Lien-hua beat me to the Stratford Hotel and met me at the door. “Just got a call from the Tennessee Highway Patrol,” she said as we stepped inside. “Someone saw two guys fighting on a runway at a regional airport not far from here. Security found Kincaid’s plane. It had over a dozen meal trays.”
“So he’s got some helpers.” I thought for a moment. And then it hit me. “They infected their livestock; you think they might have infected themselves?”
“I hope not,” she said.
I hated to even think about the consequences if they had.
Ralph burst in. “Let’s go.” He pushed his way to the front of the line by the registration counter. “We need to see the president of the hotel, now!”
Nell Prescott, president and CEO of Stratford Enterprises, welcomed us into her office and listened to us intently. After hearing our hurried explanation, she immediately led us to the hotel’s security center. A bank of video monitors stared down from the walls of the confined, dimly lit quarters.
A tightly muscled bulldog of a man bustled up to us. “What’s going-”
“Mr. Williamson,” said Nell Prescott. “These people are from the FBI. We have a situation.”
His whole body seemed to snap to attention. “What kind of situation?”
Tessa waited until Officer Stilton had driven away, then she grabbed her knapsack and opened the bedroom door.
She could hear Officer Muncey watching TV in the living room.
Tessa crept down the hallway toward the front door. She eased forward, reached for the doorknob, and then heard the cop’s voice right beside her: “And where do you think you’re going, young lady?”
Tessa whipped around and saw Officer Muncey standing beside her. “I’m just going to do some homework at the table. OK?”
Officer Muncey gestured with a nod. “Kitchen is over there.”
“I know!”
Tessa stomped into the kitchen and threw her bag onto the table. She didn’t see the necklace Patrick had tried to give her anywhere around. Well, good for him. He must have taken it with him. Who cares.
Aaron Jeffrey Kincaid scanned the lobby. He didn’t like that they were cutting things this close, but it was part of the deal he’d made with Sevren to assure that his former roommate wouldn’t pass his name along to the authorities.
Just then, he heard a man whisper his name.
He spun around and recognized his contact from Trembley’s description. Kincaid accepted the package and handed over the envelope of cash. The man hurried away.
As he watched him leave, Kincaid noticed a scurry of activity behind the check-in counter. Two security guards were talking into their earpieces, staring suspiciously around the lobby.
So, they knew already. He hadn’t expected this until after the meal at least.
But it didn’t matter. They were too late. People were already sitting down to eat. Still, he needed to tell his family that the plans had changed. They’d need to be ready for his signal.
And he needed to find the governor.
After we briefed Mr. Williamson on the basic facts of the case, he shook his head. “We already swept the whole place. Believe me. The ballroom, the lobby, the gardens, everything. We even brought in the dogs. It’s secure.”
Lien-hua shook her head. “It wouldn’t be an explosive device, maybe something chemical or biological. Closer to what happened at Jonestown.”
“Jonestown?” Williamson gasped.
I didn’t have the time or energy to explain everything to this guy. “What about air vents, air-conditioning ducts, things like that?”
“I told you,” said Williamson flatly. “It’s secure. Do you have a suspect?”
“Aaron Jeffrey Kincaid,” I said. “Wait. That’s it.” I flipped open my laptop, pulled up the picture of Kincaid that Lien-hua had found yesterday while researching him. Then I opened the face recognition program and asked Williamson, “Where can I hook into your video feeds?”
Officer Muncey sat down at the table next to Tessa’s knapsack.
“What are you doing?” asked Tessa.
“Seeing if you need any help. What subject are you studying?”
“Algebra.” Tessa tossed her hair to the side. “Oh yeah. I need my calculator. It’s in my room.” She hurried past the officer and went to her bedroom, grabbed a calculator, and then dialed Cherise’s number on her cell phone. Please pick up. Please pick up. I know you’re there. Please.
Voicemail.
“Cherise! I need you to call me back in like one minute. Please. I know you’re there. It’s important.”
Tessa slipped the phone into her pocket and hurried back to the kitchen only to find Officer Muncey unclasping the buckles on her knapsack. “Hey,” yelled Tessa. “What are you doing?”
Officer Muncey met her with a cold gaze. “Did you find your calculator?”
“Put down my knapsack!”
The computer screen flashed with faces, names, comparisons, and then…
Nothing.
“He’s here,” I mumbled. But I wasn’t sure, couldn’t really be sure.
“He could be a guest, maybe?” said Williamson. “In his room?” “Pull up your guest list.”
He typed in Kincaid’s name, then shook his head. “No one staying here under that name.”
“He would almost certainly use an alias,” said Lien-hua.
“Any ideas?” asked Williamson.
“Jones,” I said. “Try Jim Jones.”
Williamson typed, shook his head. “No. Wait-”
“What?”
“Someone named James Warren Jones is working with the catering.”
“That’s it,” I said. “The food. They’re going to contaminate the food. Don’t let anyone near the food!”
“Too late,” someone whispered.
We all gazed up at the video monitors. The room became stone-still.
On the screens surrounding us, the servers were spreading out like fingers on a hand, delivering poisoned food to the elite media leaders of the world.