Thirst for Justice

by David R. Boyd

  “Right. Unless there’s a flood of car accidents during the rush to buy bottled water.” Abby smiled.

  “Not funny. The second bit of good news is that Seattle has reservoirs on two rivers, the Cedar and the Tolt. So far, it looks like only one reservoir has been contaminated. The local water utility is taking steps to ensure that all residents are being served by water from the Tolt. It’s the public perception of the risks that will be harder to manage.”

  “What are you going to do?”

  “I’m tempted to head for Seattle right away. Then I could oversee the investigation myself. But first I need to get the word out so that the rest of the government doesn’t get blindsided. Can you book us overnight flights and hotel rooms downtown for at least a couple of nights?”

  “Will do.”

  “And give our Northwest Regional Office a heads-up that we’re coming. We’ll need to borrow an office.” Cassie picked up her phone and sent a quick text to the directors of the CIA, the FBI, the acting head of Homeland Security, and the new director of National Intelligence. It was faster, and a hell of a lot less painful, than having to talk to the pompous pricks.

  Cassie’s message simply said, “Confirmed contamination event at Seattle watershed. PCE > EPA drinking water safety standards. No immediate health risks. Suggest conference call at 4:00 p.m. today. Call-in details to follow.”

  Within seconds, her phone was beeping and vibrating as the men in charge of protecting America from terrorists responded with a barrage of texts and emails.

  “Have you advised the White House? We need to get to the president before he sees this on the news.” Billy Joe Stryder, the director of the Central Intelligence Agency, was acutely aware that his position hinged on keeping the president informed, as the failure to do so had resulted in the swift dismissal of his predecessor.

  “Raise terror alert to Code Red, national and now!” Roger Osborne’s message sounded almost enthusiastic, as though he was stoked about the prospect of leaping into action. Things had been quiet since his appointment to head of Homeland Security. If the level of perceived threat to America jumped, so would his budget and relative importance in the administration’s pecking order.

  “Anyone claiming responsibility? Any suspects?” Randall Tierney, the veteran director of the FBI, focused on the investigation.

  The messages were edgy, aggressive. Knowledge was power in the intelligence community and these men didn’t like it when others had information before they did. Let them stew, Cassie thought. Moments later, her phone rang.

  “Cassie, it’s Roger Osborne. Any updates?

  “No.” Not since I emailed you forty-five seconds ago, Cassie thought.

  “Who’ll be leading the investigation?”

  “I will.”

  Her blunt assertion of control made him pause. “Have you spoken to the president?” he asked.

  “Not yet. We just confirmed that Seattle’s water is contaminated. Although preliminary tests indicate perc is present at levels that violate EPA’s standards pursuant to the Safe Drinking Water Act, the level of the chemical is not an acute danger.”

  “I don’t understand—you said the level exceeded national drinking water safety standards. It must be dangerous.”

  “Those standards are based on exposures to toxic substances arising from cumulative consumption over the long-term. You wouldn’t want to drink water contaminated with PCE at these concentrations for years or months, but for a few days it’s unlikely to hurt anybody. We’re going to craft our key messages for the media carefully on this one, play it low key, reassure the public that there’s no serious threat to their health or well-being.”

  “Reassure them? It’s a terrorist strike on our homeland! This whole country is about to go on red alert.”

  “Why? There’s no immediate danger. With all due respect, you’ll just create panic in Seattle and paranoia everywhere else.” Cassie paused, digesting what Osborne was saying. “Who said anything about this being the work of terrorists?”

  “Poisoning a big city’s water supply is an act of terrorism. Ergo the act was committed by terrorists. It’s obvious. Our country continues to be assaulted by radicals for whom there are no boundaries, no rules, no morality.”

  Spare me the speech, Cassie thought. “I think we should hold off on the red alert for a few hours to gather some evidence before we jump to conclusions about the nature of the attack.”

  “That’s the president’s call. We also need to notify the Federal Emergency Management Authority. ASAP.”

