Dr. Woslowski was the most experienced lab technician on staff at the NIH. With 40 years of experience under his belt, he developed a reputation for being the Einstein in biology, a nickname that his explosion of long grey hair only added to. He held a pipetting device still in hand.
“I should just look here, every time I go on a date with someone in DC, I always wind up with some doctor type—” The elderly man laughed, cutting her off.
“A doctor type? The only doctor I could see you ever getting with is Dr. Bones!”
“For God Sakes, Jim, I’m a Scientist not a super model…” He poked fun at her Star Trek obsession.
“Well, I have the perfect guy for you then… he’s right over there, he’s contagious… he’s clingy and will love you from the inside out…” He said nodding over to the other side of the laboratory.
“It came?!” Catherine perked up. “I was hoping it would!”
“Just came in from West Africa, I haven’t touched it yet. I know you tracked it down yourself…” The only thing that made Catherine Mueller more excited than Captain Kirk in his tight yellow uniform was a fresh bacterium ready for dissecting. She spun on her inflated heel and proceeded to her workstation where a refrigerated drawer slid out, releasing the fumes of dry ice.
There inside was a cell cultivation flask, containing the sample ready for dissection. It was labeled HCL-238 and remained a mystery to most. But Catherine knew it. She had seen what is was capable of and couldn’t wait to dig into it for herself.
“It’s finally here…”
“As you know, it has killed thirty people down in Ebola country. Symptoms are not consistent with Ebola, though. So, of course we get the task of figuring out what it is and saving the world from it. How’d you find this thing again?” Dr. Woslowski spoke through their headset communication.
“I heard a rumor about this while I was down there with Doctors without Borders. It had struck a few towns over. They asked for aid, so I visited the village and saw that whatever was brewing there was like nothing I had ever seen…” Catherine explained.
They both retreated to their own thoughts and procedures as each of the scientists worked on their samples. Two hours went by without a word from either of them. Catherine, only 32 years old, had been mentored into the world of biological research by Dr. Woslowski. He was able to train and develop her – they worked well together through the last three and a half years and had developed a kind of father-daughter relationship. She had quickly distinguished herself as a rock star in all things pathological.
“You believe in ghosts?” Woslowski asked over his headset.
“No, why?” Catherine asked through her’s.
“You know those samples were scraped from its victims, part of them are still in it,” he reminded her.
“Geez, Dr. Woslowski, could you be any more morose?” she asked as her instruments combined two liquids into one blue test tube.
“I’m just saying…”
But then, a piercing alarm rang out and red lights flashed through the lab.
“What the hell is that?!” Catherine asked over the comm.
“Hide now, Catherine!” She heard her mentor order from the other side of the laboratory. She immediately dropped to her hands and knees and crawled behind a cabinet.
“What is going on, Dr. Woslowski?!” she whispered over the headset in a yelping terrified tone. Then, she heard a hushed voice come through her ears.
“An armed man has just entered the laboratory, keep your cover and listen to me…” She squatted to the floor to find more cover.
“Catherine! He is coming your way, stay still!” Just as she heard this, she saw a leg stepping in front of her line of sight of the laboratory. She saw the tip of a bloody knife dangle at the man’s side. A drop of blood formed and dropped into free-fall off its tip, splashing on the flashing red lab floor. Her eyes followed the man as he approached Catherine’s workstation, step by step. He rummaged purposefully through her station of vials and chemicals until he came upon the blue test tube – the new bacterium Catherine had been working on. He read the label: HCL-238 and pocketed a handful of vials in his assault vest.
“Do you have any idea what those vials are carrying?!” Catherine jumped out from her cover, squaring up the intruder confidently. She noticed that he was completed exposed to his surroundings.
“Apollo is upon us…” he hissed, illuminated in red. His teeth snarled at her as he began approaching her slowly with short, heavy steps. Catherine Mueller’s breaths shortened, and her eyes darted to the intruder’s grip around his knife. As he inched closer, Catherine backed into the corner and cowered down onto her knees. He flipped a lab cart over scattering lab instruments across the floor.
She awaited death.
The bloody knife drooled like a Rottweiler ready to attack.
She closed her eyes. She felt a tug from behind her and immediately she felt the thinning of the air she breathed. Her pressurizing hose had been cut. She began to feel faint as her body adjusted to the depressurizing of the suit.
Then, a voice cried out over her comm, breaking the screech of the alarm siren.
“Get away from h—” In one twitch, the man spun on a dime and flung his knife. End over end, it soared across the room, slashing through Dr. Woslowski’s protective face guard and straight into his right eye. His eyeball split on impact, the blade carved its way into the brain.
He dropped.
Catherine screamed as she listened over her comm, unable to open her eyes. She felt everything beginning to fade as she battled to remain conscience. Disarmed now, the man fled out the airlock, skipping the decontamination shower, and out of the laboratory. Catherine, paralyzed in terror, whispered through her comm mic.
