“Hey man, calm down. You’re turning redder than normal.”
Dorado glared and him and snorted. “May want to take a sick day tomorrow, partner. DC might not be such a pretty place by the fifth.”
McAfee shrugged, “Not like I have anywhere else to go. The Feds probably have their hands full with the Chinese and the protesters. Did you see the news this morning? Something like thirty thousand protestors are walking up and down the Mall, screaming their heads off. Other groups camped out their asses at just about every point along the delegation’s way and another ten thousand outside of the White House. The mayor’s considering bringing in troops to help control the crowds but doesn’t want it to look bad with all the visitors.”
“The White House always has protesters these days. Someone’s got to be screaming at the gates.”
“True enough,” McAfee nodded. “Kind of makes you wonder if there is a group out there the government hasn’t pissed off. This one’s large though and predictions say they'll grow throughout the weekend.”
“Crowds don't bother me.” Dorado leaned back in his chair. “Crowds get noisy, they may even riot. In addition, as much as that can be tragic and people get hurt, it is limited to one time, one place. A terrorist with a bomb, any kind of bomb, and it won’t be limited. Prove it can be done once and you get a hundred damn copycats coming out of the wall to try their variant on that specialized form of terrorism.”
“What’s specifically got you worried, man? We can’t do anything about the Chinese or their protestors. You said it yourself. We’re doing what we can to nab the organized efforts and the lone wolves.”
Dorado sat silent for a moment, glaring at the files in front of him. Finally, he leaned forward and handed two of them to McAfee. “It’s these military cases. Two very rare diseases of two high-ranking officials in a month of each other seem to be a high coincidence. Now the Army is covering up both cases. I got nothing to tie it to the Fourth or, hell anything else but the timing feels awfully coincidental.”
“You always say events are never coincidental.” McAfee grabbed the files and then flipped through them slowly. “Two different M.O.s” he said.
“Yeah but similar.”
“The general isn’t even a crime. He’s just sick.”
“Yeah, but with something that hasn’t attacked anyone in the US for over a hundred years.”
“Well, fucking weird, yes.”
That was what Dorado liked about McAfee. Brian brainstormed. It helped Dorado set his thoughts in order. Dorado continued, “There’s a trail here. It includes a mystery man that the Army put an APB on. He’s wanted for questioning but not for any crime.” He handed Brian the third file. “They can’t find him. Sherrie couldn’t even find credit info. She calls him the ghost in the system and at the same time, she tells me he cannot exist in America and not be traceable in the system. This one has a bad feeling to it. It may not be related to the Fourth but it’s big nonetheless. I can feel it.”
McAfee grunted, “That’s odd. There’s no rank designation on the ghost.”
“What do you mean?”
“Military records always list a rank. Someone goes AWOL and there’s an APB on him, then the military puts out name, rank and serial number. The last two are blank here.”
“Oversight?”
“Given that Olsen says he’s a ghost, I don’t think so.” Brian closed the file and sat thinking, one finger tapping lightly on the file. “The military hires a lot of civilians to do some of the more sedate work. I think the guy’s a civilian although they usually put that under designation. He may work as a military contractor but he’s not military himself.”
“Okay but that really doesn’t tell us anything more than we knew before.”
McAfee leaned forward arms crossed on the desk. “Actually it does, chief. There are thousands of types of jobs in the military but only hundreds of types of military contractors. That limits it some. The two dead guys both had contracted diseases and the general was the head the Institute. Plus, civilians can't be prosecuted under military law. They've got no jurisdiction. It means the Army's bending the law by putting an APB on him.”
“Gift wrap it for me, Brian, because I don’t see what you’re getting at.”
“If Forester also worked in the medical corp, then the ghost was probably medical contractor. If we investigate more into the dead guys, we may find out more about the perp.”
“I think Forester was in Procurement, but we should check on that.” Dorado’s com-unit went off, vibrating nosily across the desk. He glared at it, then picked up the small earpiece and answered. McAfee watched the short conversation, hearing Taylor’s name mentioned. Dorado talked for a short while then ended, “Okay, I’m on my way.”
