Basim opened the door with a small contraption in one hand and a cell phone in the other, holding it up as Miguel did a barrel roll and came up with a gun in hand. Miguel ambled up to him, gun pointed, as people in the area scattered. He could see that the device he held in his hand was a container with piping and wiring attached, held together with duct tape .
“Gently lay the device on the ground Basim,” he shouted. “It’s all over. What do hope to achieve now?”
Basim said nothing as his eyes took in the surroundings. There were few people around him, but he could feel the slight breeze and there was a parking lot to the east that still had many cars in it. He seemed to be calculating his options; how many deaths could he inflict by hitting the activation button on the phone?
“Put the device down,” Miguel repeated as he edged closer, gun still pointing at Basim’s head.
“That’s close enough,” Basim shouted as he made a gesture with the device and his phone. “I just have to push the button on the phone and the gas will disperse.”
Miguel stopped. It was a standoff. Josh had now joined the scene and made his way behind Basim, calculating the odds of Basim being able to push the button if he shot him. It would have to be a head shot because any other shot that didn’t kill instantly would allow him to release the gas. As good a shot as he thought he was, pistols are notoriously inaccurate at other than point blank range and he hoped that Miguel came to the same conclusion.
“What do you want?” Miguel asked.
“I want free passage out of here, and a plane back to Afghanistan.”
“That’s not going to happen,” said Miguel. “How do you think you will be able to accomplish that?”
Basim thought for a while. He knew once they had a sniper in place, he was dead. Should he release the gas now and die a hero to the cause? He noticed Miguel standing upwind from him, so he would not be affected by the gas. Also, Miguel could grab the device and turn off the gas before it did much damage. The small amount released would quickly be diluted in the air before it did any serious damage.
Miguel watched as Josh crept up behind Basim. Basim’s attention was now focused on the man in front of him, but his peripheral vision noticed something to the side and he turned around, just as Josh launched himself at him, grabbing for the phone. Basim instinctively pressed the button and dropped the device. A cloud of vapour emanated with a loud hiss as it clattered to the pavement. Josh tackled Basim to the ground just as Miguel lunged for the device, grabbed it and shut off the gas.
“Jesus Christ!” said Josh, realising that Miguel would be exposed to the Sarin. Basim lay prone on the ground with Josh on top as he placed the handcuffs on him. He pulled him to his feet and handed over his prisoner to a policeman standing nearby. He looked inside the car for the other device. It was sitting on the passenger seat and it had been activated as well when Basim pushed the button. The vehicle was filling up with the vapourized Sarin and it was fortunate that the windows were closed. However, vehicles are not air tight and Josh immediately started clearing everyone from the area.
Josh clicked his radio. “We need an ambulance over here on the double. Braesmain Drive entrance to Target store. There’s also been a release of gas now being contained in a car, so we want the hazmat team here too.” He then ran over to Miguel, who was sitting on the ground.
“Are you OK?” he asked. “Thought I could get to the phone and grab it away from him before he activated the gas. How are you feeling?”
“My eyes are itching,” he said. Josh saw that he sweated profusely and was drooling, signs of Sarin exposure.
“Hang in there. You’ve been exposed to the gas. Medics will be here soon. We need to get away from here though. The other device was triggered, and the car is full of gas.”
Josh lifted Miguel up and placed one of his arms over his shoulder as they both moved away from, and upwind of, the SUV. Miguel heard sirens as emergency vehicles approached. An ambulance with pulsating red and white lights turned into the parking lot and screeched to a stop. A man and a woman with a gurney ran through the gathering crowd and knelt beside Miguel. While the woman took his vitals, the man administered an auto-injector Sarin antidote of atropine at 2 mg IM (intra-muscular) and 600 mg of pralidoxime chloride.
“Any nausea or abdominal pain?” the EMS attendant asked.
“No,” said Miguel, “but my eyes are really itchy.”
“That’s OK,” he said. “I think you have had a mild exposure to the gas. Let’s get you to the hospital as quickly as possible.”
Josh overheard the attendant and said, “I have a police chopper over there in the parking lot.”
“Great,” he said. “We need to get him into a shower quickly and give him a good scrub down to remove any traces of Sarin on the skin.”
The attendants manoeuvred the gurney over to the waiting helicopter and the attendant asked Miguel: “Are you OK to stand? ”
“Sure.”
They assisted him off the gurney and Miguel rather shakily walked the few steps to the chopper and climbed in.
“Nice job Miguel,” Josh said.
“Thanks. I’d like to get my golf shirt back, this thing stinks.”
“If we can find the panhandler,” Josh laughed briefly, then his face turned grim.
“That was a pretty brave thing to do,” said Josh.
“Yeah, it was,” said Miguel. “Seemed like a good idea at the time.”
The male medic climbed in beside Miguel and called to the pilot, “Hermann Memorial—they have a heliport.” He turned to Josh and Miguel. “They have an adult Level 1 trauma centre, the only one in Houston and it isn’t very far.”
The attendant said to Miguel, “You must remove your clothes and stuff them in this plastic bag.” He removed a bag from his kit and handed it to Miguel. “Then put this on,” he said as he handed him a hospital gown. Miguel was glad to be rid of the sweat-soaked shirt.
