by Spell, David
Chuck saw that Scotty was also carrying a set of bolt cutters. The target house had a six-foot chain link fence all around it. The bolt cutters were just in case the gate in front of the house was locked. Everybody looked ready. McCain said, “Remember the briefing. This stuff is no joke. Be careful of the lawn guys. We don’t want to shoot any civilians. And don’t get bit! Let’s go.”
Earlier that day, CDC Headquarters, Atlanta, Wednesday, 1300 hours
The four men sat in the briefing room at the Atlanta office for the Centers for Disease Control. They all had cups of coffee and were waiting on their boss, Rebecca Johnson, to come in and brief them. Three of the men were looking at their smartphones, checking emails, texts, or Facebook. Chuck McCain let himself relax as they waited for their briefing.
McCain had spent twenty years as a police officer just outside of Atlanta. He had loved his job. Where else could you get paid to drive fast, shoot guns, and lock up bad guys? Unfortunately, his wife did not have the same love for his job and she had divorced him after seven years of marriage. He didn’t blame her. He would have probably done the same thing.
Chuck was never home and when he was off, he was either at the range, the gym, or the martial arts studio. Looking back now, he could see why his marriage fell apart. He had been immature and selfish. He would have divorced him, too. The only bright spot from his failed marriage was their daughter, Melanie. She was a twenty-one year old university student and his pride and joy.
After spending twenty years as a local cop, Chuck had gotten restless. He had made lieutenant but it had cost him his position on the SWAT team. He had been on SWAT for over ten years and a squad leader on the assault and arrest team for five years. As a lieutenant, however, he was not allowed to hold that slot. Being a lieutenant in a big police department is a great job if you don’t want to get your hands dirty. Most lieutenants became “carpet cops” and never left the comfortable confines of their office.
Chuck had always seen himself as a street cop, though. He liked mixing it up and being in the middle of chaotic situations. He enjoyed the pay grade but was bored out of his mind sitting in his office all day. McCain had lasted a couple of years after making lieutenant and then took an early retirement package.
He had several police friends that had gone overseas as security contractors. Chuck put in a few applications and was quickly offered a job making more than the equivalent of three times his police salary. He was assigned as a police liaison for an Army Special Forces A Team in Afghanistan. Many of these teams had an American law enforcement officer with them to advise the team leader on any situation that might involve an arrest, search and seizure, or evidence handling.
McCain quickly made friends with the special forces soldiers. Even with his years of SWAT experience, he kept his mouth shut and asked the soldiers to teach him what he needed to know to stay alive in Afghanistan. The team took him under their wing, teaching him as they went. When his contract was up, he was offered another one with the same A Team. Chuck continued to absorb and to learn everything that he could from the SF soldiers.
Those were two of the best years of his life. He was working with some of the most elite soldiers in the world. The pace was fast and intense. He saw more action and was in more gunfights in those two years than during his previous twenty as a police officer.
When his second contract was up, the team had a special ceremony and gave Chuck a green beret. The team sergeant said, “We’ve never done this before but we feel that you deserve to have this beret. You've become one of us and we’re proud to have served with you.” Chuck was humbled by the gesture and still had the beret.
After this contract was up, McCain knew he needed to stay home for a while and be a dad. His daughter, Melanie, was away at university but he wanted to be closer to her than he was in Afghanistan. His two security contracts had allowed him to pay off his house, buy a brand new four-door Chevrolet Silverado with cash, and still have enough money that he didn’t have to rush out and get another job. He intended to enjoy several months of leisure. Of course, for him leisure included daily trips to the gym, martial arts training, and shooting.
And then Rebecca Johnson had shown up at his front door. Chuck had just gotten out of the shower when he heard his doorbell ring. He wasn’t expecting any visitors. McCain put on a pair of jeans and grabbed his Glock from his bedside table. Holding the gun behind his left leg, he glanced out his living room window.
A beautiful blonde woman was standing on his front porch. She was tall, maybe five nine or five ten and was built like an athlete, he thought. A gray government issue Chevrolet Impala was parked in front of his house.
McCain stepped over to the front door and said, “Who is it?’
The woman answered, “Chuck McCain? My name is Rebecca Johnson. I'd like to talk to you about a job.”
That was news to McCain. He had no applications in anywhere and had not started working on getting another contract with the military. He slipped the Glock into his waistband and opened the front door.
“I’m McCain. And you work for whom?” he asked.
“Here's my ID. I work for the Centers for Disease Control, the CDC.”
McCain took the ID packet, similar to the badge wallet that he had carried when he was a police officer. It identified Rebecca Johnson as a Security Specialist employed by the CDC. She even looked good in her ID picture. He handed her ID back and offered his hand. “Nice to meet you. Please come in. You promise you're not a Jehovah’s Witness?”
She smiled and said, “No, I was raised a Baptist.”
He couldn’t help but notice how nice Rebecca smelled as she walked by him into the house. She was wearing a pearl colored blouse and a black skirt. Her blonde hair was pulled back in a ponytail.