“What’s up?”
“Fire department in Landover thinks they found another biological lab. HAZMAT is on the scene and Taylor thinks it concerns us.” Dorado stood and pulled on his coat, pocketing the phone.
“Do they have the home owner?”
“Landlord, but not the house renter.”
“Shit. Bodies?”
“No, fortunately.” Dorado patted his coat pockets, finding his keys, “I’m going to go take a look. I’ll let you know more later.”
The drive out to Landover took an hour due to the heavy traffic. He parked the police car a block away and walked the distance because of the emergency vehicles blocking the street. Taylor and Charro waited for him at the police tape.
“Hey, boss.” Taylor held the tape up as he ducked under. “HAZMAT’s almost ready to clear the house. They’ve been analyzing it for hours.”
“Tell me what you know.”
The three men walked back to the house. “The fire started sometime around dawn. A neighbor witnessed a man watching the fire and spoke to him.”
Dorado shot him a glance, “Did you interview him?”
To his left, Charro spoke as they stood in the driveway of the blackened shell of a house. “Yeah. The guy’s name’s Richard Altman. He saw the guy watching the flames but didn’t get a good look at him. Altman yelled at him. He says the guy told him there was no one inside then walked away. Altman thought about pursuing him but decided to call 911 first. By the time he got back outside, the guy had bugged off.”
“Was it the renter of the house?”
“Don’t know. We got the owner here but he doesn’t know anything about the fire. He’s brought the rental paperwork over and we’ve got an ID picture of the renter.” Taylor replied.
“Arsonist?"
“Seems pretty likely. Firemen say accelerant was sprayed all over the place.” Taylor gave Dorado a brown envelope. “We showed the ID picture to Altman. He’s not sure it’s the guy but the size looks about right. We’re going to check the documents for latent fingerprints.”
“I take it the renter‘s missing.”
Taylor nodded. “We’ve got an APB out on him. We asked around but this neighborhood’s largely rentals. No one knows anyone else. Everyone keeps to themselves.”
They stood watching the orange-suited men pick through the debris. Dorado coughed at the smell of smoke and ash. Charro spoke, “The fire department got here right away but there isn’t much left. The men found what looks like a small refrigerator and some lab equipment. Procedure says they call in HAZMAT. The guy over there is Dan Folston. He remembered me from the Noonan case and gave me a call. He says from what they can find, the damn equipment is very similar to the crap found at the Noonan house. The refrigerator wasn’t a refrigerator at all; it’s an incubator.”
“Shit. Any chemicals or hell, what would you call them?”
Taylor replied, “Biological material. HAZMAT has been scanning for them but so far, it’s negative.
“So there’s no idea what the guy may have been brewing?”
“Nah, not yet. Folston said the fire would have destroyed anything living. He thinks that’s why the guy torched it and walked away rather than just locking it up.”
Taylor snorted, “Not to mention it destroys all evidence of his presence. Too bad he didn’t think of the mailbox.”
Dorado turned to the tall man, “What do you have?”
Taylor grinned, “Fingerprints off of the mailbox, inside and out. We’ve got samples from the postman so we can eliminate his. Pictures and fingerprints will nail this guy.”
Folston walked out of the smoking debris while opening his headgear. The closed faceplate flopped on one side giving the man a lumpy, two-headed look. Judging by the iron gray short hair, the man looked to be a twenty-year plus veteran and stocky for his five feet, ten inch size. “We found some things you should see,” he said. “The area’s clear as far as hazardous material but you should walk around the yard to the back until the fire investigators finish. Frank will meet you back there.”
Frank Ortega stood by an old-fashioned clothesline pole, now rusted and leaning to one side. With the headgear also flopped back, he sucked down a bottle of water. Sweat poured down the short man’s head. He nodded at the three men as they approached. “Gentlemen, we got ourselves some pretty mess here.”
