Containment Failure (A Special Agent Dylan Kane Thriller, Book #2)

by J. Robert Kennedy

  Ugh. I do not want to get old.

  “Tell us what you know,” repeated Morrison.

  “Well, I’ll have all of our files sent to you immediately,” said Kapp, quickly sending off a text message on his phone. He resumed speaking a few moments later. “Scott Fowler was Senior Vice President of Research and Development for about ten years until he abruptly left about two years ago. He was one of the founders of the company. One of the originals.”

  “Why’d he leave?”

  Kapp shrugged his shoulders.

  “Some would say greed.”

  “Greed?”

  “He wasn’t happy with the way things were going. The board had become more conservative in its approach. In the early days of the company they had been much more daring, taking risks that often paid off, but more often than not didn’t. The hits though were huge, making every one of the early shareholders very rich. This made the board more risk averse, none wanting to endanger the fortunes they were sitting on by risking the stock price. They became more careful, drawing out every process, devoting little money to new projects until they could prove themselves, then the taps would be opened a little more, with yet more delays. He was not happy, so one day he announced his resignation from the board, walked out, and we never heard from him again.”

  Morrison’s lips were pursed, his hands steepled in front of his face, his elbows on his desk as he processed the information. Leroux tried not to stare, his own mind racing. If Fowler had left in a huff, what did that mean? How could it possibly relate to their current situation?

  A stray thought had his heart pumping in excitement.

  What if Urban went to work for Fowler, and they had created their own company?

  Leroux frowned to himself. The thought was stupid. They created a company that would then randomly release antivirals, soon to be patented antivirals, into the general population, then demand token amounts of ransom?

  It was a stupid idea.

  “How much is Fowler worth?” asked Morrison.

  Good question! They were dealing with blackmailers. Perhaps the amounts, so far one, ten and a hundred million weren’t token at all. Certainly the latest demand wasn’t, and building up to the big numbers over time had been part of their plan all along.

  “He holds almost ten percent of the company. With today’s stock price, or at least before Wall Street collapsed this week, he would have been worth at least five billion.”

  There goes the blackmail for money theory.

  “So he has no need of the money he’s been demanding from you.”

  Kapp leaned forward.

  “Fowler is behind this?” To say the man was shocked would be putting it mildly. Kapp shook his head. “I can’t believe it. I won’t believe it. The man was my friend. I knew him for over twenty years!”

  “And when was the last time you heard from him?” asked Morrison.

  Kapp’s arms spread in front of him, his hands opened as his head bobbed.

  “Two years. You’re right, perhaps we were not as good friends as I thought.” He sighed, almost muttering to himself. “Still, though, I just find it impossible to believe.”

  “We’ve traced the payments back to him. There’s no doubt he is involved. Whether or not he’s a willing participant, we don’t know yet. We do know that it appears Dr. Urban is not a willing participant.”

  Kapp seemed to brighten at this bit of news.

  “Thank God! I’d hate to think we had two maniacs at the company.”

  “So no one has heard from him?”

  Kapp shook his head.

  “Not that I know of. I will immediately ask, of course, but I have little hope you’ll find him through us. I assume we have an address on file, of course, since he is a major shareholder and I’m certain would want to monitor the state of his holdings.”

  “Fine. Get us that information and make your inquiries. We need to find him fast.”

  Kapp rose, nodding to Morrison then Leroux, then left the office to return to the temporary quarters he had been provided with while quarantined in the complex.

  Morrison looked at Leroux.

  “Let’s assume he gets us nothing. Focus that magnificent brain of yours on this and nothing else. Understood?”

  Leroux flushed as he stood up, wondering if his boss knew everything he and Sherrie did.

  “Yes, sir.”

  FBI Mobile HQ, New Orleans, Louisiana

  “Please roll up your sleeve, sir.”

  Kane did as he was told, not bothering to question the man with the needle. Blood was quickly drawn, a label affixed, and the sample placed in a holder already containing at least a dozen other samples. Isabelle was next to be poked, she too not bothering to ask.

  Kane found Special Agent Hewlett near the rear of the vehicle, leaning over a terminal.

  “Hello Special Agent. Get a good sleep?”

  Hewlett looked over her shoulder at him.

  “About three hours, as expected.”

  “Anything important come up?” Kane asked as Isabelle joined him, rubbing her arm.

  “The payments have been traced back to a former senior VP of BioDyne Pharma.”

  Kane let out a whistle.

  “Interesting. What’s his game? The blackmail amounts seem pretty small, at least the first two anyway.”

  “I pulled his file. This guy’s worth billions. He holds about ten percent of BioDyne, so he’s not hurting.”

  “So blackmail isn’t his game then.”

  Isabelle shook her head. “So he’s just a psycho?”

  Hewlett shrugged her shoulders.

  “Who knows? We’re still trying to gather info on him, but it could take time.”

  “Is that why you called us here?”

  Hewlett shook her head.

  “Initial analysis on the bomb fragments came in,” she said, shaking her head. “It’s amazing what you can get done when you have all resources available to you.” She picked up a file and flipped it open. “It was C4 as expected, shaped charge to take out whoever opened the freezer, minimizing any explosive power that might otherwise go to the apartment next door or above and below.”