  “Okay. You inform FEMA. I’ve got to go. Talk to you at four.” Cassie hung up before Osborne could pontificate any further.

  She sat down and made a quick list of the leads that needed to be followed up. The main crime scene at the Chester Morse Reservoir. The email to the utility, which could be tracked and analyzed. How CNN picked up the story so fast. The source of the PCE. The organization End Poverty Now, which she’d never heard of. The local police would have to do a door-to-door sweep of the surrounding area to try to dig up eyewitnesses. And Cassie had a potential ace up her sleeve in the form of a comprehensive database of attacks on watersheds and water treatment systems across America, compiled by the EPA over recent decades. If there was any kind of similarity or connection to a previous crime, she was best situated to find it.

  “Abby?

  “Yes?”

  “Can you get Seattle’s police chief on the phone?”

  “Will do.”

  Abby worked his usual magic, and Cassie was soon patched through to Seattle.

  “Jack Gilhooley here. I’m on the speakerphone and I’ve got two of my bureau commanders with me—Assistant Chief Jim Metz, who looks after emergency preparedness, and Assistant Chief Clark Pierce, who supervises investigations and major crimes.”

  “Good morning, gentlemen. Thanks for taking the time to brief me. Why don’t you sketch where the investigation is at so far? Then I’ll give you a sense of what the federal involvement will look like.”

  Chief Gilhooley spoke first, in a low soothing baritone. “We’re obviously treating this as a major crime. We’ve mobilized as many crime scene techs, detectives, and patrol officers as we can muster. Out of a total of 1,200 law enforcement officers with the Seattle PD, we’ve already assigned approximately 200 personnel to this case. Jim, over to you.”

  “Thanks, Chief.” Metz began speaking quickly, as though worried that he’d be cut off. “The Seattle Water Utility has switched sources so that the entire city is being served by the Tolt River Reservoir. That limited the public’s exposure to the contaminated water, although the utility isn’t one hundred percent clear when the attack happened. We’ve put out a joint statement with the city’s public health department reassuring citizens that their health is not at risk. However, several hospitals are already reporting a surge in cases of gastrointestinal illness. Retailers are being swamped by consumers buying large quantities of bottled water. Some isolated incidents of panicky people and the odd fistfight but no major chaos. Yet.”

  “Thank you. And the investigation? Any suspects or hot leads?”

  “No. It’s early.” Assistant Chief Clark Pierce had a voice made for radio—deep, calm, and resonant. “We have two helicopters and two spotter planes currently sweeping the reservoir and surrounding watershed area. Within the hour we’ll have four boats on the water with dive teams. Our efforts are being hampered by heavy rain, which is limiting visibility.”

  “The rain will also erase tracks and other potential evidence,” Cassie said.

  “Maybe. But our crime scene techs are used to dealing with the wet stuff. If rain always erased all the evidence, Seattle would be the crime capital of America.” Pierce chuckled briefly. “The Chester Morse Reservoir is located in a fairly remote area, but we have officers talking to farmers, gas station attendants, coffee shop servers, an
d the like to see if anyone saw anything out of the ordinary in recent days. We’re also contacting media outlets and calling for eyewitnesses.”

  “All right. Sounds like you have the bases covered. Please notify me of any significant developments right away. Call me on my cell and call my EA if you get my voicemail. Federal intelligence agencies will be meeting later today to discuss how we can be of assistance, and as soon as I have details I’ll get back to you. The Centers for Disease Control could be helpful in assuaging public concern about potential health effects, so I’ll get someone there to connect with you.”

  “Gilhooley here. Do you have any information indicating that this is an act of terrorism, as opposed to a local crime?”

  “Not at this time, no. But we need to keep an open mind.”

  “This is already a huge media story out here. If there’s a terror angle, it’ll be gigantic, and we’ll be grateful for all the help the federal government can provide.”

