The Boss Assignment (Rogue Protectors Book 3) by Victoria Paige (summer beach reads .TXT) 📕

“Have you studied the new ones from the XZite they retrieved from the house in the Valley?” Charly asked.

“Yes, it’s closer to the one that mutated from Ortega.”

Charly blew out a breath just as the elevator arrived. “We can probably assume it’s the same strain that infected our victims in Brazil. Let’s have a look.”

After hours analyzing the genetic information of the LAPD-confiscated XZite pills, Charly had arrived to the same conclusion as her CDC colleague.

“The structure of the virus that mutated in Raul Ortega and the ones in the XZite pills are similar,” Charly said to the people gathered in the conference room.

She would gladly murder Garrison for putting her on the spot. In the room with her was the director of the CDC California station, a representative from the California Health Department, her colleague Sandra, and two other members on their team—a microbiologist, and an epidemiologist intelligence officer. Two detectives from the LAPD counter-terrorism task force were also in the room. Detectives Gabrielle Woodward and Brock Kelso.

“What do you mean similar?” Woodward asked. “And please explain it to me in English.”

Charly grasped wildly for a way to explain until her eyes landed on a replica of Van Gogh’s painting, Starry Night, on one of the walls. Walking over to it, she faced the room again. “Imagine that this is pixelated.”

“Like a low-resolution image that you tried to magnify?” Kelso asked.

“Yes. Or say, that it’s made of tiny tiles.”

Everyone in the room started nodding.

Encouraged, she continued. “If you replace one of the tiles with a different color and walk away.” Charly moved five feet from the painting. “You still don’t see it as a different painting, it will still have the same effect on you. This is how viruses can be synthesized.”

“But how …” Detective Woodward started.

“It needs a framework. Like this painting, it needs to be as close a match as possible. In this case the genetic sequence can be put together.”

“Again how …” There was frustration in the female detective’s tone.

“There are companies that manufacture DNA,” Charly added quickly. “Biotech labs can order existing virus parts and connect them together like a lego puzzle that would match the genetic code they desire.”

“This has actually been a concern for Homeland Security,” Garrison broke in. “After a team of microbiologists recreated the polio pathogen, we quickly put safeguards into place. Companies who manufacture them are required to flag suspicious orders or inquiries.”

“Does the government have oversight of all them?” Kelso queried. “Especially international companies?”

“How lethal is this strain compared to the one Ortega ingested?” Woodward asked.

“The virulence appears to be attenuated. Ortega was the perfect petri dish to mutate the virus. He seemed to have been given antibodies prior to infection that enabled him to get a jump start on the virus to keep it from spreading and keep him alive. But we also think the antibodies and the virus acted on each other to create this series mutation.”

Woodward and Kelso glanced at each other and shrugged. “You’ve lost us there, but I’m assuming you meant that Ortega was the perfect host to create this new mutated weaponized Ebola.”

“Correct.”

“But he looked terminal the last time I saw him,” Woodward said.

“When he arrived at the CDC, Dr. Leigh gave him our experimental antiviral therapy to which he responded immediately.”

“This is August Leigh, right?” Kelso asked and checked his notes. “This was your boss?”

“Our boss,” Sandra indicated to the epidemiologist and microbiologist in the room. “We were the only ones allowed in BSL-4. Charly was part of our team until it was dissolved and we were sent to Atlanta.” She looked accusingly at their director.

“I had nothing to do with that.” Their CDC head looked at Charly. “The orders came from Atlanta headquarters. Since Ortega escaped, they shut down our BSL-4. And now I find out—a year later, I might add—that my direct subordinate Dr. Leigh was in league with cartels and arms dealers?” The man looked directly at Garrison. “I’m not getting answers from anyone. From DHS, FBI … there’s a cover up somewhere. Hell, even our webpage and databases had been manipulated. And now we’ve got another Ebola threat?”

“Damned FBI. They suck with interagency information sharing,” the CIA officer who was pretending to be from Homeland Security replied and began tapping into his phone. “I’ll see what I can do.”

Charly struggled to maintain a straight face.

“Should we be concerned with Ebola clusters forming?” The rep from the health department asked.

“With the way the virus is mutating to reduce its infectivity, we don’t think that’s the goal,” Charly said.

“I heard rumors about it being used for targeted assassinations,” Woodward said. “Is this your suspicion as well?”

“Yes,” Charly replied. “A fast incubation period—twenty-four hours or less and a lower transmission rate with a self-kill mechanism.”

“That’s different from the one that killed our captain?” the female detective asked.

“Correct.”

“Do we have a lead on who’s behind this?” Woodward asked, looking pointedly at Garrison.

“We’re working on it.”

There was a knock on the conference room door and the receptionist poked her head in. “Sorry, but there are two gentlemen here who say they’re from Homeland Security and Department of Health and Human Services.”

All eyes except Charly’s swung to Garrison. She noticed the detectives were controlling their laughter.

Busted.

Sandra glared at Garrison. “Who the hell are you?”

“I swear to God, John, if we get thrown into jail for this, you’ll be on my permanent shit list, and I’m never going to do anything for you ever again.” Charly stalked ahead of the CIA man in extreme annoyance. She welcomed the air in the parking garage even if it meant inhaling car exhaust because nothing felt more suffocating than waiting to be arrested. She turned and faced him. “I mean, what the hell? And what’s so funny?”

“Have a little faith in me,” he murmured as he casually passed her and headed straight for their Suburban parked in the visitor’s slot.

“You pretended to be someone else,” she yelled at his back.

John rolled his