by Mike Brogan
“That a true fact!”
She paid for the food and headed toward the door.
“Hey, Carmel?”
“Yeah?”
“I been wonderin’ if you wanna go to the big event?”
“What big event?” she asked, hoping maybe.
“The Pig Wrestling Saturday!”
“Oh . . . ” she said. It’s not the reunion, but what the hell . . . “Well, sure Fred. I’m free this Saturday.” And, she reminded herself, most of the year.
Back at her house, she decided to wear her new red blouse to the Pig Wrestling . . . which made her think of the red scarf worn by the poor woman in the van Fred mentioned.
Late yesterday, she watched a van pull up at Fred’s. A big darklooking guy got out and gassed up. The driver had his hoodie up. The other man stayed in the car. The men looked foreign. Seemed like there was a woman in back? She was sort of scrunched down. What was she wearing? Some kind of white blouse . . . and maybe something red, might have been a scarf.
But that van was beige.
Or was it beige because it picked up mud from the rainy roads . . . and because it was parked in the gas station shadows . . . and because my cataracts are getting cloudier.
She pictured the van driving away from Fred’s. It turned up Harmon Road toward the Adirondack Park. As the van turned, sunlight flooded it and the van looked snow white.
TWENTY THREE
Strong crosswinds buffeted the FBI’s Bell 430 Twin Engine helicopter as the pilot touched down at Fulton County Airport between Mayfield and Johnstown, New York.
Donovan, Drew Manning, Jacob, and Lindee stepped onto the runway and looked around. Donovan saw a large aircraft hanger, a terminal, and four Piper Cubs parked in a row on the tarmac. Nearby, the Fulton Water Tower loomed high over the airport and surrounding forest.
The chopper had saved them time. Enough time, Donovan hoped, to stop what his gut now told him, based on Dr. Nell Northam’s expertise and everything else, was an attack on America with a weapon of mass destruction.
A weapon that NSA’s Bobby Kamal told him was discussed between a man in Yemen . . . and a man in the Adirondack area. They talked about their so called “medicine” being assembled in a facility in this area, even though there were no medical assembly facilities near Mayfield.
Which happened to be the same area where their best Chevy van lead was last seen.
And minutes ago, DNI Director Madigan told him that the increasing volume of Internet chatter suggested an imminent attack by jihadist operatives somewhere in America. As a result, the White House and Homeland Security were likely to raise the attack threat level to HIGH at any time.
Donovan saw a black Ford Explorer and a black Suburban pull onto the runway and stop beside them.
Agent Manning waved to two FBI colleagues in the Explorer and turned to Donovan. “I’m going with my fellow agents to check out van sightings north of here. The sheriff has your vehicle here, Donovan.”
The sheriff, a tall, trim man with a short Afro stepped out of the Suburban, introduced himself, and handed Donovan the keys.
“Tank’s full,” the sheriff said. “If you need backup or anything else, punch 99 on the dash phone. We’ll come runnin’. Meanwhile, we’re going to check out nearby towns.”
“Thanks, Sheriff. We’ll check the area near the park where our best lead was last seen.”
The sheriff nodded. “There’s an extra Glock in the glove compartment.”
“Thanks.”
The sheriff turned and left.
Donovan, Jacob, and Lindee piled into the Suburban and drove off.
As he drove, Donovan called Maccabee to see how her meeting with her obstetrician, Dr. Dubin, went. She didn’t pick up. Probably still getting the test results at his office.
Or maybe she got bad news and didn’t want to tell him.
The news that she could never become pregnant. He prayed she didn’t get that news . . . and never would.
But right now he was not focused on bringing a new life into the world.
He was focused on saving lives.
Maybe thousands of lives.
TWENTY FOUR
Jacob Northam rode shotgun. Without a shotgun. Without any weapon. And it worried him.
He’d wanted to bring his Desert Storm Glock 19 from home, but knew he’d never get it past airport security with his carryon bag. The Glock had saved his life more than once. And his life, he sensed, might need saving again. Soon.
