by Bobby Akart
“As you can see, the lab has a fully enclosed ten-foot tent, which allows for sample taking and preparation. Inside, HEPA air filtering, negative pressure, and a decontamination pass-thru case with UV insure safety for its disease detectives during analysis of the samples.”
The assistant then provided a chart, which was going to be disseminated across all the government agencies that were present at the Games.
“This chart will serve as a command hierarchy model in the event a bioterror attack is suspected. We will be coordinating with the CDC, USAMRIID, as well as the EPA’s hazardous materials investigators on site from Denver to respond quickly to any biohazard threat.”
“What about assistance from the eyes in the sky?” asked one of the FBI agents assigned to the team.
Loo nodded as he finished off his coffee. “The NSA will conduct blanket surveillance similar to what they did in Salt Lake City during the Winter Olympics. They’ll collect, store, and analyze virtually all electronic communications going into or out of those parts of Atlanta where the Olympic venues are located. The FBI and NSA viewed the Salt Lake Olympics field op as a perfect opportunity to bring together interagency resources to fine-tune a new scale of mass surveillance. They will expand upon their capabilities by coordinating with our team.”
Khan, the only Muslim in the room, raised his hand. “Are we profiling for suspects?”
“Absolutely,” said Loo who continued. “But my response to your question doesn’t leave this room. Not profiling people is foolish and dangerous. That said, let me add there is a difference between profiling and common-sense generalizing in conducting law enforcement activities. We have to judge the likelihood of a threat and act accordingly. This necessarily requires us to profile our terrorist. It’s impossible for us to do our jobs effectively without race and gender being a part of the calculus.”
Khan stood and surveyed his associates in the room. “I am a Muslim and I have experienced pernicious and irrational behavior. After 9/11, I heard the whispers from fellow airline passengers when traveling. I understand racism because I’ve experienced it. However, let me say this. You simply cannot get through a normal day without profiling. As human beings, we make countless informal, statistical judgments based upon our internal assessments of others. If I walk down a street and a pit bull approaches me, my awareness is raised more so than if a Pekingese dog approaches in a similar manner.”
“Thank you for your insight,” added Loo. “Using this example, when all airline passengers are equally suspect, the surveillance of the TSA is diluted. In my opinion, harassing the old white lady going through a checkpoint is time wasted when there are other, more likely options. Sadly, those of Muslim faith must be penalized because the vast majority of terrorist attacks are carried out by men of Middle Eastern descent.”
Loo rose and added these final remarks, “For obvious reasons, focus your efforts on suspicious activities undertaken by Middle Eastern men.”
Chapter 25
Day Thirty-Seven
Centennial Olympic Stadium
Opening Ceremonies, Summer Olympic Games
Atlanta, Georgia
Millions of visitors had descended upon Atlanta on opening day, one of the hottest on record, as the Olympic Games were getting under way. Nearly ninety thousand people entered the renovated Centennial Olympic Stadium, which had been used by the Atlanta Braves following the original games in 1996. One of the factors in bringing the South Korean Games to Atlanta was the recent departure by the Braves for their new facility known as SunTrust Park. The renovation for Centennial Stadium’s use as a football venue was expedited with federal funds provided to the City of Atlanta, making the Atlanta Games a win-win for all involved.
Saba and Maheen, two female jihadists, cared nothing about the facilities or the Olympics. They cared about making the world a better place for Muslims. Both women, born and raised in Atlanta’s inner-city neighborhoods, converted to the Muslim faith after spending time together in prison for drug trafficking.
They emerged from jail penniless and angry, but also as Muslim converts. Over time, they met their husbands, who were organizers of the largest ISIS cell in the Atlanta area. Together, after much prayer, they agreed to make the great sacrifice for their husbands and Allah.
Saba, Maheen, and their four daughters emerged from the women’s restroom in Olympic Stadium amidst the ninety thousand attendees of the opening ceremonies. Throughout the stadium, more than a hundred women and children of the Final Jihad circulated through the crowd, none of them wearing their traditional Muslim attire. No, today was special and Allah would understand.