“Can’t say that it’s nice to see you again,” Dorado replied and moved to shake the man’s hand before Ortega waved him off, the orange gloves covered in soot. “What’s up?’
“Well, we found definite evidence of a biological lab here.” He pointed to a four foot, metal box lying on the scorched grass. “That’s definitely an incubator. It got blown out the back window and we’ve found broken media jars, a water bath, and tools consistent with a microbiology lab. We still don’t have any idea of what he cooked but I found this.” Ortega gestured to the black, box-like mechanism hanging from the plastic and wire cord of the clothesline.
Taking latex gloves out of his pocket and putting them on, Dorado slowly reached out and unclipped the device. “It’s a sprayer.”
“Yeah, that’s what I thought too.” Ortega replied. “We also found this underneath the incubator. When it blew out the wall, it took the board with it out to the lawn. That’s why the papers didn't burn up.”
Folston carried over a large corkboard three foot by five foot, and scorched in several places. Bits of paper, newsprint and photos, many burnt at the edges, covered the surface.
Charro swore in Spanish and Taylor gasped, “Sweet Jesus.” Dorado let out a long sigh as he bent to take a closer look. Metro schedules lay along one side while the center and opposite edge had news clippings of Independence Day scheduling, and maps of the Smithsonian area and internal museum layouts. Stuck in one corner out of place from the rest was a family photo of a pretty, blond woman and a young lady both smiling at the camera.
“Taylor, take the board back to the lab immediately. It’s now priority one. Get the photo to Sherrie and see if she can get a match. Charro, stay here in case there’s anything else they recover that we need to know about. Coordinate with the Landover police. We’ve found our lone wolf, gentlemen. Now we have to stop the bastard.”
Chapter 15
July 4, 2026, morning
Mitchell woke at dawn, stretching stiff muscles that protested against sleeping upright against a cement pillar of the Connecticut Avenue Bridge. The early morning light diffused through the limbs of the trees that lined the creek. The forecast for the day reported slightly cloudy skies and temperatures in the low eighties thanks to the cold front that had rolled in with rain. Mitchell took it as a good sign, a blessing that meant the crowds would come out in numbers higher than expect.
He pulled out a crumpled piece of newsprint from his backpack. The schedule of events listed the parade at ten, reading of the Declaration at eleven with the Smithsonian festival running from nine in the morning until sunset. The museums closed by six except for special invitation-only parties being held in each.
For the last three days, Mitchell repeatedly walked through the Smithsonian Mall between the Capitol Building and distant Lincoln Memorial memorizing the features and noting the increase of security fences and checkpoints. Ten-foot fences surrounded the Folklife Festival to control crowd flow in and out of the festival grounds and through the museums. In order to enter a museum, the person needed to exit the Mall park grounds through erected police checkpoints and go through another normal security inspection and metal detector right inside the museum.
And again, visitors had to leave one fenced area, through checkpoints and cross the street that divided the Smithsonian Mall and the Monument Park to enter another fenced area that ran around the Washington Monument and all the way to Lincoln Memorial. Although the space could contain thousands of people, the fences interfered with free movement.
Studying past celebrations, Mitchell discovered that crowds gathered in two main areas: near the Capitol for the concert and at the other end of the hill and valley park area that led from the Washington Monument down past the World War Two Memorial for the fireworks. The city promised a forty-five minute extravaganza, fifteen minutes longer than previous years. Somewhere between 4:00 p.m. and 9:00 p.m. every square foot of sitting space would then be covered with blankets, butts and chairs as people vied for best seating.
Of course, the rooftops of surrounding buildings filled up too. Private parties and rented roof space from L’Enfant Plaza, Farragut Metro Station, and Navy Memorial/Archives traditionally packed tight with people as well as many Tonians sought to profit from the celebration. The White House, sitting slightly beyond the Washington Monument, offered an excellent view for the President and his staff to join the Chinese Delegation on one of the balconies.
