Black Death

By Roy Lindsey

Special Taskforce Agent, Grant Dalton is forced to partner with Private Eye, Robyn Kyser, pooling their talents and resources in an effort to take down the elusive terrorist, Alex Lambert, before he can unleash a biological weapon on the citizens of New Orleans using a new species of insect.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Roy Lindsey
• Release date: Aug 8, 2010
• ISBN: 9781452345192

Roy Lindsey

Roy Lindsey lives in Montgomery, Alabama. He has a lovely wife and two beautiful daughters. Roy makes his living as a mechanical draftsman. When he is not at work he enjoys yardwork, visiting lighthouses and writing.

Book preview

BLACK DEATH

by

Roy Lindsey

Smashwords Edition

Black Death

Copyright © 2010 by Roy Lindsey

Category: Fiction/Mystery & Detective

This book is available in print at www.amazon.com.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system without the written permission of the author, except where permitted by law.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to an actual person, living or dead, businesses, companies, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

Smashwords Edition License Notes:

This eBook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This eBook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person. If you are reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

Dedication:

To my wonderfully patient wife who, for the last two years,

has been a constant motivating force and has always supported

my desire to write this book. To my two lovely daughters ,who

when they are not making me laugh with their silly antics,

make me proud in everything they do. All my love goes to

my family and my God for making this possible.

BLACK DEATH

Ring a ring a rosies,

Pocket full of posies,

Ashes! Ashes!

All fall down!

Some experts believe that this poem is a reference to the Bubonic Plague. During the 14th century, Bubonic Plague swept across Central Asia and Europe killing an estimated twenty-five million people earning it the name Black Death.

Chapter 1

New Orleans, Louisiana

Plaquemines Parish

May 17

2:30 a.m.

An all night stakeout isn’t what it’s made out to be in the movies. On the big screen, the viewer gets the impression that it is exciting, filled with deception and espionage, and that danger could arrive at any moment.

Grant Dalton was beginning to think that the transfer he requested from Special Task Force Division could not come fast enough. At thirty-three years of age, Grant had been on many stakeouts and logged many undercover hours, and it was beginning to take its toll. In fact, the only thing he enjoyed about this part of his job was the option to work alone.

Grant, at 6-feet, 1-inch, and weighing a solid 190 pounds, was athletically fit, although he did not have a body builder’s physique. With sandy blond hair, emerald green eyes, and a chiseled jaw line some, if not most, women found him attractive. Grant had been in some part of law enforcement since graduating from the University of Florida where he majored in criminology with a minor in psychology.

Gaining clearance from the New Orleans Police Department, Grant was following up on a lead in Plaquemines Parish. It had been four weeks and all he had to show for it was a stack of empty pizza boxes, a pile of pistachio shells, and some half-empty cans of soda. Sitting in a musty hotel room, at two o’clock in the morning, from his second floor window, he was able to see the boat docks and any traffic that entered a boat repair and lodging warehouse at the end of the street. The man he was looking for had allegedly been connected with several tried and failed terrorist plots in different parts of the world. In each of the attempts, the suspect had been backed by a different organization. He was what you might call a freelance terrorist, selling his services to the highest bidder. Also, linked to several assassinations of high-ranking officials, he was wanted for murder in Australia, China, and England. Always under an alias, the suspect’s real name remained unknown, but with security video and eyewitness descriptions, Grant was sure he could spot the man he was looking for. The last eyewitness account reported that a man meeting the description had been seen frequenting the boat warehouse at the end of the street. Grant was determined to catch the suspect before he vanished into thin air as he had done so many times before.

After downing his fifth cup of coffee, Grant was completely awake and anxious for anything to happen. Needing a bathroom break, he cracked the window in his hotel room. This would serve a two-fold purpose: allowing the room to breathe by exhaling the odors that have accumulated during his stay and inhaling the salty air that wafted in from the harbor. Secondly, he would easily hear any unusual sounds from the street below.

