Taking the stairs was a big mistake. Sandwiched between each floor of the CDC's Emergency Operations Center was an additional ten feet of "interstitial space" crammed with wires, ducts, and pipes—and an extra flight of steps.

Brisling arrived at the fourth-floor conference room in a cold sweat, his chest and neck in a vise. Pausing outside the door, he set down his briefcase, fished the little brown bottle from his breast pocket, and popped two nitro tablets under his tongue. They zinged reassuringly, and the vise loosened up. But his head felt like a balloon. Loosening his tie, Brisling picked up his briefcase, took a deep breath, and stepped inside.

The conference room was smaller than he expected. It was dimly lit with a low ceiling. A long table of dark polished wood surrounded by black leather chairs took up most of the room. Jumbo LED displays, currently dark, covered one wall. A row of four photographic portraits hung on the opposite wall. First was US President Jack Almerson. To his left, Vice President Albert Stone smiled back from the hereafter. Third was a woman Brisling did not recognize, perhaps the newly appointed Secretary of Health and Human Services. He steeled himself for the last portrait, that Hollywood jawline, those sparkling blue eyes, the four-season tan, the perfect amount of gray permitted at the temples.

"Not my best picture," said a voice from the end of the table. Vincent De Soto swiveled around in the chair, tying his jogging shoe. He wore a plain gray government-issue sweatshirt with matching sweatpants. "Close the door and have a seat."

Brisling let out his breath, closed the door, and set down his briefcase at the far end of the long table.

"Please, sit."

When Brisling sat, the CDC director leaned back in his chair and appraised him. "I'll have to admit, when Joe Flaherty told me he'd called you back to the CDC, I thought he was pulling my leg."

Not quite Genevieve's words, but close. "None of this was my idea."

"No, I don't suppose it was. Are you still in Seattle?"

"King County Hospital."

"Right. Kids?"

"No."

"Married?"

"Do you care?"

"Joe warned me you'd grown rough around the edges." De Soto took out his cell phone and talked into it as if it were a one-way radio. "Be a dear and bring down some bottled water. Thanks. Ciao." Pocketing his phone, he looked up. "So, are you going to tell me why I'm missing my Pilates class?"

Brisling unlatched the briefcase, his chest growing tight again. "It's the spike in PML cases Genevieve showed you a couple weeks ago."

"What about it?"

"Well, we think we know what's causing it. It's a second virus. A new virus. It's not in any of the databases."

"So you're telling me you've discovered a novel pathogen."

"Actually, no. I think it's man-made."

De Soto seemed unfazed by the news. "And you have what evidence for this?"

Brisling stood and laid his hand on the briefcase lid. "It's preliminary but still pretty concerning."

"Preliminary? If I jumped at every blip those EIS monkeys brought me, the entire country would be under constant quarantine."

"This is more than just a blip. Trust me."

"Trust you?"

And there it was. "Come on, Vincent. Let's leave the past out of this."

"I'm talking about your scientific trustworthiness. What are you talking about?"

"Fine, don't trust me. Trust Genevieve and her lab tech. They discovered it."

"Trust a lab tech? Wasn't it your lab tech who fucked you over? I mean, wasn't he the one using your research grants to buy pharmaceutical-grade cocaine and amphetamines? Christ, didn't you learn anything?"

Brisling yanked the briefcase from the table and started toward De Soto. Too late, he remembered that he had unlatched it. The lid popped open and papers scattered across the marble floor. He knelt to gather them, the question forming in his mind. "How did you know about my lab tech? Those records were sealed."

"Please. I never bought that bullshit you shoveled the Feds. You knew all along your lab tech was doing drugs. Just like you knew his data was crap, and yet you went ahead and published your precious papers and got your million-dollar grants. Yes, yes, I know you paid them back, with no small help from this institution. But you should have gone to prison."

Brisling grabbed the edge of the table and pulled himself upright. "Look, Vincent, the past is past. It's done." But even as he uttered the hackneyed phrase, his mind was racing back to Ansley Park, to the bittersweet fragrance of that garden where he had first seen Judith, her eyes pleading from behind the white geisha paint.

Now his chest was in a vise again. He thought he might vomit. "This isn't about her."

"Excuse me?"

He squared up the papers. "Just take these."

De Soto raised his hand. "There's no need. I've already seen it, all of it, every last base pair of viral sequence. In fact, I saw it before you did."

"But—"

He spread his arms wide. "I'm the captain of this ship now, and I have a faithful crew. Do you really think Genevieve would betray me?" He leveled his blue eyes at Brisling. "And what good is a woman if she isn't faithful?"

"I said leave her out of this!"

"Excuse me? Are we talking about the same person here?"

Brisling fumbled with his nitro bottle and slid a tablet under his tongue. The vise loosened a notch.

"You'd better relax. It would take the paramedics a while to get up here. I did my homework on you. I know the pathetic state you've let yourself fall into."

Brisling leaned against the table, the nausea stronger now. From the main door, a young woman arrived with a tray of bottled water, glasses, ice cubes, and lemon wedges. She set the tray next to De Soto, who signed a receipt and sent her away with a flick of his wrist. "Now hand over those papers."

"I thought you said you already had the data."

"I do. But you understand that none of this can leave the CDC, right?"

"You're taking over, aren't you?"

"You were never in charge." De Soto motioned for the papers. "Come on, hand them over."

Brisling walked the length of the table, slammed the stack of papers down in front of De Soto, and retreated to his briefcase. "Take it, but don't ignore it. This is real."

De Soto pinned the stack of papers to the table with his index finger and glanced at the top sheet. "JCV-activating virus—JCAV. Not bad, but I'll probably change the name." He took a water bottle and slid it down the table to Brisling.

"Fuck you!" he said, batting it aside. "You just want all the glory for yourself."

De Soto stared at the papers. "And yet it will never make up for what you took from me."

"This has nothing to do with Judith!"

"Really?"

"No!" He whipped around and strode toward De Soto, fists clenched.

"You're the one who took her from me. You're the one who got her killed."

De Soto looked up just in time to catch Brisling's fist square in the jaw. The blow was so powerful it spun De Soto around in his chair. He backpedaled frantically, slamming up against the wall of portraits.

Brisling swept the papers off the table, pain exploding in his right hand. "Take it! Take it all and go to hell!"

De Soto had his phone out. "I'll have you thrown in jail, you stupid fucking ape!"

Brisling was cradling his hand when it hit him—a cannonball to the chest. He staggered back, regained his balance, then lurched forward against the table, retching. He reached for his bottle of nitro tablets. It slipped from his hand and popped open on the table, the little white pills scattering. He raked at them with his hand, but they fluttered away.

He was on his back now. A shadow eclipsed the harsh ceiling lights. De Soto leaned close, his breath in Brisling's ear. "In case you don't make it, I want you to know who it was that ended your career."

De Soto.

"I knew your lab tech was an addict. That's why I recommended you hire him. Then I showed him how easy it was to use your grants to buy meth and coke from chemical-supply companies. Like a kid in a candy store."

Through the narrowing aperture of Brisling's mind, only two things passed: the heat of De Soto's breath and the cold radiation of his voice: Judith was my love, my life. And you took her from me. You took her life. So I took your career.

Then all awareness collapsed.

_________________

This chapter is dedicated to @Ricodynamite02 for cheering (just a wee bit) when Brisling punched De Soto.