Element 94

by Kleiner Jeffries

  The scientist found himself in a familiar situation. It was 11 PM and Leo was alone in his lab. This was his most productive time, away from the bustle of the day's activity, away from all the administrative duties that took up so much time for someone running their own lab. He was standing by the workbench, trying once more to make sense of the readings from the cyclotron. He had used the massive device to bombard his sample with radioactive particles. The results of that bombardment had flummoxed the scientist for the last 2 days. He just couldn't believe what he was seeing. This was amazing, he thought. He moved to his desk, took a seat and gathered his thoughts. What was going on here? He asked himself.

  Leo decided to make a mental note of the hard facts he had uncovered about the material, and how this fit within the truisms he knew pertaining to chemistry and physics. A more coherent picture was beginning to unfold, but he still had much to do. It would have to wait until morning. He gathered his things and left. Locking the door to the lab, Leo was startled to hear footsteps down the hall to his left. It was Babukar.

  "What're you still doing here?" he asked the gentle African. Before he could get an answer, he saw a second man appear behind the custodian, this one leveling a gun in his direction.

  "Look out!" he yelled to Babukar. Just after he blurted out the warning, a shot rang out.

  Leo instinctively ran down the hall and turned left at the fork. He needed to make it to the stairwell. That was his only hope for escape. He looked down to make sure he wasn’t injured. He felt no discomfort, but had often heard stories of mortal bullet wounds that went undiagnosed due to lack of pain. A quick survey revealed no evidence of trauma. But what about Babukar?

  He heard footsteps from where he came; someone was chasing him. He thought he could make out a second pair of distinct sounds – both men were running in his direction. Babukar was being chased by some lunatic who had penetrated the building!

  He could feel the adrenaline course through his veins, his heart rate skyrocketing. The man with the gun would never be able to catch him. Should he go back and help Babukar? He wasn’t quite sure if the African would manage to evade the attacker. No, he decided; what help would he possibly be facing a man with a gun.

  Leo turned around and opened the door to the staircase. Before he could close the door behind him, a voice called out. It was Babukar.

  "Doctor, stop". Leo looked over his shoulder. He was staring into the barrel of a handgun.

  "Doctor, I will shoot" the African barked.

  "Babukar?", Leo muttered in disbelief. He had known the man for some time now. What the hell was going on?

  "Doctor, I'm sorry. I need to get into your laboratory"

  Just then, the second man arrived, a large Caucasian thick as a tree trunk, Leo analogized. The two spoke in a language Leo didn't understand. It sounded like Arabic. The two gun-wielding men seemed to be arguing over something. Leo thought about using the opening to make his escape, but was frozen with fear. Apparently his assailants were thinking the same thing, as they dropped their quarrel and grew quiet.

  "Don't even think about it", said the tree trunk in a broken English. Leo felt a chill running down his spine. Something in the man's manner told him this one had killed before, and would not hesitate to do so again. Babukar looked at the Chechen, and now leveled his own gun away from Leo and at the gargantuan man.

  "What did I tell you", Babukar said firmly.

  Yuri smiled and backed down. He could see the Sayf Udeen spy had grown soft in his long years as an undercover mole, but would defer for the moment. At the end of the day, however, if this Babukar did not take care of business, then he would.

  Babukar now turned his attention back to Leo. His voice betrayed a glimmer of sorrow as he spoke.

  "Your life will be spared. But I do need to get into that lab doctor"

  Leo was paralyzed with fear, and found it difficult to speak. Marshalling his composure, he finally found his voice.

  "Babukar, why don't you just take the keys". Leo would try and reason with the man.

  "No, that won't do doctor. I need you to come with me"

  Shit, thought Leo. Why wouldn't they just take the key and let him go? What could he possibly have gotten himself into?

  "But didn't you say I could go"? Leo pleaded

  "No, I said you wouldn't be killed. Now come with me."

