Calculated Contagion Read online

  Calculated Contagion

  The Calculated Series: Book 2

  K.T. Lee

  Vertical Line Publishing

  Copyright © 2017 by Vertical Line Publishing, LLC ALL RIGHTS RESERVED.

  * * *

  No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, sold or transmitted in any form or by any means, without prior written permission, except for statuary uses, the use of brief quotations in a book review, and other quotations with appropriate reference.

  K.T. Lee

  www.ktleeauthor.com

  Publisher’s Note: This work of fiction is a product of the writer’s overactive imagination. It is not intended to be a factual representation of events, people, locales, businesses, government agencies, or vaccine science. Names are used fictitiously and any resemblance to actual people, living or dead, is completely coincidental.

  Calculated Contagion/ K.T. Lee -- 1st ed.

  ISBN 978-1-947870-03-1

  Book cover design by The Book Design House

  www.thebookdesignhouse.com

  The Calculated Series

  * * *

  Calculated Extortion (Prequel Novella)

  Calculated Deception (Book 1)

  Calculated Contagion (Book 2)

  Calculated Sabotage (Book 3)

  Calculated Reaction (Book 4)

  Calculated Entrapment (Book 5)

  Table of Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Note from the Author

  Calculated Sabotage Bonus Chapters

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  For my family

  1

  Dani Christensen closed her eyes and took a deep breath, visualizing air filling her entire body. She exhaled, imagining the air displacing her nervous energy. The makeshift combination of physiology and yoga was normally her tried-and-true method of tricking her body into calming down. It didn’t work. She gave an impatient sigh and rubbed the necklace her mother had given her for good luck as she waited for the elevator to reach the lobby of the conference hotel. It stubbornly stopped one floor too early, and the ornate doors opened to Brock Fabian. She clutched the necklace a little tighter before dropping her hands to her sides.

  “Dr. Fabian. Hello,” Dani said with a forced smile. She’d grown accustomed to her colleague’s condescension over the past several years, but he’d been laying it on a little thicker since she’d been asked to present her research at the TED Vienna conference a few months prior. He had not received a similar invitation. She would just keep their conversation professional. And hopefully, brief.

  “Ms. Christensen. Are you going to the conference hall?”

  “Yes, you?”

  “Same place. Good luck with your presentation. They’re probably happy to have you as the consolation prize, since the man himself couldn’t make it.”

  Dani’s eyes widened and her mouth dropped open before she could stop it. Blissfully unaware, or unconcerned, with his own insensitivity, Dr. Fabian left the elevator when they stopped at the ground floor. The “man himself” was her father and the CEO of VacTech Pharmaceuticals. Even though Dani had dedicated her career–and most of her free time–to vaccine research, there was always someone who believed her success was a result of who she knew instead of what she knew. While most decent people didn’t say it directly to her, Brock Fabian had no such inhibitions. Since it had taken a few seconds to get over her shock and make her legs move again, Dr. Fabian was now impossible to see in the swarm of conference attendees. It could only get better from here.

  The energy of the conference crowd lifted Dani’s spirits, and she smiled and waved at several new acquaintances. Interacting with smart, interesting people between scheduled events was the cherry on top of the joy she’d felt when she received the invitation to speak at the conference. Her smile slipped when she had to detour around a small crowd of vocal vaccine protestors. Upon seeing her badge, they turned their angry words and stares towards her. She put more distance between herself and the tight circle of people, moving towards the staging area with a new determination. The loud chanting that faded as she walked away reminded her why she was there. The best way to ease their concerns was with science, and she would explain the science in very short order.

  Despite Dr. Fabian’s scrawled review on her journal article that said, “good work putting an old medicine in a new box,” and the fact that it wasn’t yet ready for full-scale production, Dani had made an enormous breakthrough on a shelf-stable measles vaccine. Ideally, the world would simply learn to get along, but at this point in her life, developing a new vaccine seemed more achievable. That was the beauty of science–it was apolitical.

  Once she entered the busy backstage area, she no longer heard the protesters. Dani peeked through the door to the hall to see if they were still there. She jumped when one of them met her gaze and didn’t look away. His stare made a tingle run up her spine, and she was suddenly grateful for the security guards scattered throughout the conference hall.

  It felt like only a few seconds before Dani heard her name and was directed to the stage. She blinked into the bright lights, took a fraction of a second to compose herself, and began her presentation. Given her family’s long history in the vaccine business and the immunization inequality still too present in her mother’s home country of India, Dani used her platform to explain the importance of creating solutions that made sense at both a global and local scale. She exited the stage to strong applause, finally allowing herself to study the crowd in detail while she welcomed the calm relief that came with surviving her speech. She locked eyes with a man near the stage, and a deep discomfort settled in her stomach. There wasn’t anything about him that should cause alarm. He was dressed in a suit, had a notebook and pen, and like every other conference attendee, he had a laptop bag with him. Nothing to be afraid of.

