Case: Black by James Savik - Part Three
Penn State University Medical School
Virology Department
2115EST/2015CST
The images of the Pandora virus began to appear on Dr. Abraham Berger’s monitor. As that download completed, the download for the gene sequence began. Berger pushed his glasses up his nose and squinted as he looked at the images of the nasty little bugger.
Dr. Wells voice came in a little tinny on his speakerphone, “Are you getting it Abraham?”
“Yes. It’s coming in now. What are these spikes?”
“This is Liao. We think they are primary or alternate receptor sites.”
Berger snorted. “What does the gene map look like?”
Wells answered, “It looks like a 100% match with the White Sands pathogen and a 92% match with VEE. There are three discrete splices. Two are 3% of the genome and the other is 4%.”
Dr. Sanjay Singri, Berger’s aid said, “This work was done in the mid-eighties. What do you want to bet that these splices come directly from another organism?”
Wells said, “We thought so too. We’ve got a pattern matching search running on our database to see if we can figure out what they came out of.”
Singri said, “Dr. Wells, aren’t you working with Abigail Ames?”
“Yes. She seems to be a smart girl if a little on the quiet side.”
Singri chuckled and said, “Don’t let her hide. For her thesis, she sequenced the Ross River Valley fever virus and suggested applying existing anti-virals for its treatment.”
The Ross River Valley virus or RRV was an alphavirus that caused febrile illness and arthritis endemic to Ames native Australia.
Wells said, “Yeah, I can see where that could be useful. Abraham, do you think protease inhibitors might help?”
Berger said, “Maybe. We need to figure out how different this bug is from the rest of the brood. I know the guys over at John Hopkins are working on alphaviruses. I’ve got a couple of grad students looking at the literature.”
Wells said, “We need to figure out something fast. The hospitals are filling up and I’ve got a lot of people screaming for treatment guidance.”
Southaven General Hospital
4th Floor
2045CST
The doctors ran out of time. They had patients and they had to act.
Jackson and his ad hoc group of clinicians looked at all the available information and consulted with colleagues. There was no standard treatment for Pandora so they had use their best judgment.
They knew how to treat encephalitis. West Nile and other mosquito borne viruses had given them quite a bit of experience with standard encephalitis. No one had ever attempted to treat a case of Pandora.
Dr. Jackson and Pharmacist Chief Yates answer to Pandora was an IV mixture of several drugs. First was a steroid that minimized inflammation and swelling. The second was a mild analgesic to blunt the pain of the splitting headache that went with onset of encephalitis. In the absence of guidance from above, three separate anti-viral drugs.
First was a fusion inhibitor: a compound that blocks a virus’s entry into a host cell.
The second was a protease inhibitor: when a virus manipulates its genetic material, it uses an enzyme called protease to create useful strands of genetic material. By blocking protease, the drug blocks a key phase of viral replication.
The last antiviral was a Nucleotide Reverse Transcription Inhibitor. This drug blocks a virus’s ability to accurately copy its genetic material.
Jackson hooked up the first IVs for a pair of teen aged twins, across the hall a mother and a young woman, and each and every one of them trusted him to make things better. For the sick, desperate patients in that ward he transcended being a doctor. He was a white clad symbol of all their hopes in the science of medicine.
All of the anti-viral drugs were developed and tested against HIV/AIDS: a disease that caused similar pervasive fear in previous decades. He remembered the stories of the doctors during the eighties and early nineties and how helpless they felt as their patients slipped away. Jackson hoped that the lessons learned from that fight would help him here.
Soon all of the incoming patients got an IV bag full of Jackson and Yate’s witches brew. All the doctors and nurses could do was stand back, pray and see how it worked.
Southaven, MS
4th Mechanized Infantry Brigade Headquarters
2100CST
Taylor got the call to pull his platoon back a little after eight. They were immediately replaced by a platoon of military police that had been reconstituted and deployed from Camp Shelby. On the way back to the area HQ, the only thing he saw on the streets were police cars and trucks spraying for mosquitoes.
The National Guard presence in Southaven had grown steadily to Brigade strength over the course of the afternoon and evening. After being one of the first deployed, Taylor’s platoon had been pulled off the line and back to headquarters area to get some chow, rest and recover from spending the afternoon roasting in their MOPPs gear.
At 2100, 3rd company’s platoon and squad leaders were summoned to a briefing with Captain Carlson.
Taylor was glad to see Carlson. He had been the Company Commander since an Iraqi sniper killed the former CO in Dohuk province of Iraq in 2008. Experienced officers were a lot less likely to get his men killed by being stupid and experience in the Big Sand was painfully Darwinian.
Carlson gathered everyone into a circle and began, “The reason I called you together is that I need my most experienced people for the job the people upstairs have in mind. If this proceeds as we expect it to, things are going to get pretty bad right around 1900 tomorrow night. We can expect things to plateau and then start to decline. It’s going to be dangerous. We just saw some video of what happened at White Sands in 2005 and now I understand why FEMA treated Hurricane Katrina like a distraction.”
“First of all we’re going to load out everybody with tasers. The people out there are sick. We don’t know if the docs can do anything for them but unless we absolutely have to kill them, I want them bagged. Tasers turn their lights out and they stay down for a while; long enough to secure them and not hazard your people.”
“Second, we are detaching squads to accompany paramedics and police. You’ll be acting as their back up.”
“Third. We know that we are going to have to do some clean up outside the perimeter. That’s a given. The good part is that we only have to worry about our area of responsibility. USSOCOM has Special Forces ready to deploy to outbreaks behind the lines. We can expect Army Rangers and Green Berets out of Bragg to take care of our rear areas. As of this moment, they are set up to work out of Columbus Air Force base and can be anywhere in the state in about a half hour.”
“I know you guys are hot and tired. Get some rest and we’ll start working up by squads to reinforce the locals in the morning. That’s all I’ve got. Any questions?”
He looked around and saw there were none and said, “Dismissed.”
Most of the platoon and squad leaders broke up but Taylor sought Carlson out and said, “Colonel, may I have a word?”
“Sure Taylor. What can I do for you?”
“I’ve got some of my original guys from the Big Sand on their way. They should be here before morning.”
Carlson nodded. “That’s Sherman and Nash?”
“Yeah and I’ve got Two-Eagles and Bernardi.”
Carlson rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “OK. When they get here, I want the five of you in squad. I think I just found the troubleshooters that I was looking for.”
Southaven, MS
Suburbs
2200CST
Jason Miller was surfing the net. At the moment the 15 year old didn’t like much about his world. It was bad enough to be stuck at home, inside during summer time. It was worse that he couldn’t see anyone. There was a ragged edge of fear permeating everything like a skunk’s odor: blinding and unpleasant. You could pretend that it wasn’t there but that’s all you could do- pretend. There was simply no escaping it.
