Jericho 3 (26 page)

Ferguson nodded and Major Spann turned the TV off.

“Brilliant…just brilliant,” Billy Finn said as he got up rubbing his head.

“But you said the drone and the satellite took photos of the Iranians using the SkitoMister to spray these people. How is that a natural outbreak?” Raines said as her voice erupted over the open telephone line.

“It’s nothing short of a perfect explanation. Iranian authorities are now
concerned
with the poor
sanitation
in these rural villages.
Cook
your damn meat and
boil
your water and you too can prevent a natural outbreak,” Ferguson said with high notes of sarcasm punctuating each word.

“Now they can justify the Russian ‘pesticides’ because they’re really just trying to take care of their own people,” Camp said.

“Certainly we can take this intel to the UN Security Council. We’ve got to sound the warning bell,” Raines lobbied.

“So the Russians can veto any resolution while boasting they supplied the pesticides and insecticides on humanitarian grounds to their friends and ally in Iran? That dog don’t hunt, Colonel Raines,” Ferguson said.

The room fell silent.

“Well, in case anyone cares…we just witnessed a Phase One human clinical trial. Better get your drone back up in the sky, general. Phase Two is coming. Goodnight, gentlemen,” Raines said as she terminated the call.

Three mid-level intelligence officers from Aman, Shin Bet and Mossad in Tel Aviv, who had been watching the same news coverage of the tularemia outbreak in Iran, turned their televisions off as well and started writing their reports.

Islamic Azad University of Damghan

Damghan, Iran

T
he Ja‘far
ī
council of religious leaders and scholars convened the meeting in the Shura room at the university. Kazi was well known among them and though only 32 years old, he was respected for having knowledge, intellect and wisdom beyond his years.

Kazi’s extreme and committed faith was endearing to the elderly scholars. Kazi was a Twelver, and he knew his role in the Age of the Coming as the world prepared for the coming of the Twelfth Imam, the Mahdi.

Kazi carefully explained the events from the Bourvari District, the 436 patients that were seen at Ghods Hospital, and the one unfortunate fatality, an elderly man who was predisposed to congenital heart disease.

“When will your portion of the Coming be full-scale and ready to proceed?” an elder from the Ja‘far
ī
council asked.

“The first test is complete. The world now knows that natural outbreaks are common, and if people will remain clean they will not be infected. The world knows that modern medicine has the vaccines and antibiotics to prevent this disease. Now we must conduct the second test, the lethal test,” Kazi said.

“The infidels are by their very nature unclean. The Zionists are unclean. Can you protect Muslims against infection?” another elder asked.

“With the grace and power of Allah, I say yes. It took many months, but Allah provided the path. We can vaccinate the entire Palestinian territory. I pray that they will be spared Allah’s judgment when the wind of torment comes.”

The members of the Ja‘far
ī
council nodded in approval and spoke quietly among themselves.

“Where will you conduct the second test?”

Kazi made eye contact with each member of the council.

“I submit to your wise counsel,” he said as he lowered his eyes.

“Perhaps Rasht would be a good choice,” one elder said as the others considered his selection. “It is there that the young Muslim man lost his way and was tempted by the devil. He converted to Christianity and became a pastor. He started many Christian home churches in Rasht, he conducts Christian services and has baptized others including himself. He has broken Islamic law. This pastor has been arrested and faces hanging for apostasy and blasphemy. He was given the chance to recant his faith and return to Islam but he has refused. Perhaps this would be the place to purge the devils that follow him.”

The Ja‘far
ī
council nodded it’s approval. Kazi stood and walked over to each and kissed their hands with sincere respect.

Creech Air Force Base

Indian Springs, Nevada

U
.S. Air Force Captain Brady Kenton and “Kate” were on their fourth day of surveillance missions over Iran. The tracking beacon on the SkitoMister had remained stationary in the Damghan warehouse since it returned from the Bourvari District.

The CIA and the SECDEF took advantage of “Kate” being in the neighborhood and authorized that she and her combat pilot friend take photos and sign autographs over Iranian nuclear sites in Arak, Natanz and Bushehr.

