‘‘I copy, Andy, but we have a problem.’’
‘‘I have a problem, or you have a situation?’’
‘‘Both. You’ve managed to freak out just about everyone from DHS to CDC to POTUS.’’
‘‘POTUS?’’
‘‘Yes, the President of the United States. They’re not sure how to deal with a vessel carrying smallpox onto American soil. For the moment, I’m under orders to keep you moving toward the rendezvous point.’’
‘‘Barney, you’re not going to let us down, are you?’’
‘‘Not if I can help it. Keep checking in every hour, Andy. Don’t forget. I’m on your side.’’
In Cuba, Raul addressed Ochoa. ‘‘What have you heard from Faul II?
Ochoa shook his head. ‘‘They just called, Presidente. The terrorists have smallpox, and Faul II wasn’t able to take them aboard, thank God. Their second in command, Lieutenant Diaz, was exposed to them. We must consider Faul II contaminated. I’ve ordered them back to Santiago De Cuba for quarantine.’’
Raul Castro reddened. ‘‘Terrorists, smallpox, and the U.S. Coast Guard. How about you tell Fidel…’’
Chapter Forty-Four
The Delta Force unit left Kabul at midnight for the trip to Waziristan and the biological weapons laboratory. The specially equipped-for-silence Blackhawk Helicopter dropped the group of eight about a mile from the lab.
When they entered the thick woods, Matt Ross, a former Seal and team leader, brought them together. ‘‘We want Kamal Yamin alive, if possible, and we need every bit of research material we can carry away before we destroy the place.’’
‘‘Nothing will survive the incendiaries we’ll use,’’ Master Sergeant Jimmy Black said.
Matt and Jimmy had served together in Afghanistan during the 2001 operation, Enduring Freedom. Matt owed Jimmy his life.
After a twenty-minute trek, they found the unimpressive warehouse-like steel building. A single guard stood at the front garage door, smoking a cigarette. The man’s deep drag intensified the cigarette’s glow, a perfect target. When the silenced round entered above his ear, the guard slumped to the ground, his chest collapsed, and smoke leaked from his dead mouth and nose.
When they reached the steel door, it was locked. A Delta pulled out a pick gun, but Jimmy shook his head, pointing to his ears. ‘‘Too noisy,’’ he mouthed. He pulled out a pick set, and, in thirty seconds, the lock snapped open. He gave a thumbs-up, and entered the large, dimmed room, which had an array of sophisticated laboratory equipment, including centrifuges, ventilation hoods, incubators, refrigerators, freezers, mass spectrometers, and a variety of computerized diagnostic equipment that they couldn’t identify. They could only imagine what they were working on, here.
The building’s rear had three doors: storage, thought the leader. He placed two men at each. The leader nodded, and the first team entered the leftmost door. The soldier returned in three seconds, and gave the okay sign. The middle door produced another okay, but then they reached the third door.
Kamal Yamin had been sleeping in the laboratory several nights a week since Sabeen had left. Although things were clearly not the same since their last argument, he missed her company. More than that, he’d thrived on the strength of their love for each other. It had sustained him after the loss of their son.
When she gets back from Damascus, I’m going to make it right between us.
Although he’d been working long hours on the anthrax project, he felt little enthusiasm for it.
When he heard unexpected movement in the laboratory, Kamal turned on the video monitors. With so much dangerous material, he’d placed cameras in the lab to remind his workers that someone was watching them at every second. When the black-uniformed and ski-masked armed men moved into the room, Kamal knew it was over. Although he had dreaded this day, he felt no fear. He grabbed the AK-47 off a hook on the wall, released the safety, and waited.
At last, I’ll be with Karim, he thought.
He watched the doorknob rotate, and, as the door edged open, he pulled the trigger. A black figure staggered backward, while another stuck the barrel of his M4 carbine into the room, and opened fire.
Kamal fell backward against the wall. He looked down at his bloody chest. He tried to speak, but blood filled his mouth, choking him. He coughed out a large slimy clot, and whispered, ‘‘Karim.’’
Matt Ross leaned over and shined his flashlight on Kamal’s face. ‘‘Shit, this is Kamal Yamin. We wanted him alive.’’
‘‘Sorry, boss,’’ the soldier said, ‘‘he opened fire before we had a chance.’’
Kamal’s bloody hand reached for Matt, clutched his shirt, and pulled him down. ‘‘Karim… Karim… at long last, we’re together.’’
Matt struggled to remove the bloody hand, and then Kamal sighed, his hand relaxed, and he exhaled his final breath.
‘‘I want all the paperwork we can carry, the hard drives, and any samples we can transport safely.’’
Matt scanned the room. ‘‘Where’s Jimmy?’’
The soldier paled. ‘‘He…’’
Matt grabbed the man. ‘‘Where is he, damn it?’’
