Pestilence (Jack Randall #2) (32 page)

“You know better than that. It was our decision to go, nobody forced us.”

“Come on, Toby, you gave them a leg for fuck’s sake, and what do they give you in return; a shiny piece of tin and a thanks-a-lot-there’s-the-door! Good thing your dad left you this place or you’d be out on the street!”

“I get a check every month and the VA takes care of the leg. I’m doing fine.”

“Yea well, it’s not like I have a lot of civilian world job skills. I’m aiming a little higher.”

“Do I want to know what you got planned? You need some help?”

The Deliveryman calmed down. He looked at his friend and smiled. He had to admire Toby. Here he was, with his blown-up leg, deaf in one ear, bad concussion, seizure medication and chronic pain, yet he was always in good spirits. Never complained about the hand he had been dealt, and ready to help his friend even though he had no idea what was involved. He wished he could be more like him.

But he wasn’t. He had already set the game in motion and he would have to see it through till the end. But he couldn’t get his friend involved. He had already done enough.

“No, this is a one-man show. Could use some of those things I stashed here with you, though.”

“They haven’t moved.” Toby performed the pull and twist motion he used to get himself to his feet. He stopped in the kitchen for two more bottles before leading his friend out to the barn. Chickens scattered as he strode past the pickup and set his beer on the hood. A large freezer sat in the corner with engine parts and other bits of scrap piled on the hood. All of it coated with a thick layer of dust. They worked together and the chest was soon open. Toby removed package after package of “steaks,” as he called them, from the freezer, piling them on the truck’s hood. The Deliveryman saw that most of them were shaped like a gator’s tail, but he said nothing. The freezer soon appeared to be empty until Toby reached down and tugged on a string lying in one corner. The false bottom popped free after a couple of good tugs and a pair of duffle bags could be seen sitting on the bottom. Toby drew back and let his friend remove the bags. He lugged them to the bed of the truck while Toby replaced the steaks.

Unzipping the bags, he examined the contents. While he had worried when he first saw the layer of dust on top of the freezer, his doubts were soon gone as Toby had obviously taken good care of the items. There was no rust showing on anything and the tape on the boxes was still secure. He could trust Toby not to open anything he had sealed and he obviously hadn’t.

He fell into a practiced routine as he stripped, checked and reassembled the items one by one. He made mental notes of things he would need and separated the items he could leave behind. Toby watched him patiently, nursing his beer while his friend’s went ignored and warmed in the sun. After twenty minutes the task was complete.

“You need anything else?”

The Deliveryman smiled. “No, I think this will be enough. I can get the rest of what I need on the road. I have something I want you to hold on to for me.”

“Could’ve mentioned that before I put all them steaks back in the freezer.”

“No, this stuff can’t be frozen. It needs to stay someplace where nobody will bother it, somewhere out of the sun.”

“How big?”

The Deliveryman reached into the cab of the truck and pulled out his backpack. From inside he took out a small bag and a cigar box. The bag clinked when he moved it, the box did not. He handed them to his friend.

“The bag is the stuff. It’s kind of dangerous. Don’t let any visitors see it or handle it. It has to stay out of the sun, too.”

Toby held up the bag and gave it a look. “Can I see it?”

“Go ahead.”

Toby looked into the bag before reaching in and removing a vial. He held it up to examine closer.

“What is it? Drugs? You know I don’t do anything with that shit.”

“No. Nothing like that. You really don’t want to know. Just hold on to it. If I don’t come back it could be worth a lot of money someday.”

“All right.” Toby shrugged. “What about the box?”

“It’s for you, buddy.”

Toby gave his friend a look before he peeled the tape off the lid and opened the box. Inside he found four bundles of crisp $100 bills. He started shaking his head right away.

“Don’t even think of saying no. The people I got it from won’t be missing it and I don’t have anybody else to give it to. Just be a friend and take it, buy a new boat or something, or just give it away. It’s up to you.”

“I don’t need it!”

“Toby, come on. That truck ain’t gonna last forever. What if the next hurricane knocks the house down? Just save it till you need it.”

Toby grumbled under his breath, but he could see his friend was serious. If he refused it he’d probably just find it in the mailbox tomorrow or under the seat of his truck. He closed the lid and taking off his hat, smacked his friend with it.

“Damn you.”

“Hey, at least you could buy some more beer with it. I’ll even help you drink it.”

“There’s an idea. Let’s put this shit away and grab a few bottles and take out the boat. The gators’ll be stirring and I’ve got some room in the freezer now.”

“Deal.” He followed Toby back to the house, a beer in one hand and his new gifts in the other.

Swine flu epidemic: One in three fatal victims had no
serious underlying health problems.
July 23, 2009—Mail

—TWENTY-SIX—

J
ack scanned the crowd. There were more government agencies represented in the room than he had thought possible. There were people from the US Marshall’s office, the Department of Homeland Security, the DEA, the FBI, the CIA, Defense Intelligence and a slew of others. Today they all had one common goal: the largest domestic manhunt in history.

That morning he had made another trip up Pennsylvania Avenue, this time to the West Wing of the White House. Unlike his meeting just a few hours prior, there was no hiding from the press this time, and he made sure he was seen both entering and leaving the building. In the hours that followed, the phones had rung in every intelligence and law enforcement agency of the United States. Presidential orders went out and agency heads scrambled to comply. In a short time Jack had information flowing to his desk. A search of available people had been conducted and individuals screened and now a team had been assembled. None of which had any history or past working relationship with the target. It was going to take a bit of interservice cooperation to get the job done. Something the services represented here were not really known for. Jack would have to play diplomat to get the job done. For that he would have a little help from the man waiting in the room next door.