  "Come. Now", added the large Chechen

  Leo hesitated. His instinct told him he couldn't trust these two. If he didn't make his escape now, all hope would be lost. But what could he do? He just didn't have it in him.

  Submissively, Leo walked back down the hall, turned the corner to the lab, and took out his keys. A gun was pressed against his back, reminding him of the futility of escape. He turned the knob. He felt a calm overtake him now. He gathered his senses.

  "Babukar, you'll need me to interpret those notes, no?"

  "Not really doctor. But I am curious what exactly you found". So it was about this mysterious and incredible specimen that Leo had been working on. But what use was it to these criminals? Surely they would need him to interpret the findings. He figured he was to be taken captive, interrogated. He needed to leave behind some clue, something to alert the authorities of the identity of the perpetrators involved in his abduction, so he might later be rescued. There was little time; as soon as he told his captors what they needed to know, he would surely be killed.

  "Babukar", Leo said as he fumbled with the lock. "I'll tell you what you want to know. But what guarantee do I have you'll then spare my life."

  "You have none. But if we wanted you dead, we would have already killed you. My colleague here wanted to do just that."

  "And why didn’t you?" Leo asked bravely.

  "Because I like you my friend. But now you must do exactly as you’re told"

  Leo ignored the command. He was still terrified, but unflappable.

  "So you think you can interpret my notes then Babukar?"

  Ignoring Leo’s query, an irate Babukar now barked "I spared your life once already doctor. Now shut up and do as I say!"

  Leo had never heard the man speak like this before, but remained undaunted. "Okay, but I need some assurance. I’ll tell you what you need to know, but I want to know.." Leo couldn’t finish the sentence, as he was abruptly cut off.

  "Leo, who do you think you're dealing with! There's nothing you know that we don't, my good friend. Now open this god damn door!"

  "Huh?" Could Leo have been wrong in his reasoning? Was Babukar telling the truth? If these people really knew what he had discovered, then why were they here?

  To get rid of the evidence, Leo concluded correctly. But that meant only one thing. He was part of that evidence!

  His only chance of survival, Leo reasoned, would be to escape. He would have to try, somehow, someway. His mind raced. How the hell was he going to get away? He figured they wanted him alive to bypass any security system that might be inside the lab. But he hadn't activated the alarm in years! He wasn't even sure if it still worked. But wouldn't Babukar have known that? Perhaps not…but he must not open that door. If he did, they would soon know the alarm was inactive. The only currency he had to bargain for his life was safe access to that laboratory. Once inside, why keep him alive? But what choice did he have?

  The gun pressed firmly against his back gave him the answer. Absolutely none.

  Chapter 6

  Nearly a week had gone by since the discovery of the ship, and Kelly wasn’t any closer to solving the riddle of the nuclear breach. The investigation of the exploding cargo vessel was still ongoing, but Kelly decided he was no longer needed on the scene. Mack was still in New York overseeing the investigation, but he too would be relocating back to the Washington, D.C. area. Kelly wanted his core unit located centrally, rededicating his resources to solve the most pressing issue – the location of the 3 unconventionals presumed in their midst. The other matters, however interrelated, were now secondary.

  The single mos
t important item on the CIA agenda was figuring out how radioactive material had slipped through their defenses. The consensus among his experts was the devices were not yet weaponized. It would have been beyond a reasonable doubt to expect the submersion and rapid mobility of something on a scale of a functional warhead. Just the added electronics and conventional trigger would have amassed to more than what was functionally portable without specialized equipment. That assumption – which they all hoped was correct - afforded some small glimmer of hope, as there might still be time to fend off an assault before a nuclear device could be assembled. But first, they had to find the devices; and to do that, they had to uncover how the material had breached their perimeter.