He had seen it in people’s eyes all day. He had to go home from his job at Kroger when the government shut down the world. AT least he had enough of his wits about him to go home with a full cart of groceries.
Worse still, he knew that at least some of his friends and their families were in the hospital.
There was nothing on TV but an endless parade of bad news. He had turned if off and was wandering the net. The crisis was there too but he could choose to go places where he didn’t have to face it.
His phone chirped a text alert.
Bobby: I’m back home.
He picked up the phone and entered: I thought you were sick?
Bobby: I am. I just don’t have the Russian death plague. Just mono. Go figure.
Jason eyes stung. He wasn’t going to lose his best friend. It was the first good news he had gotten all day. He texted with a tear rolling down his cheek, Maybe you’ll live long enough to get coordinated.
Bobby: Oh you’re real funny. It was really scary Jay. I mean 28 Days Later scary with all the soldiers in their gas masks and doctors and nurses. I’ve never been gladder to be home.
Jason texted: The Townsends are in the hospital, so is Gina’s Mom and both Davis twins.
Bobby: I hate that for Gina. Her Mom is cool. I don’t even want to think of the others.
Jason: There’s a whole lot of suck going around.
Bobby: Truth. Look, this stuff makes me tried and they say to sleep it off. Would you let people know I’m OK?
Jason: No problem Bobby. Who did you kiss to get Mono anyway?
Bobby: Oh, you’re just full of laughs tonight.
Air Force One
En route to Offutt Air Force Base from Camp David
2320
President Mark Harrison had spent the entire crisis in a command center of one type or another; first at Camp David and now aboard Air Force One. It had been astonishing to watch the federal machine respond to the crisis. Once he had given the order to go to Case Black, the giant machine had leaped into action shaking off the usual glacial pace of the bureaucratic monster like a bad case of fleas.
Martial Law gave the POTUS unprecedented powers. His FBI was now kicking in doors all over the country capturing anyone that might have knowledge of the shadowy organization that has perpetrated the attack. So far the people they had arrested were a very mixed bag consisting of people with ties to numerous terrorist groups and, Asian and South American drug cartels.
According to his investigators all of them had several thousand in cash and plane tickets. It looks like they were all supposed to let their drones fly and immediately jump a plane out of the country- some for Mexico City, others for Canada. The only thing that saved the cities on the West coast was that the terrorists botched their timing because of the differences in time zones. Thank God for small favors.
Air Force General William Carter was waiting to see him and it was a meeting that Harrison could no longer avoid. He spoke to his Navy Steward and said, “Send in General Carter and clear the command center for ten minutes.”
The Navy Steward in an immaculate white dress uniform answered, “Aye aye sir.”
At his direction, much of the staff took a break from their stations and gave the Commander and Chief his space.
General William Carter was one of numerous outstanding officers that Harrison had the privilege to meet since winning the Presidency. Carter was a former combat pilot with many thousands of hours flight time in an F-15 Eagle over places like Iraq, Bosnia and Afghanistan. He was young for his billet but in Harrison’s opinion, he was one of the brighter members of the Joint Chiefs of Staff.
Carter entered the President’s airborne command center asked, “Mr. President, are you ready to start the activation of Archangel?”
Harrison felt a cold lump in his stomach. No President had ever faced such a horror. People often speak of a President’s legacy. So far in his administration, Harrison had significantly reduced federal spending, created a sustained economic recovery and made considerable progress in reforming the nation’s health care system. None of that would be remembered after Archangel. His name would go down in infamy.
Harrison said, “No Willy. I’m not but… Christ- if we lose containment. The protocol... we have to follow it.”
The General pulled a red file folder out of his briefcase and handed it to the President. He said, “This doesn’t lock us in to actually using Archangel. It simply gives us the ability.”
Harrison nodded and broke the seal on the file folder.
He looked at the document and said, “How far along are we?”
Carter replied, “We have a C-17 Globemaster standing by at Avord Air Base in France. Everything is in place with the exception of the political aspects. According to the protocol we must first inform the UN Security Council member states that Archangel is a possibility. Second, we have to make a formal request to the French President for the use of their neutron bombs.”
Harrison considered his contacts with French President Francois Arnaud. The man from Marseille as the Paris media had dubbed him was no great fan of American foreign policy. He was tough, independent and fair minded but was known to not suffer fools gladly. Harrison asked, “What if Francois has a sudden attack of sanity and says no?”
Carter gave a sad grin and said, “This is all been pre-planned and pre-arranged by treaty. It’s the primary reason that the French are the only nation on earth with a significant stockpile of neutron bombs. They are notoriously independent and, well French is the best way I can describe them Sir. No country on earth would request the activation of the Archangel protocol unless it is the direst of emergencies.”
Harrison asked, “How do we proceed?”
Carter said, “If we follow protocol, and I suggest that we follow it to the letter in this case, SecState is supposed to inform the UN Security Council members that we intend to activate Archangel.”
“The next step is to contact the French President and request that he release the weapons.”
“The weapons will be loaded onto our C-17 Globemaster at Avord Air Base in France and flown to Ellsworth Air Force Base in South Dakota where they will be loaded on to B-1 Lancers of the 28th Bomb Wing. Once there, our B-1s will stand by for deployment… if we have to go that far.”
President Harrison asked, “Who is senior at State now?”
Carter consulted his notes and said, “Secretary James is infected and is undergoing treatment at Walter Reed. Under-Secretary Carlton Reed is currently the acting Secretary and he is stashed away at Weather Mountain with the rest of your cabinet.”
Harrison said, “Get Under-Secretary Reed read into Archangel and have him make the necessary notifications. Have a call set up between me and President Arnaud for- say first thing in the morning, 7am Paris time.”
Carter stood and said, “I’ll get right on this sir.”
The President sighed and said, “I don’t know what is worse Willy: the fact that I’m considering using neutron bombs on American cities or that we have a God forsaken protocol in place to do it.”
End of Day 1
Day 2
Fort Detrick, Maryland
Virology Division Lab
July 17, 2016 0025
The RNA sequence of the Pandora virus was displayed on a large flat screen monitor on the back wall of Dr. Well’s lab. They were finally a handle on the kind of
Abigail Ames spoke in her hushed Sydney accent, “What kind of a monster would do such a thing?”
Dr. Wells said, “The kind that was told some other monsters across the ocean was doing the very same thing.”
The results of the computer searches for the splices set into Pandora’s RNA were in and it only raised more questions.
