Mind Virus

by Charles Kowalski

  TJ collapsed back into his chair, breathing hard.

  This was the moment. His rant had left him exhausted and depleted his blood sugar. His energy, and his resistance, would be at a low ebb. And by listening to him, Fox had created in him a subconscious sense of indebtedness—“transference,” the psychologists called it. If TJ was ever going to give up any useful information, it would be now.

  But how, Fox wondered, to make the best use of this chance? Which line of questioning to pursue? Police interrogation was backward-looking, with the goal of solving a past crime. Military interrogation was forward-looking, with the goal of planning a future strategy. The two called for different approaches, and Fox felt he was being offered the opportunity either to find justice for Thom or thwart the next attack, but not both.

  Fox sat back in the chair, closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and tried to clear his mind.

  Robin, he thought he could hear a familiar voice say. Don’t worry about me. As hard as it may be to believe sometimes, we live in a moral universe. One way or another, justice will be served. Leave the affairs of the dead to the next world. Focus on protecting the living in this one.

  He opened his eyes and returned his attention to TJ.

  “So what’s next? A bomb in the National Cathedral?”

  TJ shook his head. “The cathedrals can stay. There are some brilliant works of architecture among them, it’s just too bad that all that genius had to be forced to serve stupidity. One of these days, they can all be turned into museums, just like Auschwitz—to remind us of the evil we left behind.”

  “So how do you go about eradicating a virus of the mind? In the physical world, you do it by vaccination. But in this case…”

  “The only vaccine against this virus is reason,” TJ finished for him. “And they haven’t yet found a way to put that into injectable form.”

  “So what does that leave you?”

  “Fortunately, we found a cure that can transmit itself along the same vectors as the virus: through families and religious institutions. All we have to do is introduce it into the main viral reservoirs, and it will do the rest of the work for us.”

  “What do you mean by ‘the main viral reservoirs’?”

  He gave Fox a long look, with the hint of a smug smile. “That will be revealed if you look in the book that contains all revelations.”

  “Are you referring to the Bible?”

  He nodded.

  “Where?”

  “Seek and ye shall find.”

  “Damn it, TJ, if you keep playing games with us…”

  “I’m not playing games. There may be a clue in the Bible. If there is, I wasn’t the one who put it there.”

  “Who was?”

  He gave Fox a defiant look. “I—invoke—my—right—of—silence.”

  And no further questions got a reply from him.

  “Very well,” Fox finally said as he stood up to leave. “Oh, and that whole business about American Sharia State, or should I say ASS? I suppose you were trying to incite a wave of religious violence across the country? Set Christians against Muslims, hoping they would kill one another off and save you the trouble? Something like that?”

  TJ kept silent, but his smirk returned.

  “Well, I have just one thing to say to you,” Fox went on. “You underestimated America.”

  ...

  “He said that there might be a clue in the Bible,” Fox told Adler and Kato in the conference room.

  Kato sighed. “The Bureau has been over that thing countless times. They’ve dusted it for fingerprints, looked at each page under ultraviolet light…”

  “Has anyone actually tried reading it?”

  She shrugged. “If you want to, go ahead. Let me know if, by some miracle, you find anything we missed.”

  “I will. And next time you’re in touch with Scotland Yard, you might want to pass on the description we gave you of the suspect in Thom DiDio’s murder. Something tells me they might have better luck with it than we did.”

  Kato brought an evidence bag, opened it, and took out the Bible. Fox signed the chain-of-custody form, put on the gloves she provided, and began to turn the pages, looking carefully at every line for anything out of the ordinary.

  Genesis. The Creation. Adam and Eve. Cain and Abel. The Flood. The Tower of Babel. The calling of Abraham. Sodom and Gomorrah. Abraham and Isaac. Esau and Jacob. Joseph and the misadventures that led him to Pharaoh’s court, the story that Reverend Hill had chosen for his Palm Sunday sermon.