Now, as Donovan drove toward the Adirondack Park, Jacob grew more enraged at his wife’s abductors. If he had a gun and saw them threatening Nell, he’d use it. He might even use it if she wasn’t being threatened. So maybe it was better he didn’t have a weapon until he cooled off.
In the back seat, Lindee worked on her iPhone GPS, checking roads around the park.
Jacob felt frustrated they still hadn’t received further updates on their best lead – the NASCAR-stickered van with three men and a red-scarfed woman - in this area.
That must have been Nell. Why was she blindfolded? Has she been abused? Tortured?
What if she flat out refused to help? Nell could stonewall like General Jackson when she didn’t want to do something.
Donovan braked hard as the semi tractor-trailer ahead slowed and turned down a side road.
“You think they’re in the Adirondack forest?” Jacob asked Donovan.
“Probably.”
“Why?”
“It’s a huge place to hide.”
“But how do you hide the kind of sophisticated chemical weapons laboratory she needs?” Jacob asked.
“Enough money can hide anything. And my sense is these guys have big money behind them.”
Donovan’s phone rang. He answered, listened, and hung up. “Agent Manning just dispatched an FBI helicopter to search for white vans around Mayfield. And another chopper for the Adirondack Park.”
“Just one chopper for the nine thousand square mile Park?”
“Two more on the way.”
“Still doesn’t seem like enough.”
“We’ll soon have even more eyes in the sky.”
“More choppers?”
”Nine drones.”
“That helps,” Jacob said, although deep down, he sensed Nell’s chances were fading with each minute. She’d seen her abductors, worked with them, probably knew their names. If she tried to escape, they’d kill her. And once she finished their work, they’d kill her. How could they let her live?
But maybe she was stalling them. Maybe she was buying time. He had to keep hopeful. He’d loved Nell from the day they met. He couldn’t even begin to think of life without her.
In Iraq, he’d lost two brothers-in-arms . . . in his arms. Felt their breathing go still, saw their eyes go dark. Somehow, he’d recovered from both deaths, although they still hurt. But this time, his fear for Nell was paralyzing him.
He grabbed his phone and called his mother to see how she and Mia were doing since the agents rescued them.
She answered on the first ring.
“Jacob . . .” She sounded greatly reassured to hear his voice.
“Hi mom, how are you and Mia?”
“Better now.”
“Really?”
“Well, I’m still a little shook up.”
“Understandable.”
“And Mia?
“Better than me. She’s playing video games. The FBI men brought us to this safe house.”
“Good. Is Mia nearby?”
“Right here.”
Jacob heard her hand the phone to Mia.
“Hi Daddy!”
Hearing her voice felt like Valium.
“What are you doing?”
“I’m playing Angry Birds. And guess what - I’m winning!”
“Good for you.”
“When’s mommy coming home?”
There it was: the impossible question.
Jacob’s eyes filled. What could he tell her? What s
hould he tell her? Something positive. Something that helped keep her hope alive. And his. “Maybe in a while, honey.”
“Goodie, goodie!”
“I love you, Mia.”
“I love you, too, daddy. And mommy, too. Tell mommy, okay?”
“Okay.”
They hung up.
Jacob blinked away tears. He thought back over the eleven years they’d been married. Nell could never tell him about her top-secret work at Aberdeen Proving Ground. But he’d often overheard her on her safe phone, mentioning nerve agents and biological toxins. Deadly stuff. He told her he worried about her work. She promised she was safe and that she loved the job.
And he loved her. And if you love someone, you let them pursue their passion, even if on occasion it might be hazardous to them and the family. It had taken him a while to accept that. She said her lab environment was much safer than other laboratories. He hadn’t been completely convinced, but he agreed.
But as it turned out – they were both wrong. The real danger was not inside her laboratory. The real danger was outside her laboratory.
Like the terrorists who grabbed her off the street.
