by Spell, David
McCain changed into his work out clothes and went into the weight room. He needed to release some stress of his own. He lifted weights for forty-five minutes and then walked over to the heavy bag. He pulled his hand wraps out of his bag and wrapped his fists. He slipped on the twelve-ounce boxing gloves that were in his bag. He set the timer app on his phone for ten three minute rounds with a minute of rest in between rounds.
When the bell rang, he went to work on the bag. The first round was almost like shadow boxing. He was just moving and getting warmed up. He only threw light punches and kicks. In the second round, he started punching and kicking the bag a little harder. He was still focusing on his speed and timing, rather than power.
When the bell rang for the third round, McCain started waging an all-out war on the heavy bag. His punches and kicks shook the hundred and twenty pound bag. The sound of his strikes reverberated throughout the gym. His fists, elbows, shins, feet, and knees left deep indentions where he connected.
As a left-hander, McCain’s right leg was forward and he led with his right jab. His power hand, his left, was his rear hand. From the time he had started training in the martial arts, however, Chuck had trained both sides equally. He was just as adept at fighting in a traditional, right-handed stance. The traditional stance had the left leg forward and led with the left hand. In that stance, the right hand was the rear power hand.
He moved easily and gracefully for a big man, circling the bag, and changing his stance every few combinations. Jab, cross. Jab, rear elbow. Front kick. Side kick. Jab, cross, hook, low kick with the shin. Jab, uppercut, front knee to the body. Front lead kick to the body, low rear kick to the leg.
Chuck heard the door open on the other side of the room. Someone began running on one of the treadmills. He figured it was one of the scientists getting a little cardio in. He continued to pummel the heavy bag, the sweat dripping from his face.
Rebecca had slipped into the weight room. She needed to run to clear her head. She had a lot of work to do and all the wine that she had consumed the night before had not done her any favors. She started off at a walking pace on the treadmill and increased the tempo until she was running. She did not care about the distance. She would run for half an hour and then she had to get to work.
As she ran, Johnson watched McCain punch and kick the heavy bag. She remembered the special forces sergeant telling her about Chuck. “We trained a lot as a team in hand-to-hand combat. That first time we worked hand-to-hand with Chuck as our Police Liaison was a chance for us to see what he was made of. Normally, when we got a new guy, we’d all take turns sparring with him and beating him up a little bit to see how tough he was.
"Each of the guys on the team would get a minute with Chuck. Twelve minutes. He turned that around and kicked all of our asses. Chuck pretty much beat up every Green Beret in the area over the next few weeks.
“I’ve never been hit as hard as he hit me. When he hits you, your body wants to shut down. And most of the time, he was holding back. We taught him some lethal techniques, but he really helped us develop our basic fighting skills.”
Rebecca’s training at the CIA had equipped her with some basic martial arts training. She knew she needed to stay sharp, though, so she had taken up Brazilian Jiu-Jitsu a few years before and had progressed quickly. Then she had been sent to Atlanta from Washington to head up this new project and she had not gotten back into her training.
Maybe Chuck would teach her? As she watched him work, she was amazed at his power, speed, and timing. Of course, he was only working his standup fighting skills. She wondered how he was on the ground. Did I really just think that? she thought, and laughed to herself.
“What’s so funny?” a voice asked.
She flinched and looked into Chuck’s face. How did he do that? she wondered. He’d been working on the bag and then had slipped up on her unnoticed.
“Are you a ninja?” she asked him. “I was concentrating on my run and I didn’t see you sneak up on me.”
“So, what was so funny?” he asked again.
“Nothing. I was just thinking about something.”
Can he see me blushing? Thank God she’d been running for a few minutes. That might explain why her face was red.
“Ok, well I'm going to get a shower and get to work. You aren’t mad about last night are you?” he asked.
“No, not at all.” She smiled at him. “That was very sweet of you, Chuck. Thank you for coming over and being with me. It really means a lot that you would do that. And you even made me breakfast. How could I be mad about that?"
He smiled at her. Even with the sweat pouring off his face, it was a nice smile.
Chuck started to walk away, but turned back around.
“Listen, I understand if you can’t. I mean you’re my boss and all and I don’t want to cause any problems. But, I’d love to take you out for dinner sometime. If you don’t want to, I…”
“I’d love to have dinner with you,” she interrupted him. “We'll have to be discreet but you're a ninja so that should be no problem for you.”
“So, maybe next Friday, if that's not too soon or if you don’t have anything else?” he asked.
Rebecca laughed. He was nervous and flustered and it was obvious he didn’t ask women out very often. He was definitely out of his element.
“Next Friday would be perfect.”
“That’s great. It’ll be fun!”
“Thanks for asking me, Chuck. In the meantime, can you and Eddie come to my office in half an hour? We need to talk about some things.”
“Yes, ma’am. Let me get a shower and I'll see you in a few.”