  Exodus. The exile in Egypt. The birth of Moses. The burning bush. Moses before Pharaoh. The ten plagues.

  And then, there it was.

  A black dot, so small that it could easily be overlooked, or mistaken for a stray drop of printer’s ink. It appeared under the number 4 that began the fourth verse of Exodus 13:

  This day came ye out in the month of Abib.

  9

  WASHINGTON, D.C.

  WEDNESDAY, APRIL 1

  At first, America wondered aloud whether this was someone’s idea of an April Fool’s joke. But as the news outlets went on repeating the story of TJ’s confession, the reality began to take hold on the national consciousness: as improbable as it sounded, it was true.

  The atheist community braced for a backlash. Already, the owner of a car with a Flying Spaghetti Monster emblem had emerged from a Chevy Chase supermarket to find her windshield covered in tomato sauce. To forestall any worse, the Metro Police had shifted their round-the-clock watch to USAtheists’ Washington headquarters. Demonstrators marched outside the building, waving placards with messages like Believe it or not, you will be judged!

  The president of USAtheists took his place in front of the cameras once again, looking markedly more subdued. “We unequivocally condemn those who hijacked the name of reason to commit this irrational act. By definition, no one who harms another human being can call himself a humanist. We mourn with our city, and our thoughts are with the victims and their families.” Fox almost felt sorry for him, left without recourse even to the standard platitude of “…and prayers.”

  The group’s website had a new page of tips to help its members survive the sudden turn of the tide. “Remove bumper stickers and other identifying insignia from cars. Dress inconspicuously; avoid any clothing with provocative slogans such as ‘My Dinosaur Ate Your Jesus Fish.’ Do not, under any circumstances, attempt to carry books by Christopher Hitchens or Sam Harris through airport security.”

  Fox switched off the news, went to campus, and muddled through his classes on autopilot, as a separate compartment in his mind constantly churned over the verse.

  This day: The first day of Passover.

  Came ye out: The Israelites emerging from their captivity in Egypt.

  The whole first half of Exodus 13 dealt with the institution of the Passover tradition. If this was the meaning of the passage, they would have to work fast. Passover would begin at sundown on Friday.

  But if that was the message, then why not start at the beginning of the passage? Why verse 4, in particular?

  In the month of Abib.

  When he finally had a free moment in his office, he looked up the Hebrew word abib. It referred to a stage in the growth of barley, when the seeds were fully grown but not yet dry. The time of year when it generally reached that stage, early spring, was the first month in the Jewish liturgical calendar. The King James Version transliterated it as abib, but more modern translations rendered it as aviv. It could also be used in a general sense for “springtime,” and had that meaning in modern Hebrew, as in the city named “Spring Hill”—

  Tel Aviv.

  He grabbed his phone and called Adler.

  “John, I think I’ve figured it out.”

  “Let me hear it.”

  “The passage is talking about the institution of Passover. And abib, in modern Hebrew, is aviv. I’m betting that the next attack is planned for the Passover holiday, in Tel Aviv.”

  There was a p
ause at the other end. “If you’re right, that still covers a lot of ground. Do you have any more specific ideas about when and where?”

  Fox was asking himself the same question. The seder, the Passover feast, was traditionally observed at home. There would be no large-scale event equivalent to the Awaken America! rally, with tens of thousands of believers packed into an enclosed space.

  “I’m working on that. But in the meantime, you’ll make sure the Israeli authorities are warned?”

  “Of course.”

  “And as long as you’ve got them on the phone, could you give them a message from me?”

  “What message?”

  “If this intel proves actionable, they’ll owe the States a big favor. And we’ve just found out—no thanks to the CIA, by the way—that Leila Halabi is being held in administrative detention at HaSharon Prison. The United States Peace Research Institute urgently requests her immediate release.”

  “I’ll see what I can do.”

  “John, the last time you said that, the results didn’t impress me much. I didn’t ask you to see what you could do. I asked you to get her out of there.”