  While Dani was most comfortable with data and facts, devoid of emotional attachment, there was still a part of her that respected instinct. If pressed by her peers, she would explain that her brain could probably just comprehend more than could be compressed into a coherent thought. The gut feelings she experienced were merely a manifestation of acquired knowledge that neurologists hadn’t quite put a name to yet. In reality, she didn’t really know why her gut feelings happened, but they had never yet led her wrong. As Dani reentered the bustling backstage, she made a mental note to avoid crossing paths again with the stranger, just in case. First, the protestor who gave her the heebie-jeebies, now this guy. Maybe her sixth sense had jet lag.

  Dani removed her mic and battery pack and was met with handshakes and congratulations. She acknowledged the compliments as graciously as possible. Under normal circumstances, she would be thrilled her presentation was well-received, but it was overshadowed by the deep discomfort still stubbornly taking up residence in her stomach. She shook it off yet again. Her family wa
s unable to make it, and some loneliness was to be expected. It was statistically improbable that two separate people were up to something and focused on her.

  It wasn’t until she had slipped off her stilettos and laid back on her plush hotel bed later that night that Dani finally realized what was bothering her. The protestor and conference attendee were the same man.

  2

  “Romania?” Cam Mitchell looked up from the small stack of papers, tucked into a standard-issue manila file folder, at Morgan Grady. Cam had worked for Morgan in the euphemistically-named Special Operations Group at the CIA for five years, and their interactions had long been stripped of decorum in favor of results. He never knew what to expect when she summoned him to her office, but a quiet country in Eastern Europe wasn’t exactly on his radar.

  “Yes, Romania. You, of all people, should know crazy isn’t limited by geographic area,” Morgan volleyed back, arching her eyebrows. Her short, highlighted blonde hair was as neatly styled as her trademark suits. Morgan had fought to get him on her SOG team because she saw his potential in both linguistics and fieldwork, and they’d been tight ever since. Morgan was just over five feet tall and as tough as any Navy officer Cam had ever served under. She was also good people.

  “Fair point. But why is the US jumping on this, Morgan?”

  “We’re getting some unusual reports about a group in the mountains we believe is armed and growing. We have a small presence in the country and have agreed to offer military and diplomatic help if it’s needed. Some of our people in the field have sent some issues up the flagpole, so we’re going to look into it. How fresh is your Romanian?”

  “It’s a Romance language, ma’am. Shouldn’t take me more than twenty-four hours to brush up if the analysts got the dialect right,” Cam said, not looking up from the packet.

  “They usually do. A day is about all you have. We don’t know much beyond the facts that they’re assembling and we’ve seen weapons in the satellite photos. A small group of men came down from their camp to get treatment at a local hospital, which was when we first got an inkling that something was off. We’ve gone through the normal channels and haven’t come up with much. The satellite images might be useful, but no promises. Obviously, we’d prefer they remain unaware of your visit.” Morgan slid a satellite photo across her desk to Cam.

  “About 500 men and women?” Cam asked, studying the size of the camp.

  “That’s our best guess. All of the people we’ve been able to trace back to the camp have been men. We don’t know if they have women there or not. We just want to know what they are up to. If they are just a bunch of Romanian hippies starting a commune, we can leave them alone. If they’re building up a small army, we have a slightly different protocol.”

  “Good thing we got the new leg finished,” Cam said, knocking on the hard, composite material, his tone no less objective than it would be if he was talking about a new weapon. Cam had lost his left leg below the knee in Iraq, but thanks to modern technology and some customizations he had insisted upon, he managed well. The injury had been in a previous life, when he was a SEAL trying to locate an enemy hiding among civilians. On his way back to the base, he got hit by an IED. It was a shit-all thing to happen, but he’d been lucky to escape with his life and most of his knee intact. Cam’s leg still occasionally caused him pain, but on his good days, it was a reminder of what drove him, rather than a hindrance. Working with the CIA had restored his sense of purpose that had felt too distant during the long and excruciating days of rehabilitation.

  “If you hadn’t worked so hard to break the first three we gave you, you wouldn’t need a new one,” Morgan said, beaming at Cam like a proud parent. The Special Operations Group at the CIA had been relentless when he joined up, testing him regularly to ensure he was physically prepared to be in the field. Cam passed the physical exams easily, but the design team for his custom prosthetic hadn’t been prepared for his capabilities. Cam invested months with the design team, helping them figure out how to improve the mechanical response system and interface with his actual leg. A few revisions and some expensive material changes later, Cam had a new, stronger lower leg. It was time well spent, since other wounded servicemen and servicewomen would benefit from their sweat equity. Pushing himself to try and break the design before it was out in the field resulted in changes that made it unquestionably strong.

