Free The Devil on Chardonnay by Ed Baldwin

there, to the Seychelles?”
    “Yes.  Jacques isolated the virus quickly, in a few weeks.  Then he separated RNA and freeze dried both.  Then he had to infect monkeys with it and bring slides of monkey tissue along to prove it was Ebola.  A boat picked him up and took him back to Victoria.  Mosby called him at the hotel and told him to wait a month, so I came out.”
    “Why wait a month?”
    “To see if he got sick.  Jacques thought Mosby was staying nearby, watching.  Mosby was very careful and very patient.  He called the hotel every two weeks.  Coffee?”
    “Yes, thanks,” Boyd said, contemplating that Henri was involved in this from the beginning.  “Then what?”
    “Mosby wanted Jacques to take some of the RNA, cut it up and splice part of it into something else and try it as a vaccine.  He offered a million Euros for that.  That was much harder to do, so Jacques hired Franz to go out there and help him.”
    “That’s when trouble started?”
    “Yes, he was there for a few months and then I got a call from your embassy that he’d been killed.”
    “Did he get the first two bonuses, a million Euros?”
    “Yes.  It came by electronic transfer just like the monthly expense money.”
    “Any way to know where it came from?”
    A grin crossed Henri’s face as he poured boiling water into a shiny glass vacuum-filter coffeemaker. 
    “I was wondering when we’d get to that.  The money came through Citicorp in New York City.  I talk to someone there every day in my job at the bank.  My contact there knew where it was coming from.  I just casually asked one day and he told me.  The money originated from the Planters National Bank in Charleston, South Carolina.”

CHAPTER THIRTEEN
    Pamela Prescott
    “Boyd, we’ve got an FBI agent on the way down.  She just called from the airport.     Could you guys clean up just a bit and, check in the bathroom, she might need to, ah, whatever.”  Ferguson rushed into the office from the Pentagon, speaking as he tossed his briefcase onto his desk. 
    “Right, boss,” one of the officers said as they began stuffing donut bags and pizza boxes into the wastebaskets in the meeting room. 
    “She has a law degree, and the Director’s office said she was the best they have at finding money that people want to hide,” Ferguson said, picking up coffee cups and taking them to the sink in the corner. Boyd had never seen him do that. 
    The front door opened and they hurried as conversation indicated a visitor at the reception desk. 
    “Miss Prescott,” the receptionist opened the door.
    All eyes were on the door.  All activity stopped.
    “Smells like a fraternity house.”  Pamela Prescott stood there smiling.  Her brown hair was braided into a businesslike bun and she wore an expensively tailored business suit.  She carried a small, discrete briefcase. 
    “Ah, Miss Prescott.  Thank you so much for coming,” Ferguson said, wiping his hands and rushing to meet her.  “I was on my way to meet you, and the Joint Staff went into special session and called me.  Please forgive me for asking you to take a taxi.”
    “It’s quite alright, general.  I was flattered by the appreciative glances of yet another Nigerian taxi driver.”  She set her briefcase down and surveyed the room. 
    Introductions were made.  Joe and two other lieutenant colonels were in uniform. Boyd was not because his hair was now longer and not within standards.  Pamela was “read in” to their project, meaning that she knew what was involved and acknowledged that it was classified and signed a statement as such. 
    “We were here all weekend,” Ferguson said, sitting after collecting the security paperwork and nodding at the food packaging stuffed into the wastebaskets.  “We’re on a short schedule, and we’ve hit a dead end.  Boyd and Joe have just come back from East Africa with some very disturbing findings.  Joe, could you show Miss Prescott what we’re up