The Janus Reprisal (28 page)

M
ANHAR CRAWLED DOWN FROM
the platform to the third rail, sloshing through the brackish, stinking water as he did. He plunged the thermometer into the stream for the second time. He waited, heard the beep, and pulled the stick out.

“Forty-two.” He called the words to Rajiid, who swore in Urdu at the number.

“More water!” Rajiid yelled into the handset of a pay phone on the wall. The hose resumed pouring the fresh water into the stream. Manhar stayed where he was and watched as a dead rat floated by. He wanted out of this despicable country, away from Rajiid, Dattar, and all of the others the moment he could flee. He glanced at the Nolan woman. She bled continuously, but seemed oblivious to her wounds. Manhar hated women who controlled their emotions; it was unnatural. To be stoic was a characteristic of men, not women. At that moment, Dattar erupted in anger, yelling at Rajiid and waving his arms around to emphasize his piercing shrieks.

Well, maybe not that man, Manhar thought. Dattar was ten times more volatile than most. He excelled at instilling fear. Manhar had heard that Dattar had once skinned a European alive in retaliation for some affront or another. Manhar had no wish to be next. For the moment he was stuck cooperating.

“Check again,” Rajiid said. He yelled over the cascading water. Manhar reset the thermometer and shoved it back into the stream. Sixty seconds, a beep and a reading.

“Thirty-eight.”

“Almost there,” Rajiid said.

Manhar slogged to the platform and hoisted himself back onto it. As he did, he heard the sound of steps running down the stairs. A man wearing a hard hat and a reflective vest stepped into the room. He held a walkie-talkie and stopped when he saw Rajiid, Dattar, Manhar, and Nolan.

“What the hell is going on here?” he said. “This station is gonna be closed for the next three hours. You all have to leave.”

Khalil stepped into view behind the man, raised a gun with a silencer attached and shot the man in the back. Manhar watched the body drop. Nolan made a small, moaning sound.

Rajiid looked annoyed. “I would have talked my way out of that. Told him that we were with MTA. Now when he doesn’t respond to their calls they’ll send someone to check on him.”

Khalil shrugged. “And how long do you think that will take? They’ll call, he won’t answer, they’ll assume he’s busy, and by the time they send another, the water will be cool, the bacteria placed, and we’ll be long gone.” He waved at Manhar. “Toss his body into the tunnel. Far enough in so that he can’t be seen from the platform.”

“And out of the way of any trains. I want the subway operating at full speed during the rush hour, not closed while they remove a dead body,” Dattar said.

Manhar rose and headed to the construction worker’s corpse. The man was at least six feet and had a stomach the size of a basketball. No way was Manhar going to be able to move the body alone.

“I need some help. This guy’s too big.”

“Get up and help him,” Dattar said to Nolan. She hadn’t made any noise other than the moan and Manhar noted that her face once again held the closed expression that she commonly wore. She rose and joined him. He hooked his hands under the man’s armpits and she grabbed his feet by the ankles. Together they hauled him to the platform’s edge and left him there while they jumped down onto the tracks. They grabbed the corpse and started down the tunnel past the water flow. As they walked, it became increasingly dark, and when they left the lighted platform area and entered the tunnel, the only illumination came from the sporadic lamps attached at the ceiling and the signal stands. About fifty feet in, a recessed area allowed for someone to step inside. Manhar nodded at it, and they arranged the body there in a sitting position, being sure to keep the arms folded so that the train conductor wouldn’t see anything on approach. Manhar reached into the man’s pants pocket and removed a wallet. He flipped it open, took the money, and tossed the wallet on the ground next to the man’s feet.

“Come on,” he said. Nolan glanced down the tunnel. It wasn’t difficult for Manhar to read her thoughts, despite her expressionless face. “Forget it. They’ll catch you.”

Nolan turned and followed him, keeping to her usual silence. At the station opening Rajiid shoved the thermometer back at Manhar.

“Check,” he said.

Manhar snatched the device from Rajiid and bit his tongue to avoid snapping “check your own damn water” at him. He dipped it into the stream and pulled it out at the beep.

“Thirty-five,” he said.

Rajiid smiled. “Showtime. You,” he said to Nolan. “Carry the flasks to the edge. Then get on the rails and start applying the gel. I want it applied directly to the third rail, not the cover, so you’ll need to find each slide, where the rail is left exposed, and work the gel through it.”

“Will the water wash it away?” Dattar said.

Rajiid shook his head. “The gel will allow it to be placed despite the water. The bacteria thrives underwater, so it’s not a problem.”

“Should we be here?” Dattar said.

Rajiid waved him off. “It won’t get to you unless you’re standing over it. Now, after the rail goes back on you’ll want to be on your way out of New York City.”

Nolan shuffled over to the cooler and grabbed the metal basket that held four flasks. As she did a drop of blood plopped onto one of the flasks.

“And don’t contaminate the flasks with your blood!” She stood up straighter. Manhar sloshed over to meet her and grabbed a flask.