TWENTY FIVE
Donovan saw another gas station ahead. He’d already checked out four stations near the Adirondacks where the white Chevy van had not stopped. He calculated that if the van left Manhattan with a full 31-gallon tank, it could have easily driven the 200 plus miles to the Adirondacks without stopping.
He pulled in at Fred’s Food & Gas, a spotless station with the old time Mobil Gas sign with a red-winged flying horse. Everyone went inside, grabbed sandwiches, then walked over to the checkout counter.
An elderly man badged FRED brushed cookie crumbs off his bib overalls and smiled as he rang up their sales. Donovan flashed his CIA ID and Fred’s eyes widened.
Donovan showed him Nell’s photo. “Did you see this woman in a white Chevy van with three men?”
“I’ll be damned! Two FBI fellas showed me the same dang pictures.”
Donovan knew FBI agents had been in the area.
“Told ‘em nope. Haven’t seen any white vans.”
“Do you have video surveillance?”
Fred shook his head. “Not much need. I know dang near everybody.”
“Well, if you see her or the van, please call me immediately.” He handed Fred his card.
“Glad to.”
As they headed outside, Donovan looked across the street and saw an elderly woman working in her flower garden. Her purple dress was surrounded by purple lilacs, purple irises, and purple magnolias. She looked like a Gauguin painting, or one of those findthe- lady-in-the-picture puzzles.
Donovan noticed she was paying close attention to them. Maybe she paid close attention to everyone at Fred’s Food & Gas. Maybe she saw the van.
“Let’s talk to her,” Donovan said.
They walked across the road to her garden. The silver-haired woman looked up and smiled.
“Lookin’ for directions?” She placed a lilac branch in her basket.
“Looking for a vehicle, ma’am,” Donovan said, showing her his ID badge.
“The white Chevy van?”
Donovan froze. “How’d you know about the van?”
“Fred told me. My name’s Carmel Belle.” The purple irises of her eyes matched the purple irises of her garden.
“We’re looking for that van.”
“Good, cuz I been thinkin’ my eyes mighta tricked me.”
“How’s that, ma’am?”
“The van’s color. See, I saw a van pull in at Fred’s late yesterday. Big fella gassed up. The van looked kinda beige or tan to me. But it had picked up lotsa dirt and mud from the rain. Then when it drove away, the sun hit a clean fender, and I’ll tell you what - that fender looked white. And that’s a fact!”
“How many men in the van?” Donovan asked.
“Three.”
“Can you describe them?”
“Dark-skinned fellas. Big bearded guy. Short thin fella. Driver stayed in the van.”
Donovan felt his pulse ratchet up. “Was there a woman wearing a white blouse in back?”
“She was sorta scrunched down, maybe sleeping.”
“Did she wear a red scarf?”
“Something red around her neck.”
Donovan’s hope soared.
“Any words on the side?”
“Yep. But too muddy to read.”
“Any stickers on the back bumper?”
She closed her eyes. “A muddy sticker, but I saw blue, red, white under the mud.”
NASCAR colors, Donovan realized.
“What about the driver?”
“He wore his black hoodie up.”
Donovan’s pulse raced. Beside him, he saw Jacob and Lindee grow very excited.
“Where’d the van go?” Jacob asked.
“Up there!” She pointed.
“Over that hill?”
“Nope. Turned right just before the hill. Onto Jackson Summit Road. That’s where the sun hit the clean fender and it looked real white.”
“Where does Jackson Summit Road go?”
“North a spell, then she splits off onto Tolmantown Road.” “Remember anything else, Ms. Belle?”
“Nope.”
“Well thank you, ma’am. You’ve helped a lot. If you remember anything else, please call me immediately.” Donovan handed her his card.
“Happy to.”
They got back in the Suburban, and Donovan adjusted the Suburban’s GPS Guidance map down so it showed smaller roads. They drove off and turned right onto Jackson Summit Road.
Donovan felt sure that Carmel Belle’s muddy van - was the van.
But where did it go?
