Free Lethal Expedition (Short Story) by James M. Tabor Page A

Biopreparat,” Hallie said. “Is that true?”
    “We’re not sure yet. But a question for you: could it really be a leprosy-strep hybrid?”
    “I wouldn’t have thought so, but if we’ve learned one thing from genomics, it’s that nothing is impossible.” She paused, sipped. “Why did Ely go to the trouble of faking his own death? Why not just bring the bioagent back himself?”
    “He can’t tell us now. But I’d bet good money that he was afraid of being detected during some security screening on the trip back. Better you getting caught with it than him.”
    “Why did he kill Halsted?”
    “I’d say Halsted learned something he shouldn’t have. Ely had killed before. After the first, it gets easier.”
    “What about Villanueva? That’s his name, right?” Hallie said.
    “Yes. DEA’s been after him for a long time, but he’s not your typical drug lord. More money, power, mobility, connections. Even with special ops assets in play, my DEA friends aren’t optimistic.”
    “Do you think he sent the Latin Kings after me?”
    “No question. That number you called was his private cell phone. He probably had no idea who you were or why you called, but they don’t need reasons to kill people, and you were easy to trace.”
    “And the Hallie Leland case?”
    “Closed. The director himself instructed me to offer a formal apology. Oh, and I have something for you.” He stood, walked to his desk, and took a small yellow envelope from a drawer. She accepted the envelope, opened it, shook the contents onto her palm, and gasped involuntarily.
    “My God,” she said. “You found them!”
    “Among Ely’s things. In a Motel 6 up by Harpers Ferry.”
    She gazed down at the gold watch fob and Distinguished Service Cross, then looked up at him with tears in her eyes. He appeared immensely relieved.
    “We have to follow the facts, Dr. Leland. I hope you understand.” He put out his hand. “For the record, I had trouble seeing you as a killer.”
    She shook his hand. “We all have our jobs. You were doing yours.” Then she brushed away the tears and said mischievously, “And for the record, you’re not a bad kisser.”
    He turned bright red and reflexively touched his wedding band. His mouth opened, but no words came out. She winked, patted his shoulder, and left.
    In the reception area, Stephen Redhorse stood when she returned.
    “All good?” he said.
    “Yes. I appreciate your coming down here with me, Stephen.” She touched an ugly bruise on one cheek. “Secret Service plays rough, apparently. Does that hurt a lot?”
    He chuckled. “Damn right. And you should see my ribs.”
    “I’m surprised they let you go so soon.”
    “The power of an MD is amazing. Could stand for ‘medical deity.’ But I don’t think even that would have been enough by itself. Apparently Laning read my letter about the reservations. She must have had something to do with my early release.”
    “Do you think it will help?”
    He shrugged. “I can only hope. But at least it’s a start.”
    “Crusader Redhorse?”
    He laughed. “Maybe. It doesn’t take long to burn out on ER work in a place like D.C. General.” He paused, touched her shoulder. “Look, I know that I blew any chance to make this work, and I’ll be regretting that for a long time. I’ve been an asshole, and I need to make some amends. Can we just talk?”
    His words hit the right spot. The apology meant more to Hallie than she could have explained; after the last few days, she was nearly moved to tears by something so normal and good.
    “You have been,” she said, “and you do. Let’s go talk about that someplace. Over
coffee
.”

Epilogue

    A week after Easter Sunday, Hallie sat in the front pew on the left side of the cathedral’s nave aisle. The whole vast space resonated with the organ’s chords. Hallie watched Bishop Newberry emerge from her anteroom and climb to the Canterbury Pulpit, bathed in a cascade of golden morning light
.
    Hallie