As he came out of the bathroom, the unmistakable sound of tires slowly rolling by and the low rumble of a car engine came as a surprise to Grant. For a whole month, there had been nothing to hear except waves slapping the hulls of boats at the docks and the cry of seagulls scavenging for their next meal. Hurrying to the window, he reached for the night vision binoculars that were on his nightstand, straddling a metal chair, and focusing his attention on the street below. Wearing his black, standard issue, tactical BDU’s with a black t-shirt, Grant was nearly invisible in the dark hotel room. Propping his elbows on the back of the chair to steady the binoculars, Grant followed the silver, late model, foreign made, sedan as it slowly made its way to the end of the street. The car came to a stop, the engine shut off, and the lights went out. Except for one lone street lamp, the car would have been cast into total darkness. Exiting from the car was a man wearing a lab coat, who appeared to be in his late fifties. Though the man’s hair color and facial features were hard to determine through the green tint of the night vision binoculars, Grant knew this was not the suspect. The man he was looking for was much younger, slim, and had blond hair, or he did in the last surveillance video. This man’s hair appeared to be mostly dark. The unknown man looked around as if checking to see if he had been followed, then turned and walked up several steps to the rusty door of the warehouse carrying a metallic briefcase and stood there for a few minutes. Suddenly, the door opened, and standing in the murky light was a man in cargo pants and a dark colored t-shirt. He had dark hair, a goatee and was wearing glasses. Grant wondered to himself, Has the suspect altered his appearance, or is this someone entirely different? Where did this man come from? Who is his unknown visitor? In southern Louisiana, even in the middle of May, the humidity was so high that a person could break a sweat just by looking through a window from an air-conditioned room. With this sudden activity, Grant’s heart rate had increased enough to cause a thin bead of sweat to appear on his top lip. The men entered the warehouse and closed the door. At that moment, headlights from another car flashed onto the street. Moving slowly in the direction of the warehouse, the car, a red, late model, sports car, came to a stop just below Grant’s hotel window.

A woman exited the second car. She was dressed in black jeans and a black shirt. Her auburn hair was tied back into a ponytail, presumably to keep it out of her face and off her neck. Grant could tell even from the second floor window that she was in top physical shape. Attractive, he said to himself. He could also see that she carried a pistol in the small of her back. The woman proceeded on foot in a cat like manner remaining unobserved, or so she thought, as she made her way toward the warehouse. Grant knew he needed to act fast or a month of surveillance would be blown and the suspect would get away.

Removing his Taurus 1911, .45 caliber from his shoulder holster, he checked for a full clip and pulling the slide back, he checked for the one in the chamber. With the two extra clips he kept for back-up, he was locked and loaded. Moving as quickly as he could without alerting any of the other occupants in the hotel, he shuffled down the steps and stepped out the front door, remaining hidden from view in the niche created by the entrance door to the hotel lobby. Standing on the bottom step, Grant was able to get a view of the mystery woman, as well as, the door to the warehouse. As Grant feared, the woman was making her way toward the warehouse faster than he expected. Grant dashed across the sidewalk, and crouched behind a parked car. He checked to see if he could move without being noticed, then ran as fast as he could on the balls of his feet to reduce the sound made by pounding the pavement in an all out run. Sliding in behind another car, he could see the woman he had been trailing, and she was still unaware of his presence. She made it to the end of the street and was crouched beside a paneled moving truck. Grant knew she was sizing up her best entry point, which was what he would do. Standard procedure followed by all law enforcement is to survey the area for maximum effectiveness when preparing to infiltrate. He knew he had to get to her fast before she made her move. Again, on the balls of his feet, and always keeping a shield between himself and his target, he made his way to within twenty feet of her position. Just as she was about to dash across the street, Grant drew his gun.

Freeze! Police! Put your hands on your head! shouted Grant.

What? Wait a min… the woman tried to speak.

I said, don’t move! Now, get face down on the ground!

If you will just wait a minute, I can explain. And, stop pointing that gun at me! I’m a private investigator and if you will just let me show you my ID…

Be quiet, we’ll just see about that, snapped Grant. While keeping his gun pointed at the woman, he reached down, and removed the gun she carried in the middle of her back, patted down her sides, and both of her legs to check for concealed weapons.

Hey! Watch where you put your hands, Buddy! Man, you are so going to pay for this.

This woman was wasting the valuable time that he needed to snag the terrorist red handed.

Now, slowly, with one hand, get out your ID, and toss it over, demanded Grant.

The woman reached into the front pocket of her jeans, pulled out a thin ID wallet, and tossed it over to Grant. He reached down and picked it up to examine it. It was a black leather bi-fold and contained two forms of ID. One was a driver’s license issued by the state of Louisiana that identified the woman as Robyn Kyser, height: 5-feet, 4-inches, weight: 120 pounds, hair color: Auburn, eye color: green. The other form of ID made Grant feel like a complete idiot. It was a license that allowed Robyn Kyser to work as a private investigator. Lowering his weapon, he said, Get up, and handed her back her ID.

See something in there that made you change your mind? Robyn asked, with a smirk taking her ID, snatching back her weapon, a 9mm Beretta Cougar, and putting it back into her holster.

Irritated that weeks of surveillance work was on the line, Grant wondered what the odds were that this woman could have shown up at this moment when everything was about to go down. Grant's parents were both in law enforcement, so it was only natural to follow in their footsteps. In fact, they owned Dalton Private Investigating firm, the same company that employed Ms. Kyser.

