Plague, page 1
Cover image: Woman Who Raises a Face © kokouu, courtesy istockphoto.com
Cover Design by Michelle Fryer
Cover design copyright © 2019 by Covenant Communications, Inc.
Published by Covenant Communications, Inc.
American Fork, Utah
Copyright © 2019 by Gregg Luke
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any format or in any medium without the written permission of the publisher, Covenant Communications, Inc., P.O. Box 416, American Fork, UT 84003. The views expressed within this work are the sole responsibility of the author and do not necessarily reflect the position of Covenant Communications, Inc., or any other entity.
First Printing: April 2019
ISBN 978-1-52440-869-5
For Julie Perkins Luke,
whose diverse knowledge constantly amazes me
Chapter 1
Portland, Oregon
Mitch Pine dreaded the amount of death that was coming. He hated death. He’d seen too much of it.
Standing in front of a rain-spattered glass wall at Portland International Airport, Mitch stared out at the large jet preparing for its morning flight to Denver, where he had a brief layover on his way to his final destination: Atlanta. In his briefcase was a thick report he’d been working on for the past ten years, along with his laptop and two cross-sections of ancient wood supporting his theory. The chiefs of epidemiology at the Centers for Disease Control needed to see his report. The world needed to know what was coming.
“Dr. Pine?”
Mitch turned quickly to see a United Airlines attendant smiling prettily at him. “Yes?”
“May I see your boarding pass, please?”
“Is there a problem?” he asked, handing the woman his ticket. He noticed her eyes flick to the short chain securing his briefcase to his left wrist. Reaching into the side pocket of his cargo pants, he pulled out the security clearance that allowed him to carry such an item. “Do you need to see this too?”
“No, sir. I’m merely exchanging your ticket. You’ve been upgraded to first class.”
Mitch frowned, not upset, just confused. “Why?”
“You don’t have to accept, but doing so will open a seat to someone on standby. This is a full flight, and we have at least a dozen passengers needing to get to Denver.”
“Do I have to pay for the upgrade?”
“No, sir.”
Mitch glanced around, half expecting to see a dozen men in black suits and dark glasses striving to look inconspicuous. But he saw no one fitting that description, nor anyone he deemed unjustifiably questionable.
“Um, okay, I guess. What do I need to do?”
“Nothing, sir. It’s all taken care of,” she said, handing him a new boarding pass. “Did you check any baggage?”
“No. I just have my briefcase and this overnight bag,” he said, nodding at the carry-on at his feet.
“Fine. If you’ll come with me, please, we’re boarding first-class passen-
gers now.”
Walking through the jet bridge to the plane, Mitch scrutinized the people in front and behind him. He saw nothing dubious about any of them. No one exchanged more than a cursory glance with him. Few smiled.
He shook his head shortly, chastising himself for being so paranoid. Yes, something terrifying was coming. Yes, it was probably something many people would pay big money to know about in advance. But that didn’t matter to Mitch. He wasn’t doing this for the money. Besides, once this information was made public, everyone would have a chance to prepare.
Stowing his carry-on overhead, Mitch dropped into the wide seat next to the window and settled his briefcase on his lap. He’d never flown first class before. The seat was amazingly comfortable and provided plenty of legroom. Watching the other passengers file by, he smiled at the backward logic airlines used when loading a plane. First-class travelers were always allowed to board first and were always seated at the front of the plane. The remaining travelers were then forced to shuffle single-file past those who’d been treated preferentially, like peasants obliged to parade past the condescending appraisal of their nobility. But Mitch didn’t consider himself particularly noble. What he was doing now was what anyone with a moral compass would do. Ignoring the slow-moving stream of passengers, he pulled out his phone and switched it to airplane mode.
“Good afternoon,” a very attractive woman said as she loaded a bag into the overhead compartment and eased into the seat next to Mitch.
“Hi,” he answered with a grin.