Mitchell stared at the schedule and the subway map. He then pushed and twisted against the firm bottom of the backpack and felt it give under his fingers. With the false bottom removed, the ten com-units became accessible, each no larger than a double hand span. With black inked numbers on top of their silver casing, each com-unit’s email system contained identical information from the old databases of Bio Lab-4, with the exception of the one prewritten message they needed to send out.
The trick, he thought, is simply blend in with the crowds and trigger off each email at the right hour. He had timed the longest email and knew it would take approximately four and a half minutes to be sent to all recipients. Four minutes was a long time to give tracer programs so he needed to keep changing position throughout the day. The other danger was the Park Police doing bag checks at gates and security inside the museum. Mitchell planned to piggyback off their wireless frequencies. He removed the first machine before reattaching the false bottom and adding back the food and water items.
He stood, stretching to pop limbs back into place before shouldering the bag. His watch glowed 6:30, time enough to ride the rails and check the mechanisms just once more. He breathed deeply the dewy wet smells, smiled and left the bridge area in search of breakfast.
In the news today, the Chinese visitors took the day off from the Peace Talks to enjoy the Independence Day celebrations. Escorted by members of the Secret Service, and government representatives, the delegates plan to visit the National Archives, tour the Library of Congress and then dine with the President and First Lady this evening, followed by a viewing of the fireworks show from a White House Balcony.
On a related story: news from behind closed doors hint that the Peace Talks are far from concluding. Critical issues include intellectual property laws and the creation of “space boundaries zones” proposed by the Chinese government. When asked about the US position, one delegate replied, “They are tense but ongoing. There is no clear resolution in sight.
Yesterday’s protestors at the Chinese embassy turned violent as some threw rocks and police had to break up…
Brian turned off the television’s volume but left the pictures of the protesters pushing against fences flashing across the flat desktop screen. He sighed and slumped back in his chair. “Ever feel like you’re that frozen moment just before the shit hits the fan? You know it’s going to hit. You can practically hear the splatter coming and there’s no
t a damn thing you can do about it.”
“Every time the captain calls me in for a special favor.” Dorado closed the file in front of him. “Any more word from the boundary fences?”
“Nah, crowds are still small and everybody’s happy. The festival doesn’t open until nine. Bet the Park Police guys are going to have an interesting collection of knives, pens, sprays and pocket items when the day is through.” Brian leaned back, putting his hands behind his head.
“You'd think people would listen to the warnings.” Dorado growled. “We’ve only put them on the airwaves, Internet, news feed, and in the newspaper. You’d have to be dead to not know to leave your shit at home.” He picked up the next folder, marked “Incoming Transmissions.”
“We’ll start the dog patrols at ten but most of them lack training in bomb detection. Most of the hounds do drug work. Mayweather says that they keep getting distracted by greenies sneaking in some pot.”
Dorado nodded without looking up.
“It'll probably be too crowded for the dogs by three.”
Dorado nodded again.
“Yo, chief, what’s bothering you? We’ve done all the threat assessment we can. We should be down walking the crowds.”
“Maybe later,” Dorado passed over the email printout. “We’ve received twelve threats today so far and it’s what, 8:30. Only this one made through the threat assessment program as being 85% real. We have to take seriously anything above 75% and assume the damn terrorist can’t spell.”
McAfee read the note aloud, “When the crowds are at their peak at the Fourth of July National Celebration, I will detonate a biological weapon that will spray the nearby people with a deadly pathogen. Once people are infected, millions will die before you can control this virus. I do this in vengeance for my wife, my daughter and all those that died at Bio Lab-4. This horrible act proves that the American government and military has illegally developed and stored biological weapons of mass destruction for the last twenty years. They plan to use them as an option for war. I have only a few samples of the massive amounts of pathogens available to the military. The many other samples are in four cryo-units. The military has hidden them and they must be found and destroyed. These are not safe in anyone’s hands. The world must know of the existence of these terrible weapons and their danger. The military killed all of us who worked on the project, all of us who developed these weapons, may God have mercy on our souls. The Sole Survivor of Bio Lab-4, Dawson, North Dakota.”
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