year and never run into them. I don’t even know how we’re going to stay close enough to the athletes to watch them. For that matter, those two idiots could hit them somewhere else; their hotels or a restaurant. What if they pose as a driver? They would have them all to themselves for several minutes.” Alex threw up her arms. “This is hopeless. I can’t believe I signed on for this. I don’t know why I’m calling them idiots. We’re the ones trying to catch water in a butterfly net.”

  I blinked. “Nice one.”

  “Shut up.”

  “Don’t worry. We’ll figure everything out.” I waved my hand and fanned the air, trying to clear a rancid emission someone was kind enough to leave on their way by. “You’re good at carrying out carefully planned missions. Me? I am better at playing things by ear.”

  Alex stared at me. “This is not playing things by ear. Playing things by ear is figuring out what to say to a snitch when you get there. This is ... what are you doing?”

  I fanned my face with a little more enthusiasm, trying to evade the assault on my olfactory senses. I surveyed the people up wind, ready to do a little overreacting. The bean burrito fart grenades were getting downright foul.

  When my scan of the area produced no obvious suspects, I glanced at Alex. “Please tell me that’s not you.”

  “What are you talking about?” Alex smacked my hand. “Stop fanning your face like an old church lady. You look like you’re going to have a stroke.”

  “It is you.” My eyes went wide. “What did you eat?”

  “Stop screwing around, Gabe.”

  “Are we really going to pretend that smell isn’t here? I can almost see it. If someone walks through your death fog, we’re going to be blamed for releasing mustard gas into the crowd.” I gave up on fanning and slapped my palm over my nose. “At least you didn’t let go in the truck. We’d all be dead if you gassed us in there.”

  Alex stared at me, her eyes a mix of confusion and aggravation.

  “I’m just kidding ... Wait, are you serious? You can’t smell that?” I dropped my hand and let a trickle of air enter my nose. The odor hit me like a physical slap in the face.

  Alex’s shoulders sagged in resignation, and she proceeded to circle me, sniffing the air like a dog greeting a new friend.

  “I don’t smell anything. What does it smell like?”

  My eyebrows shot up. “Oh, I don’t know. Something subtle. A mix of turpentine and onions garnished with a bag of sweaty gym socks. My eyes are starting to water. You seriously can’t smell that?”

  I put my head up. The odor seemed familiar somehow. I smelled it once before when ... My eyes flicked through the bustling crowd, scanning their belongings rather than their faces. A faint breeze came from the south, so I put my nose into the wind and started walking.

  “Where are you going?” Alex held her ground, refusing to move.

  “Come on. I have a hunch. You got something better to do?”

  Alex threw her hands up and followed me toward the main building. I sniffed the air here and there when I had to, keeping us on track. The rest of the time I breathed through my mouth and tried not to taste the horrible greasy smell assaulting my senses.

  The crowd became even more dense inside the arena. People ambled along the displays and billboards showcasing the athletes competing in this year’s games. Shops and vendors occupied every available space, making it impossible for visitors to walk in a straight line without running into someone peddling beer, food, or some sort of Olympic memorabilia.

  I pushed through a crowd of people holding miniature Ge
rman flags. They cursed me in a short choppy language until Alex brought up the rear, bumping and staring each of the big Germans into silence.

  My nose led me around a corner, through a corridor, and out into an open courtyard where more people sat at tables and enjoyed the Utah heat while they ate volumes of the aforementioned food items from all over the world. I paused a moment and let my nose zone in on the stink swirling among the other smells. When I had it, I moved to follow, but a hand grabbed the back of my coat, bringing me to a halt again.

  Alex stared at a crowd of children celebrating a birthday party. They all wore bathing suits and assaulted each other with giant squirt guns and water balloons.

  I grinned. “Relax. You said regular water can’t hurt us. Only rain water or holy water.”

  Alex reached up and pushed my head toward the kids re-arming station. An old outdoor water spigot with a sign labeled, Non-Potable Rain Water, Do Not Drink. Irrigation only.