The first splice was from Morbillivirus- the cause of Measles. What purpose it played remained to be seen.
The second splice came from H3N2 Influenza which probably accounted for the spikes in the protein shell.
The last splice was unknown. It came from no known virus and had apparently been sequenced by hand. It replaced an RNA sequence that was responsible for creating viral sheath.
On any other day such a masterful work of genetic engineering at the molecular level would have won its creator a Nobel Prize. Today wasn’t that day. They were looking at a creation as potentially destructive as a hydrogen bomb.
Liao said, “I have no idea how he pulled this one off or how he created a stable strain of this virus. We could spend years on this thing.
Ames looked at the sequence and said, “There is a vaccine for VEE- for horses and humans. I’ll bet the changes in the protein coat make it appear just different enough that the immune system sees it as a wholly different virus.”
Wells replied, “It’s not so different that we couldn’t develop a vaccine given time. I wonder why the guys at White Sands didn’t work in that direction.”
Liao said, “After 9/11 and the Anthrax attacks, the Bush Administration got really serious about bioterrorism. They put a lot of money into grants to fund research to create vaccines for potential bioweapons. Did you see who was killed in that lab accident at White Sands? Terry Porter from Stanford and Larry Yates from John Hopkins were there plus a couple of heavy weight researchers from Pfizer. I’m betting they were working on a vaccine.”
Ames said, “We’ve got to see their work. Doesn’t Homeland run that lab?”
Wells paused thoughtfully and said, “Yeah, they do. I’m going to call our boss General Yardley and get him to make the request to Director Foley at Homeland. If anybody wants to play jurisdiction or secrecy games, let them explain it to the Directors.”
Rural Desoto County
Near Hurricane Creek & Swamps
July 17, 2016 0035
Corporal Kevin Vance blinked back sleep in the passenger seat of a Humvee. The caffeine was wearing thin and it was very dark out on the back roads of rural Desoto County.
The terrain was full of small lakes, creeks and Cypress swamps. While most people would pass it by at high speed on the interstate, it was actually a redneck playground. Less than twenty-five miles from Memphis, there was wilderness. The country-side was spotted with hunting lodges and fishing camps.
His driver asked, “What are we supposed to be looking for out here?”
Vance said, “One of our choppers reported odd activity out here off Hurricane Creek Road. They sent us out to check it out.”
They hadn’t seen anything but fire-flies in the last twenty minutes when a glow appeared through the foliage.
They crested a small hill and Vance his driver said, “There is your odd activity.”
They were in a thick forest/bog of old Cypress and Oak trees. All along the bank of the slow moving river were houses built on stilts. There were probably a dozen boats and numerous cars and trucks parked off a dirt road that ran off the blacktop. A bonfire was burning with a score of college-aged kids sitting and standing around drinking beer out of red cups. Music was thumping out of the stereo system from a customized red Honda Prelude with a big Ole Miss sticker on the bumper.
Vance sighed and said, “Oh… a pasture party. Pull up. Maybe they’ll let us join them.”
The driver parked the Hummer on the shoulder of the road and Vance stepped out and walked to the bonfire. The group was all college kids: either in their late teens or early twenties.
You might have thought that an alien from the Andromeda galaxy had appeared when Vance stepped out of the dark in MOPPS gear. The college kid’s eyes got bigger than saucers and they backed away from their uninvited guest.
Vance asked in a loud voice: “Were any of you in Memphis today? Do y’all know what has happened?”
One of the older kids answered and said, “We’ve been here all week. We heard on satellite TV what is going on and figured we were better off out here.”
Vance took his mask and head covering off and noticed that if he wasn’t in the Guard, he would have fit right in with the crowd. Seeing that there was a real person under all that gear, and one that was almost their age, the tension in the crowd instantly drained away.
Vance said, “You’re probably right. Where are y’all from?”
The self-appointed spokesperson from the group said, “Everybody here either goes to Ole Miss or is a friend or family member. We’re from all over North Mississippi or the Memphis area.”
“I’m Kevin Vance from Hattiesburg”, he said and extended his hand.
The self-appointed leader took his hand and shook it. “I’m Jeffry Ballard. We’ve been coming out here since… well before my time. My granddaddy owns the land and we build a little more on the fish camp every summer.”
Vance grinned and said, “Yeah, we’ve got places like this down in Forrest County. If I wasn’t on duty I’d try to crash your party.”
Ballard grinned and said, “We would be glad to have you. Everybody is a little freaked out about what’s happening.”
Vance asked, “How are y’all set for supplies?”
“We’re good for a few months if we have to. A couple of our member families are full out disaster preppers.”
One of the kids said, “Maybe crazy, paranoid Uncle Claude isn’t so crazy after all.”
Ballard laughed and said, “I don’t know about that. Claude is still pretty crazy.”
Vance asked, “You got any weapons out here?”
Ballard asked, “You aren’t going to seize them like they did during Katrina are you?”
Vance made a disgusted sound and said, “Awe hell no. I just want to know if you can defend yourselves if you have to.”
Ballard visibly relaxed and said, “This is a hunting camp too.”
“Good. Look… You guys are probably in as good a place as you can be given what is going on. I’m going to give you my cell number. Call me if you need anything.”
Ballard took Vance’s cell number, put it directly into his phone and said, “Thanks man. I’ve got a lot of kids to look after.”
Vance asked, “How many?”
“There are forty-four of us from sixteen to twenty-four.”
Vance said, “We’ve got a lot of troops not far from here. Stay close to camp and be wary of strangers.”
Ballard said, “Sounds good. When this is over, come out and enjoy our hospitality.”
“It might be a while but I’m going to take you up on that.”
3rd Brigade Headquarters
Tennessee National Guard
Bartlett, TN
July 17, 2016 0044
General Roger Scarborough wanted to throttle his staff intelligence officer. He needed answers and he needed them fast.
His staff G-2 was a ROTC kid named Sanders. Lt. Sanders was smart enough but he was in a job at least two sizes too big for him. His staff intelligence officer should have been a Captain or a Major. Scarborough shook himself: he had to work with what he had; not what he wished that he had. It wasn’t that Sanders failed for lack of energy. The General needed to step in and focus the young man on precisely what was required.
Scarborough’s mobile command center was set up on a parking lot on Stage Road right next to a telephone pole where they were tapped into the city’s fiber optic net. They hadn’t bothered to disconnect the truck from the command center/trailer so it could move with 10 minutes’ notice.
He walked to the big common room and said, “Sanders, I need to see you.”
The young officer entered the General’s presence like a kid entering the principal’s office.
Scarborough said, “Close the door and have a seat.”