  Adler sighed into the receiver. “Robin, I only wish I had as much clout with Israeli intelligence as you seem to think I have. But I’ll pass on your request.”

  “Thanks.”

  Fox disconnected him, and then dialed another number. There was someone else who needed to be warned.

  He called Emily’s cell phone. When it failed to ring, he called USPRI.

  “Good afternoon, United States Peace Research Institute, how may I direct your call?”

  “Hello, Rachel. This is Robin Fox.”

  “Oh, hi, Robin! How are you doing?”

  “All right, and you?”

  Then he bit his tongue, but too late. Those last two polite monosyllables had just slipped out, in violation of one of the cardinal commandments of USPRI: Thou shalt not give Rachel an opening if thou art in a hurry.

  “Oh, man, you’d never believe what happened to me this morning! I was doing my yoga, and I was in the Pincha Mayurasana, the peacock pose, with my hands on the floor and my feet in the air, and this bee flies in through the window and gets right up my top! I panicked and fell out of the pose, and the little devil stung me! Right in the…”

  “Ouch!” He had no need to know which part of Rachel’s yoga-sculpted body the bee had selected as its target. “Are you all right?”

  “Oh, yeah. I did Reiki on it, and after about fifteen minutes, the pain and swelling were completely gone. You know, you really ought to get yourself attuned. I’m always amazed at how well it works, like that time when…”

  “Rachel, I’m sorry to cut you off, but I’m afraid this is urgent. Is Emily there, by any chance?”

  “Emily? She’s on her way to Israel.”

  The bottom fell out of Fox’s stomach. “She’s left already?”

  “Yeah, she left early this morning. This close to Passover, the only itinerary we could get for her was a wicked long one via Montreal and Frankfurt. Twenty-five hours and three different airlines. Brutal. The only time I’ve seen worse was back when we needed to get Miriam to Amman and there were no flights through Europe because of the volcanic ash cloud from Iceland. Three days stuck at the airport, and she couldn’t even claim her baggage!”

  “Right, I remember that.” Fox was trying to think of a strategy to get off the phone politely, but something brought him up short.

  “What did you just say?”

  “I said, she couldn’t claim her baggage! She had to manage only with what was in her carry-on. Man, I’d go crazy! Can you imagine going three days without even being able to change your…”

  “I wouldn’t even want to try. Thanks, Rachel.”

  He hung up and called Adler back.

  “Adler here.”

  “Ben-Gurion Airport.”

  There was a pause, followed by a scoff. “Are you kidding? No terror attempt against Ben-Gurion has ever succeeded. Security there is the tightest of any airport in the world. Their passenger screening makes TSA look like ushers in a church. And checked luggage has to go through X-ray machines, compression chambers…”

  “I know,” Fox interrupted him. “But all that is for outbound passengers. What about inbound?”

  There was another pause, then: “How would you get a device like that onto an inbound flight? There’s no way you could carry it through security, in just about any airport in the world these days. And if you tried to carry it in checked luggage, Israeli customs would catch it at the other end.”

  “Exactly. Which is why your best bet would be to activate the device after you claimed your checked luggage, but before you got to the customs inspector. In other words, the baggage claim area.”

  There was silence at Adler’s end.

  “Not as dramatic as the Twin Towers, maybe,” Fox went on, “but it would get the job done. They would start at a small airport, where security screening for checked luggage isn’t too tight. Then, once they got to Tel Aviv, they would activate the device and leave it there, in the one part of the airport where an unattended bag wouldn’t draw immediate suspicion. An enclosed space, packed with tourists and pilgrims from all over the world. What better target?”

  There was a long silence. Finally, Adler said, “You might be on to something. I’ll update the Israelis. Oh, speaking of which, the Brits have given us a lead for Thom DiDio’s killer.”

  “Yes?”

  “Kenneth Oldman, better known as the ‘Portsmouth Poisoner.’ Everywhere he worked, his co-workers got sick with strange symptoms, sometimes fatally. Fifteen years in prison, intensive treatment at the psych rehab center in Grendon, and just released this year.”