  “You’re welcome. Your nerds did a good job. Now it’ll hold up in terrain more rugged than city streets,” Cam responded, unable to fully mask the pride of ownership in the design.

  “Here are the rest of the satellite images,” Morgan said, handing him an additional stack of photos. He slid them into the folder behind the rest of the background information. “You leave in four hours. We’re going to drop you about five miles away. You’ll have to hike the rest of the way in.”

  “Is Tyler driving?” Tyler was Cam’s best friend, partner, and helicopter pilot. They’d had each other’s backs since he started in the SOG, and Morgan kept the two officers together as much as possible. Their results spoke for themselves, and it was rare that Cam worked with anyone else.

  “Of course. Take the file and catch him up when you see him.”

  Cam placed the file into his laptop bag. “Good. Let’s do this.”

  “Stay safe out there. That’s an order, Cam.” Morgan raised her hand in a half wave as Cam stood to leave. Cam grinned. She didn’t let him get away with much and had no problem kicking his metaphorical ass when necessary, but she didn’t want to see him get hurt. It was sweet. But if he told her that, she’d kick him out of her office. So, a salute was probably safest.

  Cam raised his hand to his head, both as a sign of respect and out of the habit he’d never broken since he left the Navy. “Yes, ma’am.”

  3

  Dani woke up in her room in a cold sweat, her body clenched into a tight ball from the vivid nightmare. She couldn’t remember the details; only the potent mixture of hopelessness and fear lingered as she blinked her eyes open. She was safe. In her hotel room. At the conference. She unclenched her fists and rubbed her eyes. The too-quiet room, still blanketed in darkness, didn’t help. Squinting at the glowing numbers on the digital clock, she sighed. Grateful the night was over and 7 a.m. was the same in every language, she ran her hand along the nightstand to find the switch for the lamp.

  Dani hauled her body upright and threw her legs over the edge of the bed. She pulled back the curtains in her room and took a moment to admire the view just outside of her window before she even left the bed. While the room was average in size by European standards, the quarters were more cramped than a typical hotel room in the States. The early morning light beckoned her to leave the confines of her temporary home for a walk in the brisk Austrian air. If someone really was out to get her, they’d have to be an early riser. Her stomach rumbled. A pastry before the conference began would be just the thing to clear the negative thoughts from her head.

  Dani changed into a light sweater and jeans, splashed some water on her face, and laced up her tennis shoes to find sustenance and peace of mind. Once she was out walking on the cobblestone streets, she detoured into tiny alleys separating crowded groups of buildings to take a closer look at the architecture. Despite narrow streets, the charm of her surroundings kept her from feeling suffocated. Dani’s shoulders relaxed as she wandered. She took her time before deciding on a busy café a few blocks from the hotel.

  After an impossibly flaky pastry and strong tea, Dani returned to her room with a bounce in her step to change into more professional clothing for the conference. She took a shower and brushed out her long, black hair, but was unhappy with the results. She settled on pulling it up into a sensible bun at the back of her head and decided to wear her least uncomfortable dress clothes. Dani eyed the evil power heels she had worn the day before and tossed them into the back corner of her temporary closest so she wouldn’t be tempted to choose beauty over sensibility at the last minute. Instead, she retri
eved her trustworthy flats from her suitcase and grabbed her room key, cell phone, and notebook. There was one day of the conference remaining, and she was ready to make the most of it.

  Time passed slowly in the wake of a poor night’s sleep and without the adrenaline boost of presenting in front of a crowd. Worse, she was eager to see more of the city after her brief tour this morning. She dutifully took notes, however, since the foundation had paid her for her travel, and she felt obligated to bring something back in return. Lunch was extremely decent but not memorable. The afternoon made her feel sluggish, and she grabbed a cup of coffee to keep her awake. She usually preferred tea, but the coffee cart was out. Given that she had presented publicly, she couldn’t just slip away to find her favorite drink without someone noticing. It would also make both her and the foundation look bad if she was fighting the urge to nod off during a presentation. So, the coffee was necessary. Unfortunately, one of the reasons she didn’t like drinking coffee manifested itself forty-five minutes later, when she had to leave in the middle of a session to use the restroom.

  Someone else must have had the same problem as she because Dani heard heavy footsteps behind her as she walked down the long, empty hallway until she entered the ladies’ room. She washed her hands and wiped them on her pants after an inefficient hand dryer refused to do the job. When she exited the restroom and looked down the hallway, Dani startled. The man she had seen the day before was leaning against a wall, studying the ceiling. Had he followed her? No, that would be ridiculous. Her cheeks burned, and she forced a polite smile. Still, instead of crossing his path, she took the long way back to the conference hall. Just in case. She didn’t make it to the end of the hallway before a large hand closed down on her wrist. As she opened her mouth to scream, she was silenced by a pain in her ribs. A voice she wouldn’t soon forget whispered low and deadly into her ear.