He passed a silver Airstream RV and headed deeper into the massive Adirondack forest. Trees bent over the road like a cathedral dome. Thick gray clouds blocked the sun and darkened the forest. It smelled like rain was coming. There was no traffic, just a few narrow side roads with only small-car and motorbike tracks.
About five miles farther, he drove around a curve and saw three orange and white construction barrels blocking most of the road ahead. He looked for Road Repair signs and workers, but didn’t see any. No Detour signs either.
He crawled to a stop at the barrels.
He saw just enough space to the left and started to steer around the cones.
POP!
A bullet slammed into his lower door panel.
POP!
Donovan watched his driver-side mirror shatter into pieces.
TWENTY SIX
Nell sensed Hasham behind her, sneaking up again, checking what she was doing, making sure she was finishing his blending, not sabotaging the weapon, not stalling.
She was stalling, looking for a way to weaken his weapon. Or derail his secret delivery system, whatever it was.
She rechecked her HazMat sleeves for holes. If she breathed just a few particles of what she was working with, she’d die in minutes. Sweat slid down her neck despite the air-conditioned suit.
She felt Hasham’s small, piercing eyes watching her every move.
“You have thirty minutes to finish, Doctor,” he said. “Then we’ll test the final weapon.”
“But I’m having difficulty achieving your exacting blend-consistency targets. I’m 1.9% short of your goal.”
She showed him the results, hoping he didn’t realize she’d tweaked them a bit.
He stared at the results, clearly not buying them.
“Fix this, or you’ll be 1.9% short of saving your daughter’s life.”
Her knees buckled.
“By the way - look!” He showed her his iPad screen.
Nell’s heart stopped when he showed her a photo of Mia surrounded by three masked men. Each held a long, curved knife, like the masked assassins who beheaded innocent captives. And Mia was no longer in her grandmother’s house. She was in a strange room, but her face was still frozen in the same terrified expression as before.
>
“Complete the work, Doctor, or the sheik gets her.”
Nell slumped against the lab bench and tried to calm herself. She felt helpless.
She had to fix the blend consistency. But helping Hasham was a death warrant for thousands of innocent men, women, and children. Could she help kill thousands to save her daughter? She felt like something was ripping her heart open. My best choice is to finish this blend – learn how he’s delivering the weapon, then somehow get word to the police.
But getting word to the police seemed impossible.
Which left her with one last-resort - unleash VX here in the cabin. It will kill us all, but maybe stop Hasham’s mass attack.
But even unleashing VX in the cabin seemed impossible. Only Hasham had access to the weaponized VX locked up in the lab. And he was with her every minute.
“Twenty-eight minutes and counting, Doctor.”
She looked out through the lab window at Aarif. The huge man slathered gobs of hummus on some pita bread. He bit off a big chunk and chewed. But when he saw her, he stopped chewing and stared at her.
His vacant eyes said it all.
Aarif would be her executioner. It was only a matter of time.
Twenty-six minutes later, Nell handed Hasham her final blend-consistency report. It reached his target goal.
“Excellent,” he said as he walked over to a VX container, unlocked it, and returned with a nose-drop bottle filled with the weapon.
“Test time!” Hasham said as he held the bottle up to the light. “It had better work, Doctor Northam.”
“It will. But . . . ”
“But what?”
“Its efficiency in the real world depends partly on how you will deliver it to your victims. But since you won’t tell me how, I can’t predict your ah . . . kill-rate . . . with any accuracy.”
“But I can predict it. With amazing accuracy and precision.”
“Precision is not possible with VX nerve gas!” she said. “Air dispersal, your most likely VX delivery, depends on too many environmental factors like wind, humidity, rain.”
He smiled. “Oh, but precision is possible with my delivery.”
“Based on what?”
“Based partly on top secret tests your own government conducted years ago.”
She had no idea which tests he referred to. And how could he possibly know about such top secret US military tests? Clearly, someone at Aberdeen or an ex-employee told him. She couldn’t think of anyone who’d betray their work. But then people could be bought or blackmailed.