The soldier pointed to the man curled up in the corner. ‘‘A round from Kamal’s AK-47 caught him just below his helmet. He never knew what hit him.’’
Matt went to his friend’s remains and knelt in silent prayer. After a moment, he said, ‘‘Prepare the field litter. We’re taking him home.’’
Afterward, they placed Thermite charges throughout the laboratory, and watched from a distance as the night sky exploded with the intensity of the sun.
The DCI had Preston Harding on the line. ‘‘Kamal Yamin is dead, but in a matter of hours, we’ll have his research papers, hard drives, and a few specimens.’’
‘‘They couldn’t take him alive?’’
‘‘They had no chance. I’ll have my team here in three hours to analyze everything we recovered. We should have a pretty good idea by this evening of what we’re up against.’’
‘‘Good,’’ Harding said.
‘‘What are you going to do about Prophecy?’’ The DCI asked.
‘‘The skipper, Andy Reiss, wants to go directly to Ft. Myers. POTUS says, no way is that going to happen.’’
‘‘You can’t leave them at sea in the face of a hurricane,’’ the DCI said.
‘‘You’ve done much worse. Don’t get antsy, now. We’re looking into alternatives.’’
In the CEF offices, Alberto Perez sat with Miguel Garcia.
‘‘They did what?’’ Alberto cried.
‘‘I just heard from Harvey Marshall,’’ Miguel said. ‘‘Castro attacked an American vessel in international waters. Any way you look at it, it’s an act of war.’’
‘‘The administration won’t have a choice, but to respond to such a provocation.’’
‘‘They did. The Coast Guard sent a HU-25 that threatened to sink the patrol boat. The Cubans withdrew.’’
Alberto shook his head. ‘‘This is our one chance to force the President’s hand. It’s simple: we go public with the Cuban’s smallpox conspiracy and their attack at sea.’’
‘‘Harvey Marshall won’t go for it, and I agree.’’
‘‘Please,’’ Alberto pleaded, ‘‘this is the opportunity of a lifetime.’’
‘‘First, it will compromise Harvey. They’ll know it came from him, and we’ll lose our greatest supporter. Second, the President will hold us responsible for the panic that will follow once the public hears the word ‘smallpox’. We’ll work something out. For the first time in years, circumstances favor our efforts. Let’s not screw it up.’’
At Langley, Claire’s assistant placed a note on her desk. ‘‘Here’s the message from the Weizman institute in Israel. They finally decoded Jorge’s email.’’
Claire picked up the paper and read: ‘‘Ryan and Nicole left May 1st on the sailboat, Adios. With a stopover in Cancun, I anticipate their arrival in the Miami area ar
ound June 1st. Your techniques for bypassing the Coast Guard and Immigration have proven effective in the past, and, Allah willing, they will be again, this time. The curse of Allah will fall upon the infidels.’’
‘‘That’s great,’’ Claire said. ‘‘Cervantes was right: delay breeds danger.’’
Chapter Forty-Five
The skies ahead remained clear, although behind them, well over the horizon, massive dark cumulonimbus clouds billowed into the heavens.
Andy pointed. ‘‘Those must be the first signs of the approaching storm.’’
‘‘We’re not going to get into that, are we?’’ Jesse asked.
‘‘Is that a question, or a plea?’’
‘‘Both.’’
‘‘I hope not. The swell is 10 to 15 feet, and the winds are 18 knots from behind. We can probably surf a bit on these waves and pick up speed. If we’re lucky, we should reach the Coast Guard by tomorrow midday.’’
Jesse turned for the companionway. ‘‘I’m going to take a look at our patients.’’
Andy stared at her. ‘‘Must you?’’
‘‘Just a quick check.’’
When Jesse entered the darkened room and turned on the light, Nicole’s eyes peered from her smallpox-ravaged face. The room reeked of urine and bacteria-contaminated draining sores.
Nicole held up the empty water bottle, and handed it to Jesse, who replaced it with a full one. When Jesse touched Ryan’s pox-marked shoulder to examine him, he turned toward her with blazing eyes, and, in an instant, had his pox-marked arm around her neck. Jesse tried to wrench her face away from the disgusting draining sores that were rubbing against her face. The stench of his arm and breath made her gag.
‘‘Andy,’’ she squeaked as his arm tightened, cutting off her breath.
Ryan placed his index finger over his swollen, poxed lips. ‘‘Be silent, or die.’’
He twisted her out of the compartment, and into the main saloon.
Jesse continued to struggle, but with his madness came incredible strength.
Ryan looked up at the companionway. ‘‘Call him down here.’’
‘‘Fuck you, you bastard.’’
Ryan turned her, and smacked her across the face, sending her back against the bulkhead. He grabbed her by the hair, went to the galley, and retrieved a large carving knife. He placed it at her neck. He forced her up the steps onto the bridgedeck, and then into the cockpit.