CDC HQ, Friday, 1030 hours
The meeting with Rebecca had been insightful. Whatever meltdown she had had the night before was gone. She seemed like she was back to normal. The first order of business was that she was sending Eddie and Jimmy to assist the Team One guys on their surveillance as soon as the meeting was over. When she mentioned that they were hoping that Amir al-Razi would show up, Eddie’s face lit up. Getting him would be one way that Marco’s death could be avenged.
"I have to ask, Eddie. Are you ok?"
He looked into her eyes. "I'm as good as I can be. We all know what we're dealing with and any of us could be next. Marco was good people and we're all going to miss him. I think the best thing all of us can do to honor him is to keep working hard to catch these terrorists and putting down as many of the infected as we can."
Rebecca nodded. "How’s Alejandro?"
Eddie had spoken to him on the phone earlier that morning. “He still needs a couple of days. The bruise from where that thing bit him is really deep. He said he's having trouble putting any weight on it. He's on a steady diet of ice, anti-inflammatories, and some kind of muscle cream.”
Marco’s body was going to be shipped to New York. The casket would be welded closed but his family deserved to have his body returned home for burial. Rebecca would have Alejandro accompany him since he couldn’t work for a few days, anyway. She would love to go herself but this terror threat was growing larger by the day.
Johnson then told the men that they were going to be creating two new teams in the near future. Jimmy Jones would be leading the first one and Andy Fleming would have the second one. She asked McCain and Marshall if they were comfortable with those two men being in leadership roles.
Eddie and Chuck both thought it was a great idea. Jimmy had been a captain in the Marines and had been a cop for several years. Andy had been a staff sergeant in the Marine Special Operations Command. Both men would be excellent team leaders.
The third thing was that Rebecca asked Chuck if he would review potential recruits to come and work with them. She wanted him to do the initial screening based on their files and work experience. After he compiled a good list, Eddie, Chuck, and she would talk about them together. Of course, going after and recruiting the new officers and then getting them trained might take a few months so getting started right away wa
s important.
The last item that Johnson discussed was the virus itself. The reason that they needed more teams was that the infected incidents were starting to accelerate. There were a few a day popping up on the news and in the intelligence briefing that she was sent daily.
The test results from the CDC scientists showed an ominous trend. There appeared to be three different strains of the bio-terror weapon in operation. The first one caused sickness and death within twenty-four hours. The second strain was the one that they had encountered so far. The infected person died and reanimated within twenty minutes to an hour and a half. They had no idea why it took some longer than others, other than the victim's immune system.
The third strain had been in drugs intercepted by one of the CDC Enforcement teams out of Washington, D.C. It showed a much more sophisticated virus. This new version of the “Zombie Virus,” as the press was starting to call it, had the potential to turn this into a full-blown national disaster.
They were still running tests on it but this “new and improved” version seemed to cause the person to turn much faster. It also adapted to the individual’s DNA and even boosted certain characteristics. The report that she had read said that if an older person was infected, the virus was not going to cause them to become a track star zombie (her word, not the CDC scientist’s). However, if a younger person was infected, their level of lethality was much higher. They would be able to run, jump, and would have more complicated motor skills. The virus had been tested on laboratory animals and had been scary to watch.
Amir al-Razi was looking more and more like one of the key figures in this terrorist plot, at least at the local level. His name had come up several more times in the intelligence that was sent to them. It was unknown if he and Mostafa Alamouti had been working together or not. Al-Razi's fingerprints had been found in the house that Team Two had found empty.
The latest intelligence was that something big was on the horizon. Some of the chatter that another government agency had picked up had the terrorists saying that this was going to, “make 9/11 look like a minor incident.” If they could find al-Razi, maybe they could prevent the next incident.
Eddie and Chuck walked out of Rebecca’s office shaking their heads. “This isn't getting any better, Chuck,” said Eddie. “Whatever happened to the good old days from when I was working with the Federal Marshals and just chasing cartel leaders, mafia dons and regular murderers?”
McCain laughed. “Yeah, but come on, Eddie. Did you ever think we’d be dealing with zombies?”
“No, that wasn't discussed in any of my police academy classes.”
“Can you take Andy and Scotty their rifles? They were already on their way to that stakeout when we picked them up yesterday.”
“Yeah, no problem, Chuck.”
“Luis just texted me and is back in town from babysitting the Director. He should be here soon and I'll send him out to you guys asap. I have a feeling that we may be seeing al-Razi out there. I'm going to work on this thing for Rebecca for a couple of hours and then I'll join you on the stakeout. If you need anything before that, let me know.”
Interstate 20, West of Atlanta, Friday, 1330 hours
Amir al-Razi was on his way to meet up with his Jihadi warriors near Douglasville. He had been moving from safe house to cheap hotel to safe house since those federal agents had raided one of his distribution centers. He had just gotten away before they arrived. Since then, he had been sleeping at a different location each night. Today, though, the infidels would suffer greatly.
Today would be a special day. Today was D-Day and he was going to unleash hell on the city of Atlanta. This would be jihad like the world had never seen before. He suspected that there would be similar attacks taking place in other cities around America. Surely, the Great Satan would feel the full fury of Allah’s wrath.
