Element 94

by Kleiner Jeffries

  Leo’s mouth was nearly agape as Kelly spoke. He had been completely unaware of the surveillance this whole time. But what about now…how much danger remained? Could he ever lead a normal life again? He decided to raise the issue with the CIA chief.

  “What about my safety, and that of those close to me?”

  “We will do everything we can, Leo. We did what we could back then, and will continue to do so.”

  “Well you sure waited until the last moment back in New York…”

  “That was an error in judgement. We needed to wait, to see who was on to you. We knew you were a target, but we just had no idea who was involved so we had to sit tight and just observe. But things should never have unfolded as they did. We had round-the-clock surveillance, Leo, but we should have seen it coming and intervened sooner. I am sorry.”

  “I understand. I am curious though, how did you know I was being targeted?”

  “We had intelligence. Reliable information, which I just cannot disclose to you”

  “Alan?”

  Kelly weighed how much to tell the scientist.

  “Dr. Brody? Well…” Alan Brody was the Chair of physics at Columbia, the man who had initially been approached by the Agency to tap Leo for this project.

  “Leo, I’m not at liberty to say. But you should know that information can get passed in subtle ways. A group of experts convene in an international forum, discussing the latest research, exchanging more than just pleasantries at cocktail sessions. It sometimes happens unwittingly –sensitive information gets passed along to the wrong individuals more often than you can imagine.”

  Leo couldn’t believe what he was hearing. He pictured his colleagues, one by one, making a mental calculation of every person’s character, integrity, loyalty, motives. Anything he may have said, not said, anything.

  “I haven’t been out of the country for months”, the scientist noted

  “Leo, you think it’s only foreign scientists that are corruptible - the Russian nuclear experts, is that it? What do you think the average academician in this country earns?”

  The question was rhetorical, and went unanswered. Leo just nodded in silence. It was all so overwhelming. And little did he realize, the CIA chief was about to shock him further. Kelly now shifted the conversation to the pressing matter at hand.

  “Now, whatever you need, in terms of manpower and equipment, you’ll get. But know this, the clock is ticking. I don’t know how much time we’ve got, but terrorist elements have 94, that much we know. These people have the will, the material, and trust me, they will find a way to use it if we don’t intervene.”

  Leo sat in silence as he digested this last bit of information. 'terrorist elements have 94'. From the reactions of the Brass at the Pentagon briefing he had already suspected that the situation was precarious – but what he was now told was simply the worst imaginable scenario. It was no secret the limiting factor in nuclear weapon development was access to enriched raw material. In the case of 94 it seemed no enrichment was required to support a sustainable chain reaction. If rogue extremists with ill intent figured out how to unleash 94’s potential, then a nuclear holocaust would be inevitable. Leo was left with only one choice – he must unlock the secrets of this strange and terrifying new element, so his nation might better defend herself against such an assault.

  “We are doing what we can to track these people down”, Kelly pressed on, “But I will tell you, there are few leads in the case… The work you do on 94 and RDS might be our best shot at stopping the individuals who have this material. I am sorry to put this kind of pressure and responsibility on you, but that is what we are up against, and where we stand. You should know this.”

  The scientist felt a chill running up his spine. He never expected to have to bear such a tremendous burden.

  “How much time do I have?” Leo asked

  “Our intelligence estimates 94 is not yet weaponized. But how long it will take until a fully functioning explosive device is developed is unclear at this time.”

  Leo did not immediately respond. He was terrified at the magnitude of what Kelly just put forth before him.

  The CT chief could sense the tension within the man, but could do little to allay the situation. Leo Koval had to understand the urgency of the situation. There was just no other way.

  Kelly pushed a set of documents across the desk towards Leo.

  “Leo, take your time. Read it over and get back to me.” The scientist glanced down at the papers. On the front was marked in red letters, ‘top-secret’. At the end of the 12-page document was a blank line with the words ‘signature here’ below.

  “You don’t have to sign it, but know two things. If you don’t, I’ve got no one else to turn to. And if you do, well – that there is a binding contract. You sign that and technically you’re one of us. I hate to put you in a catch 22, but I have no choice. Once you do what you need to do though, you’ll be free to go. Free to resume the life you once led. But only after RDS is upgraded to detect this element…”

  Before Kelly could finish, Leo slid the document back at the CIA chief. He looked down and saw the completed signature on the bottom of the page. Leo Koval was officially a member of the agency. Kelly looked up and stared at the scientist, surprised to see a confident smile on his face.

  “Sounds like I better get right to work”, Leo uttered.

  Kelly smiled back and held out his hand as he responded.

  “Yes. Good to have you aboard, Doctor.”

  C.J. opened his eyes, relieved to be free of the mask that had covered his face. He stepped off the small airplane and onto a dirt runway. He had no idea where he was, having been whisked onto at least two more boats and then this long airplane ride. It must have been about two weeks since his capture, and by now the sturdy operative was beginning to show signs of wear. His gait was unsteady as he made his way to his feet, his limbs stiff and atrophied from the prolonged period of immobility. He was no longer hungry, his stomach shrunken and adjusted to the limited food that was provided. His captors were clever, knowing the physical strain would severely limit his focus and ability to escape. But he had not softened to the point where he might divulge the information at his disposal. He knew that was what was keeping him alive, and he determined to persevere.