Sanders closed the door and sat in the chair across the desk.
The General said, “I’ve seen you making the classic mistake that almost every young officer makes: you’re trying to do it all by yourself. It’s an honest mistake but I can’t wait for you to figure it out on your own.”
“You’ve got three people working for you. Hand off tasks to them and coordinate. Then I want you to organize the data and present it to me.”
Sanders said, “To be honest General I feel overwhelmed. All the training I’ve seen is for Brigades in combat situations. This is a unique situation and we’ve had to make some of this up as I go along.”
The General sat back and said, “Brief me on what you do have.”
Sanders put a Computer pad on the table and began, “We have to coordinate with numerous entities: FBI, DHS, USAMARIID, the cities of Bartlett, Germantown and Memphis their police and emergency services and hospitals. It’s all a huge mess and we’re just now getting it all squared away. That’s all just a start. The next thing is know who to talk to and who has decision making authority. We’ve been working through that all day.”
“What is worse is that even the people that do have authority don’t want to make decisions. They have to talk to their mayors and aldermen and cover their behinds.”
General Scarborough rolled his eyes. He understood exactly what the young officer was struggling with. He asked, “How about our coordination with the Arkansas and Mississippi Guard Units?”
Sanders said, “That’s a bright spot General. We all train together and are having no problems communicating.”
The General nodded and asked, “What do you have from the FBI about the drone and the path it took over the city?”
Sanders said, “The FBI has been working that.” He pulled up a map on his computer pad and pushed it across the desk. It showed a map of the city and suburbs, the route of the drone and dispersion of the aerosol that it sprayed.
Sanders said, “They aren’t sure exactly where it started. The Feds are still looking but, it was somewhere around where US 78 crosses the state line.”
“The drone drove right up Lamar Avenue passing the train yards, FedEx distribution center and all sorts of apartment complexes and industrial concerns- all as people were moving around for rush hour.”
The General growled, “That’s has to be thousands of people.”
Sanders continued, “The drone crossed I-240 where it was spotted by the cops. It continued through suburbs and urban areas and they lost it for a while. It cut North West over flying more apartment complexes, spent some time over I-40 and eventually crashed North West of the city near Highway 51.”
Scarborough sighed, “That’s what I needed to know. Can you get this to the rest of the staff? They need to see it.”
“Not a problem.”
The General asked, “When you look at the attack data, what does it tell you.”
Sanders sat back and the General though he could actually see the wheels turning in the kids head. “I think that the attack was planned by people who didn’t know the city well. I think they may have been here a few days, driven around and set it up on the fly.”
Scarborough asked, “What makes you think that?”
“There are much denser populated areas. Some of the areas they did hit were industrial and they didn’t hit the airport.”
The General asked, “Why is the airport important?”
Sanders said, “MEM is the FedEx Super-hub. If it were hit directly, about a third of the countries civilian airlift capacity would have been contaminated. I think that the terrorists launched their drone based on a short reconnaissance, went to the airport and jumped a plane out of the country before everything shut down. It fits the profile based on other attacks. By the way- Homeland thinks they got our suspects on video from the airport out-bound for Mexico City just before the President pulled the plug.”
Scarborough said, “OK. Now you are thinking. That’s what I need out of my G-2. Do you think you can get organized and use your staff?”
Sanders said, “I think I’ve worked through the worst of it. At the moment, I’m working on another map focused on where we expect the worst of the primary infections.”
The General stood to indicate that the interview was over but before Sanders headed out the door, he said, “Sanders, I only care about two things: smarts and results. If you need anything, just let me or Colonel Gorman know. We’re counting on you.”
Sanders saluted smartly and made his escape for the office thinking either I have a tiger by the tail or it has me.
NSA Data Facility
Camp Williams Military Reservation, Utah
July 16/17, 2017 2250MST / 0050 CST
Jason Lee sat bolt upright in his chair. The intercept that he was listening to was flagged by the computer earlier in the day. The computer flagged the encrypted cell phone call originating in Islamabad, Pakistan to a senior Lieutenant of the Sanchez Cartel in Mexico City and put it in the queue for decryption.
That was not an overly difficult task for a Cray XC30 super computer. However, many hundreds of high priority intercepts were being investigated on this day of all days. The American intelligence establishment was on a war footing and the President had issued a hunting license with no bag limit.
The conversation was in Spanish but that was no difficulty for Lee.
Intercept: 20170716:1920:MexCity00987654 Satellite K23 Duration 40sec
Caller: Bieto.
Receiver: Yes?
Caller: This is Geraud. I am of need of your services.
Receiver: What can I do for you Monsieur?
Caller: I have run afoul of customs and have a package stuck in Mexico City. A flight was canceled and I need it secured and protected.
Receiver: The destination?
Caller: Originally Paris but we can re-route it as necessary.
Receiver: Contact protocol?
Caller: As we have pre-arranged.
Receiver: It will be done.
Caller: Merci
Call Ends…
He quickly translated the conversation and printed it out.
“Yo, Boss. I think I’ve got something here.”
Denver FEMA Headquarters
July 16/17, 2017 2315MST / 0115 CST
“Agent McGrath, wake up, sir!”
McGrath was sleeping in an empty conference room. He wasn’t sure exactly where he was or who the intense young man in a rumpled suit was trying to wake him.
He sat up and mumbled, “What’s up?”
“Sir, I’ve got orders to get you on a plane.”
McGrath shook his head like a dog shaking off water, stood up and asked, “Where too?”
“Above my pay grade sir but they said get you there ASAP.”
He picked up his duffle bag and followed the young man out of the conference room to an elevator down to the garage. As they walked, the man handed McGrath a sealed envelope.
“I was instructed to give you this and tell you that you will be briefed en route to the plane.”
When the elevator doors opened, a Humvee with FEMA markings was waiting with two people inside.
He opened the door to get on the back seat and discovered that the shadowy figure in the back seat was a woman.
McGrath said, “Holy shit, Sarah.”
Sarah Shepherd arched and eyebrow and said, “it’s good to see you too, Scott. Get in, we’re on the clock.”
McGrath tossed his duffle behind the seat, got in and the driver took off into the mostly empty streets of Denver.
Shepherd was a few years younger than McGrath but she was all Agency. In the old days they had chased Russian spooks all over three continents.
She didn’t waste any time and got right to the point, “I’m glad you’re back on the team and available for this Op Scott. I know you haven’t been in the field for years but I know you can handle it.”
McGrath said, “I’m not sure what my role in this thing is Sarah. I just spent the lion’s share of the day briefing in people from the whole alphabet on Pandora. “
Sarah said, “As of this moment, you’re on my team. NSA just got a line on where one of the strike teams is hiding in Mexico City.”
