Pestilence (Jack Randall #2) (6 page)

Jack moved his gaze to a man in the second row, an FBI man by the name of Bradford Williams. An explosives expert, complete with a missing finger. A former US Navy Seal, he had transferred to the FBI after ten years with the teams. Jack was impressed with his record. Combat tours on three continents, some nice letters from the admirals that steered the navy, and one from the King of Saudi Arabia that was heavily blacked out. Somehow he had found time to complete a Masters degree in electrical engineering, and so far had worked with HRT and other departments of the FBI on other bombings ranging from abortion clinics to the Murrah Federal Building in Oklahoma City. His purpose on the team was self explanatory and Jack was happy to have him.

The others were familiar faces, some of them picked by Sydney from her team, three of Greg’s shooters, a documents analyst, and some communications people. All in all, a good team. Jack would see what they were made of quickly. They were all about to be thrown into the deep end.

World can ‘safely’ burn only 25% of remaining oil, coal.
April 29, 2009—Reuters
 

—FOUR—

“M
ay I join you?”

Heather looked up to see Sydney standing over her. They had boarded the G5 at Andrews and everyone was finding their place for the long flight. She had secured herself a window seat, and was buckled in and reading when Sydney approached.

“Sure, be my guest.”

“Thanks. Nice to sit with one of the girls for a change. We haven’t had a chance to meet yet. I’m Sydney Lewis.” She offered a hand for a quick shake.

“Heather Sachs, nice to meet you too.”

“Sachs as in Saks? If that’s true, you’re my new best friend,” Sydney inquired.

“No such luck I’m afraid. My parents are hippies from the Midwest,” Heather replied. “You’re the forensics team leader, the one who likes shooting dead people?”

“Yes, you heard the rumors already I see. That’s good.” Sydney grinned. “I understand you like bugs?”

“Also true, the microscopic sized ones anyway.” Heather laughed. “I got interested from a friend of my father’s. Mom was an oceanographer. I grew up in a science community. I started hunting diseases with Dr. Peters of the CDC when I was still in school. Been in it ever since.”

“How’d you get attached to us?”

“Well, after I finished a hunting trip for Marburg I had a few months off. A forced vacation actually. But I’m not one who sits still so I stayed in-country with a doctor I met and helped out with the AIDS/TB program, vaccinating people and setting up clinics. Then, somehow my name got to someone at Homeland Security, the bombing happened and they called. So here I am.”

“What do you think so far?” Sydney asked.

“I’ll give you this. You guys really know how to travel. The CDC flies commercial, or we hitch rides on military transports. This is a nice change.”

“Yeah well, the Bureau doesn’t really own this plane. At least I don’t think it does. It was seized by the DEA from one of the cartels. So if you find a bag of cocaine under your seat, don’t be surprised. We’ve used this one before and it’s pretty plush. The best thing is it already had the best communications gear possible. They added the scramblers so we can talk in the clear, but other than that, it’s just like we got it. I have no complaints.”

“I wouldn’t either. Flying commercial takes forever. Last time it took me something like thirty-six hours or so. That’s with a connection in Sao Palo, Brazil. Not a pleasant trip.”

“Coach?”

“Of course. Our budget is always tight. We’re lucky to have travel money. The Homeland Security budget helps offset our cost and The World Health Organization helps a little, but money is always a big factor.”

Sydney took this in as she looked at the woman next to her in a new light. She wore no expensive jewelry, no flashy clothing. A Timex watch adorned one wrist, the kind a jogger would wear. Her clothing had the durable look of something you would find in a sporting goods store rather than a department store. Well-worn canvas shoes covered her feet, and there was no hint of perfume. Her face had minimal makeup, but then not a lot was really needed. A floppy hat and a pair of sunglasses protruded from her handbag, also made of canvas and showing years of use. She looked just like the person she claimed to be, Sydney decided. She also noticed Heather wore no wedding ring.

“So this doctor you stayed with, he wasn’t the young and cute type by chance was he?” she asked.

“Maybe,” she admitted. “But he was married to his work. You know the type?”

“Oh yeah.” She sighed, glancing behind her.

They both settled into their seats as the engines screamed louder and the plane accelerated down the runway, ending the conversation.

•      •      •

“Spook huh?”

Larry found himself sitting next to Dennis Murphy in the middle of the plane. Eric was on the opposite side, but he was already settled in with his earphones on and laptop open. Larry knew he’d be in his own little world for the majority of the flight.

“Yup, over fourteen years now,” Murphy replied. “You?”

“I stole Hoover’s stapler on my first day,” Larry dodged. “How’d you get attached to us?”

“I’m the guy who gets all the East Africa stuff, everything from tribal war scoreboards to who’s overthrowing what government to new pirate safe havens. Believe it or not, it’s a busy place for a guy like me. Nothing ever makes the news in the States coming out of East Africa, but when it does. Well, you know, the occasional Hollywood movie about genocide at a hotel or diamond smuggling gets some attention. But mostly it’s a forgotten area of the world.”

“Not anymore.”

“True, but for how long? They’ll be back to their lattes and celebrity gossip by the weekend. Anyway, somebody higher up than me got a call and here I am. Gets me out of the office.”

“That happen a lot?” Larry probed.

“On occasion,” Murphy replied, revealing nothing. “You been to Africa before?” he asked, changing the subject.

“Yup, during my early days. Can’t say I’m a big fan.”

“Ever come outside of duty?”

Larry snorted. “No, can’t say that’s ever crossed my mind.”

“You should. The Serengeti and the highlands are beautiful. And they’re disappearing. You should see them while you still have time.”

“Maybe. So what do you think we’re gonna find?”