  “A bomber with a conscience?” asked Isabelle.

  Kane shook his head.

  “No, a bomber with a job. His job was to kill Milner, then to kill whoever came looking for him. Not those who weren’t involved.”

  “Agreed,” said Hewlett.

  “And the trigger?”

  “We found some pieces. Basic mercury switch. Reliable, old school.”

  “No remote trigger?”

  “Nope, just meant to go off when the lid was raised on the freezer.”

  “Can I see the trigger?”

  Hewlett handed the file over and Kane flipped through, stopping at the blowups of the pieces of the trigger that had been found. His finger tapped his chin as he chewed his cheek for a moment.

  “You know, this is an old Soviet design.”

  “That’s what our guys said.”

  “Do we have footage yet of our killer?”

  “We’ve narrowed it down to about a hundred. We restricted it to males, eighteen to sixty, who had visited no more than once after Milner entered the building for the last time.”

  Kane nodded slowly.

  “It takes time to learn how to be a bomb maker. Narrow it to men at least twenty five years of age. And since we’re dealing with a Soviet design, let’s eliminate African Americans and Hispanics.”

  “What about Asians?” asked Isabelle as Hewlett motioned for one of the techs to modify the search parameters.

  “No, east of the Urals there’s an awful lot that look Chinese that are fiercely loyal to the old ways.”

  “Fifty-three,” announced Hewlett. “That’s a little better, assuming you’re right to narrow it down.”

  “We’re taking a bit of a risk with Hispanics since the Cubans were trained by the Soviets, and a little risk with African Americans,” acknowledged Kane. “If
we don’t find anybody, you can broaden the search again.” He pointed at the screen. “Now eliminate anybody with a domestic criminal record in the past ten years.”

  “Forty one,” announced the tech manning the terminal. “But we don’t have identities on most of the remaining ones, so it could be even lower.”

  Kane pointed at the screen.

  “Focus all of your attention on these people. I’m willing to bet one of them is our bomber.”

  CIA Headquarters, Langley, Virginia

  “You’ll be happy to know all workers in your area have been found clear of the antiviral.”

  A cheer erupted from the workers, all standing in the halls or their cubicles, as the floor safety officer made the announcement. Even Leroux found himself joining in, albeit a bit timidly, shouting out in glee not his style. He was slowly coming out of his shell with Sherrie, but the rest of the world? It would have to wait. Leaving the nest would take time, but he had every confidence Sherrie would get him the socialization he needed to fully enjoy life.

  “As each section is cleared, your access to adjacent areas will be opened. For now doors remained sealed to all sections. Security personnel are at every exit to remind you. Once an adjacent section is opened, security will be removed where appropriate. We expect the entire complex to be back to normal within the next eight hours. Quarantine measures will remain in effect for all external subjects. Those requiring access to the facility will need to enter into quarantine and await blood test results. Thank you for your cooperation.”

  There was some clapping, but Leroux was already in his seat, looking at trace results for the former BioDyne VP Scott Fowler. Beyond the one account, and a Post Office Box address provided by BioDyne, he seemed to be completely off the grid. But with billions at his disposal, he could easily have purchased a fake identity and be living anywhere in the world, including right here in Langley.

  His phone vibrated on his hip, shocking him momentarily from his work. He looked at the display.

  Black, D.

  He answered, his heart picking up a few extra beats.

  “Hello?”

  “Hey, buddy, it’s me.”

  Kane!

  “How are you? You okay?”

  “Yup, I’m fine. You?”

  “We were just all cleared of the virus, so I guess so.”

  “And Sherrie?”

  “She’s in quarantine, but should know shortly.”

  “Fingers crossed, buddy. Listen, I need a favor if you’ve got the time.”

  “I’ll try. Director Morrison’s got me working on a high priority item. We’re trying to track down a former BioDyne big wig. He’s the money source.”

  “Yeah, I heard. Any luck?”

  “No, this guy’s gone off the grid by the looks of it.”

  “Well, this favor might help you out. Have you received a batch of files from the FBI here with about forty surveillance shots?”

  Leroux opened up his Inbox and scrolled through, finding the data files in question.

  “Yeah, I’ve got it here. What am I looking for?”

  “One of these guys I’m pretty sure is former Spetsnaz. I need you to find out which one, then where he is. I’m willing to bet he’s our bomber. Find him, and we might be that much closer to this BioDyne guy.”

  Leroux leaned back in his chair, his mind racing as he flipped quickly through the files. He’d be able to run them against databases, but knew that was already happening. Instead, he linked into the analysis feeds, spotted the one tracing foreign military databases, and brought up the already complete search.

  “We’ve already found him.”

  “What? Why the hell haven’t we been notified?”

  “Not sure. The search just completed so the analyst might not even know yet, or is locked out of his office area while they decontaminate.”

  “Forget it. Send the results to my phone. What’s the name?”

  Leroux forwarded the file to Kane’s phone, then read it himself.