  Abdullah popped his head into Cassie’s office. His wide eyes and raised eyebrows told her that he had important information.

  “Thank you for the briefing, and good luck. I’ve got to go, but as I said, keep me in the loop. I’m flying to Seattle tonight so I’ll probably meet you tomorrow.” Cassie ended the call but did not put the phone down, tapping it against her jaw as she waited for Abby to speak.

  “The White House is on lines one and two. On line one, the president’s chief of staff, Jeremy Chan, wants a briefing on the situation. On line two, an intern with the White House correspondence unit apparently has new information related to the Seattle attack.”

  “I’ll take the intern first. Ask Chan if he wants to hold for a minute or have me call him back. And Abby, can you put together a dossier on PCE for me? What it’s used for, where it comes from, where it ends up, and a comprehensive review of the short- and long-term health effects.”

  “Okay.”

  “Thanks.” Things were moving fast. She pressed the button for line two. “Cassie Harden-Hernandez.”

  “Good afternoon, ma’am. Katie Cornett over at the White House. Just wanted to let you know that we received a detailed email earlier today claiming responsibility for the contamination of the Seattle water supply. There’s no name included but it’s from an email address called endpovertynow@hotmail.com And they’re threatening to do it again unless the U.S. announces $100 billion in funding to tackle poverty in Africa.

  Cassie sat back in her chair, silenced by the nature of the demand and the dollar figure.

  “Ma’am?” the intern asked.

  “I need you to forward that email to me right now. Do you have any other information related to the events in Seattle?”

  “No, ma’am. Not yet.”

  “If you receive any further emails please notify me immediately. And thanks—good work.”

  Cassie quickly read the email when it hit her inbox. Holy shit, she thought. One hundred billion dollars in four years. And the threat of a follow-up attack within forty-eight hours. Six hours had already elapsed since the email was sent.

  Chapter 17

  Within an hour, a meeting was convened in the White House Situation Room, built by President Kennedy after the failed Bay of Pigs invasion that many in the intelligence community had blamed on a lack of real-time communications. The latest reno had added six large flatscreen monitors for secure video conferences and replaced the echo-inducing mahogany wall panels with fabric coverings.

  Cassie had been to the White House several times but never to the Situation Room. Arrayed around boardroom table were ten of the most powerful people in the world, including the president, his chief of staff, the secretary of defense, the secretary of state, the attorney general, the national security advisor, and the intelligence directors that Cassie had been in contact with earlier. The only woman in the room besides Cassie was Eleanor Stein, the secretary of state. One of the men approached Cassie, bent down, and began to whisper in her left ear. “Ms. Harden-Hernandez, Billy Joe Stryder here. We haven’t had the pleasure of working together but it looks like we’re about to. Don’t get in my way and we’ll get along fine.”

  Cassie anticipated this kind of crap from the CIA. “Hi Billy Joe, remember Presidential Decision Directive 63?”

  He straightened up. She didn’t wait for the wheels to stop turning. “The EPA is designated as the lead agency responsible for protecting the American water supply from physical, chemical, and biological attacks.”

  “Out of date. PDD 63 was issued in 1998. Before 9/11,” Stryder smirked.

  “Ah, yes, but the EPA’s role in safeguarding the water supplies of the nation was reinforced by Title IV of the Public Health Security and Bioterrorism Preparedness and Response Act.” Cassie paused. “After 9/11.”

  “Come on, Ms. Harden-Hernandez. This is a terrorism investigation, not a case about spiked trees, smuggled parrots, or leaky pipes. You may be in on this meeting, but you’re out of your league.” Stryder narrowed his hooded eyes, and his gleaming shaved head added to his air of menace. He strode back to his seat before Cassie could respond. He might have been a good ol’ boy from rural Texas but he wore the finest tailored Italian suits that money could buy. Today it was a charcoal Armani, with narrow lapels and a tailored fit.