“Dr. Woslowski? … Dr. Woslowski?… please answer me…” Her clenched eyes could not see the cadaver lying motionless across the room. Her paralysis began to melt as the oxygen she breathed continued to thin. The darkness began to swallow her. She remained huddled over her knees, whispering for contact over and over until the depressurization hijacked control. Then, her mind reached its twilight and she too fell limp on the laboratory floor. Their dormant bodies lay, illuminated in the red of the alarm, alone and waiting to be discovered.
Chapter 3
The White House
Washington, DC
12 PM
Janet Powers walked at an urgent pace through the hallways of the White House. As National Security Advisor, her office was on the opposite corner of the floor plan from the Oval Office. She a hung a right and passed the lobby – her mind, racing with the latest threat that had just come across her desk. Having to earn everything as a black, inter-city kid growing up, she had a confidence and candor that was unparalleled to any in the building. She had a short black hair, full lips and deep brown eyes that would stare down any terrorist in her way. She turned left and began to pass the mustard walls of the Roosevelt Room.
As she passed she caught the eye of Chief of Staff, Marty Jacobs who was meeting with a few congressmen. He had just pushed them for thirty minutes to endorse the President’s latest initiative with his usual aggressive tactics. Powers cocked her head slightly with a grim expression and waited in the doorway.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
“You have been Chief of Staff for three years… you’ve seen it. The President is not installing the progressive reform he had promised to our party… I know you must be among the dissenters of his across the aisle tactics… With a re-election run on the horizon, he’s going to need the party’s support. Just do us the favor and put the birdy in his ear.” The congressman leveled with him. Jacobs stopped for a moment to consider the truth spoken, but quickly ended the meeting to the congressmen’s dismay.
“I am sorry gentlemen, but something has come up that needs my attention.” He closed his day planner and ascended to his feet. With a slick suit and shined shoes, Marty Jacobs had a full, strong frame, despite his short height. His light red hair line settled i
n a small peninsula over his forehead. It resembled flames as it slicked back over his scalp. Jacobs was known for his unctuous swagger – part salesmen, part broker.
“Now Marty, I’ll think about that solar deal – but you weren’t as persuasive as I thought you would be…” The congressman from Michigan commented, the others laughed as they rose out of their chairs. Jacobs’s thin lips pursed at the congressman.
“This was only our first date, Congressman… I haven’t even tried to take you home yet...” The biting candor didn’t settle well with the congressman, but he laughed it off. Jacobs’s eyes, however, glared a determination that cut the laughter short. He pivoted on his heel and left the congressmen to see themselves out. The Chief of Staff exited the Roosevelt room and met Powers in the hall.
“How bad?” He asked in quick step toward the Oval Office.
“Pretty bad…” Powers responded as they continued toward the Oval Office.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
President George Hooper swiped his pen across the bottom of a page on official Presidential letterhead. After finishing his signature, he held the letter up and scanned it once more. The letter contained a message of condolence to a mother who had lost her son overseas to the war. The briefings and tasks on his desk were piling up but he knew that these personal messages were important as it not only helped a citizen connect with their President, but it ultimately helped a President connect with his citizens.
President Hooper was a Georgia native, who was as close to a moderate as one could get, picking up Blue-Dog tendencies throughout his 25-year career in politics. Hooper was a nominal Democrat but to the dismay of those closest to him, especially Jacobs, his longtime best friend and former law school roommate, he had begun to lean right on many of the crucial issues of his presidency.
He was forthright with his opinions and his allies and opponents alike trusted his word. He had become known for his unbiased prudence – never timid to speak his mind once he knew his stance on an issue, but always deliberate and rational in finding his stance.
The door swung open, breaking his focus on the letter. Upon seeing his National Security Advisor and his Chief of Staff enter in such an urgent rush, President Hooper stood immediately. Hooper was tall and lean, and already graying from the stresses of the office. Shining from his gaunt face were his trademark baby blue eyes. Political commentators often quipped that it was those Sinatra blues that had won the female vote for his election.
“Now I was just starting to enjoy my day, but a barge in like this usually means it’s about to come to a screechin’ halt…” He had gotten the nickname Cool Hand Hoop for his ability to calm through any situation.
“We have a situation, Mr. President…” Powers began the briefing.
“If I had a nickel…” Hooper’s voice trailed as he leaned onto his desk as if to say lay it on me.
“There has been a break-in at the NIH.”
“—What!” Jacobs interrupted. Powers ignored the Chief of Staff and continued.
“An armed man besieged a BSL-4 laboratory in the National Institutes of Health and stole an anonymous bacterial contagion. Seven men and women were killed in the raid. He has gotten away with the contagion and the FBI is trying to track him down. We have been able to keep it under wraps, for now. It will leak eventually though,” Powers stated.
“You said… anonymous bacterial contagion? What do you mean?” Hooper asked.
“It was only in its first day of biological profiling. So, we virtually don’t know anything about it,” she responded.
“But how?! Can’t they just put it in a machine… It’s the 21st century—” Jacobs interjected, but was interrupted quickly by Powers.
“People tend to forget that Biology is the newest field of science. Physics, Astronomy, Geometry were all explored thousands of years ago. Even in Galileo’s time, humanity knew more about the heavenly bodies than they did their own. In many ways we are still cavemen when it comes to the complexity of the biological sciences.” Powers adjusted her blouse. The President’s finger perched on his lips in a contemplative stance.