The helicopter’s rotors spun up, and it lifted from the ground, spewing dust and debris in the parking lot, then tilted forward and headed for the hospital campus a short distance from the NRG Stadium. The EMS attendant used a portable eyewash on Miguel to ease the effects of the Sarin. Within two minutes, the helicopter hovered over the pad on the hospital’s roof. Several medics stood by with a gurney to receive the patient as the chopper settled down on the concrete pad. They rushed Miguel to a shower room and scrubbed him clean, then into an emergency room to be treated for Sarin poisoning.
Josh waited patiently outside the trauma centre for news of Miguel’s condition. After about thirty minutes, Jimmy, Alberto, Alex, and Maria came into the waiting room, sharing gloomy looks as they approached Josh.
“How is he?” Alberto asked.
“Not sure yet,” said Josh. “He did get exposed to the Sarin and they are now treating him for it. Haven’t heard anything since they took him in.”
Twenty Eight
Masses of police, ambulances and hazmat vehicles descended on the scene at the cordoned off intersection. A pair of men in level A hazmat suits picked up the dropped device and loaded it into a container with the others and sealed it. As for the SUV, they called in a heavy-lift helicopter to haul it out of there and ferry it to the ocean and dump it 50 mi. offshore. While they awaited the helicopter, they evacuated the whole area for a 500 yard radius, as the down-wash of the rotors would spread any escaped gas. People unable to evacuate the area in their vehicle due to the gridlock, were asked to leave on foot once police moved vehicles to the side of the road to allow the passage of first responders. Local police handed Basim over to the FBI, who whisked him to the local headquarters for ‘questioning’.
For all intents and purposes the danger was over, but any loose ends needed assessing in order to wrap things up.
The adrenaline rush from the actions and the exposure to the gas took Miguel’s mind off Anna and Enrique, but now the horrible reality of it flooded back as he lay in the hospital bed connected by a multitude
of wires and tubes to an array of medical instruments monitoring him and feeding vital fluids. He still awaited a report from the attending physician on his condition. Miguel had done research on Sarin and its effects after he realized there might be a danger of exposure, but wasn’t aware of any long-term effects. He thought about Anna and how difficult adjusting to life without her would be. Enrique too, who only recently came into his life, then so tragically taken away. He felt sorry for himself, a condition often experienced when faced with trauma. The Sarin caused his eyes to water that tended to hide tears that now flowed. He sobbed quietly to himself, a long overdue reaction since losing his family. Within a few minutes, he drifted off to sleep.
Josh and the team waited another hour before a person in green scrubs approached them .
“Josh?” he said.
“Here,” said Josh as he stood. The others stood also, eager to hear the news of their friend and comrade.
“I’m Dr. Campbell, the attending physician to Miguel Diaz. Thankfully, he was exposed to only a mild dose of Sarin gas and we see no reason why he shouldn’t make a full recovery.”
“That’s great news,” said Josh. “Can we visit him?”
“He is sleeping now, so maybe in a couple of hours. The exposure has caused a substantial trauma to the body, and the medications will cause him to be drowsy for a while. Sarin is a nerve agent that attacks the central nervous system similar to how organophosphate insecticides do. He is on a gradual dose of Atropine.”
“So,” asked Alberto, “how does Sarin affect the system?”
“Essentially, when the body is working normally, a neurotransmitter called acetylcholine moves between nerves to carry signals. Once the acetylcholine does its job, an enzyme shows up to break it down. Nerve agents destroy that enzyme. Acetylcholine builds up and continues to make the nerves connect over and over again. Atropine, on the other hand, blocks the acetylcholine receptor. So even if there’s a huge buildup of acetylcholine between the nerves, the connection never happens.”
The group looked at each other, totally befuddled.
“I see,” said Alberto, but really didn’t.
“When will he be out of the hospital?” asked Maria.
“Hopefully, within a week. We have to take blood samples continually to make sure that all the toxin is removed from his body.”
“Thanks Doc,” said Alberto. “We’ll be back later to see him.”
They left the floor to get something to eat in the hospital’s cafeteria.
“I just hope he’s OK,” said Maria. “Seems the guy can’t catch a break, after just losing his family.”
The group sat around somewhat sombrely until Josh said, “I need to get back to HQ and tie up the loose ends. Let me know how he is when you see him. Tell him I’ll be by later.”
“Sure thing,” said Alberto.
* * * *
After two hours, the team returned to Miguel’s floor and asked at the nursing counter if they could visit him.
“Yes,” the attractive African-American attendant said. “He’s in room 4006. Just follow the yellow band on the floor.”
“Thanks,” said Maria.
“Shouldn’t we be bringing something?” Alex asked. “Flowers, chocolates or whatever?”
“When he’s feeling better and able to appreciate them,” responded Maria.
They passed empty gurneys in the hall as they checked each room number.