The woman looked to be roughly his own age, in her late twenties, and moved with the confidence of a seasoned traveler. She had a wide mouth that framed a brilliant smile. Her eyes were deeply brown, almost black, as was her hair; her skin was bronzed and flawless. She wore a trim blazer over a light silk blouse tucked into a short pencil skirt that showed off an acceptable amount of toned leg without being risky. Mitch guessed her profession to be a business exec or a high-end sales rep. She radiated that kind of assuredness.
“Got business in Denver or family?” Mitch asked, trying to sound laid back. In truth, attractive women unsettled him.
“Business,” she said, buckling herself in. “You?”
“Just a layover. Heading to Atlanta.”
She smiled kindly. “Well, it’s two-and-a-half hours from Portland to Denver. We might as well exchange names. I’m Kiana.”
“Mitch. Mitch Pine—Doctor Mitch Pine,” he stumbled.
“Doctor? You must be pretty smart, then,” she said with seemingly honest appraisal.
“I know many who would argue with that,” he said, feeling his face redden. “Kiana—Is that Polynesian?”
“Hawaiian, yes. On my mom’s side.”
“You have the look.”
“So I’ve been told.”
As Mitch struggled to come up with a topic of conversation, Kiana pulled from her purse an iPhone and earbuds. She tucked her purse under the seat in front of her before fitting the buds into place and selecting something on her phone. Leaning her head against the back of her seat, she folded her hands in her lap and closed her eyes.
Mitch sighed in defeat and gazed out his window at the light drizzle. Struck out again.
“Sir? Can I offer you a headset?”
From the aisle, a flight attendant held out a clear plastic parcel. Inside was a set of Bose headphones. “There’s a selection of music choices listed on the information pamphlet in the pouch in front of you. Just plug these into the armrest.”
“Thanks,” he said, accepting the gratuity. He chose some classical music, wishing he’d brought his own MP3 player or, like Kiana, had some music on his phone. Classical was the closest thing to his collection of Zen music he always listened to on flights to help him relax. The takeoffs and landings set his nerves on edge.
A long taxi, an even longer wait in line, and a shuddering takeoff preceded a mercifully smooth flight. After accepting a soft drink, Mitch settled back into the comfortable seat. He had not planned on falling asleep, but sometime later the static pop of his headphones being unplugged jarred him awake. With a gentle smile, Kiana held up the end of the plug and her iPhone, as if explaining to Mitch what she was doing. She plugged the headset into her phone and pressed the screen.
“Hello, Dr. Pine,” a man with an English accent said through the headphones. The strained, wheezing tone in his voice intimated an advanced age. “My name is Edgar Montrose. I will dispense with formalities and get straight to the point. Simply put, I am greatly intrigued by your research conclusions, but I cannot allow them to go public.”
Mitch frowned at Kiana. Her kind smile never faltered. Her liquid-brown eyes penetrated his with a look of simultaneous challenge and finality. Resolute was the word that came to mind. She turned the volume up a notch.
“To that end, and to show you the magnitude of my convictions, your assistant has something to say.” Mitch heard the brief rattle of a microphone being adjusted. “Ms. Nakamura, please tell Dr. Pine what is happening here.”
Mitch’s frown deepened. He heard a sharp intake of breath.
“Mitch. It’s Suko.”
His mouth dropped open. It was her. He’d recognize her voice anywhere.
“I don’t know who these baka are, but don’t do anything they ask—” Her words cut short as something covered her mouth. He heard sounds of a struggle, some garbled expletives, and a squeaking door.
The old man cleared his throat and continued. “As you can tell, your research assistant is being less than cooperative. What you need to understand is that I have her in a secure location and will not hesitate to do her harm if you do not do precisely as I say.”
Kiana tipped her head slightly to one side and continued to smile. She couldn’t hear what was being said, but she clearly knew.