As Rebecca stepped into the foyer, she couldn’t help but see how big McCain was. Maybe even bigger than the last time I saw him, she thought. He didn’t have a shirt on then either. He looks like an NFL linebacker, she noted to herself.
Johnson saw the pistol in his waistband as he led her into the living room. She nodded at the gun. "Do you normally shoot Jehovah's Witnesses?"
Chuck smiled. "It just depends on how pushy they are. Please have a seat and tell me about this job, Ms. Johnson.”
He motioned towards the couch and she sat down. McCain seated himself in his black leather recliner across from her. Johnson looked at McCain’s face. She could see the scars around both eyes. Ruggedly handsome. That would be the best way to describe his appearance, she thought. She remembered seeing in his file that he had been a part-time, professional MMA fighter. He looks like he could step into the cage right now, she thought. He doesn’t look like someone you would want to mess with.
“As you saw, Mr. McCain, I work for the CDC. We’re starting our own enforcement branch for the agency and we think that you’d be a great fit for what we want to do.”
“First of all,” McCain said, “call me Chuck. Secondly, I’m curious about where you got my name from. I haven’t spoken to anyone at the CDC. This is the first time I’ve even heard about them starting an enforcement branch.”
Johnson said, “Your name came up on a data base of people who have recently completed military contracts. These are the first people that we’re approaching about working for us because they won’t need as much training, especially someone like you with an extensive background in law enforcement.
"The special forces guys that you were embedded with gave you a glowing recommendation. I also looked at your file from the police department. A background in SWAT and in management are both big plusses. You’re exactly the type of person that we’re looking for.”
When she mentioned the SF guys giving him a good recommendation, something stirred in his subconscious. He tried to pull it up but whatever it was stayed under the surface. McCain digested what she said.
“What if I'm not looking for a job?”
Rebecca smiled a beautiful smile and said, “I hope that you'll
at least consider it. Also, let me tell you that we'll match your last contract salary and you’ll get a yearly raise, along with a great benefits package.”
Chuck’s eyebrows went up in surprise. They were offering him two hundred and fifty thousand dollars a year to get back into police work. That was over three times what he was making when retired.
“Why does the CDC need a police department?” Chuck asked.
Johnson cleared her throat. “The bio-terror threat is increasing. We need the capacity to make arrests, serve search warrants, and provide security over and above what our civilian security provides. We also need officers who can conduct surveillance on potential terror suspects.”
“What would my specific role be?”
“You will be a team leader. We’re hiring and organizing in four man teams. We’ll have multiple teams at each CDC location around the country.”
McCain stood up and said, “Let me go grab a shirt. I’ll be right back.”
Rebecca watched him leave the room. His back was just as defined as his front, she thought. She looked around the living room. It was clean and neat and fairly minimal. There was a large television hanging on the wall. The bookshelves were packed with military history, biographies, and a well-used Bible. There were several framed photos of a pretty girl arranged around the room. In a couple of the pictures, she and McCain were smiling together at the camera. Johnson assumed this was Chuck’s daughter.
“Would you like a cup of coffee?” McCain asked, reentering the room wearing a plain black t-shirt.
He was in no rush for Johnson to leave. He hadn’t dated much since his divorce and he had to admit that she was not hard to look at. If he was honest, he thought she was beautiful. He wasn’t sure about the job offer but it wouldn’t hurt to talk with her a bit longer, if he could keep from saying something stupid.
“That would be great!” Rebecca answered.
“Ok. Give me just a minute to get it going.” He stepped through the living room into the kitchen. Rebecca stood and followed him. “Is that your daughter in the pictures?” she asked, leaning against the counter.
“It sure is,” he answered. “She's a junior at UGA and wants to be a teacher. Do you have any kids?” He hadn’t seen a wedding ring.
“You must be really proud of her,” Rebecca said. “And, no, I’ve never settled down long enough to get married or have kids.”
“How long have you been at the CDC?” he asked.
She hesitated before answering. “I've only been there for a year. I was at the State Department awhile before that.” She hoped he would not ask any more questions about her background.
“How do you like your coffee?”
“Cream and sugar, please.”
Chuck handed her a mug of coffee and pulled some sugar down from the cabinet and got the milk out of the refrigerator. He handed Rebecca a spoon and watched her fix her coffee. He poured himself a cup and sipped it.
“I’m still not sure why the CDC needs an enforcement arm,” McCain said. “What do they need that the FBI can’t provide?”
Rebecca looked at him. “Several months ago, the President signed an executive order calling for the CDC to create an enforcement branch. There are several reasons for that executive order. Unfortunately, I can’t talk about those reasons right now. If you accept our job offer, though, you'll be given a security clearance that will allow you to see some of the intelligence that prompted that order by the President.”
McCain nodded and said, “Fair enough.” He understood need to know and right now he didn’t need to know.
Johnson had expected a little more pushback at this point. When Chuck said nothing else, she added, “Like I said before, the bio-terror threat is increasing and we need to be able to combat it. The FBI is great but we need to be able to deal with things quickly and decisively.”
Something else moved underneath the surface of McCain’s subconscious. 'Quickly and decisively,’ she had said. That sounded like terminology they would use in the special forces, he thought. Interesting word choice.