McGrath said, “So it’s a snatch and grab?”
Sarah’s eyes sparkled, “Oh, nothing as crude as that. When President Harrison went to the Case Black protocol, it sparked a reaction overseas. A number of countries canceled inbound flights from all of the Americas. One of the strike teams got stranded when their flight was canceled. They reached out to their handler who got in touch with one of the Cartels in Mexico City. Somebody just booked four tickets online for the 5am AirFrance flight out of Mexico City to Paris.”
McGrath said, “That’s crap tradecraft.”
Sarah nodded and said, “They had to put something together on the fly. They knew that we, or at least our DEA, is in Mexico City and they don’t want to stay too long. They thought, and rightly so in oh so many ways, that our tail was tied in a knot and that we couldn’t put something together on the fly.”
“So Sarah”, McGrath asked, “what is the play?”
“You are going as an Air Marshall. We let everybody board the plane then out in middle of the Caribbean the pilots declare an emergency and they land at Guantanamo Bay where we put the bag on four bioterrorist.”
McGrath said, “It sounds too easy.”
Sarah sighed and said, “Yes, there are a number of moving parts involved but by the time the flight leaves, we will have it all worked out.”
The big Humvee road the ramp up on to I-70 as McGrath asked, “Are the French playing ball?”
Sarah replied, “That’s one of the working parts we’re still working on. Once they hear that a strike team of bioterrorist is headed to Paris, they would shoot the airliner down themselves. It’s just the sort of… cooperation that we can count on from DGSE: one way with no specifics.”
McGrath asked, “What do we know about their handler?”
Sarah sat quietly for a moment and then said, “We’re not sure Scott. NSA did a voice print analysis on him but it was a bad line. Confidence is only about 70%.”
“Who is he?”
Sarah said, “We think that it’s Paul Renaud.”
The name brought a flood of memories back for McGrath. “Jesus, Sarah! That’s a name I haven’t heard in a long time. He’s got to be dead or way too old to be a player.”
“It’s his son Scott. Renaud married an Algerian woman and they had a son. He followed in his father’s footsteps: Foreign Legion and DGSE. Right around 2002 he went off the reservation and has been running high priced mercenaries ever since.”
McGrath said, “If he’s anything like his old man…”
Sarah said, “Maybe even better. The French have had a price on his head for years.”
They road in silence for a while and McGrath said, “Why are we bagging these guys? We’ve already got several of their teams. Why not trail them back to where they came from?”
Sarah looked uncomfortable and replied, “We don’t have the resources that we had yesterday. Langley is shut down. If it wasn’t for Fort Mead, Lafayette Square and the Nerd Farm in Utah we would be completely screwed. I’m not sure we could run an op like that.”
McGrath said, “Think about it Sarah. What are your instructions?”
The Humvee left the highway and took the Pena Avenue exit to Denver International Airport.
Sarah said, “Whatever happens and however we play it, these dirtbags don’t walk away from this.”
McGrath grinned like a wolf and said, “I can live with that. Gear?”
Sarah said, “It’s on the plane. You’ve got one of our cells, an Air Marshall’s gun and ID and a kit with all the standard goodies.”
The Humvee went through a gate and drove out on the tarmac and parked beside a Gulfstream jet.
Before he could open the door, Sarah said, “You are forgetting something.”
McGrath looked at her and asked, “What’s that?”
Sarah said, “The envelope.”
McGrath pulled the envelope out of his jacket pocket and opened it. It informed him that he was officially a senior field operative of the Central Intelligence Agency… again.
He looked up from the letter and said, “Is this a joke?”
Sarah shook her head. “No Scott. You’ve been screwed twice and landed on your feet both times. This… I just hope it’s…”
McGrath opened the door of the Hummer. Before she could finish, he kissed her cheek and got out.
Just before the jets engines began tooling up he heard her say, “Watch your back, Scott. We both know this one is way too easy.”
White Sands Missile Range, NM
Department of Homeland Security
Section 39- Secure Biohazard Lab
July 17, 2016 0000MST / 0200CST
Ray James looked at his boss incredulously. “You want what?”
Sal Martino said, “We need the hard drives from secure lab 3.”
James said, “That’s what I thought you said. Do you have any idea what we went through to seal that area off? The whole thing is contaminated.”
Martino looked at the blue prints and said, “The orders come from the Director. There might be a vaccine for Pandora stored on those drives. We’ve got to get in there.”
James scratched his head and said, “We poured 500 tons of cement down the elevator shafts. We did the same for the air shafts. That’s after we pumped the whole level full of chlorine dioxide. It’s a crypt Sal. A bunker buster wouldn’t even rattle the wall hangings.”
Sal said, “I know that I’m asking for the impossible. I’m open to any ideas- however stupid, half- baked or out of left field they seem.”
James asked, “Can I bring my crew in on this? We built the place. If there’s anybody that can figure out how to get in there, it’s one of us.”
Sal nodded and James went to the door. Martino’s secretary was busy manning her station. No one had left since the orders came down. She looked up and James asked, “Get AJ, Phil and Tyson in here ASAP.”
She went to the phones and James went back into the conference room.
James stood over the plans and said, “Wait a minute.”
Sal looked up and asked, “What are you thinking?”
“When we built this thing we ran right into a… what do they call it… a grotto?”
Sal slapped his for head and said, “Yeah, the caves. Yeah. I remember now. We had to build structure and concrete around our elevator and air shafts to keep the water out. Where does it go anyway?”
James said, “When we ran into it we contracted with a guy from the Geological Survey to map it. It’s big and it runs for miles. At some point in the geological past, there was a lot more groundwater in the area. The lab is actually deeper than the caves here and, there’s no known connection to the surface.”
Sal said, “Tell me there’s access to the caves.”
James grinned and said, “There’s not just one. All of the labs use technology a lot like nuclear submarines. They are a solid hull with trunks and airlocks to prevent accidents. Back in ’05 when we had the disaster, everything worked. Containment was breached when people who were infected and didn’t know it just walked out the door.”
Sal sat quiet for a moment and said, “All three labs have trunks that open into the cave?”
James said, “Yeah. It just made sense in a lot of ways. There no way in from the outside and it made construction so much easier.”
Sal said, “Nobody has been down there since ’05. If you look around, you might be able to answer a lot of questions.”
James crew arrived and the three engineers entered the Lab Chiefs office. Phil Tarkington asked, “What’s up boss?”
Ray James said, “Guess what we’re about to do guys.”