Amir’s responsibility was only for Atlanta but if he was successful, he was hoping he’d be given a bigger role in the war against the West. Everything was very compartmentalized but he knew his part well. He would strike a powerful blow against this city of infidels.
Over the last few weeks, well-trained martyrs had been smuggled across the border from Mexico. They had made their way to Atlanta, and if Amir was correct, to other cities as well. He had twenty-four men who had been assigned to him to strike a blow in this new war against America. These martyrs were from several Middle Eastern countries and their families had been well compensated.
These warriors had been trained in weapons, tactics, bomb-making, and hand-to-hand fighting. At the same time, they had no idea what was going to be required of them in the United States. They did not know if they would be strapping bombs to their bodies and then attacking heavily populated areas, or if they would be given an AK-47 and told to assault a crowded mall, school, or stadium. They only knew that they were expected to be warriors and martyrs in the war on America.
The twenty-four jihadists had been in different budget hotels and safe houses around the city. Now, they were all heading to another safe house near Douglasville, just off of Interstate 20. They would be split up into four teams of six men each. Each team would be given a primary target and a secondary target.
Amir’s number two man, Farouq Farhat, was already at the house prepping the martyrs. He was a loyal servant of Allah. Farouk was a Syrian who had been waging jihad all his life. He knew nothing of science or of the virus, but he knew everything about tactics and how to fight a war. He would lead one of the teams himself.
Amir would deliver the final briefing to the teams when he arrived at the safe house. The briefing would be a mixture of fact and fiction. He could not tell them the entire truth for fear that they would turn on him. No one would willingly infect themselves with the zombie virus. He would have to be very careful in how he explained the loaded syringes that each man would be given.
The warriors would all be armed with AK-47 rifles and Makarov pistols. They would each have five thirty round magazines for their rifles and three magazines for their pistols. Most importantly, however, they would each have a syringe loaded with the latest version of the virus. The jihadists would be told that this injection would give them a burst of energy and would numb them to pain so that they could continue fighting even after they were shot by responding police officers.
Their targets had been carefully selected to infect the most people. The martyrs would inject themselves before arriving at their targets. Upon arrival, they would begin engaging the infidels with their firearms and causing as much death and destruction as they possibly could. At some point, the virus would take affect and the attackers would die. If the zombie virus worked like it should, they would quickly reanimate. When that happened, they would go from being just soldiers of Allah to terror incarnate.
Amir had texted Azar Kasra thirty minutes earlier and given her the green light. Her attack inside the CDC Headquarters should cause confusion, chaos, and would hopefully draw the CDC Enforcement Officers away from looking for him. He turned the radio on in his rental car. He should be hearing something on the news about Kasra’s attack any time now.
CDC HQ, Friday, 1310 hours
Azar Kasra took the elevator to the basement of the building where the Enforcement Office was located. She was carrying a manila folder with the complete autopsy and toxicology reports from both of the incidents that the enforcement teams had been involved in. She also had some other items concealed in her clothes.
Kasra received a text from Amir a little earlier giving her the go ahead to start her attack and to do as much damage as she could at the CDC Headquarters. She understood that this order was her death sentence, yet she saw herself as a martyr. Amir had told her that her attack would signal the beginning of the Jihad in Atlanta. She was honored to be called upon to play such an important role in this war against America.
Her prayer to Allah had been two-fold. She asked to die an honorable death and she asked for the opportunity to avenge Fatemeh Alamouti's death. K
asra had checked the parking lot and confirmed that Chuck McCain's personal truck was there. Two of their issued black Suburbans were also in the lot.
She wanted to kill the woman, Rebecca Johnson, as well, but Azar felt that McCain was more dangerous. He would be her first target, if possible, and then she would kill Johnson. After that, she would take the elevator to the upper level of the CDC, where the executive offices were located. That would be where she would make her final attack.
Azar stood at the door of the Enforcement Office. Her heart was pounding. The door was locked and and there was a keypad on the wall. She had no idea what the code was. Suddenly, the door opened and an officer almost ran into her. It was one of the Hispanic ones and he was carrying a long case. The name tag on his black polo shirt showed “Luis García" and he appeared to be in a hurry.
“Oh, sorry,” he said.
Azar smiled at him and said, “Great timing. I was just about to knock. I have the final autopsy and toxicology reports that Ms. Johnson wanted.”
Normally, these reports were sent by email but it was not unusual to have one of the CDC scientists or epidemiologists come by the office. They were, after all, on the same team.
“I'm not sure she's here. I'm leaving,” García said, “but go on in and knock and see if she's in there. If not, you can just slide it under the door.”
García turned and headed for the elevator and left Kasra standing in the doorway.
McCain stared at the computer screen at the list that he had put together. He had selected twelve names out of the fifty or so files that he had gone through. Hopefully, out of those twelve they could agree on seven for the two new teams. One of the new ones would also be a replacement for Marco.
García walked by his open door carrying his rifle case. “Ok, boss, I'm heading out to the stakeout.”