“Here it is,” said Maria as she knocked and entered, not waiting for an answer. She drew in a breath as she looked upon the man lying in the bed. He had reams of tubes and wires attached to him and several machines showing various outputs to his monitored systems. He had undergone an endotracheal intubation and a large tube emanated from his mouth. An IV was attached to his arm.
“Oh, Miguel,” she whispered as she walked to the bedside, followed by the others. She took his hand in hers and Miguel stirred, opening his bloodshot eyes slowly and looking at her.
“Hey,” she said.
Miguel gave her hand an affectionate squeeze. He looked beyond her at the other team members. Alberto and Jimmy walked to the other side of the bed.
“Hey buddy,” Alberto said. “Everyone owes you a debt of gratitude for what you did. There are no reported cases of Sarin exposure other than you. Basim is in FBI’s custody and being interrogated. We don’t think there are any more tentacles to the operation.”
Miguel nodded and held up his other hand to Alberto. He took the hand and gave it a squeeze. Jimmy moved in and sought Miguel’s hand and also gave it a buddy shake. Alex stood at the end of the bed and gave a mock salute.
“You’re the man,” he said.
Miguel managed a forced smile around the tube on his mouth.
“Josh said he will come by to see you soon,” said Alberto. “He had to get back to HQ to finish up some reports.”
The team spent a few more minutes with Miguel but it was obvious that it was tiring to him, so they left to allow him the rest he needed. Alberto had received a text message from Josh asking them to drop by the FBI HQ for debriefing, so they headed over there.
Josh, Melinda, Assistant Director Gordon Parsley, and Director Gerald McLachlan conducted debriefing sessions and asked to debrief each of the CI team members individually to make sure responses were spontaneous and not rehearsed. This was normal procedure for debriefings so any answers aren’t ‘coloured’ by events or statements previously made by other respondents. Alberto was first to be questioned, being the designated team’s leader. Alex was next as he had significant information on the technical issues related to the incident, followed by Maria and then Jimmy. They would debrief Miguel after his discharge from the hospital.
* * * *
Basim sat in an interrogation room, shackled to loops on the table, pondering the whole mess and the failure of the operation. Wasn’t Allah with us? Why had He let the infidels win? What should have been a momentous occasion for persecuted Muslims turned out to be a celebrated victory for the infidels. He just couldn’t understand it all as he hung his head. He wished now he had martyred himself—what was the point of living now? To spend the rest of his life in prison?
The door opened and two men walked in. They sat down on the other side of the table, and one of them dropped a file on the surface. Basim looked at each one in turn. Here it comes , he thought to himself. The interrogation . Like most operatives, he had taken the interrogation resistance training and was prepared for it. He was determined not to give the infidels any valuable information. Just tell them what they already know , was what they taught him. He wasn’t aware of any other operations, anyway.
“Mr. Al-Quereshi,” he said. “My name is Josh Masters. I am with the FBI Houston office. This is Gordon Parsley, Assistant Director of the FBI and Chief of Terrorist Activities. Naturally, we have a few questions for you and we hope you see fit to answer them.”
“I have nothing to say to you,” said Basim and spat on the table.
The two men ignored the rebuke and Josh opened the file. He drew out a series of photos and laid them on the table .
“Can you identify any of these men?” Josh asked.
Basim did not even look at the photos, moving his eyes everywhere but at the table.
“We can do this the easy way or the hard way. Your choice.”
Basim said nothing.
Gordon leaned forward and spoke. “As I am sure you are aware, this is not the first time we have been in this position. No, we are not about to threaten you by pulling fingernails and giving electric shock treatments. That is for barbaric amateurs and, to do so, would degrade us to their level. I know you think you have a worthy cause—it’s a reaction to the brainwashing techniques used by misguided Muslims who want to push their idea of Islam onto all Muslims. Problem is, except for a minority, they just don’t want it. We are not invading your countries as you claim. We are merely there to protect the rights and freedoms of those who see through the rhetoric touted by your radica
lized groups and allow them to follow a path of their own choosing.”
“You tempt others by your wicked ways that are counter to that taught by God. Yes, people appreciate the joys of money, and the freedom to partake in illicit behaviour. Only by following the behaviour set out by Mohammad in the Qur’an can one find true satisfaction and move into the afterlife.”
“You’re full of shit!” said Josh and gathered up the photos and put them back in the file. “We’re not going to get anywhere here today.” He got up and Gordon followed suit. Basim was proud that he was able to deflect the interrogation, but realized it was only the first round, and they will be back.
Shortly thereafter, a uniformed officer came into the room and undid the shackles from the loop and closed them around his wrist. He added ankle shackles linked to the handcuffs by chains. He shuffled out of the room at the direction of the officer who led him down a long corridor. At the end, another officer stood next to an open iron-barred gate through which Basim was ushered. There were several steel doors leading off of the corridor and the guard called out number 7 and a door next to them slid open. The guard removed the shackles and gestured for Basim to enter the cell that was about 10' by 12' with a stainless-steel combination sink/toilet and a cot-style bed. The door slid shut after he entered, and he sat down on the bed. He wondered what had happened to his other cohorts, especially Omar and Kadar. No doubt they would receive much the same treatment as he did and hopefully respond in much the same manner.
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