An extremely warm summer day provided them the perfect cover—a handheld battery-operated fan, which was used by many attendees in the Olympic venues to keep cool. Batteries turned the device’s foam blades, providing its operator a brief respite from the summer swelter.
As the women left the restroom, they were sure to spray the door handles and the door itself. As they walked past the food windows, they thoroughly misted the ketchup, mustard, and utensil dispensers where the patrons fixed their hot dogs. At the official Olympic merchandise stands, they were sure to spray the USA teddy bears, the revolving rack of Olympic pins and keyrings, plus the commemorative Olympic programs.
Their job was not to go anywhere in particular. In fact, they would never enter the stadium to take their seats. They simply joined the throngs of people ambling through the stadium’s concourses, mingling with the crowd and deploying their sprayers.
Wherever there was a high concentration of people, they’d gather around, constantly spraying. As the Olympic mascot took a moment to provide hugs to the children and take pictures, the young children of Saba and Maheen joined in the fun, making sure that the teddy bear remained cool with the fan sprayer.
They sprayed everyone they could, making use of the multiple refill cartridges stored in their clothing. The spray was refreshing, but, of course, it wasn’t just filled with water. It also contained the deadly strain of plague bacteria.
Meanwhile, in the Bioterrorism Field Headquarters, the watchful agents scoured security cameras throughout the Olympic Stadium complex, looking for suspicious-looking Middle Eastern men, possible jihadists of bioterror agents.
Unfortunately, their eyes did not focus on the perimeter outside the security gates of the venue, where dozens of temporary vendor tents, carts, and kiosks, fully licensed and permitted by the City of Atlanta, were set up selling one of the most popular products during this opening day—the simple and practical mini handheld fan, fully loaded and ready to use.
And sales were brisk, with an estimated five thousand of the devices sold the first day. The vendors were skilled salesmen and provided what some claimed was an astonishing low price of only two dollars for the device.
One such salesman, Malik, an ISIS operative who’d lived in Atlanta since 2003, routinely encouraged his customers to make a purchase by repeating this catch phrase, say goodbye to the summer heat wave.
Goodbye, indeed.
Chapter 26
Day Thirty-Eight
Edwards House
Fort Collins, Colorado
Mac and Hunter had been exhausted by the time they entered their suite at the Edwards House, a five-star inn located in the Old Town Fort Collins historic district, the night before. The beautifully-renovated Denver foursquare home, typical of the turn-of-the-century architecture of 1900, was smartly appointed with a mix of old and new furnishings. They were within walking distance of restaurants, quaint shops, and most exciting of all, a variety of craft breweries, which became a calling card for visitors to Fort Collins.
After sleeping until six in the morning, Mountain Time, both of them were well rested. “This will do for a few days until we find something more long term, don’t you think?” asked Hunter. Mac walked through the room and looked out of the windows overlooking the well-kept craftsman-style homes in the surrounding neighborhood.
“I love it,�
� she replied. “It feels like we’re staying at a friend’s house. Look at this neighborhood. It’s gorgeous.” She pulled back the sheers to allow Hunter a look. He wrapped his arm around her as they both stared down through the oak trees.
“I like it too, but it’s a little small for us long term,” said Hunter. “We’ll spend the day considering our other options.”
“Since you have to go into Denver, I wanna take you out to Breckenridge to see my parents’ place. It’s a secluded, romantic mountain paradise.”
Yesterday afternoon, while waiting for Mac to finish up with Dr. Gene, her new pal, Hunter had studied the map and routes to Breckenridge. At a hundred and forty miles, commuting was out of the question to Fort Collins. It was about eighty miles from downtown Denver, which would be manageable for what he had in mind.
“Romantic? Yeah, come on, let’s check it out. Do you have the keys?” asked Hunter.