Chuck had not woken up that morning looking for a job. His previous contract had ended just a few months before. He was happy to have some time off. He had just gotten home from the gym and taken a shower when Rebecca showed up at his door. The next item on his agenda was going to the range for some trigger time. In the evening, he would have an MMA workout. He was planning on driving over to Athens to see Melanie tomorrow.
He had to admit, though, he was intrigued by the job offer. Being able to work in the US and not having to take another contract in the Middle East was sounding better and better. It would keep him closer to Melanie. And working with Rebecca Johnson did not seem like such a bad thing.
“Would you be my boss?” Chuck asked.
She chuckled and tilted her head. “Would that be a problem?”
“No, ma’am, just curious.”
“I report to the Assistant Director of the Office of Public Health Preparedness and Response. He reports to the Director of Homeland Security. You and the other team leaders here in Atlanta would report directly to me. The goal is for you guys to be able to work with a minimum of interference and red tape.”
They stood in silence for a moment.
“Three hundred thousand,” McCain finally said.
“I’m sorry, I don’t…”
“Three hundred thousand dollars. The contract work did pay two hundred and fifty but it was mostly tax free because I was in a war zone. So three hundred grand is better since I'm going to be taxed pretty heavily. And, if you can agree to that, just one more thing. I don't want to report for work for at least a month. I'm still in R & R mode.”
Rebecca sipped her coffee and nodded. “I can get you the money. If you accept the job, though, I need you to report in three weeks. There's no leeway in that. We have a two-month training course starting, where you’ll meet your team and go through the training together.”
Chuck nodded and laughed. “Well, ok then! You drive a hard bargain and I guess I have a new job.”
The laugh surprised Rebecca, but she thought he looked really nice when he smiled. Those are not very professional thoughts, she chastised herself. Out of all the interviews, this was the one she had been the most apprehensive about and, if she was honest with herself, also the one that she had looked forward to the most. She was relieved that he had taken the job.
She held out her hand and he took it. Her hand was soft but her grip was firm.
“Congratulations!” Rebecca said. “I'm so happy that you’re coming to work with us. I think you made the right decision.”
“You're pretty convincing.”
Briefing Room CDC Headquarters, Atlanta, Wednesday, 1315 hours
“Good afternoon, gentleman,” Rebecca said.
This always made the men laugh. “No gentlemen here, ma’am. Just us animals,” Scotty Smith answered.
McCain thought that Johnson looked tired. She always looked beautiful to him, but he kept those thoughts to himself. Today, she looked exhausted. Her eyes were red and she seemed more somber than usual.
Johnson flipped the lights off in the room and pushed a button on the remote that she was holding. The television monitor on the wall came on. A picture of an Iranian man came up on the screen.
“How about you guys going and arresting some animals? This is Doctor Mostafa Alamouti. You're going to arrest him and his wife and secure their residence so that a Clean Up Team can come in and process it and execute a search warrant.”
The picture was of a man in his forties. His hair was turning gray and he was wearing glasses. He had the dignified look of a man of science.
“What’s the charge?” Andy Fleming asked.
Rebecca pointed at the screen. “Alamouti is believed to be in violation of the Bio-Terror Act. We think he's released a chemical agent through generic pharmaceuticals. The chemical that he has released can cause death on a large scale. His wife has been smuggling quantities of gener
ic drugs out of the warehouse where she works. Alamouti adds his chemical cocktail, she takes them back to the lab or warehouse, and then they get shipped out.”
“So, has the chemical been released yet?” McCain asked.
“We aren’t one hundred percent sure,” Johnson sighed. “We just got this information late last night from another government agency. They are very confident in their intelligence and the local US Attorney had no trouble getting a judge to sign the warrants. The only question is whether or not the tainted drugs have been sent out yet. If they have, we should start hearing something soon.”
“So, what do these drugs do?” Garcia asked.
Rebecca paused before answering. “Iran has been experimenting in bio-terror weapons for years. They’ve come up with all kinds of horrible chemicals. This one seems to cause a very painful death within a few hours of ingestion. There is no known antidote at this time.
"Now, here’s where it gets a bit weird. Intelligence coming out of Iran is that some infected by this chemical don’t die right away. They became crazy, rabid, and violent. Another report said that they do die but the virus causes their body to reanimate.”
“Wow,” said Smith. “That will liven up things at a party! So, I'm guessing that the powers-that-be want to keep this pretty quiet?”
“You guessed right, Scotty. The last thing we need is a panic. That's why we’re acting as quickly as we can. You also have an arrest warrant for his wife, Fatemeh,” Johnson continued. “She works for PharmaSource, one of the big drug companies in Atlanta. Like I said, she's been helping him and is a co-conspirator. Here’s her picture.”
A dark-haired Iranian woman in her mid-thirties filled the screen. She was wearing a hijab and staring at the camera without smiling.
The four men looked at the picture and processed what Johnson was telling them. They all knew that Rebecca’s referral to “another government agency” probably meant the CIA or the NSA. This automatically raised the stakes. If one of those two agencies were involved, this was turning into a big case.