Colonel Abrams’ voice over the comms from the Tactical Operations Center jolted Kenton back to reality.

“Okay Brady, let’s get Kate back to bed in Kandahar.”

“Roger.”

Kenton pulled back on the stick and turned Kate east back toward Afghanistan.

National Interagency Biodefense Center

BSL-4 Facility

Fort Detrick, Maryland

L
ieutenant Colonel Leslie Raines drove her Wrangler through the Fort Detrick checkpoint and into the parking lot. It had been five days since the new vaccine was injected into the latest round of four rhesus monkeys. The monkeys had already lived a full 24 hours longer than the previous 16 monkeys. Raines was prepared for more disappointment but remained cautiously optimistic. She questioned her own skill, her own ability to produce an effective vaccine. Self-doubt was a greater enemy than vaccine-resistant tularemia.

Her eyes were shallow, and her shoulders sagged from the fatigue and weight of the world as Raines ordered her skinny latte in the atrium coffee bar surrounded by leather chairs and couches. She hated the informal living room furniture. She hated the entire atrium and the stupid little coffee bar. She hated her miserable life as a solitary tear streaked down her face as she entered the elevator without buttons.

Raines emerged on the only floor her card and biometric scan would allow her to enter.

Dropping her bag off in her office, she quickly checked her voice mail and emails. There was nothing, nothing of significance anyways. There was nothing new to hate.

Raines walked slowly down to the command center. It was empty. On the TV monitors she noticed four technicians gathered around the rhesus cages in her lab.

They’re dead,
she thought to herself.

Two of the technicians pulled away from the cages carrying four vials of blood as the other two moved in closer. They had treats in their gloves…and toys.

Then she saw it. The monkeys were still alive.

The two technicians moved over to the bench and placed several blood samples on slides. One of them waved through the thick glass as they noticed Lieutenant Colonel Leslie Raines who was now standing in anticipation.

Moments later both technicians turned and gave thumbs-up through thick gloves.

Tears gushed out of the colonel’s eyes as her hands covered her face.

Dr. Groenwald walked into the command center and saw the raised thumbs and the emotion pouring out of Raines. He leaned forward and put a consoling hand upon her shoulder.

“You did it, colonel; you absolutely did it.”

Raines reached up and grabbed his hand without saying a word.

“Come on, we have some calls to make,” Groenwald said as he left the command center.

Raines and the team poured over the toxicology reports. Other than the strain of tularemia proteins cooked into the vaccine recipe itself, the toxicology was clear. No tularemia. Raines made the first call up the chain of command to General Ferguson, who in turn notified the SECDEF’s office and the CIA.

Within six hours Raines was sitting in economy class on board an Air France flight to Paris connecting on another Air France flight to Lyon.

Rasht

Gilan Province, Iran

R
asht, affectionately called the Seattle of Iran due to all the rain, was the largest Iranian city on the Caspian Sea coast. With almost 600,000 citizens, Rasht was once known as the Gate of Europe and the preferred trade route with Russia. In earlier centuries Rasht was the center of the silk industry and was buzzing with commerce from the textile workshops.

An industrialized town, Rasht had begun to fall out of favor with the religious authorities as their culture of consumerism seemed far too western for clerical comfort. With modern hotels and hundreds of tourist attractions, Rasht was becoming a favorite international tourist destination that attracted thousands of Austrians, Germans, Dutch, French, Australians and Japanese each year.

It was also a comparatively open city that seemed to look the other way as Christian house churches sprang up with a touch of evangelical fervor, especially in the suburbs of Golsar.

The Iranian Supreme Court had been considering the fate of Pastor Khani after the provincial court convicted him of apostasy and sentenced him to death. Even the Supreme Leader had grown agitated to learn that perhaps more than 100,000 Christians were living – and growing – in Iran.

Rasht was getting out of control. With seven universities, a thriving media, multiple cinemas and musical concert halls, Rasht was too cosmopolitan. Modesty was at risk in Rasht.

The helicopter carrying the SkitoMister touched down on the outskirts of Golsar and was quickly loaded onto a maintenance truck. The helicopter crew carried a fiberglass tank full of liquid and hooked it up to the SkitoMister.