“No, but Dad’s realtor in Breckenridge has a set. They don’t rent it out, but the real estate firm takes care of the property while my folks are away. You know, winterize it, open it up for spring, things like that.”
Hunter hugged her tight. “We’ll make a day of it. First, we’ll swing by the FBI field office and then we’ll head into the mountains to see the sights. I’ve never been outside of Denver, so I think I’ll enjoy it.”
The two dressed casually for their day of exploration. Hunter had already phoned Carl Sanders, the special agent in charge of the Denver office. He was glad to have the help and needed to bring Hunter up to speed on a group of terrorists they’d been tracking from LA to Las Vegas. They’d received information from the NSA and were prepared to issue a credible threat alert for the Denver Metroplex.
The two found Bindle Coffee, a local coffee shop, and fueled their bodies with a specialty brew from Kenya. A couple of Jenn Webb’s pastries and they were off to the Stapleton neighborhood of North Denver, where the FBI offices were located.
During the ride, Mac caught Hunter up on the news. “Well, the Olympics got started without a hitch. Security was tight and there were no incidents except for some protestors complaining about the President’s hijacking, their word, not mine, of the Olympic Games from South Korea.”
“Honestly,” started Hunter. “I questioned the reasoning for moving the Games. North Korea is always saber-rattling. That’s how they get attention and concessions. They pitch a fit, make a few threats, and fire off a few rockets into the Sea of Japan, and then the world throws money at them, hoping they’ll behave. This situation was no different.”
“The President thought the Games would be in danger of an attack,” said Mac.
“Of course, there is always that threat. But listen, China has their thumb on the DPRK. It would’ve been fine. I think he was grasping for a political feather.”
“I’m sure. Speaking of the President, he’s been forced to acknowledge the growing threat of the plague spreading. News reports from Europe following the chancellor’s funeral service reported the spread.”
“Do they talk numbers?” asked Hunter as he exited from Interstate 25 onto I-270 towards Stapleton.
“No, not really. There are cases in London, Berlin, Paris, and Madrid. Most major cities are seeing an increase in patients. I should be getting an update from Janie within the hour.”
“What about the President? What’s he saying?” asked Hunter.
“He’s planning on addressing the issue in a couple of days in a press conference. In the meantime, his poll numbers are up. He’s cruising to re-election.”
“In three hundred feet, turn right,” announced the Defender’s onboard navigation.
“That is so cool,” said Mac with a chuckle. “I love the British accent.”
Hunter followed the GPS to the FBI offices, passing Home Depot, Walmart, and Sam’s Club along the way.
As he parked the truck, Mac received a text message. She checked the time. “She just got out of the daily briefing. She needs me to call in seven minutes. Must be important.”
“Okay, I won’t be long. Tell her hello.”
Hunter left the Defender running and Mac confirmed the call by text. She made a quick call to Slifer Smith & Frampton in Breckenridge to advise them of her schedule. She’d texted her mother last night to make the arrangements. The broker offered to drive them up to Quandary Peak, but Mac assured him that she knew the way.
Mac placed the call to Janie and the two spoke for fifteen minutes. Janie couldn’t talk longer, so Mac was unable to fill her in on the details of the Fort Collins facility. There were dozens of new cases in all of the southern border states. The news would probably break in the next twenty-four hours and Dr. Spielman was now drafting a press release concerning a possible outbreak.
Mac was incredulous at first, but then she sat back and listened to SiriusXM 76, the Symphony channel. The CDC was finally reacting and there was no reason to fire her. Dr. Spielman knew what was coming, but his hands were tied.
Then Mac considered the opportunity in front of her. Dr. Matta had promised her unlimited resources, top-notch staff, and her own lab. At the CDC, she was restricted by protocols, hierarchy, and the ever-present D-Bag.
As Hunter jogged down the sidewalk toward the vehicle, she admired the best perk of all—the man she loved.