  “How environmentally responsible of them.” A chill ran up my spine. I’d almost walked right through the middle of that minefield. “What do they water in here, concrete and asphalt?”

  Alex shrugged, and we backed away slow and easy. “Don’t know, don’t care. Let’s just go around. Way around.”

  I nodded. I could use the exercise.

  We rounded the aqua death party, and my nostrils reacquired the trail near a day use rental area. A clerk stood behind a counter where rows of strollers and wagons remained corralled inside a blue chain link fence. He looked positively suicidal with enthusiasm. Past that were the lockers. Huge red metal boxes covered an Olympic mural that formed the bulk of the open rear wall. The onion turpentine odor became so strong we almost swam in it. Nothing stopped the pervasive odor from seeping in. It was like diving underwater and trying not to drown by plugging my nose and breathing through my mouth. Then I discovered why. Durian fruit.

  The aromatic dumpster rot wafted off the rind as Jake dropped it onto the floor. Max shoved his face into another huge piece and took a bite as if he held a ripe red watermelon. I gagged and had to slap a hand over my mouth to keep from throwing up.

  The fingers of Max’s free hand worked the combination on one of the big red lockers.

  “You have got to be kidding me.” Alex stared at the two stooges. “How did you do that?”

  I shrugged. “I guess I have a nose for stupid.” I gagged again and turned my head to the side.

  “Are you alright?” Alex seemed to realize how exposed we were. She grabbed my arm and hauled me back, forcing me to duck low and blend with the crowd. Max and Jake stood less than twenty yards away. Hundreds of people roamed the area, but a single wayward glance in the wrong direction would blow our cover.

  We made our way around to a kiosk selling hats and t-shirts, where we had a clear view of what Max and Jake were up to without casting a spotlight on ourselves. Max finished his fruit and dropped his rind on the floor, then he reached into the locker to pull out a heavy-duty briefcase.

  “Your luck astounds me.” Alex pretended to try on a hat covered in pink rhinestones and peered across the crowd.

  “This is just how I planned it.” I didn’t bother acting like I was browsing. I was too busy plastering my hand against my face, then it hit me. The smell was gone.

  I pulled my hand away and gave the air a tentative sniff. When my sinuses didn’t revolt and try to escape through my eyes, I took a deep breath and almost laughed with relief.

  “The contagion has to be in that briefcase,” Alex said, interrupting my celebration. “They haven’t deployed it yet.”

  I nodded and glanced at a very suspicious cashier who had taken a sudden and keen interest in our conversation. I smiled, took the hat off of Alex’s head and set it back on the rack. There was a beer stand closer to the lockers, and I got ready to sprint in that direction. “Stay here, and when I give you a signal, find a way to distract them.”

  Alex looked at me. “And what are you going to do?”

  “I’m not really sure,” I admitted. “But we have to steal that briefcase.”

  Chapter Thirty-Eight

  “I’m not really the distraction type.” Alex crossed her arms and shifted her gaze to the crowd behind us.

  I rounded on her. “Not the distraction type? You are a tattooed supermodel with blue hair. The Las Vegas strip is less distracting.”

  I tensed everything from my toes to my eyeballs and spread my feet, ready to run toward the nearby beer stand. “We don’t have time to argue. If we lose them again, we might not get another chance. We need to separate them from that—package,” I said, still aware of the kiosk merchant straining to hear our hushed conversation.

  Alex didn’t move. Her gaze drifted off, and she cocked her head, grinning as if she had settled into some sort of amusing daydream. I began to wonder if she had heard a word I said, then she reached into her pocket, pulled out the twenty the farmer gave her on the way here, and shrugged. “I’ll be back.”

  I was stunned to momentary stillness as Alex hurried into the crowd behind us. I took a breath to shout her name and held it. She would hear me. I was so angry half the stadium would hear me, but Jake and Max would too. I let the breath out with a deep growl of frustration. What was I supposed to do now? Sit here and wait for something to happen? Hope she came back to explain her plan? The one that involved parts that were more comfortable and convenient to her?