  Why had RDS not picked up on the radioactive signal? The STAT group had made only limited progress in their analysis of the contamination around the annihilated freighter. An independent source to which he had directed a sample of the contaminant was also looking into the matter, but Kelly as yet had no idea how the scientist was progressing with the analysis. Even if they could uncover the nature of the material, and understand how their defenses had been evaded, it was still a far cry from being able to upgrade their systems to detect the threat. Kelly was also wrestling with the issue of whether or not to alert the new scientist, this Leo Koval, as to the magnitude and importance of the specimen. He did not want to disclose the origin and circumstances of the contaminant, lest he divulge classified information. There was also an issue of safety here, for Kelly knew his opponents had eyes and ears in what seemed to be the most sensitive of places. It was best to see what the scientist could uncover first before recruiting the civilian in to the dangerous world of intelligence; a world in which this scientist might not be comfortable and one in which he might not belong.

  As the precious hours and days passed with little progress in the investigation, Kelly was beginning to fear the worst. Between the contamination they had discovered, and the message from their captured operative, there was little doubt the threat was real. And it did not seem as if RDS would ever be upgraded in time to detect the nuclear threat which now hovered over them like a giant mushroom cloud. He would have to rely increasingly on human rather than technological intelligence gathering. But as of the present moment, the trail of the three missing devices was ice cold.

  About the only encouraging news Kelly received of late was the forensics report from the investigation of the ship that had been used to smuggle the radiological material. DNA analysis of the splattered blood on the ceiling had confirmed the blood was not that of one of their missing operatives, but rather belonging to a man by the name of Russell Bellow. A background check revealed this person to be a loner, with little family, who had of late made a living utilizing his seamanship skills as a captain for hire. Apparently, this had ultimately involved the bystander with this terrorist element with which they were now contending. His working hypothesis was that Bellow was an innocent bystander caught in the crosshairs of a massive operation against the United States, and unfortunately paid the ultimate price with his life.

  As for the blood on the floor, that was another matter; it belonged to a second individual – C.J. Muzzonigro. It occurred to Kelly that C.J. had probably witnessed the slaughter of this Russell Bellow as a method of intimidation. It also occurred to the savvy chief that his operative was still probably alive. C.J. was trained to successfully navigate such interrogations, and the evidence did appear to support some effort at eliciting information from the captured operative. Physical evidence had placed the time of the deposition of the bloodstain on the floor less than a day prior to finding the ship – a simple conclusion derived from an examination of the level of oxidation of the retrieved blood sample. This also spoke to the fact his enemies were not omniscient, and were risking much by keeping the operative alive in hopes of garnering information. C.J. was an elite CIA special forces-trained soldier with top clearance, but even he knew little of the details of RDS, and absolutely nothing about Hermes. How long would it take these terrorists to realize their captured man was not very useful to them? The United States, even with Kelly’s intervention, would never bargain with terrorists.

  Kelly empathized with C.J.’s plight; he could not dare fathom what the brave soldier was enduring at this very moment. But that was a risk they all took, and C.J. was trained to handle just such situations. If anybody had a chance at coming out of this alive, it was one of his men. And now the time was ripe to unleash A.J. They had confirmation of C.J.’s capture the night of the Sea Patrol Op – Kelly could no longer justifiably withhold the information from the older sibling. A.J. would doggedly lead the investigation of his comrade and brother, that much was certain. As for Kelly, he had his hands full protecting a nation of over 250 million from the looming devastation of a nuclear assault.

  Kelly looked down at his watch, realized he should be expecting Ben Goldberg momentarily. The analyst was scheduled to debrief Kelly on the latest developments in the case. Sure enough, a knock on the door signaled the arrival of the prompt analyst.

  "Hi Bill, you ready for me?" Ben opened the door just enough to pop his head inside as he spoke.