Chapter 27
Day Thirty-Eight
Quandary Peak
Breckenridge, Colorado
“Man, this is the place!” exclaimed Hunter as they exited the realtor’s office, keys in hand. “The skies are blue; the air is clean and crisp. Seriously, Mac. Right?”
Mac marveled at his boyish enthusiasm. She’d visited a few times with her parents, but it was always during the winter for ski season. Mac wasn’t much of a ski bunny, but she did enjoy hanging out in the ski lodge with a hot toddy. The population of Breckenridge more than quadrupled during the winter, so seeing the sparsely filled streets was a bit surprising to her. But she had to agree with Hunter on the atmosphere, both in terms of the surroundings and the weather. It was idyllic.
“I know, but wait until we get to the top of Quandary Peak,” replied Mac as she strolled down the sidewalk next to Hunter, her arm wrapped in his. “The elevation here in town is just over nine thousand, compared to five thousand feet in Denver. Our place is at the tree line—over eleven thousand feet.”
Hunter looked up toward the rocky peaks, which rose high above the town. “I have an honest question.”
“Okay.”
“Can the plague bacteria live in the high altitudes or winter temperatures like here in Breckenridge?”
Mac looked Hunter in the eye, impressed with his thought process. “I see what you’re thinking,” she responded. “Being specific, we’re dealing with the Madagascar strain, a country that has altitudes over nine thousand feet, similar to here. In nature, animal and human infections are not predominant year-round, but rather during the so-called plague season in Madagascar. In the high plateau, that’s October to March, comparable to our summer. In the coastal regions, plague season is between July and November, similar to winter here. Altitude has no effect.”
“What about temps?” asked Hunter.
“Y. pestis likes a nice warm host, like mammals. As for the longevity of the bacteria on foreign surfaces, there is a benefit to being in a colder climate. The life outside of a host is reduced by as much as half below forty degrees.”
Hunter unlocked the Defender and opened the door for Mac. She smiled at him, truly enjoying his gentlemanly way. She often wondered what happened to manners nowadays. When did people stop opening doors for a lady? Or give up a bus seat for the elderly? Or cover their mouth when they sneezed and coughed?
“I want us to plan our weekends up here if we get any time off,” said Hunter as he drove higher into the mountains to the south of Breckenridge. “I think this would be a great place to chill, even for a day.”
“Turn right about a mile ahead,” said Mac.
“How do you know? There
wasn’t a sign.”
“I recognized McCullough Gulch back there. It’s supposed to be a great hiking trail, but I’ve never seen it in the summer. There, on the right. Blue Lakes Road. That’s us.”
Hunter abruptly slowed the Defender, looking in his rearview mirror to make sure he didn’t get run over by the Jeep following them. He made the turn and the road turned into a mountainous gravel-pothole mix.
“Are you taking me to the place where they ate each other that winter in the eighteen hundreds?” asked Hunter.
“No, that was Donner Pass, in northern Nevada. I just want to point out, half of those people survived that trip because they ate the others.”
“C’mon, Mac!” squalled Hunter. “We’ll never eat people.”
“Don’t be so sure,” said Mac. “You never know what you’ll do to survive.”
Hunter kept driving higher up the terrain until the trees stopped on the right side of the rise, where the elevation rose to a rocky peak.
“I take it that’s Quandary Peak,” he said, leaning forward so that his head was near the windshield. “Solid rock.”
“It is, but rock slides can be a problem. The road was built to meander along the tree line until it ends at Blue Lakes.”
“Whoa!” Hunter slammed on the brakes and slid on the gravel to a stop. A family of white mountain goats hopped across the road, emerging out of the tree line and up the mountainous cliff. “Look at that billy! He’s huge!” The male goat was in no hurry as he crossed the road, providing the Defender a brief look.
“Oh, yeah. I forgot to tell you. Watch out for the goats. They were here first.”
Hunter allowed them to pass and he drove forward until a driveway appeared on the left.