Valerie smiled softly at Cam. "Even sooner than you. I was a senior in high school."

"Jesus."

"I was bright and idealistic, and I came from a long line of patriots. Both my parents were career Navy."

"Do they know?"

She shook her head sadly. "No. And my father died thinking that I had tossed over the guiding principles they had taught me in favor of an extravagant lifestyle."

"I'm sorry," Cam said, meaning it.

"Well, I could have taken a more traditional route, but," she shrugged and laughed, "there was something about the secrecy that appealed to me."

"No regrets?"

A beat of silence passed, then Valerie answered quietly, "Only one."

"If it makes a difference," Cam said, "I understand."

"That means more than you'll ever know."

Cam finally turned onto the street where Diane's gallery was located, swerved into an illegal parking place in front of a fire hydrant, and cut the engine. As they hurried up the street, she said, "I want you to get Diane and the rest of the employees out of the gallery. If they haven't moved the paintings, there is no reason at this point to believe any of them have been contaminated. You take Diane home while I wait for Landers's team to show up and secure the space."

"She might be more cooperative if you—"

"Someone needs to stay in Manhattan. We need the intelligence on what happened at Blair's. And we need to know if there's anything at the gallery. I'm leaving as soon as I can for Walter Reed."

"Then Felicia or Savard—"

Cam shook her head as she reached the front door to Diane's gallery. "No. I need them working on the attack on the Aerie. You're going to take the lead on the bioweapons end of things, at least until we find out where it's going."

Valerie had no further chance to argue, because as they stepped into the spacious gallery, which was divided at irregular intervals by half walls covered with paintings, Diane rose from behind a pedestal desk, a pen in one hand and a shocked expression on her face.

"Valerie?"

Cam hurried toward the back of the building where Diane stored artwork in a climate-controlled annex, while Valerie approached Diane.

"Are you here alone?" Valerie asked.

"What?" Diane shook her head, confused. "Why are you here? I don't understand what you're doing."

"I'll explain as soon as I can. I promise." Valerie took Diane's hand and held it gently. "Has anyone been here this morning? Employees or clients?"

"No. I.. .I don't officially open until noon today. I was just doing the books."

"What about earlier in the week?"

Again Diane indicated no. "I've been closed since the show."

"No one's been in since then?" Valerie leaned over the desk, her palms flat on the surface. "You're sure?"

"Yes, I'm certain. What's going on?"

Cam walked back into the room. "Looks to be all clear. The crates are there, and they all appear to be intact. If there's anything inside, it hasn't been disturbed."

"Good," Valerie said.

Cam's phone rang and she pulled it from her belt. "Roberts.. .All right, go ahead." As she listened, her jaw tightened. "I'm on my way there now. No, I need you with Felicia..." She stopped and took a long breath. "All right. I'll see you there." She closed the connection and looked at Valerie. "You and Felicia will stay here and work the computers and any sources you can. There was a similar incident yesterday in New Jersey."

"Was that Savard?" Valerie asked.

"Yes. She's heading to DC too."

"Of course she is."

Diane, still holding Valerie's hand, pulled on her arm sharply. "Will one of you please tell me what is going on here? Has something happened to Blair?"

Valerie squeezed her hand and then let go. "There's been an incident at Blair's." At Diane's quick gasp, she hastened to add, "She's not hurt. I'll explain after I take you home."

"And if I don't want to go home?" Diane looked from Cam to Valerie. "Do I have a choice in the matter?"

"I'm sorry, no," Valerie answered.

"I didn't think so." Diane turned stiffly away and gathered her purse and jacket. She crossed the gallery and walked outside without looking at either of the agents.

"Well," Valerie said quietly. "I'll see that she gets home."

"Stay there until I call you."

"Yes. Please let me know how Blair is doing."

Cam heard sirens approaching and felt some of the tightness in her chest ease. At that moment, she wasn't interested in national security or bioterrorism. All she wanted was to see Blair. And this time, no one was going to stop her.