Southaven, MS
4th Mechanized Infantry Brigade Headquarters
July 17, 2016 0200CST
Bill Sherman took the Goodman Road exit when he got to Southaven. It was very different from the last time that he had been there. Every business on the normally bustling street was closed and dark- even the businesses that were usually open 24/7. Sherman gave a mournful sideways glance as they passed a darkened Steak and Shake and Long Horn Steak House.
In the passenger side, Johnny Two-Eagles looked up and said, “Looks like we’re here but nobody is home.”
Sherman just grunted. The trip had taken a lot longer than they intended. All of the Hummers in the convoy were towing trailers and the duce-and-a- halfs kept the convoys speed down between forty-five and fifty. It had been a long haul on a humid dark night.
The small convoy was directed by police and MPs east down Goodman road to Airline Blvd where they were directed to turn South into a large but incomplete shopping center. The Guard had set up shop in the paved parking areas for building that were no complete.
Sherman pulled into the marked unloading area and parked. “All right guys. We’re here.”
Yawns and complaints came from the back seat as Nash and Bernardi woke up. The last Sherman had heard from either one of them was hours ago passing through Jackson.
Driving that night had been an unreal experience. There was practically no traffic on the roads. They had seen a few helicopters but those belonged to the Guard or the State. It was spooky to pass through normally busy towns that were just plain shut down. At least there weren’t any IEDs to stress over.
As they were dismounting the Hummer, a supply type with a clipboard came to the vehicle and checked the trailer. He was muttering about the damned MOPPs gear but after a day of it in July heat, everybody was probably muttering about it.
As the guy was scribbling on his clipboard, Bernardi asked, “Where’s 30 Company?”
The guy looked up and said, “Sorry guys, I’m half asleep. They’re up the hill. Did you just arrive?”
Sherman said, “Yeah and it was a long ride.”
The supply guy said, “Be sure to draw your MOOPs gear first thing. Standing orders.”
“Will do.”
Bear said, “How about finding a bunk?”
Sherman said, “You three hit the rack. I’ll find the duty officer and report in.”
Nash, Bernardi and Two-Eagles shouldered their gear bags and wandered off toward the tents and Sherman went looking for the Duty Officer.
The formalities were exchanged and all four of Taylor’s veterans were sound asleep fifteen minutes after arrival.
Air Force Special Flight
Denver to Mexico City
July 17, 2016 0230 CST
Besides for a pilot, co-pilot and a flight attendant, McGrath was alone on the Gulfstream. It was an Air Force jet used to ferry the brass from base to base. It wasn’t the most luxurious model but even a low end Gulfstream will spoil you rotten.
McGrath spent his flight time preparing. He pulled his shaving kit out of his black Mapedition duffle bag and went into the lavatory to freshen up, comb his hair and shave. He changed into gray slacks, donned light weight body armor, white shirt and red tie. The weapon supplied for the mission was a .380 Glock 25 favored by Air Marshals because the lower velocity round was at least theoretically less likely to depressurize a passenger jet. He put on the shoulder holster and tucked the Glock away under his blue blazer and looked in the mirror. He looked like an Air Marshal but something was missing. .
He went back into the cabin and quickly discovered that Shepherd was right about the gear. There was only so much that he could carry unobtrusively.
He rummaged through it and found an iPad. He fired it up and found that it was pre-configured for the mission. He typed in: Comm check. Sarah, are you there?
There was a brief pause and the reply: But of course. Stand by. I’m sending you pictures of the suspects taken when they cleared customs in Memphis.
There was a pause as the pictures downloaded and they took McGrath by surprise. These guys weren’t your run of the mill Jihadist. Only one looked even vaguely Arabic and he could be Greek or Italian. One was Asian and the other two were white Europeans.
McGrath typed: I want to talk to these mutts. Very interested to find out where they came from.
The reply came quickly: You and me both. Facial recognition on subject C gives an 80% match that he’s an ex-Army Ranger.
One of ours? McGrath couldn’t think of a curse vile enough for that and he knew at least as many as the average sailor.
I’m going to gear up. Talk to you in a while.
I’ll be here.
He continued to rummage through the gear and came across a frequency discriminator. It was a sweet little gadget that could read the frequency and cell id off of a cell phone that was just sitting around turned on. That was a must.
There were numerous of gadgets and gizmos but McGrath had been around long enough to embrace the KISS principle: Keep It Simple Stupid. It’s too easy to get distracted with all the toys when the most important mission critical items were a pair of mark 1 eyeballs and a working brain.
One of the items in the kit was a pair of mirrored sunglasses which were perfect to complete his “Air Marshal look”. He put them on and quickly discovered that there was more to them than meets the eye. The glasses could see in infra-red, starlite or take a photograph with them by simply adjusting the frame. That was the just the sort of useful and non-descript item that he was looking for.
He transferred the stuff that he needed to his Maxpedition duffle and then got into the cover. Apparently, Shepherd had a very long memory. She had used a cover ID that he had used in Europe years ago. Max Stein: German national, late fifties now. He wouldn’t have to tax his memory to learn a new alias.
The badge had been issued by the European Union. He would stick to German because his French was entirely too rusty.
Last he pulled out the agency iPhone and holster and clipped it to his belt.
He was ready for show time.
Once he had finished and settled in, the flight attendant came back with a platter of coffee and Danish.
She handed it to him and said, “I know. You were never here. Good luck.”
He nodded and said, “Thanks. I never could stand Mexican coffee.”
White Sands Missile Range, NM
Department of Homeland Security
Section 39- Secure Biohazard Lab
July 17, 2016 0150MST/0250CST
It took some time to prepare for their expedition to the abandoned and sealed lab and, Raymond James nor any of his men harbored any desire to go. For stakes like so many people were facing today, a whole lot of people were operating well outside their comfort zone.
There were still more questions than answers about “the incident”. Section 39 was built in the aftermath of 9/11 and the Anthrax attacks. It was intended to be a secret lab that was capable of handling the worst of the worst pathogens that a mad-man might use to attack the United States. Built in secrecy on a military reservation in the middle of a desert, it was equipped to be absolutely state of the art. No expense was spared and no corners were cut.
Raymond James had been recruited from the Navy’s Silent Service for the purpose of being the driving force behind the construction of Section 39. He had been an Annapolis graduate and risen to the rank of Lieutenant Commander. James fingerprints were on every fitting, every joint and seal in the entire complex. His engineering credentials were absolutely impeccable until something inexplicable went wrong. It haunted him in the dark of the night. Although no one had assigned any blame, James blamed himself.
Among the crew of the secret lab, “the incident” was a story not unlike the bogey man. It was never discussed except in whispers and the old timers that had been with the lab since it opened never talked about it. If you could ever manage to get one of them drunk enough to talk about it, it was the stuff of nightmares.