“I am sending you on a quest. If you refuse, Ms. Nakamura will suffer. Why I am doing this will be revealed at a later time. For now, here are your instructions: You will accompany Ms. Rosemont on a connecting flight in Denver. Your passage has been prearranged. It is imperative that you not make mention of this recording or my demands to anyone. The moment you suggest to anyone that you’re under duress, Ms. Rosemont will transmit a signal, and Ms. Nakamura will die. It’s that simple. Do not test me on this, Dr. Pine, as I am deadly serious. As deadly as the information you now carry. Goodbye.”
The recording ended and Mitch shakily removed the headphones. “What the heck was that about? What’s going on here?” His voice trembled, but he didn’t care. It was as if his worst
“The recording was quite explicit,” Kiana said, unplugging her phone and flipping through the menu. “Just remain calm and do as I say, and everything will be fine.”
“Remain calm? You throw down death threats on my assistant, tell me to not publish my research, and then order me to remain calm?” He gasped loudly, struggling to control his breathing.
She tipped her head back and laughed as if Mitch had just said something delightfully funny. In a softer voice she said, “Yes. That is exactly what we ask. And please, keep your voice down. I will not hesitate to send the signal if I feel we are compromised.”
“Look. You’ve got the wrong guy,” he balked. “I don’t even know what research you’re talking about.”
Her false benevolent smile inched wider. Her eyes narrowed in mockery. “I believe it’s the information chained to your wrist, Dr. Pine.”
Mitch reflexively pulled his briefcase tighter against his lap. “So what—you expect me to just hand over ten years of research? I take it you’re Ms. Rosemont.”
“I am. But Edgar doesn’t want you to hand over your research; he wants to prevent it from going public.”
“So he said. And what the heck is this quest he mentioned?”
“I don’t know those details. I’m simply your handler. I’m here to escort you and make sure you’re as comfortable as possible.”
“Gee, thanks.”
She leaned on the armrest between them. “Rest assured, Mitch, my employer will carry out everything he says he will if you do not comply. If you try to run or cry for help, my employer will know immediately. He has links to any form of communication you might try to access, including the computer in your briefcase and the Galaxy Note 8 in your pocket.”
Mitch flinched. He was in shock, his thoughts a jumble of anxiety and frustration. This was crazy. His fear quickly morphed into anger. He glared at his seatmate as she sat back and waved a flight attendant over. “Two flutes of champagne, please.”
“I don’t drink,” he grumbled, not wanting to do anything that hinted at compliance.
“You will this time. After all, we just agreed on a marvelous business transaction. We need to celebrate.”
“We didn’t agree on anything.”
“For the sake of your assistant, I maintain we have.”
After the attendant delivered the drinks, Mitch placed his left hand on his briefcase. “This research isn’t complete, you know.”
Kiana sipped her champagne. “That’s not my concern. I’m just a handler and, for the next several hours, your host. Remember, Mitch, I make the rules until your assignment is fulfilled.” Her smile held no anger, no hint of animosity or evil intent.
A few minutes later the fasten seatbelt light flashed above them with an accompanying soft chime. The captain announced their beginning descent to Denver International Airport. The temperature there was a balmy forty-two degrees. Partly cloudy skies. Seventy percent chance of light flurries. The flight attendant cleared the champagne glasses and asked Kiana to secure her tray table.
As the airliner gently slipped from cruising altitude, Mitch muttered, “This is insane.”
Kiana again leaned her head back. “Edgar thinks otherwise.”
“What do I care what he thinks?” he growled.
“Because he has Ms. Nakamura.”
None of this made sense. How did the old Brit on the recording even know about his research? None of it had been published yet. Mitch had found evidence of someone hacking into his computer files at the university but had assumed it was merely a crafty student hoping to change his grade. And what was this stupid “quest” about? Even more concerning, what was Montrose going to do to Suko?