  As he stepped onto the dirt runway, the large pock-marked brute that accompanied him at all times guided him roughly by his shoulder onto the back of a waiting pickup truck. The slender leader – Azeez was his name - climbed into the passenger seat. A third man drove the vehicle along the bumpy path, requiring C.J. to hold tightly to the railing with his bare hands, which remained bound in front of him at the wrists. His legs, now free, were of little use. He simply did not posses the strength to overwhelm the men who now accompanied him.

  C.J. understood the futility of escape in his current condition. He needed to regain his strength, hoping the present phase of the journey would provide some reprieve from the regular beatings. He could still feel the blood, dried and caked on his face, with any movement of the underlying muscles. Most bothersome was his nose, which had been broken so severely that there was limited airflow through the collapsed passages. He now questioned the wisdom of inviting that earlier beating as he had. Was it worth it? He wondered. Would it make any difference? He prayed Kelly and the others would send a rescue team, but he also knew there were far more pressing issues facing the agency, particularly if his message was received. He was but one man, and preventing a widespread catastrophe that could endanger countless civilians in their homeland would surely take precedence. But he had to make sure Kelly knew of his capture, and the blood trail would provide incontrovertible evidence. Besides, C.J. rationed, the beatings would have occurred anyhow – that was the way of these people, their method of breaking him down. Instigating the bloodletting back then at least allowed him some semblance of control, ensuring some good would come from the punishment – it was proof of life. Now if the Agency could just find him…<
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  C.J. looked above him as the pickup truck drove away, hoping for some clue as to where he was, and where he would be taken. The moon on the horizon was a thin crescent, and the stars above shone brightly. He was thoroughly disoriented, but tried to gather his bearings from the celestial figures visible through the clear night sky. He could make out the Big Dipper and the stationary North Star. Based on the angle of this latter constellation from the horizon, C.J. estimated his position at 13 to 14 degrees latitude. The longitudinal coordinates, however, could not be so easily determined. There was no way to tell how far he had traveled on the East-West parallel. What continent was he even on? All C.J. could do was muster an educated guess. They were currently heading east, and he assumed they had been going primarily in that direction since his capture, as they were now only some 25-27 degrees south of their point of embarkation. A westward direction would have placed them on American soil, which both logic and instinct refuted. So was he in Africa, or had they made their way to the Middle East or even Asia? C.J. simply could not tell. He would have to keep his eyes and ears open for any clues.

  Azeez and the others were confident C.J. would not escape, not hesitating to let the captive ride in the truck with his blindfold off and with minimal restraints. This was not unwise, for C.J. was now an obviously beaten, disoriented shadow of his former self. And maintaining a mask over his head would unnecessarily invite curiosity among those they might pass on their journey. These were careful people, not readily prone to error and misjudgment.

  Several irrational thoughts began to make their way into C.J.’s consciousness. Like how he wished to just lash out at the man before him, using the remaining strength left to him to inflict as much brutality on these terrorists as possible. If the worst consequence of such an act would be a swift death, he might not hesitate. But C.J. knew these people were capable of much worse. A quick, painless demise was something to be relished when the alternative was pain, suffering, and prolonged torture. C.J. knew if he ever had an opportunity, all these men would be brought to justice – his form of justice, and one that would bear the markings of an eye for an eye mentality. They would suffer as he had, with not the slightest ounce of guilt or moment’s hesitation. But for now, he must be patient and continue to rely on his training and instinct. He must think and act as rationally and with as much forethought as one could possibly hope to under such duress. Which meant he should sit tight, gather his strength, and wait for an opening to present itself. And when it did, he must not hesitate. He must seize any window of opportunity, no matter how small. At this point, it might be all he would have left.

  Ali Basel was sitting in the medical offices of STAT, waiting to be examined and cleared for his upcoming assignment. Kelly and Mack had already discussed the mission, and informed him he was to depart that evening. He would arrive in Ouagadougou, Burkina Faso in West Africa, and rendezvous with one of the Agency’s men to make the trip Eastward to the more rural parts of the country thought to house the stronghold of Sayf Udeen. His job was to locate the compound, infiltrate the organization, and find out what he could about their plans. Kelly told him about C.J., that he might possibly come across the captured operative but that rescuing the man was not his priority. Ali must not jeopardize his cover under any circumstances. Others were assigned the task of retrieving the operative, and Ali was to focus on intelligence. It was this intelligence that both the rescue team and the Agency were relying upon so heavily to undermine and thwart Udeen.

  “Sir they’re ready for you”, said the pleasant-faced woman at the desk. Ali entered the medical suite as he had done prior to numerous other covert missions. In this case, he would have to take the same precautions as others who traveled to Africa. He needed his immunity checked for a host of infectious diseases, including malaria and HIV. The immunization for the latter was known to wane rather quickly, and he would likely need a booster. A blood specimen run on a single diagnostic chip would provide the necessary information faster than even the automated immunoassay systems of old.