“Does anyone know anything?” the President asked slowly, hopeful for a lead.
“All we know about it is that it killed a dozen of people in a West African village and it is not Ebola. The sample was being analyzed by the laboratory technician. She did survive the attack. Her name is Catherine Mueller.”
“How do I know that name?” Jacobs asked.
“She led our analysis on stem cell research. Although she is young, she is becoming an expert in the eyes of her peers,” Powers spoke fast in briefing mode.
“So, where is this Catherine Mueller now?” President Hooper’s question loomed.
“She is being questioned by the FBI but from what I have heard she is in shock and is still unresponsive.”
“How much would she be able to learn in the time she had with the bacteria?” Jacobs asked.
“It’s hard to say.”
“What about our suspect?” The President turned to Powers.
“The laboratory has 5 security cameras, one of which was directly centered on Catherine’s workstation. We have a clear image of the suspects face. The NSA is currently running a scan of the man’s identity. No hits yet,” Powers briefed.
“No hits?” Jacobs asked, surprised.
“No… the NSA usually gets a hit within 5 minutes, but nothing. We are cross-referencing with multiple agencies to find our suspects identity, but chances are… he doesn’t have one,” Powers explained.
“Everyone has an identity, Janet… You just have to find it…Keep me briefed… Is there anything else?” Hooper eyed his Chief of Staff and his National Security Advisor.
“Yes, Mr. President… There is one more thing… something was odd about his intrusion…” Powers note dropped an octave. Jacobs leaned forward. “He entered a bio-safety level 4 laboratory with no protective clothing. He could have been infected and by the surveillance footage he didn’t seem to mind.” President Hooper stopped as the implication dawned on him.
“Was he intentionally trying to infect himself?” he asked.
“We don’t know exactly how it spreads and infects a host but… it appears so Mr. President…” The President fell back into his chair and exhausted a gasp. His eyes reached out to distances as his mind ran through potential scenarios.
“If a terrorist would strap a bomb to their chest, why not carry a weapon inside of them… it’s undetectable and as deadly… we have a Patient Zero at large.” The silence hung in the Oval Office as they realized they were up against a new form of terrorism – one that, at the moment, seemed unstoppable.
Chapter 4
Charleston Restaurant
Baltimore, MD
6PM
Charleston Restaurant lined the waterfront, providing its high roller diners a beautiful view of both the rows of docked yachts and the dark blue stillness of Inner Harbor. The interior was lined in red jacquard wallpaper and decked in five-star ornate furnishings. Xander and Fiona were seated before a high wall of stocked wine bottles and were working on their second.
Fiona donned two sparkling diamond earrings and a little black dress, while Xander wore a slim Tom Ford suit. Xander was an attractive man, especially when he dressed up like tonight. He stood with a chiseled frame and a hard jaw line, peppered with dirty blonde stubble. His crew cut always fell slightly disheveled over his forehead, causing him to habitually brush it out of his eyes. Their waiter arrived at the table, bringing with him an assortment of fine desserts.
“Yummy…” Fiona commented as the server left them to the rest of their meal.
“Yeah, it looks pretty good. You want the Tiramisu?” he responded.
“I wasn’t talking about the food, darling…” Fiona purred, looking up at Xander with smoldering eyes. Xander’s face blushed to the color of the Pinot that he swirled in the glass between his thumb and forefinger. Their smiles connected, taking them away from their clandestine liv
es. For the moment, they weren’t spies but honeymooners, lost in each other – connected like two stars in their own constellation.
Xander surprised Fiona with an anniversary night on their way back from Geneva. He decided to fly to BWI airport rather than Dulles and treat her to a romantic night at the Inner Harbor. The flight, as usual, was a mental workout as he reviewed each variable of Intel obtained from the trip.
Gregory had Intel about the four missing scientists. He sent a text message to a number originating in Bethesda, MD…Who are Henry Bosco and Caroline Keener? … How are they connected?
Xander was sometimes referred to by other Spartans as the Bobby Fisher of spy craft. They all possessed unique abilities but Xander was in a league of his own. Not only did he have a photographic memory, but he was able to deduce scenario probabilities and analyze his way through real events. This afforded him the prescient ability to often anticipate what would come next. He had not always had that remarkable ability – it was the horrific car wreck killing his parents that ignited his genius. Severe head trauma from the crash wiped the memory of his life before and miraculously replaced it with higher functioning cognition. Waking up in the hospital at eight years old became his earliest memory. Not only had he lost his parents, he had lost the memory of his parents, he only visited them through one vivid recollection of the crash that often surfaced in his dreams.
Xander was recently shocked to learn his closest friend from Sparta, Ezra Gonet, was alive and a terrorist codenamed Agent Zero, who was planning an attack against Washington, DC. Their motivations and endgame remained unclear, although Ezra was rotting in a high security off-the-books prison cell just outside the DC metro area.
For the past three months, Xander had his reservations about the events of July fourth. Xander knew that Ezra, a trained operative, would never have killed Jooles so long as she was his body shield. It was an act of surrender. Ezra had said that Xander would be put to the test.
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