  I trained my eyes on the two stooges. She had sixty seconds. After that, I would head over with or without her.

  Max lugged the industrial briefcase to a tall bar table nearby, and they both sat down to stare at their phones. Jake looked like a toddler in a highchair while Max enveloped his stool like bread dough dropped on a sixteen-penny nail.

  Neither of them spoke, but each rested an arm on that briefcase. The Stooges may have their faults—lots of faults—but they weren’t stupid. Now that they had the case, it would to take a miracle to wrench the contagion out of their hands.

  I considered the feasibility of a smash and grab ... Well, more of just a grab, when a small yellow sphere hurled past my head, pelting me with something that felt like a million staples dipped in battery acid. I winced and jerked away, a millennium too late to do any good. My heel caught the edge of a curb, forcing me to perform an arm-flailing clown yoga stunt to keep from landing flat on my back. I still ended up on my butt.

  The owner of the hat kiosk fired off an impressive international cursing stream I didn’t understand. I was thankful the chopped profanity wasn’t aimed at me. She passed my seated position with several shuffling steps, almost knocking off her rhinestone Olympic sun-visor as she waved her arms.

  I got to my feet and dared a peek over the sparkling display to search for the attackers, but the assault had already passed. A dozen swimsuit clad children, screaming like berserker banshees. Several of them held colorful water balloon grenades, much like the one that had threatened to crater my head, and each had some sort of insane looking water gun. They packed everything from lime green sub-compact machine water guns to huge orange water bazookas. Beauties I couldn’t have conceived of in my wildest adolescent wet dreams.

  Jake and Max considered the oncoming horde with dispassion at first, then the first balloon grenade hit the concrete at their feet. Max must have had some exposed skin, because he stood up, spit the bar chair out of his butt cheeks, and tumbled over backward. Jake took a second or two longer to catch on. But when he saw Max scrambling along the french-fry encrusted floor, his tiny brain made the circuit, and he jumped down to help his friend.

  “You kids beat it.” Jake tried to sound menacing, but his voice came out so high, he sounded more like an elderly grandmother scolding her cats. The kids cackled and advanced with relentless abandon. They were within firing range now, and Jake had to know it.

  Max managed to right his massive bulk, so Jake went for the briefcase. His hand touched the handle as a purple water grenade exploded on top of the table. Jake screamed. This ti
me he sounded more like the cats than the old lady, and the kids took aim with their water cannons and opened fire. Jake and Max abandoned their package and ran through the crowd, knocking people down as they went. The kids pursued like a band of giggling mercenary maniacs. I couldn’t blame them. Grownups didn’t offer that kind of reaction every day.

  A kid bringing up the rear swung his dripping cannon around to be sure no one flanked their position, then he waved a twenty-dollar bill and flashed a thumbs up. I thought he was looking at me, so I returned the gesture with an awkward thumbs up of my own, then I turned around to see Alex standing behind me, arms crossed over her chest.

  “So, are you just going to stand there with your thumb up in the air, or are you going to get over there?”

  I gave her an awestruck nod. “You almost killed me. That was amazing.” I let out a manic stream of laughter.

  Alex dropped her arms and lost her composure as well. “If I could replay that for the rest of eternity, I would be happy.”

  We ran for the briefcase, skipping through the reformed chaos of the crowd, and got to the table at the same time. I reached for the handle and jerked back with a hiss of frustration. The briefcase, the table, the chairs, even the floor was soaking wet with rain water.

  “I wish they’d been a little more accurate,” I said.

  “Picky, picky. Just grab a few napkins.”

  I snatched a chrome dispenser off an adjoining table and proceeded to tear out the little brown napkins like a kitten on a toilet paper roll rampage. When I had enough, I reached for the latch and pushed the little metal squares to the side. We both held our breath. Nothing happened.

  “It’s locked.” My gaze shot over to Alex.

  “I’ll go find a knife or something. Maybe we can break the case open.” Alex started to leave, but I stopped her.