Biowar by Stephen Coonts Page A

“It’s Homeland Security. Sandra Marshall’s. And I’ve already gone on record as recusing the agency from the recommendation.”
    “Recusing or opposing?”
    A tactical error, Rubens thought—he had been far too cautious. He should have opposed.
    Unless Hadash was pushing it. Which he seemed to be.
    “I don’t believe the proposal is in anyone’s best interests,” said Rubens. “Not the government‘s, not the NSA’s, and certainly not our citizens’.”
    Hadash frowned. Rubens put the conversation back to its original track.
    “Not to change the subject, but British intelligence was apparently a little too aggressive in tracking arrivals at the conference,” said Rubens.
    “How so?”
    “They attempted to detain one of my agents while she was following Mr. Dean’s kidnappers. They were rather adamant about it, and I’m afraid there was an incident.”
    “What did she do?” asked Hadash.
    The remark tipped Rubens off that Hadash had already been informed, undoubtedly by the State Department, which would have given him the British version.
    “She responded in kind,” Hadash told him.
    “Spraying them with pepper gas was responding in kind?”
    “Given the circumstances.”
    “The British are upset.”
    Rubens reached into his suit jacket pocket and took out a printout containing the text of a British protest. “They’re to deliver this protest later today.”
    “This wouldn’t have been poached from the British embassy phone lines, would it?” asked Hadash.
    “Of course not. The Russians intercepted it and we stole it from them.”
    Hadash shook his head. “Why were the British following her?”
    “Apparently they were surprised to find Lia in London. We believe it was merely a coincidence. The MI-5 agents happened to be in the station, trailing someone else. They may have thought she was interfering with their project.”
    “Quite a coincidence.”
    Rubens didn’t trust coincidences, either, but this one did appear to be just that.
    “I hope you’ve given this enough priority,” said Hadash.
    “Absolutely.”
    Rubens rose to go. Hadash stopped him.
    “William, the Internet DNA thing. You should know the President has expressed interest.”
    “It’s absurd,” said Rubens. “To waste money on a study that will tell you it’s technically unfeasible and politically suicidal?”
    The comers of Hadash’s mouth flickered, but he said nothing.

16

    Karr bounded off the plane into the airport, pushing through the knots of medical and sex tourists whose pace slowed as they realized their moment of decision or indiscretion was finally near. A potbellied American in a perfectly tailored silk suit stood at the right of the funneling line; Karr made a beeline for him, pointing to him as he came close.
    “Deavor, right?” said Karr.
    The man nodded. He was a military advisor to the ambassador, tasked to meet Karr and take him into the city. Karr pumped the man’s limp hand, then reached over and grabbed the hand of an associate who’d been trying to act nonchalant in the background. There were two other men nearby, all part of the security detail and undoubtedly thinking they were passing incognito in the mix. Karr didn’t bother saying hello to them, as it would break the unwritten rules of etiquette—never tell your host how incompetent he was.
    They paid the briefest of courtesy calls to the back room of the Thai customs agency, then went to a pair of waiting cars. A light rain was falling, casting the city in a gray shroud.
    “So you’re with the CDC,” said Deavor, leaning over the front seat.
    “I’m kind of a consultant for them,” said Karr.
    “You’re a doctor?”
    “Why? You got a broken leg?”
    “I have this numbness in my pinkie every so often.”
    “You smoke?” asked Karr.
    “What’s that got to do with anything?”
    “If you don’t want my advice, don’t ask for it,” said Karr.
    “That’s caused by smoking?”
    “Not necessarily. You try