  The president, wearing his trademark blue poplin dress shirt with the sleeves rolled up, started the meeting promptly. He believed he was still handsome, although the years in the oval office had deepened the wrinkles, pushed back the hairline, and forced him to use hair dye. He was notoriously impatient. “Ladies and gentlemen, we are taking this attack on America, and the threat of a future attack, very seriously. I’ve decided that the FBI will coordinate the investigation. Personnel from the CIA, White House, National Security Agency, Department of Homeland Security, and the EPA will form the investigative team. I want the director of each of those agencies to be part of a task force that will hold meetings at the beginning and end of each day. I want all briefings, memos, and notes generated by the task force to be shared with the heads of the U.S. Marshal’s Service, the State Department’s Bureau of Diplomatic Security, U.S. Customs, the Secret Service, and the Department of Defense. Let me be perfectly clear. Our intelligence and law enforcement agencies have botched the investigations of Oklahoma City, 9/11, and more mass shootings than I can count. You can’t allow any leads or any suspects to slip through your fingers this time. We can’t put America through another tragic catastrophe. Not under my watch.”

  The president was tired, as usual. No human being could do the job properly and not be perpetually exhausted. Unlike some of his predecessors, he governed by gut instinct. “Now I thought we had top-of-the-line security in our watersheds. So would someone please explain to me how terrorists were able to drive up and dump a truckload of poison in the water supply of one of America’s greatest cities?”

  “Mr. President, that watershed is 90,000 acres. There are two security guards at the dam, video cameras at the water treatment plant, and the perimeter is partially fenced where there is road access. There’s also periodic aerial surveillance,” replied Randall Tierney, veteran director of the FBI.

  “Why can’t the greatest country on earth, the richest country in history, protect its water supplies?” the president spat. “What good is a partial fence? Terrorists can just walk around the end, dump their poison, and go home? Is Seattle an outlier in terms of its weakness? What about New York? Washington? Los Angeles?”

  Stryder jumped in. “Sir, every major urban area in America is vulnerable, and the jihadis know it. If the terrorists had used a different, deadlier chemical, or struck a different part of the water supply system closer to the end users, then we could be facing a large number of civilian casualties. The only way to alleviate the threat and protect Americans is to catch the goddamned maniacs who did this. Even if there are multiple cells operating on our soil, we’ll catch them and make them tell us
what we need to know. Throw the book at them, set an example, discourage others from taking similar actions.”

  “Cassie, do you agree?”

  “There are chemicals hundreds of times more toxic than perchloroethylene. But I’m very concerned by the threat of a follow-up attack and by the prospect of copycat events. If we don’t nail those responsible pretty quickly, we could be facing a wave of water supply poisonings.”

  Tierney was shaking his head and the president noticed. “What is it, Randall?”

  “Sir, all American communities that get their drinking water from surface sources like lakes, rivers, and reservoirs face more or less the same level of vulnerability. Communities that depend on ground­water are more secure because it’s harder to contaminate underground aquifers. The FBI has been working with state and local governments to strengthen the security of our water systems, but it’s a massive undertaking. We have nowhere near the resources—”

  “Save your breath. I know you want a bigger budget. You’re all telling me the same thing. America is currently incapable of defending its water supplies from terrorist attacks. It is unacceptable to me that the richest nation in the entire world is so weak. I want a memo on my desk by tomorrow morning estimating the costs of securing, and I mean seriously securing, all American water supplies. No partial fences or wishy-washy bullshit.”

  “Sir, there are roughly 100,000 water systems serving at least 5,000 Americans each.”

  “Put it in the memo. I need a ballpark figure so that I can make a deal with Congress.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “I plan to make a national television address this evening at 9:00 p.m. to reassure the American people. I’ve already spoken with Elaine about this. We agreed that the Rewards for Justice Program will offer a $25-million reward for information leading to the arrest or conviction of the people responsible for this attack. Now, I’ve got more questions. Did we have any warnings about this attack? Any intelligence? Roger?”