Chapter 4
"The carrier's shell is made of a special protein that remains dormant at minus eighteen degrees Celsius," Daniel explained. "But once the temperature climbs above four degrees Celsius, the carrier becomes active."
"And what does it release when it activates?" I asked.
"A virus strain we've never encountered before," Daniel said, handing me the report.
I didn't understand all the technical jargon, but I recognized the red warning at the bottom.
It read, "Estimated fatality rate: 87%. Transmission: airborne and contact. No known vaccine or cure."
My hand started to tremble.
"Where was this shipment supposed to go?" Daniel asked.
I glanced at the shipping order.
"Asteron Biological Research Center. In a provincial capital," I replied.
Daniel's face grew even more grim.
"That city has three million people living in it," he said.
He jumped up and yelled toward the door, "Get the southwest division on the line. Track every possible route for this shipment.
"And dig up every record on Vantaris Life Sciences—registration, corporate officers, all their affiliates.
"Get to the bottom of this—leave nothing unchecked."
The office instantly buzzed with activity.
All kinds of communication devices beeped, rang, and crackled, their sounds overlapping and rising one after another.
I sat in the corner, and one thing kept running through my mind.
If this load had actually made it to the drop-off, if I hadn't bothered to check, and if I hadn't made that call, the fallout would've been a nightmare.
"How did you even notice it?" Daniel demanded.
He suddenly stepped right up to me, staring me down.
"You're just a truck driver. How could you possibly detect something like a bioweapon?" he pressed. "Even our country's top-of-the-line detection equipment didn't pick it up at first.
"So what makes you so special?"
I met his gaze, refusing to back down.
"That's what my mentor taught me," I said, my voice steady.
"What did Turner teach you?" Daniel pressed.
I was quiet for a moment.
Then I pulled out that old lighter from my pocket.
"He told me, when you're running cold chain, you can't just look at the numbers," I said. "You gotta touch it with your hands, smell it with your nose, and trust your gut.
"If something's wrong with the cargo, you'll feel it in your gut."
I held up the lighter and waved it in front of Daniel.
"Turner left this for me," I said. "He put it on his dashboard before he died. I don't know why, but whenever the cargo feels off, this lighter heats up."
Daniel's frown grew even deeper.
He stared at that beat-up old lighter—about as plain as they come—his eyes clouded with confusion.
"Heats up?" Daniel echoed.
"Yeah," I said.
"Right now?" Daniel asked.
I placed the lighter in my palm.
It was still hot, way hotter than my own skin.
I held the lighter out to Daniel.
"Touch it yourself," I said.
He paused for a moment, then reached out and took the lighter from me.
In an instant, his expression changed.
Daniel stared at it. "This..."
"It's hot," I said.
Daniel kept turning the lighter over in his hands, studying it intently, as if he was searching for something hidden inside.
His expression morphed from confusion to shock, then settled into a mix of emotions so complex I couldn't even name them.
"Turner..." Daniel murmured, almost to himself. "Who was he, really?"
I want to know too.
Who was Turner, really?
What secret did this lighter he left me hold?
For the next twenty-four hours, I got roped in—no questions asked.
Daniel told me that, thanks to some emergency clause in the National Security Act, he had the right to pull in any citizen for an investigation when things got serious.
Just like that, I was made the squad's "special advisor."
Bottom line was, they were after my expertise.
The shipping network behind those frozen fish didn't just pop up in a day or two.
If they wanted to get to the bottom of it, they needed someone who knew the cold chain game inside out.
And that was where I came in.
The task force's temporary command center was set up in an office building in the provincial capital.
Three whole floors had been converted into a makeshift operations hub.
Computer screens and communication gear were everywhere, with staff hurrying back and forth.
I was assigned to a small conference room, with a thick stack of files laid out in front of me.
All of them were about Vantaris Life Sciences.
The company was registered two years ago, with Mason Austin listed as the legal representative.
On paper, it looked like a mid-sized cold chain logistics outfit, but in reality, its operations spanned over a dozen provinces across the country.
As I flipped through the shipping records, my frown only deepened.
Their shipping routes were oddly suspicious.
Normal cold chain companies usually shipped from the source to the consumer, with pretty fixed routes.
But Vantaris's fleet kept picking up these random, inexplicable small orders.
For example, they would be heading from City A to City B, but suddenly detoured to some out-of-the-way warehouse in City C, stopped for a few hours, and then hit the road again.
In the industry, this kind of operation was called "cross-docking."