The official story, that officially had never been acknowledged until earlier in the day, was that workers and researchers were somehow infected in the lab and took the infection with them to their homes in the neighboring communities. What no one wanted to talk about was that twenty-two people had been sealed in the lab-3. James and his men dreaded what they would find down there.
Section 39 was divided into six independent labs. Labs 1 and 2 were on the surface and handled materials that were bio-hazard level 1 or 2. Anything more dangerous was sent to the ultra-secure hot labs below.
There were four “hot-labs” numbered three to six. The hot labs were deep underground and carved out of bed-rock in an area that was known for geological stability. Each lab was contained in a steel enclosure known as a sarcophagus and had its own independent air handling system. Inside each sarcophagus of the hot labs were six levels built around a central core that handled the elevator to the top and all of the cabling conduits and air handling ducts.
James gathered his team in the top of lab-5 near the core access trunk. None of his current men had been here since the beginning and they were about to get a big surprise. The core access trunk was a cramped area and filled with the noises of numerous machines. It wasn’t comfortable and it sure wasn’t the sort of place you wanted to spend any time. Its entire purpose was to provide access to the labs vital electrical, environmental and fiber optics conduits to the surface.
When they were ready to proceed, James said, “What you are about to see is the last secret of Section 39 guys. AJ, follow me up with the ropes. Tyson and Phil, you guys get ready to send up our gear.”
James began climbing a metal ladder up the trunk into the darkness. As soon as he was far enough up the trunk, he heard AJ following him. Thirty meters doesn’t sound like that much unless you are climbing up into pitch black. It took him several minutes of climbing to reach the top.
He braced himself and turned the wheel that sealed and latched the trunk cover. At first it wouldn’t move and finally it gave a creak and began to turn- slowly at first and then he could spin it. Once the hatch was unlocked, he had to put his shoulder into it to break the seal. It finally gave with a snap and the spring loaded hatch popped upwards into the black followed by a small hurricane as air gusted into the lab. All of the labs were kept at negative air pressure so that air would flow in instead of out. Once the air pressure normalized, James climbed up and over the edge into the dark. As soon as he had his feet under him, he pulled his mag-lite off of his belt and clicked it on.
The light split the darkness like an explosion and the grotto was still there just as he remembered it. The grotto was huge and swallowed the light on its vastness.
AJ climbed up onto the concrete pad and looked around and whistled. “You weren’t kidding boss. This is awesome.”
He brought the rope up with him and yelled down, “Go ahead and send the repeater up Phil.”
As he looked around he asked, “Why are all the crystals so white?”
James answered, “There is a lot of gypsum dissolved in the local groundwater- or at least that what the guy from the Geological Survey told us when he did his study.”
AJ asked, “What are all the catwalks about?”
A tug on the rope announced that the first load was ready and AJ began to pull it up.
James said, “When we broke into the grotto, it gave us a lot of opportunities for construction but anyone that sees it just knows that we don’t have any right to destroy it. We put the cat-walks in to protect it.”
Pulling their equipment up through the trunk was trying and difficult work. Three times items got hung up and AJ had to crawl down and disengage some wayward protrusion from the ladder. It took about thirty minutes before everything was done.
By the time Phil and Tyson came up, AJ had the flood lights in place and they could really see the place. The gypsum crystals in the stalactites and corresponding stalagmites captured the light and scattered it all over the vast chamber. They could see very little in way of water but could hear dripping off in the distance.
Phil said, “If we ever get tight for cash, we can open this as a tourist attraction.”
Tyson said, “I don’t think there are enough people with security clearances high enough to make it worthwhile. “
James asked, “AJ do have you got the repeater working?”
“Sure boss. It should be able to extend the range of the suit radios enough for us to be able to talk and get data feeds down to lab-3.”
James nodded, picked up a bundle of gear and said, “Follow me.”
They walked across the grotto on the catwalk and into a man-made tunnel into the side of the cavern. A little farther down the tunnel and it opened out into a square room marked Lab-3 Access.
It was identical to the trunk that they had just come up from lab-5 and behind it was the elevator shaft. The trunk hatch had an electronic lock on it and red LEDs that indicated that it was locked. James keyed in a numeric code and the lock snapped and the LEDs turned green.
He began putting on an orange Racal “space suit” and his men started to suit up.
James said, “No guys. This one is mine.”
AJ protested, “It’s too dangerous boss. You need somebody down there to watch your back.”
James said, “That’s exactly why I’m going alone. If they lost all three of us, this place would collapse into the desert.”
Phil shook his head but didn’t argue. He helped James get his suit and helmet sealed and his air pack operating.
Once he was ready, he keyed his radio and said, “Are you receiving?”
Phil said, “Five by five. Come on boss, let one of us go down with you.”
James said, “Calculated risk. I don’t want to risk any of you. I built it and should be in and out in twenty minutes. Now, everybody get back. When I pop this hatch, there is a lot of poison gas down there. You don’t want to be too close.”
His team regretfully pulled back out of the tunnel and James began spinning the handle. Unlike the hatch at lab-5, it gave little resistance. The seal popped without too much effort. James turned on his suit lights and began climbing down the trunk access shaft.
Before he had gone too far he noticed that the air was outside his suit was all wrong. It was thick and had a distinctly greenish tint and he remembered- the chlorine dioxide gas. That’s why you are wearing a spacesuit- among other things.
He spoke into his suit mike, “The chlorine dioxide is definitely still here. Everything has a green tint to it. It’s that or the Hulk moved in when we weren’t looking.”
Sal Martino came on the circuit, “What do you think you’re doing going down there alone Ray?”
James sighed to himself and said, “It’s called minimizing risks. I couldn’t take your entire engineering staff down this plague pit could I?”
Martino said, “Damn it Ray, be careful. There is no replacing you either.”
“Thanks Sal. I’m entering the main core access. Awe man… there are two bodies in here.”
He stepped down from the ladder and approached the corpses. They both appeared to be mummified. “The name tags read Sykes and Garrison. It looks like they crawled in here and died. They have the access hatch shut and blocked.”
“I am examining the electrical panels. There is power coming in but the breakers are tripped. That squares with reports that there had been a fire down here at some point after the lock-down. Must be why all of our feeds went dead.”
James removed the fire extinguisher that Sykes and Garrison had used to block the door. As soon as the door opened, he was confronted by a pile of corpses. He said, “I’ve got more bodies… five, no six. It looks like they were trying to get into the trunk access. Their side of the door is covered in old blood stains and scratches.”