Chapter 2
Denver, Colorado
Mitch followed Kiana directly to the loading zone, where a bulky man with a shaved head opened the trunk of a luxury town car. As they handed the man their luggage, Kiana’s cell phone pinged with receipt of a text.
While she read her phone, Mitch glanced down the loading zone at the throng of travelers. There was plenty of airport security. Would they help him if he yelled? Would they protect him if he ran? He was a bit out of shape, but he was sure he could outrun the big bald guy.
“Don’t even think about it, Mitch,” Kiana said without looking up, as if reading his thoughts. “Just get in the car.”
He turned back to her. Focus, Mitch! “Wait a sec. Can I listen to that recording again? I’m not sure it was Suko I heard,” he lied.
“It was.”
“Says you. I need verification.”
She turned her phone toward him, and his breath caught. On it was a picture of Suko sitting on a metal folding chair, her hands and feet bound, duct tape covering her mouth, her eyes filled with anger and fright.
Mitch let fly an expletive. “When was that taken?”
“Probably last night,” Kiana said, pocketing her phone. “Call it verification.”
The big man cleared his throat and cocked his head toward the open car door. Kiana nodded and crawled inside. After a slight hesitation, Mitch followed.
As they pulled away from the terminal, Kiana asked, “Are you comfortable?”
“Swell,” Mitch grumbled. He then asked the driver, “Hey, buddy, where are we going?”
The man glanced back via the rearview mirror but didn’t respond.
“You don’t need to know,” Kiana answered.
“But I’d like to know,” he countered. He was scrambling for something, anything that would take his mind off the image of Suko bound and gagged.
Kiana pulled out her phone and began scrolling through her emails.
From the corner of his eye, Mitch scrutinized the woman next to him. She was fit, pretty, clearly high-class. She certainly didn’t look like a stereotypical kidnapper or a mob crony. How could someone like her be involved in something like this? Who were these people?
“You do realize I have an appointment with the Centers for Disease Control in Atlanta this evening?”
“You did,” she said with a lift of her eyebrows. “Your personal secretary called and cancelled for you.”
Mitch snorted. “I don’t have a personal secretary.”
“They don’t know that.”
“When did that happen? The call, I mean.”
She gave a light shrug. “Doesn’t matter. Your time is free now.”
“What about my classes? I have to get back to the university soon.”
“Mitch. It’s November twentieth, the beginning of Portland State’s holiday break. Classes won’t resume until the twenty-sixth. And don’t use the excuse of Thanksgiving dinner with your family. You have no siblings, you were with your dad when he died in Africa, and your mom passed away a year after that from breast cancer.”
Mitch fought the sensation that he was trapped in a narrow hole rapidly filling with sand. His clothes felt coarse and heavy. A dry, acrid bitterness coated his mouth. He didn’t know where to turn, what to do next. He felt a need to stall for time but wondered if doing so would further endanger his research assistant.
“This isn’t happening,” Mitch groaned softly.
“Rest assured, Mitch, it is. My employer will follow through on everything he says. I’ve worked with him for a long time. His resolve is absolute.”
Her tone was so poised and confident; he had to believe her.
“Why are you doing this?”
“It’s my job.”
“How long have you worked for Montrose?”
Her bearing took on a harsh edge. “You sure ask a lot of questions.”
“I’m an epidemiologist. I ask questions to save lives.”
“Asking too many questions can get people killed,” she amended, returning her gaze out her window.
Mitch pursed his lips in an effort not to scream in frustration.
Fifty minutes later the car circled into Boulder Municipal Airport. The driver opened the door on Mitch’s side, and he and Kiana scooted out. She headed directly into the terminal without a word. Mitch followed, equally wordless. The bald man followed with their carry-ons.
Stopping at a kiosk displaying flight times, Kiana taped the screen of her phone and waited. When it pinged with a response, her eyebrows arched sharply, as if surprised. “I guess we’re headed to Iceland.”
Mitch frowned. “You mean you didn’t know that?”