With a technician in the back, the truck drove down several specific streets in Golsar, streets that had been identified by the MISIRI, the Ministry of Intelligence and National Security of the Islamic Republic of Iran, as being suitable for pesticide application.

Captain Brady Kenton and “Kate” watched from above as the truck spent less than 20 minutes in Golsar. Three intelligence officers from Mossad, Shin Bet and Aman watched similar images they were receiving from the Ofek 9 in their Tel Aviv monitoring stations. A surveillance satellite could observe a site for only a few minutes at a time given the complexities of orbit distance and speed. But “Kate” and all of her collegial drones could loiter for hours at high altitude and send a continuous video feed of the people working on the ground. “Kate” delivered the complete pattern of life, giving critical clues of the work being done, the equipment being used and the people on the ground.

Almost as fast as it began, the maintenance operation was over. An entire tank had been dispersed and Captain Brady Kenton watched the SkitoMister get loaded back on the helicopter for the return flight to Damghan.

Kenton followed the chopper all the way back to the warehouse. Hovering 30,000 feet over the Damghan warehouse, Kenton became amused. A man appeared to be out in the field next to the warehouse, and he was flying a gas-powered remote-controlled airplane. “Kate” watched the man take the four-foot winged craft on high banks, barrel rolls, steep dives, and vertical climbs. The man was incredibly skilled, and it brought back memories of when US Air Force Captain Kenton was just “little Brady,” flying his airplanes and gliders in the grass fields near Lake Winnebago in Oshkosh, Wisconsin. Brady grew up an experimental aviation nut. Captain Brady Kenton watched the incredible toy fly for a few more minutes before he and “Kate” needed to head back to Kandahar, Afghanistan.

The man in the field brought his airplane in for a landing as the helicopter touched down, and the SkitoMister was rolled into the warehouse.

Captain Kenton pulled “Kate” up and turned her east toward Afghanistan. They had only been flying a few minutes when something happened. Somewhere in the mountains between Neyshabir and Mashhad, Brady lost control of his drone. “Kate” disappeared.

“Brady…Kate just dropped off our screen…you still got her?” Colonel Abrams asked from the TOC at Creech Air Force Base in Indian Springs, Nevada.

Brady was frantically working his stick and resetting computer images.

“Roger that, sir, still working it. Kate seems to have lost her connection with the GPS satellite. Stand by.”

The video feed from Kate was intermittent, but clearly she was descending and getting closer to the two mountain ranges of Binalood and Haser-Masjed. She was too close.

“Talk to me, Captain Kenton,” Abrams yelled as he stood with greater urgency.

“I have no controls, repeat, I have no control over Kate.”

“What the hell? Has she been hit?”

“Negative, sir, she is disconnected. Sir, she’s on auto-pilot. She’s landing herself.”

Seconds later the video feed was gone. Kate laid in three pieces on the ground in the most level place she could find in the Binalood mountains of northeastern Iran.

The Ofek 9 sent Kate’s photograph to Tel Aviv where the three intelligence officers stared at this technological wonder in amazement. Special Agent Daniels and Agent Fallon Jessup ran down the corridors of Langley to brief the Director as phones around the world were dialed and picked up simultaneously.

“Get me the SECDEF’s office now!” Colonel Abrams screamed as combat pilot and US Air Force Captain Brady Kenton unbuckled himself from his tan leather swivel office chair, stepped back and ejected from the virtual debris.

ISAF Headquarters

Kabul, Afghanistan

G
eneral Ferguson, US Navy Captain “Camp” Campbell and Billy Finn were positioned and waiting for the video conference call connection to the Pentagon. Whatever Secretary of Defense Pennington wanted to talk about, it must have been important because the Chairman of the Joint Chiefs was joining the call as well.

“Mister Secretary, I’m joined by Captain Campbell and retired FBI special agent Finn,” Ferguson said as the video feed came to life.

“Jim, we’ve got a big problem, an international situation,” SECDEF Pennington began. “Our classified drone, the RQ-170 Sentinel crash landed an hour ago in northeastern Iran.”

“Hostile fire?” Ferguson pressed.