  “His name is Major Anton Koslov. Left Spetsnaz almost immediately after that Brass Monkey inci—” Leroux stopped himself. “Sorry, Kane, it’s classified.”

  “Don’t worry, I’ve read all about it. I have my sources.”

  Leroux could imagine the grin at the other end of the phone.

  “I bet you do.”

  “So he was on the Russian side of that mission?”

  “Yup.”

  “What about asking the American counterpart to Koslov’s boss to make a call? Maybe a ‘soldier-to-soldier’ talk might be more effective.”

  Leroux shot out of his chair in excitement, printing off the file on Koslov. “He’s actually here, right now! Sherrie went out on a mission with him and some of his team.”

  “Great. Let me know what you find out. And if you have any trouble convincing him, tell him I said to trust you.”

  “Do you know him?”

  “I could tell you, but then…”

  “Ha ha.”

  “Take care of yourself, buddy. We’ll talk soon.”

  The call ended as Leroux pulled on the paper coming out of the printer, trying to speed things up, knowing it did anything but. The final page off, he rushed to the Director’s office. The security guard opened the door to the executive section, waving him through.

  “They were cleared as well,” he said by way of explanation.

  “Thanks!”

  Leroux continued his run, reaching the Director’s office slightly out of breath. Morrison’s secretary looked up.

  “Is he in?”

  She nodded, picking up the phone.

  “Mr. Leroux to see you, sir.”

  She hung up, waving him through.

  “Thanks!”

  Leroux nearly burst through the office door, but calmed himself, then opened the door and stepped through.

  “What is it?”

  “Sir, I know it wasn’t part of my original assignment, but Dylan—I mean Special Agent Kane—called me and asked for a favor. We’ve identified a former Spetsnaz agent entering the building in New Orleans where the bombing took place.”

  “I heard they thought the trigger was of a former Soviet design.”

  “Well, with this guy being there”—Leroux handed the file over—“it pretty much confirms it.”

  “What are you doing to track this down?”

  “I’m not, the analyst assigned to this is doing the usual traces, I’m sure. But I had an idea, or Kane did. I can’t remember whose idea it was”—Morrison motioned for Leroux to get on with it—“but anyway, he served on the Russian team that was trying to recover the Brass Monkey missile a few years ago. He left shortly after according to his file. Kane was thinking that if the head of the Delta team that also worked that mission called the head of their mission, he might just be able to get something from him that our computers can’t.”

  Morrison nodded.

  “Do it.”

  “He’s in quarantine, and I’ve been cleared.”

  Morrison scribbled a note on a piece of letterhead, signed it, then handed it to the still standing Leroux.

  “Show this to the guard at the elevator. You’ll be allowed down to the lobby and put into a hazmat suit. You can then travel freely. Now go!”

  Leroux jumped slightly, then quickly left the room, his Get out of Jail Free Card gripped in his hand.

  CDC Briefing area, New Orleans, Louisiana

  “Mr. President, we have confirmed the source of the second outbreak was a hand dryer at a truck stop outside of New Orleans. From the description of the man given by the manager, we believe it was installed by the same man who installed the canister at the Superdome. It was installed in such a way that every time the hand dryer was activated, the canister was activated, allowing the antiviral to mix with the hot air and infect anyone using or in close proximity to the dryer.”

  The President’s image on the monitor showed little if any emotion. He sat at the head of a large oval table in the
Situation Room, and from different camera angles Katherine was seeing on their display at the temporary CDC briefing area she was in, there appeared to be at least a dozen people in the room with him.

  “How many might have been infected?”

  “We’re estimating hundreds, perhaps low thousands. Tests of the canister are ongoing. We were fortunate in that there was still antiviral in the canister. BioDyne Pharma is testing the mechanism now to see how much is disbursed with each activation, how much the canister could contain, and still does contain. With that we should get a much better estimate, however it is irrelevant, Mr. President.

  “Hundreds or thousands isn’t important. We know that this strain was transmitted between two friends in the same car. Only one of them went inside. BioDyne is trying to identify what gene sequence is being targeted by this antiviral. However, if we assume it is still only transmittable from one person to the next if they have the same genetic pattern, then it must be very common. These men weren’t related in any way. If the pattern targeted is that broad, we could be looking at a massive, deadly outbreak, far beyond what we’ve experienced in New Orleans so far.”

  “What are we talking about? Numbers.”

  “If he targeted men, fifty percent. Caucasian men, thirty-five percent, people with brown hair, sixty percent. We just don’t know yet. There’s an outside chance that these two just happen to have the same rare defect and it is less than one percent. BioDyne is working on it, but it could be weeks before they figure it out. Chances are we’ll be able to narrow it down as the next sustained wave hits us. In fact, that’s already happening.”

  “How bad?”

  “We’re still trying to sort through the tens of thousands who just have a flu. The symptoms at the outset are so similar that people are panicking and going to hospitals with a runny nose. We have hundreds now, however, spread from coast to coast, that seem to be exhibiting the same symptoms, but testing negative for any cold or flu. We believe these to be genuine cases of the new strain. The incubation period seems to be the same ten days, so the timing is right for these initial cases to be showing up.