Manhar smeared the substance in the flask over the third rail, moving into the tunnel to search for the next slide as he did. Nolan worked next to him, keeping her head down and her eyes averted from the area where they’d hidden the body. Manhar worked as fast as he could. The cooling water would allow the third rail to be electrified again, and he didn’t want to be standing in the stream and touching it when it resumed. When the signal lights blinked, Manhar started to sweat.

Nolan worked as feverishly as he did. They both wore rubber gloves and scooped out the gelatinous substance with their fingers. Then they smeared it on the rail. The worst part of the job was moving into the tunnel. Every so often Manhar would hear a splash as a rat jumped in the water and all manner of dead bugs and bits of garbage floated by. Plunging his hand into the water was also disgusting. Once he pulled out some twisted mass of hair and blackened grease on his fingers. He shook his hand, but it clung stubbornly to the rubber glove. Nolan made a surprised sound as a small rat jumped up onto the third rail and hustled away, running along the narrow metal track with precision.

Manhar kept smearing the gel and trying to work a plan that would get him as far away from New York as soon as possible. Dattar hovered at the platform, watching. Manhar had long figured out that Nolan had stolen some money from the man and that he wasn’t going to let her out of his sight until he retrieved it. They finished and kicked through the stream to the platform and scrambled back up. As they did the water near the third rail shivered.

“Electricity’s back on,” Rajiid said. He consulted his watch.

Khalil came into view. “Three of your men just dropped dead.”

Rajiid shrugged. “The suicide pills are kicking in. They’re time release.”

“Will they all die at once?”

“No. It’ll be staggered,” Rajiid said.

Manhar felt a chill. All this time they thought he would die with the others. He’d lied for them, killed for them, and now they wanted him to die for them. Well, he wouldn’t. He’d never signed on for a suicide mission. He was a soldier, not an idealist. Let the other young men with fire in their eyes and nationalist fever in their blood die for a cause. He didn’t die for freedom. He killed for money. He would take matters into his own hands.

Rajiid glanced at his watch.

“Let’s get out of here,” Dattar said. “I don’t want to stay while those bacteria grow. The helicopter waiting?”

Rajiid nodded. “And the plane at the airport.”

Dattar looked at Nolan. “Upstairs. We’ll transfer the funds.” Nolan limped toward Dattar. Manhar thought that she had little fight left in her. He knew that once Dattar cut off her hands, she’d die from the blood loss. It’s what happened when the vessels weren’t immediately cauterized. He’d seen it in Africa. But she wasn’t his problem. His problem was getting as far away from them all as possible. Rajiid closed the cooler and shoved it in a corner behind a trash bin. Dattar, Khalil, and Manhar started toward the exit.

K
LEIN STEPPED INTO THE
situation room where the president and a secret service agent waited. A large conference table dominated the rectangular area, and flat-screen televisions, turned off at the moment, lined the walls. The president nodded and the agent left, closing the door behind him.

“Tell me your urgent news,” Castilla said.

“I think we’ve figured out why the terrorists stole the bacteria.” He laid out Smith’s theory and told him about the subway malfunction.

Castilla shifted. “I think I should inform you that the DNI briefed me on the situation involving Russell and Smith. He said that the CIA believed that she’s gone rogue, and he’s one of her more questionable assets.”

Klein wasn’t surprised. The director of national intelligence usually gathered information from a broad range of agencies before preparing his daily report. The CIA would have notified him of the action against Russell and Smith.

“And the DNI? Did he believe it? I mean, technically, placing field officers in responsible positions within the CIA was his policy decision. The CIA didn’t like the idea from the start.”

“Actually, that was my decision. I thought we needed to close some of the disconnects that I was seeing between the knowledge of the officers in the field and that of the officers Stateside. At the time the DNI agreed with me.” Castilla shook his head. “He, too, thought that Russell was a convenient scapegoat. However, he said that he wouldn’t interfere with the CIA and their handling of the situation unless it became clear that they were trumping up false charges against her.”

Klein sat down in a chair opposite the president. “I’m convinced that Smith is solid, of course, but I’m also fairly certain that Russell is as well. I haven’t known her that long, but I know she’s very good at what she does. I think there’s a mole in the CIA, but I don’t think it’s Russell.” Castilla stared at Klein and said nothing. Klein let him think it through.

“Let’s put the question aside for the moment. Tell me about the subway. Did you send the NYPD to check it out? Along with an FBI officer responsible for the region?”

Klein shook his head. “Neither yet. Smith was concerned that they’d fill the station with personnel and, if he’s right, all will get infected with the virus. That’s a concern of mine as well. I’m afraid the Seventy-second Street station has already been swarmed with MTA personnel because it malfunctioned first. The good news is that they’ve done a routine check of the rail and reported to the NYPD that they found nothing unusual. With regard to the 191st Street station, I’ve agreed to give him some time to verify his theory.”

“Have the NYPD called in hazardous incident teams?” Castilla said.

Klein shook his head. “The NYPD is currently under the mistaken impression that Smith is a killer and Russell a mole, and I’m concerned that they’ll tip off the real one to our knowledge of the plan and he’ll get Dattar out of there before we can nab him. Especially since they have a CIA officer working in their intelligence-gathering arm. His name is Harcourt, and he has a direct pipeline to the agency. Whatever they discover might immediately be transferred to the agency and, by extension, the mole. This problem is best resolved by Covert-One operating alone.”