He walked to the front of the room but the conversations failed to stop. Jack was not known to all of them. He looked to the door on the right of the room where Sydney waited. He gave her a nod and she opened it. A man emerged and walked to the front of the room to stand next to Jack. The conversations all quickly died.

Glen Hendrix was only five foot six in height, yet he carried a presence few men could aspire to. An impeccable dresser, today was no different, and he stood next to the podium in a tailored English suit that equaled what most people in the room made in a month. But none of them would fault him for it. The man had made his own money. Born poor in the Bronx of New York, he made it to Harvard, become a captain of industry, head of the labor department, and now White House Chief of Staff. His presence here today spoke volumes. Glen Hendrix did not come see you, you went to see him. When he spoke there was no doubt that he had the total backing of the President and carried the full weight and power of the White House.

He looked down at the file he carried with him, purposely forcing the room to wait in silence. When he did finally look up it was with a look of contempt, as if he had much better things to do then be here addressing them. The room braced for what was coming.

“First of all, thank you all for coming on such short notice. You may have noticed that there are quite a few different agencies represented here and the reasons for that will become clear in few minutes. All I can say is that we have a credible threat like we have never had. This is not a drill. The President has authorized this mission as the result of a direct threat to the United States as well as the rest of the world.

“However, the threat will, at this time, remain classified. This is to prevent widespread panic. This decision was made by the President just a few hours ago in consultation with expert council, including the Secretary of Defense and the National Security Advisor. You people have all been carefully selected to meet this threat. I’ve been told that any leaks will result in immediate termination and/or bad conduct discharge. Charges will be filed. This is no joke, people, there will be no resignations. The President’s own words.

“There will also be no interservice rivalry. If anyone is caught withholding information or not sharing any and all intelligence, the same rules apply.” He turned and pointed directly at Jack who was standing off to his left. “This is the man in charge. Period. What he says goes, as of now he outranks
all
of you. If that’s a problem, leave now.” When nobody stirred, he moved on. “If it sounds like I’m being tough, it’s because we have no time for the usual party games on this one. One way or the other, this will all be over in a few days. We need the best you have, of yourselves and of your agencies. You have my full support and faith as well as that of the President. While this has the potential to be a dark day, I believe it could also be our finest. So . . . that’s all I have. Do a job.”

He retrieved his file from the podium and silently left the room. All eyes followed him until the door shut behind him. They then focused on Jack.

Jack got a reassuring nod from Sydney as he took the Chief of Staffs place at the podium. He cleared his throat and looked out over the room. The faces he met were all experienced people, most of them older and much more accomplished than he. Yet he was the one in charge. He regretted that his first words to them would be a lie, but they really had no choice at this point.

“Good afternoon. For those of you that don’t know me, my name is Jack Randall and I am with the FBI. I recently headed the investigation into the embassy bombing in Tanzania and the follow-up raid and capture of Mohammed Al-Nasser. In the intelligence gathered on that raid we uncovered a threat to the United States. The threat is from a biological weapon. This weapon was developed, we believe, in the former Soviet Union, and either sold to or stolen by the terrorist group. It is a strain of the influenza virus. If the intelligence is correct, the virus has the potential to infect up to 300 million people and kill at least a third of those infected.”

A rumble went through the crowd and Jack silenced it with a wave of his hand. The lights dimmed and a picture of a man was projected on the wall in back of him. The picture changed from the head-on face shot to a few other candid photos and returned. Jack continued while the images rotated on the screen.

“This man is our target. His name is Steven Cascabel, but he has several aliases. He’s an American, formally with US Army Special Operations. Discharged after the first Gulf war, he is believed to have become a hired gun working mostly in Africa and the Middle East. We believe he has loose ties to some terrorism networks, but mostly works as a supplier of weapons and intelligence. We have no reason to believe he’s a member of any organization at this time. It seems to be purely a money making venture for him, which brings us to our problem.”

“Two days ago my office received a letter from Mr. Cascabel. He sent pictures of a vial we believe to be the agent I described. We’ve been able to confirm that this vial is missing from secured stockpiles and contains the agent. The letter was postmarked Sao Paolo, Brazil. We’ve gone over video and records of every flight from Brazil to the States over the last few days and we can confirm that he arrived in Miami two days ago. His location is unknown at this time.”

“I don’t understand, sir? If he’s already in the country aren’t we too late?” a woman from the DEA spoke up.

“Fortunately, his goal is not to release the virus. He only wants one thing. Money.”

”So let’s just pay him off and then hunt him down. Isn’t that the safest choice?”

“We have reasons to believe that the subject doesn’t really know the virus’s capabilities. If for some reason he became exposed or allowed the virus to be exposed to the environment there would be no stopping it. He would become a carrier and anyone exposed to him would become ill and pass the virus on, resulting in a worldwide pandemic. We also must locate him as soon as possible to prevent him from dividing the virus into several locations. He’s believed to have a total of forty vials, enough to carry on his person easily. We have to account for every vial and do it fast.

“You will all be receiving a file on this man containing everything that’s been gathered so far. I want to meet with the heads of all departments after this meeting. I need everyone to mine their databases for any information on him. Contact information is included. Let’s get the information flowing. I don’t like saying this, people, but Mr. Hendrix was not lying. When this is over it will be gone over with a magnifying glass. Just keep that in mind and do a job we can all be proud of. That’s it.”