What exactly is a private investigator doing here this time of night? asked Grant.

I could ask you the same thing. Speaking of which, who are you with?

Shreveport Police Department, Special Task Force Division, I’m working undercover on a stakeout to bring in a wanted terrorist, my name's Grant Dalton. Now, why are you here?

Terrorist? said Robyn, with a confused look on her face. "The doctor? I believe you’ve made a mistake. I’m investigating a Dr. Hoffman on suspicions of having an affair. His wife called the office a few days ago, she said he’s been acting weird, working later than usual, so I’ve been keeping him under surveillance. Wait a minute; did you say your last name was Dalton?

That’s correct.

You’re not related to…?

Bruce and Marie Dalton, I’m afraid so, they are my parents, ironic isn’t it?

Scary is more like it.

Look, I’ve got to get into that warehouse and see what your man Hoffman has to do with my terrorist suspect, and I don’t need some PI snoop fouling up my stake out. I work alone, understood?

Shaking her head with a defiant no, Robyn rounded on Grant. Look here, I have just as much right to be here as you do. I have a job to do and I intend to do it.

But you don’t even understand what you’ve gotten yourself into. I observed your man Hoffman, entering that warehouse with a metallic briefcase. I don’t know what was in it, but I can assure you, if he’s got anything to do with my suspect, he’s not selling Avon. Now, if you will just wait here while I go take a look.

Oh, so you think you’re some big shot cop who thinks he has to protect the little lady. Look here, Mister Special Task Force, the only way you're going in that warehouse is with me.

Chapter 2

Baton Rouge, LA

Leachman Corporation

Chemical and Biological Research Facility

Two months earlier

Dr. Sebastian Hoffman, a renowned bio-chemical scientist, was working on one of his many projects. This particular project was to determine the long-term impact of refinery waste being dumped into the Mississippi River.

Dr. Hoffman began his carrier with the Leachman Corporation twenty years ago after completing his second doctorate in bio-science at Yale. In those days, his hair was jet black, he did not need glasses, and his posture was more upright. Now at age fifty-seven, flecks of gray were sprinkled around the edges of his hair and his blue eyes had become pale. Over the years, his intense scrutiny in analyzing specimens through microscopes had accelerated the appearance of crow’s feet in the corners of his eyes. Dr. Hoffman was a devoted husband and father of two daughters, and a company man who was dedicated and dependable, but there were times when he felt that his years of service lacked something with regards to recognition.

This night, Dr. Hoffman was sitting at his lab bench hunched over research papers handed to him from several colleagues on their specific findings. His posture emphasized the fact that his sedentary lifestyle had added a few extra pounds around his mid-section. At that moment, he heard footsteps approaching from behind.

Dr. Hoffman? inquired a man's voice.

Yes? answered the doctor, turning to see a man he did not recognize.

As the man approached, Dr. Hoffman observed that he had dark hair, a mustache with a goatee and was wearing eyeglasses. The man was slim and was wearing a black suit with gray pin stripping. He carried himself in a manner that gave the impression he was in a hurry. Dr. Hoffman wondered how the stranger had entered the high security building.

Extending his hand, the man said, Dr. Hoffman, I hope you will pardon the unannounced visit. I am with an organization called the Keller group. I am here to make you an offer that could change your life.

Sir, I’m a very busy man. Any business offers you may have will need to be presented to the Leachman Corporation. I don't know how you got in, but I must ask that you leave. Thank you and good day. replied Dr. Hoffman. A few lab tables away stood Dr. Janet Meacham a colleague of Dr. Hoffman, who could not help but overhear some of the conversation.

Frowning but undeterred, the man pulled Dr. Hoffman away from curious ears, and in a low voice said, Dr. Hoffman, it is not my intention to bring my offer before the Leachman Corporation, I specifically came to see you. Your work deals with an animal or insect’s ability to use chemical agents as a defense mechanism. The people I represent are willing to pay you a hefty sum of money if you can bio-engineer an insect that has the capability of transmitting a pathogen.

At first, Dr. Hoffman thought the man must have been joking. Are you mad? What kind of pathogen? What do you mean transmit?

The man explained, The Keller group works primarily on safe guards and security for national defense. As for the kind of pathogen, you do not need to know, and by transmit, I mean infect. The Keller Group understands that your research of chemical agents in insects is at the forefront, and because of this you have been chosen as a top candidate for the job.

Sir, I can assure you that flattery in my line of work will almost always get you everywhere, but what you are asking for, even if it were possible, could cause a worldwide outbreak, and I will have no part in such a conspiracy.