“Dattar is the least of our problems. Let’s secure the subway from the top and let Smith do the initial reconnaissance. After that we can send in the NYPD to sweep the area and flush any suspects,” Castilla said.

“With all due respect, I don’t think we can afford to let Dattar slip through our hands now. What if Smith’s theory is wrong? Then we’ll be back to square one, and Dattar will be long gone. We need to buy Smith some time to check it out.”

Castilla paused and again Klein let him consider all the angles.

“Okay. We’ll do it your way. Give me worst-case scenario.”

Klein inhaled. “Assuming that Russell and Smith don’t find the source and stop it?”

“Yes.”

“The Shewanella multiplies rapidly and begins to communicate through the nanowires feeding the virus upward. It travels along the electrical current through to the grid and outward. To everywhere the grid touches, disseminating the virus throughout the New York City region. Then nature takes its normal course and everyone who is infected becomes a carrier. The New York subway has over five hundred miles of track and five million riders each day on a weekday. Once the bacteria starts pumping the virus into the air, those five million will be exposed.”

“So a flu pandemic. Survival rate?”

“We believe it’s a mutation of H5N1 or avian flu. Regular avian flu has a fifty percent death rate. This one kills ninety-seven percent. No treatment or cure.”

Castilla was up and pacing. Klein could sympathize with his agitation. It was all Klein could do to deliver the scenario in a calm voice.

“How about turning off the third rail at the affected station? Can the MTA shut down in sections? Then the bacteria will lose its transportation source.”

“Yes, the rail control center can shut down individual sections of track, and that will slow the progress, definitely, but the bacteria can also generate its own electricity that will be conducted through the metal rails. Given enough time, it will reunite with a live section.”

“How much time?”

Klein shook his head. “I’ve heard it can reproduce every forty minutes. How far down the track can it get in that time without an outside source of electricity? I don’t know. And there is the additional problem that we may have the wrong station.”

“Or the wrong theory entirely,” Castilla said.

“Agreed. This theory could be wrong. But if it’s right, the most effective way to stop the bacteria is to shut down the entire subway system.”

Castilla stopped pacing. “That’s a massive undertaking. Not pulling the plug, mind you, but ensuring that after you do, thousands of people on every line remain safely inside the trains. Plus, if I make such a drastic call, it’s likely that someone in the NYPD is going to learn of it. If they do, then that information will be shuttled to the mole, and Smith is at risk and Dattar takes off.”

“I thought of that as well. NYPD often deals with the rail control center,” Klein said.

“I think we roll the dice and shut down the affected station. It’s an occurrence that won’t raise too many eyebrows, and we’ll keep it short enough to ensure that the riders stay put, and long enough for Smith to determine whether his theory is solid.”

Klein nodded. “Agreed.”

“I’ll give Smith half an hour. That enough time for him to make his way through the station with the malfunction?”

“I think so. And at this time of night there’s a fifteen- to twenty-minute headway between trains, which should buy him a bit more if we time the shutdown right. Can you black out the area around the suspected subway station? Target a small section on either side? Maybe just the electric substation that handles the neighborhoods in question?”

Castilla thought a moment. “Probably, but why?”

“Two reasons. The signals work on an AC circuit separate from the track, and Smith wants it dark in there. Also, some stations have cameras. Fifty percent don’t work anyway, but I’ve made inquiries and can’t get a straight answer on whether those at the affected stations are functioning. I don’t want one catching Smith and Russell on the job. Another chance that a cop could get ideas and interfere.”

“Done. And if they find that it’s already spread? What then? Tell everyone to turn off their lights? Shut down every appliance? At least then they won’t be drawing the stuff into their homes, and it can buy us some time to address how to destroy the bacteria.”

“Even if we could ensure one hundred percent compliance, there would be the televisions to consider,” Klein said.

Castilla resumed pacing and frowned. “What do you mean?”

“Your television is never really off. The power switch just makes it appear so.”

Castilla rubbed his forehead. “Okay, total blackout. We shut down New York City. No power whatsoever.”

Klein nodded. “Yes, that’s what I keep coming back to. The bacteria can double every forty minutes under ideal conditions, but destroying just that should be manageable if Smith gets there in time.”

Castilla sat down. “So we’ll start slow. First, shut down a section. Half hour maximum. Give Smith some time to reconnoiter at the affected station. He finds it, fixes it, we’re done. He doesn’t, we shut down the entire city. What will he need to eliminate it? Bleach? Alcohol wash?”

Klein inhaled again. And Castilla put up both hands.

“Whenever you do that, I know you’re preparing to give me more bad news.”

“I’m sorry, but I am. Shewanella can form a biofilm. One of a few found in nature. It can’t be killed with any substance. Even bleach won’t get to it. Heat will initially kill the individual bacteria, but once it’s formed the biofilm, it will be immune. It needs to be scraped away manually. So now you see the problem. If it’s allowed to spread, there’s no way we can conceivably scrape over five hundred miles of track effectively.”

Castilla headed to a phone. “I’m making the call now.”