Chapter Eighteen

T he hallways were brightly lit, eerily quiet, and totally empty. Captain Andrews led the way with Demetri following closely behind Blair and Stark, who walked side by side in silence. The rooms lining either side of the passageway were closed, their windowless doors un-numbered. The air carried a faint antiseptic smell. After a twenty-five minute ride to a small airstrip in Queens and another two hours in a helicopter, they'd landed on the rooftop of a building in the sprawling complex that housed Walter Reed Army Hospital. Blair didn't recognize their location and suspected it was a research wing, given the nature of their situation. She'd considered asking, and then realized that in all likelihood she wouldn't get an answer. The whine of the helicopter rotors had precluded any real conversation, even with the White House, other than a terse update and ETA in DC relayed via Grau to, Blair presumed, Lucinda. Now, however, she was besieged by a deep sense of unease. She had a terrible feeling that if she stepped behind one of those closed doors, she might never emerge. She made the one request she didn't think they'd be able to refuse.

"I want to talk to my father."

Beside her, Stark muttered amen under her breath.

Captain Andrews continued her brisk stride forward. "The president is fully aware of your location, Ms. Powell. As soon as we complete our tests, you'll be free to call him. We'll bring a phone to your room."

"My room?" Blair stopped abruptly, aware of Captain Demetri's breath on the back of her neck. "My room, as in I'm staying here?"

"Temporarily, yes." Captain Andrews turned to face them, her expression serious, but also sympathetic. "Until we have the results of our cultures and other analyses, it's best to keep you under observation."

"Observation." Blair glanced at Stark, who looked grim. "Do I look like I've suddenly lost my ability to reason, Agent Stark?"

Stark's eyes brightened, and her mask moved as if she were silently laughing. "No, ma'am. You look fine to me."

"I actually feel fine too," Blair observed musingly. She pointed at Captain Andrews. "For some reason, you seem to think that I'm incapable of appreciating what's going on here. I understand that for security reasons you didn't want me talking to my father earlier, but you and I will get along a lot better if you start giving me the facts right now. I don't even require complete sentences."

"My apologies, Ms. Powell," Captain Andrews said smoothly, giving no hint of annoyance. "It's just that I have other priorities right now. I'll be happy to explain as soon as we have you in an isolation room and have completed our tests."

Blair ignored the rush of apprehension at the term isolation room. She wanted information and couldn't allow herself to be sidetracked by fear. "Now that's more like it. What kind of tests?"

"I'll explain while we walk." The Army medical doctor turned and started off, and when Blair and Stark followed, she said over her shoulder, "Skin, blood, sputum, and urine cultures. Blood chemistries and cell counts. Baseline chest x-ray. Electrocardiogram. A complete physical examination."

"You think we're going to get sick, don't you?"

"I don't know," Captain Andrews said. "It's possible that the substance in your apartment was completely harmless. But until we know, we're going to treat you aggressively."

They filed into a large room, and Blair noted several windows set into an interior wall behind partially closed curtains. She pointed. "That looks an awfully lot like an observation window."

"It is," Captain Andrews replied. "The nurses' station is just on the other side. The glass allows them to check on you without actually entering the room."

Blair shivered, although the room was warm. Two hospital beds stood side by side with matching institutional bedside dressers between them. A television was mounted on a metal bracket in the upper corner of the room opposite the beds. A bathroom was visible through an open door in one corner. There were no outside windows. The walls were completely bare. Royal blue surgical scrubs in plastic bags were laid out on each bed. "How do we communicate?"

"There's a two-way intercom just above your bed and one by the windows."

"Do those windows open?"

"No."

"Wonderful," Blair muttered. The lightweight EP suit she'd been provided outside her building zipped up the front and covered her from toe to neck. It was unexpectedly durable, but she still felt as if she were practically naked. She pointed to the clothes. "Can we change?"

"Yes. Once you have, I'll examine you both, draw your blood, instruct you in how to provide the other specimens, and then we'll see about your phone calls." Captain Andrews indicated the beds. "For now, why don't you just make yourselves comfortable there, and I'll be back as soon as I collect the necessary specimen containers."

As soon as the doctor left the room, Blair turned to Stark. "Do we have a choice here?"