  "Just a minute, Ben", Kelly responded. "I'll meet you in the war room momentarily"

  The conference room adjacent to Kelly’s personal office had been renamed the "war room" since the beginning of the investigation. It represented the confluence of all intelligence assets pertaining to the case. Outfitted with a large screen and chalkboard, to allow for continuous updating of the various scenarios, it was where Kelly met with the central figures looking into the events that were now consuming the counter-terrorism chief. The goals were of course to piece together all the data into a coherent whole, and formulate some idea of who was responsible. On the left of the room was a computer projection showing a schematic of the operation that fateful night in the Atlantic. The cargo vessel was graphically displayed, as were the Cutter and the Yacht, which their enemy had apparently used as a backup to salvage the cargo. Ben had been working to create a timeline, which had been downloaded into the computer to recreate a minute by minute synopsis of the tragedy. Installed were every possible scenario consistent with the facts at hand. As new information was amassed, the software automatically integrated the information and generated updated possibilities accordingly. Ben felt confidant they knew now what had happened with a high degree of precision.

  Next to the computer-generated image, an old-fashioned marker board displayed two headings – one of the possible suspects who masterminded the assault, the other of everyone at the agency involved in the case. Most of the names had been crossed off the latter list - denoting those who had been suspected and then cleared of the leak within the agency. The short list of names without a slash across now denoted the prime suspects. As for those potentially responsible for the planning and execution of the attack, the list was conspicuously blank. They all suspected the same group, Sayf Udeen – which translated to “Sword of the Faith” in Arabic. But until some hard evidence could be amassed to support this assertion, the list would stay empty. In reality, and despite a spate of circumstantial evidence, they had little proof as to who had masterminded this ingenious operation. But that would soon change. Ben Goldberg felt he had enough at this point to put up a name or two on that disturbingly half-empty board, and was going to discuss this very issue with his chief.

  Kelly placed a call to his operatives through the two-way radio, and satisfied, hung up the line and secured the device to his belt. Things were beginning to heat up in New York. He was becoming more of a hands-on counter-terrorism director than ever before, but what else could he do. The threat level was just too great.

  Kelly pushed away from his desk, rose to his feet, and went to meet Ben next door. He arrived at the war room, punched in his access code, and entered. Kelly could see the back of Ben’s head; the analyst was already beside the computer, updating the software yet again, seemingly oblivious to any disturbance.

  "The questi
on is, Goldi, are you ready for me?" Kelly asked with a hint of sarcasm. It appeared as if his analyst were still preparing the updated briefing and could use a few additional moments.

  Startled, Ben responded after collecting himself, "Always am, Bill, always am", with a similar dose of tongue-in-cheek. Dropping what he was doing and eyeing his boss squarely, Ben then added in a more serious tone: “Really Bill, don’t go anywhere.” The analyst fretted if he did not take this opportunity to grab Kelly’s full attention, the man might be called upon to attend various other matters. And Ben knew there was plenty he needed to discuss.

  Kelly obliged by taking a seat next to the analyst, as Ben began to project the image from the computer terminal onto the screen.

  "Okay, this is T minus 15", Ben began. The location of the Seafin, cargo freighter, and yacht could be seen mapped out graphically, with a - 15 visible on the bottom of the screen. "And this is the communication that we intercepted, just at that moment." Ben raised the volume of the audio feed, and the two listened to the translated message from its original Arabic. The transmission was coded, and Ben frequently paused to translate his version of what was being communicated across the airwaves. The codes had not changed much over the years: “honey” denoted the target, or in this case, the freighter; “bees” - the Americans, a reference to “a little girl” - forged identification, and so forth. The meaning of a “Russian apple”, however, had changed. Formerly used to denote a grenade, Ben had interpreted the new meaning to refer to the sedative devices they employed the night of operation Sea Patrol. It was the Russians, after all, that had first used a similar weapon over a decade earlier during a daring raid on the Moscow ball bearing factory theater after it was overwhelmed by Chechen rebels. In that crisis, at least 129 people died, including 41 Chechen guerillas, mainly from the deadly gas used to rescue the hostages. Since then, similar, more refined toxins had been developed and tested – it was no surprise in retrospect that a well prepared assassin like Salaam would have a protective mask as a staple provision.