The man, with a smile said, I understand your hesitance in undertaking this experiment, but conspiracy? On the contrary, the Keller group does not involve themselves with conspiracies. As far as its possibility, we trust that you will put forth your best efforts. It is our mission to develop the means to protect human life, even if by the use of force. Remember, Dr. Hoffman, we at the Keller group can make you a very rich man.

The man paused to determine if his words were having any effect. Such a shame really, all those unpaid bills, the mortgage holder calling all the time, your daughters in need of education assistance. What are their names? Elizabeth and Jenny, I believe you call them Liz and Jen, don’t you? We can make it all go away. You have twenty-four hours to make up your mind, we will be in touch. Turning, the man left Dr. Hoffman to ponder the proposal.

What was that all about? asked Dr. Meacham

Startled, Dr. Hoffman said, Janet, I didn’t see you. Oh, it was nothing. Just someone needing directions to the exit

Are you sure you’re okay? You seem a bit pale.

Yes, yes, of course, I’m fine. I’m just fine.

***

That night Sebastian Hoffman could not sleep. All he could think about was the probability of becoming rich and receiving the credit he felt he had earned. Leaving his sleeping wife in the comfort of their bed, he slipped away to his study. Years and years, he had labored to be one of, if not the leading bio-chemical scientist in the nation and now he had the opportunity to be paid for his dedication. Sinking in debt, with a new house and a new car for his wife, he was barely making ends meet.

Sitting alone in his study, family photos further reminded him of the responsibilities he had to shoulder. Though he would never contemplate suicide, he sometimes wondered if there might be something better on the other side. Staring at a picture of his daughters, both of whom were in college, memories flashed through his mind of the day they each were born. Then he had flashbacks of specific moments in their lives, from their first steps, to learning how to ride a bicycle, to graduation from high school. He had always been there when they needed him, but lately with the pressures of being financially taxed, he wondered how much longer he could provide his family with all they wanted. Liz, the oldest, had decided to go to the University of Alabama, while Jen had decided to stay close to home and attend LSU. He would be lucky if he could pay their way for fifty thousand dollars each. Dr. Hoffman wondered if he could finally get the payday he deserved. But, at what cost, his life or his freedom, or his family's life? How did he know he could trust the Keller Group to come through on their end of the deal? Something that made Dr. Hoffman suspicious about the man's request was what he had said about his company. It is our mission to develop the means to protect human life, even if by the use of force. He wondered how much force they were willing to use. Then a chill went through him when he remembered the fact that the man knew about his family, especially his girls.

This was all the motivation Dr. Hoffman needed to convince himself that he had no alternative but to agree to the terms and conditions of the offer. He further convinced himself that he did not know what the findings of his experiments would be used for thereby relieving his conscience of all worry. Besides, not complying could place his family in danger, and that was something he could not allow.

Leachman Corporation

The Next Day

Dr. Hoffman made it in early the next morning. Going though the usual routines of the day, time seemed to pass by instantly. Lunch came and he went to his favorite bar and grill, where he had called ahead his order for Seafood Linguine. The entrée consisted of jumbo shrimp and sea scallops over a bed of angel hair pasta, smothered in the restaurant’s classic ros sauce. It was the most expensive dish on the menu, but Dr. Hoffman did not care. He had decided when the man from the Keller Group contacted him; he was going to accept the offer.

Back at the office, the day continued to proceed at a steady pace, but he still had not had a visitor. Concerned that maybe the man had called while he was out to lunch, he phoned the front desk.

Yes, Dr. Hoffman, how may I help you? answered the receptionist. It was Tina. She had only been working there a few weeks. Fresh out of college, she had a perky disposition and thought it exciting to work around doctors and scientists. There were times though when she seemed as clueless as a sheep headed for the shearer.

Good afternoon, Tina. Yes, I was wondering, did I receive any calls while I was out to lunch?

No, sir, Dr. Hoffman, I do not see where any calls came in for you. Are you expecting a call from anyone particular?

No, I was just checking. Thank you. The fact was he did not even know the name of the man that had contacted him. The man had never given it; he did not even offer a business card. The day was nearly over. He spoke with the man around four o’clock the day before and it was already a quarter 'till. Perhaps, the man had changed his mind about offering him the job. Or, maybe the Keller group opted for another candidate on the list. Perhaps it was for the best. It was four o’clock.

At that moment, Dr. Hoffman’s personal cell phone rang. The back lit screen read Call ID unknown. Only his immediate family and certain co-workers had his cell number, and he had theirs so the caller ID would instantly show who was calling. He believed it to be a wrong number, probably a telemarketer.

Hello? he answered, without trying to sound anxious.

"Were you afraid I wasn’t going