  “I guess the treatment didn’t work as well as they thought. Well, now that we have an idea who he is, do we have any more of an idea where he is?”

  “Not yet, but I’ll let you know as soon as I hear anything.”

  “Please.”

  After hanging up, he sent an e-mail to Emily, and called her husband’s office.

  “Hello, you’ve reached the office of Representative Frederick Paxton.”

  “This is Robin Fox from USPRI. I need to send an urgent message to the Congressman.”

  “I’m sorry, the Congressman is away on a congressional delegation until…”

  “I know, but this is an emergency. His wife is in danger.”

  There was a pause at the other end. “Okay, sir, if you’ll leave your name and number, I’ll pass your message on to the Congressman.”

  Fox did as requested, feeling like a castaway rolling a message into a bottle and setting it adrift. He hung up, and took a deep cleansing breath in an unsuccessful attempt to slow the pounding of his heart.

  Emily had been warned of the danger.

  Assuming, of course, that she would have the chance to check e-mail before she landed in Tel Aviv.

  Adler was going to notify Israeli intelligence. They would have everything under control.

  She had a long flight, with two layovers. It would be theoretically possible to leave after her and still arrive before her.

  And do what? He couldn’t even be sure his hypothesis was correct.

  He ran a search for flights from Washington to Tel Aviv. Purely for purposes of academic research.

  His work was here, in Washington. He could serve her and everyone else best by staying and working with the HIG to uncover the rest of the network. To say nothing of his classes, for which his preparation had become increasingly slapdash since Adler came into his life.

  The most direct flight would take off from Washington that evening, with one stop in Newark, and land in Tel Aviv thirteen hours later.

  Without knowing exactly how it got there, he found the telephone receiver in his hand. He caught the fingers of the other hand in the act of dialing a number.

  This was ridiculous.

  “Good afternoon, thank you for calling Top Flight Travel. This is Jenny. How
can I help you today?”

  He heard a voice that sounded remarkably similar to his own, saying: “Hello, this is Robin Fox. I’m wondering if it’s possible to make a last-minute booking for the United flight from Washington to Tel Aviv via Newark, leaving tonight.” He glanced at his computer screen, and gave her the flight number.

  What did he expect to do that the Israeli security forces couldn’t? Who the hell did he think he was, a knight in shining armor riding off to rescue a damsel in distress?

  “Please hold for a moment while I check availability.”

  It was two days before the start of Passover. If there were any vacant seats on any route to Israel at all, it would be a miracle. If there was one on this flight, it would be an unmistakable sign from the Universe that this was his divinely appointed mission.

  “Thank you for waiting, Mr. Fox. I’m sorry, that flight is fully booked…”

  There he had it. The Universe had spoken.

  “…in economy class,” she went on. “But there’s been a cancellation in business class.”

  He looked at the fare listed on the screen and did some mental multiplication. Somehow he doubted that Adler would take it kindly if he sent him the bill.

  He opened his mouth to say something like, “Okay, I knew it was a long shot, but thanks for checking anyway.”

  The words that actually came out were:

  “I’d like to reserve it, please.”

  THE SECOND BOOK

  10

  TEL AVIV

  THURSDAY, APRIL 2

  The one time in Fox’s life that he flew business class at his own expense, and he was utterly unable to enjoy it.

  Smiling flight attendants served him grilled sea bass on a china plate, but with his stomach feeling as agitated as his mind, all he could do was hope the next patch of turbulence wouldn’t propel the award-winning chefs’ creations directly into an airsickness bag. He averted his eyes every time the sommeliers came by, not daring to risk being less than fully alert when he landed. He stretched out in his reclining seat and tried to sleep, and when that failed, he brought it upright again and tried to meditate. But he ended up spending most of the journey with his eyes on the flight map, watching the dashed line ahead give way to the solid line behind with agonizing slowness.