“Depends on your people, really. We have reports of Al Qaeda operatives in the area, but nothing concrete. If you can get me some leads I can follow them up with agency contacts in the area, and maybe track it up the chain. The African cells are not as tight as the Asian cells, and the communications there are easier to compromise. That could help us. The hard part is the languages. While English and Swahili are the national languages, the people speak hundreds of local dialects, and that makes translation take much longer than normal. We only have so many people on the East Africa desk. I’m told we have numerous intercepts, but it may take days or even weeks to translate and analyze all of them.”

“What about the government?” Larry asked.

“The Tanzanians? They actually have one of the more stable governments in the area. They’re fortunate to have less of the tribal warfare that plagues the other African nations. Leftovers from the stupidity of the European colonial rule. When they divided up the continent they paid no attention to tribal boundaries and there’s been constant war among them ever since. They’re also lucky to have Kenya for a neighbor, one of the few nations to get past the tribal disputes and secure their country’s future. No, I believe the Tanzanians are truthful in their desire to help us. They ultimately know that the future of their country, as well as all of East Africa, rests in the hands of America.”

“How’s that? They really have no strategic or political strength. They can get guns, or oil, or whatever from somebody else. Why do they need us so bad?” Larry was confused.

“Drugs. Disease is slowly killing Africa. AIDS and other diseases are rampant. The average woman produces four children, and the population is still declining. American pharmaceutical companies have the drugs and the manufacturing capabilities to produce them on the scale that’s needed.”

“Okay, so ship the drugs.”

“Not that easy. These drugs require a strict regimen of three different drugs being taken at precise intervals in a twenty-four hour period. They also cost about sixty bucks a day.”

“Bullshit. That’s just what they charge.”

“Not necessarily, the pills cost about four dollars a dose to produce today. That’s the pills made now. The
first
pill cost over 400 million in research and development costs. The companies can’t afford to just give them away. Shipping them to the capital is a negligible cost, but after that they are subject to corruption and theft for resale on the black market. On top of that, our biggest effort to combat AIDS has backfired on us.”

“What was that?”

“The highway. The Kinshasa highway runs across central Africa. Most aid doesn’t make it to the people it’s intended for because there aren’t sufficient roads in Africa to deliver it to them. So we built the highway.”

“I don’t get it. How did that backfire?”

“While the road helped speed the delivery of supplies, it also spread the disease faster. Sick villagers would no longer stay in place. People trading goods traveled the highway and spread the disease quicker. Truck drivers and prostitutes are the main culprit these days.”

“Wow,” was all Larry could offer. He sat back in his seat to think about it for a few minutes. “You said that the drugs could be delivered now, right? So why are the people still dying?”

“The drug companies have shown a reluctance to send them. They feel that even if they were to send all that were needed, it would make little difference.”

“Why? Because there’s more money in Viagra?”

“The people have no education, and no watches. They can’t read the labels or tell time.”

“That’s it, lack of a watch and some simple education?”

“That’s it, simple as that. That young lady who’s sitting up there with your friend? I’ve heard of her. While I applaud her efforts, I sometimes feel like she’s fighting a lost cause.”

“Sounds like you’ve dealt with this a lot. You sure you’re a spook?”

Murphy smiled. “You can’t avoid it in Africa. It’s both a scourge and a business there. But on this trip we’re hunting terrorists, and I hope we find the bastards.”

“Me, too. This thing has a full bar, how about a drink?” Larry offered.

“My new boss won’t mind?”

“Not on a flight this long. Just be ready when we hit the ground. Jack’s a results kind of guy. You get the job done and he’ll overlook a lot. Whiskey, I’m guessing?”

“My names Murphy, isn’t it?” he shot back.

“Two to go.” Larry heaved his considerable frame out of the seat and went forward to the galley. He noticed Eric was already asleep with his headphones still blaring loud enough for Larry to hear. Jack had asked Larry to get friendly with their CIA attachment. So far he hadn’t found anything unusual about the guy. If anything, he seemed very knowledgeable and forthcoming. Well, he had a few minis of Bushmills and several hours to work on him some more. He’d see what he could do. On the way back to his seat he noticed Sydney talking and laughing with her new friend. He hoped she was having better luck with her assignment.

•      •      •

Jack sat in the back row of the plane with Greg and Bradford Williams. Every hour they had received multiple faxes as the home office updated them with new information. The latest included a series of pictures that Brad scrutinized with a magnifying glass for several minutes.

“Well, Brad, what do you think?” Greg asked.

“The damage is consistent with what the eyewitnesses say. Most likely the truck was packed with ammonia nitrate and diesel fuel. It’s cheap and you can probably get it easier than ammunition over there. One dedicated driver to deliver it and that’s all you really need. That embassy was built in the days before we had to worry about such things. The perimeter wasn’t upgraded, I see, possibly why they chose it. Timing was a factor too. The government is in the process of moving their capital from Dar to Dodoma. Most of the embassies were choosing to follow. Good excuse to upgrade the building and get better security at the same time. In about six months this building would have been vacant.”

“Was that common knowledge?” Jack asked.

“I doubt they did a State Department release, but there really isn’t a way to hide it. New construction is guarded from day one by United States Marines, otherwise you get a building full of bugs like we got in Moscow.”

Jack remembered reading about that. The contract for the new Moscow embassy had been handled by a company that used a private security firm. As a result, the United States was the proud owner of a building so infested with electronic listening devices the phones couldn’t function. It sat empty for years before being sold for pennies on the dollar.

“So what should we look for?” Greg asked.

“I’ll determine the epicenter of the explosion, which won’t be hard. Get some measurements and estimate yield and what not. Then I’ll send it all to your man Eric. He can combine what I find with the building’s blueprint and run it through his computer to come up with a map of where the items we want most likely are. Nothing else to add to this list?”