He checked name tags. It was the least he could do to account for those last twenty-two that had been left behind. “Barns, Gerhard, Porter, Singh, Painter and Jones: that accounts for eight of our people. I’m heading down to the computer lab on level two.”
James took the spiral metal staircase that ran up and down the core and came to a sealed door that ran into the room that housed lab-3’s servers. He took the crowbar off his belt and smashed the electronic lock. With the mechanism exposed, he disengaged the latch that held the mechanism in placed with a screwdriver and shoved the door open. The server room looked untouched.
He said, “I’m in the server room.” It took him a moment to orient himself in the dark room. One entire rack held a Cisco 6509 series core switch and a console to control it. The big switch was the hub for all of the internal and external fiber for lab-3. The next rack had smaller scale Cisco switches that connected the PCs and printers on the labs various levels to main network. The next rack held the servers: two from Sun and a pair by HP. The last rack held all of the backup devices and media.
James said, “Sal- do we need them all or is there a specific one?”
Sal said, “Doctors Porter and Yates were working on level four. That’s the data we need.”
The backup devices were labeled by level. There were tape drives for the servers and removable hard drives for PC data.
James pulled out a bag he had brought for this purpose and opened it up. He took the two backup tapes from the servers and the two removable hard drives. He noticed that the removable drives were both 500 Gigabytes and snorted. That was state of the art for 2004.
He took one last look at the panel for level 4 and noticed that a USB cable was attached to one of the removable drives enclosures but it other end hung lose.
He sealed the bag and headed back upstairs saying, “OK. I’ve got the data. Drop a rope and pick it up.”
When he arrived at the core access trunk, a rope was waiting. He tied the bag to the end and said, “It’s ready, take it up.”
Sal’s voice came back on the circuit and said, “You have the drives. You should come up now.”
James said, “I should but we need some answers. He went back to the computer room and took a special optical disk from its hidden location. It was the visual records from the cameras and a record of the access codes used to open security doors.”
He then went down to level four where Doctors Porter and Yates had been working. It took some doing to disable the latches on the doors but he was able to get into the lab. The corpse of Yates was curled in a fetal position in a corner. Number nine was accounted for.
There were three glove box enclosures in the lab. His attention was immediately drawn to the one at the center. Various mummified lab animal were inside the enclosure. What immediately caught his interest was that the air in the lab enclosure had a greenish tint. That should have been impossible. Those labs were sealed air-tight. Air was pumped in and removed and pulled through filters and intense UV light to kill any air borne pathogens. There was no way in hell that chlorine dioxide could be in there.
He went to the wall and removed six screws and opened the maintenance access to the spaces behind the enclosed labs. He carefully made his way to the air return unit and tapped on the filters. One of them didn’t sound right. He looked at it very carefully and noticed tiny scratches on it. He removed the restraining cap and pulled the filter out and was shocked to find that the filter element had been removed. He kept the filter and dropped it in a zip lock baggie that he had brought with him.
James then went down to level five and began working his way from the bottom of the lab up.
He accounted for three bodies on level five, five total bodies on level four and four more in the cafeteria.
He finally returned to the core access trunk with just a few minutes of air left. He climbed up and out of the tomb and his team was there in their own Racal suits. AJ sealed the access trunk down to lab-3 and decontamination began. The team sprayed each other’s suits and all of their gear with a strong disinfectant mixture before anyone came out of the suits.
AJ asked, “What did you find boss.”
“What happened in lab-3 was no damned accident. It was sabotage.”
Phil said, “Sabotage?”
James said, “Have a look at this filter.”
Phil took the baggie and held it up to the light.
James said, “Someone removed the filter element to one of the hot labs. The air handling system spread it all over lab-3. I have a pretty good idea who it was too. I could only account for twenty-one bodies. Twenty-two is our saboteur.”
Mexico City
0345 CST
The Gulfsteam jet landed at a small commuter airport on the outskirts of the city. McGrath was met by the US Embassies “Cultural Attaché” and hustled to a cab driven by “another company man” as the diplomat described him.
The cabbie was every bit as suicidal as the typical cabbie in the city. He tore through the light early morning traffic and had McGrath at the International Terminal of the Mexico City Airport by ten minutes after four.
McGrath asked the cabbie, “amigo, ¿cuánto?”
“Nada- es en la empresa.”
He put his duffle over his shoulder and his attaché in his hand and began to navigate his way through Customs. The Air Marshall badge parted the way for him. The Mexicans had no love for hijackers and terrorist and were happy to see him.
By four-thirty, he was checked in with his Air France boarding pass in his suit pocket and found one of Lee Child’s Jack Reacher novels in his brief case. Sarah always did have a sense of humor.
As he pretended to read the paperback, he was actually sizing up the passengers as they arrived. They had all been questioned by screening personnel: have you recently been to the United States? Where did you travel there? Do you have a fever or headaches? Everyone was concerned about the potential for a pandemic of Pandora. Just the thought put a knot in his stomach.
James Bond would have been swilling down martinis in the VIP lounge. McGrath knew better. As he was in his late fifties and running on just a few hours sleep, the only thing he wanted was coffee.
An Arab in full regalia accompanied by two women in burkas arrived at the check in counter. McGrath’s French was rusty but even he could tell that the Sheikh was drunker than any six sailors on liberty and making quite an ass of himself. He wondered why such a person would be traveling at all without retainers. It was well know that wealthy Arabs liked to indulge in Western decadence holidays that would cost them body parts back home.
A priest arrived with a pair of nuns as did numerous ordinary looking people. None of them seemed a threat or particularly excited at the prospects of a trans-Atlantic flight. McGrath had decided that the plane would be flying light as they said in the airline industry. There would certainly be more seats than people.
Finally his four targets arrived and claimed their tickets at the gate. They provided ID to the attendant at the counter and were issued their boarding passes.
Seeing them in person in three dimensions with the right colors, McGrath was struck by the idea that he had seen one or two of their faces before.
Suddenly one of them looked right at McGrath. He looked startled for a moment and the visibly shrugged. He spoke to his four team mates and then walked right for McGrath.
He looked right at the stunned agent and said in perfect American English, “End of exercise. Guys, I want you to meet the Homeland agent that got us. This is Scott McGrath and he’s a real pro. He was my counter-intelligence instructor at Quantico.”
All McGrath could manage to say was, “Stevens?”
The big man nodded and said, “Where do you want to debrief us?”
McGrath pulled out his phone and hit the quick dial on his cell. He turned so the four agents couldn’t hear him. Sarah answered on the first ring.
“Sarah. You’re not going to believe this.”
Shepherd said, “What’s happened?”
McGrath said, “The leader of the team is Agency for Christ sakes. I was one of his instructors at Quantico.”