  Ali exited the medical suite of STAT and prepared to make the long journey to the continent of his birthplace. He would once more be asked to put his body on the line for his country, to live a double life amidst those who would do him harm. But this was his life - the profession he had chosen from a tender age. It was the only existence he had ever known, and one at which he was quite adept. He had been stateside long enough – it was time to do what he did best.

  His hand reflexively made its way to his chin and face; soon, it would be covered with a mop of facial hair to blend in with his new environment. He had played the part many times before in countless operations dating back to the early years of the CTG. Would this mission be so different? Would he again walk away from this intact, as he had done on countless other occasions? After surviving so many close calls, he had begun to be referred to as “lucky Ali” within the unit. He could only hope his luck had not yet run out as he once again prepared for battle.

  A.J. was doing his best to come to grips with the news of his brother. His immediate reaction was a sense of overwhelming relief that C.J. was still alive. However this was soon replaced by concern, and then rage, as A.J. conjured up grisly images of what C.J. must be enduring in captivity. They had to rescue him, and fast. One could only assume his brother was being held near the suspected location of Udeen’s base in Northwest Africa. Preparations were under way, and He, Mack, and the others would soon be departing.

  It was late in the evening as A.J. made his way back from the medical suite on the STAT floor. He had just received his medical clearance and vaccinations, and was preparing to leave the building. As he approached the exit, someone caught his eye. He wasn’t sure, but A.J. thought he saw a familiar figure moving down the hall and around a corner. It would not have caused him to take note were it not for the way in which the man moved – swift, yet calm; a gait belonging to someone A.J. thought he recognized. Could that be who he thought it was…? Nah, what would one of the operatives be doing on this floor at this hour? It was sure to be nothing, but A.J.'s curiosity led him to investigate. He turned down the hallway away from the exit and followed the path where the man had disappeared. As he rounded the corner, the only activity he could make out were a pair of scientists clad in white lab coats making their way towards him, seemingly heading for the exit. He thought about stopping them and inquiring as to whether they saw anyone walk past, but he decided against it. It was probably nothing.

  Just as A.J. turned around to retrace his steps and leave the building, he heard a noise that stopped him in his tracks. It was not a loud sound, just a pair of faintly audible thuds. It seemed to come from beyond the wall to his left. A.J. decided to check it out; he walked to the far end of the corridor, turned left, reached another dead end, and turned left once again to approach the opposite end of the square enclosure where the noise seemed to originate. He was now positioned directly across from where he had heard the sound, facing a sliding glass door marked with the words “No Unauthorized Entrance”. A pair of empty chairs stood outside the doorway, along with an opened magazine. If this were anywhere else, it might appear that the men guarding this entrance had left on a break. But this was Langely, and the top-secret STAT unit, and guards did not just abandon their posts. This was suspicious indeed.

  A.J. walked past the guard desk and up to the entrance of the lab, but found the doors locked. A numerical pad on the side of the wall indicated a pass-code was required for entry. There was no way to get inside – even operatives of his stature were not granted access to the most classified of the STAT labs.

  A.J. turned around, not quite sure how to proceed. Should he report the missing guards? Where could they be? He swiveled his head behind him and saw a restroom just across the corridor. He quietly opened the door, leveling his 9 mm before him. He quickly replaced his weapon in its holster as he finished scanning the room. He had found what he was looking for. Lying on the floor before him were two large men,
totally still. A stream of saliva, still fresh, emanated from the corners of their mouths. A trickle of blood had caked along the upper arm of one of the men, indicating what had happened. A.J. bent down to check for signs of life. There weren’t any; he was dead, felled from cholinergic poisoning. A.J. recognized all the signs, and knew exactly who employed such tactics. He quickly checked on the second guard, and was startled when the man suddenly opened his eyes. A.J. could feel a thready, faint pulse through the man’s thick neck. His breathing was shallow, almost imperceptible; he was on the brink of death. There would be no way to save this person’s life – the antidote would never arrive in time.

  “I’m here to help.” A.J. quickly showed his identification to the near-dead man. “Who did this?”

  All A.J. received in response was a blank stare. The man had lost the ability to speak.

  “Send a team right away. And a medic. I’m in…” A.J. began the call for help, but could not complete the sentence, as someone came hurtling through the doorway and stuck him in the face. The blow was sufficient to knock him down, his radio and gun flung out of his possession as his body crumpled to the ground. A.J. was momentarily unconscious, but started to regain his faculties almost immediately – in pugilistic parlance he incurred what is referred to as a “flash knockout”.

  Staring up from the ground now, A.J. could make out a person clad in a black mask pointing a gun in his direction. As he wiped a trickle of blood from his nose, A.J. instinctively reached up with his leg and kicked the weapon out of the hand of his adversary. The gun flew across the room, and both men briefly averted their eyes to glance at the two weapons, both his and his assailants’, which were now lying next to each other and well out of reach. The terrorist agent took off the mask and revealed himself. Smiling, the man motioned A.J. to his feet.