‘‘What the hell!’’ Andy shouted.
‘‘Turn this boat toward Miami, or she dies.’’
The short speech was too much for Ryan as he coughed and choked over his words. When Jesse felt the blade move away, she delivered a solid blow to the Ryan’s instep, and he fell back.
Andy was on him at once, grasping his knife hand, and wrestling him to the bridgedeck. Ryan fought in a rage: kicking, screaming, and spitting. When Ryan kicked himself free and came at Andy with the knife, Andy grabbed Ryan’s hand, and twisted the blade free. It fell to the cockpit floor, and Andy kicked it away. They struggled, holding each other close together. Ryan’s face, inches away, was a mass of pus, draining sores, and blood. Jesse picked up the knife, but Ryan pulled it away, and again turned for Andy, smiling. Andy grabbed an oar from the cockpit floor, and slammed it against Ryan’s face. The young man stood erect, and then reeled backward toward the lifeline. He tried to steady himself, but fell back, and into the ocean.
Andy and Jesse watched as his blond blood-covered head bobbed in the water, and then floated away in his life vest.
The SSB radio came to life. ‘‘Prophecy… Prophecy, this is the United States Coast Guard, Miami. Do you copy?’’
Andy picked up the handset. ‘‘This is Prophecy. Is that you, Barney?’’
‘‘Captain Adams at your service, Skipper. How are things going?’’
‘‘That son-of-a-bitch, Ryan, tried to take over the boat. He won’t be a problem for either of us.’’
‘‘Where is he?’’
‘‘At the bottom of the ocean, where he belongs. It couldn’t happen to a nicer guy.’’
The radio remained silent for a moment, then Barney said, ‘‘Oh well, just a pleasant spring sail with a nice breeze and good company.’’
Andy laughed. ‘‘Are you sure you’re a real Coast Guard, Captain?’’
‘‘As real as they get, Skipper.’’
Andy took a deep breath to regain control of his emotions, and then gave their position, the weather, and the sea conditions.
‘‘We’re making good time with the winds and following seas. That should put us at your rendezvous point around noon tomorrow. I hope you have some good news for us.’’
‘‘Nothing, yet. How is your other guest?’’
‘‘Nicole may not be too far behind. If she dies, we’ll do a second burial at sea. Believe it or not, she has the chutzpah to blame it all on her brother.’’
‘‘No honor among terrorists.’’
‘‘Is Jesse okay?’’
‘‘I’ll tell you later, Barney. Prophecy, out.’’
Andy looked below. Jesse stood, naked to the waist, at the sink, scrubbing her body and face with Lava soap as she tried to rid herself of Ryan’s touch.
When Andy stared at her, she wept.
Andy went below, and opened his arms to Jesse. She took a step back, and handed him the soap. ‘‘First things first, Skipper.’’
‘‘Prophecy… Prophecy, are you there?’’
Andy picked up the handset. ‘‘Yes, Barney. Go ahead.’’
‘‘Let me get back to you on the burial at sea question.’’
‘‘No offense meant, Barney, but aren’t you a captain in the USCG?’’
‘‘None taken, Skipper, but under these conditions, I’m a minor player. The Oval Office is deciding.’’
‘‘Based on what information?’’
‘‘God knows.’’
‘‘This is my family, Barney. Our lives. If you think we’re going to put up with politically expedient decisions, then you’re out of your mind.’’
‘‘Take it easy, Andy. Sometimes bureaucrats make the right decisions.’’
‘‘Would you bet your ass on them, Barney?’’
‘‘I did every time I went to sea on orders.’’
‘‘You signed up for that, Barney. We didn’t.’’
‘‘Okay, but remember, we’re on the same team.’’
‘‘What’s the news from the CDC?’’
‘‘They’re analyzing the information extracted from Kamal’s laboratory on the virus.’’
‘‘What about the VIG I asked for?’’
‘‘I’ll make sure it’s on the boat at the rendezvous point.’’
‘‘I appreciate that, Barney. What’s happening with the Cubans?’’
‘‘Nothing. If they’re smart, Faul II will go right into quarantine.’’
‘‘I’ll talk with you again in an hour, or so, Barney. Use your weather capabilities to keep us posted.’’
‘‘Will do, Skipper. USCG out.’’
As they headed into early evening, Jesse came into the cockpit.
Andy stared at her. ‘‘What is it?’’
‘‘Rachel’s not feeling well.’’
‘‘Is she seasick?’’
‘‘Her temperature’s up to 101 degrees, and she’s feeling achy… like she’s getting the flu.’’
They stared at each other, sharing their unspoken fear.
‘‘We should have the antiserum tomorrow. Let’s keep her well hydrated and at rest.’’
‘‘Don’t we have an antiviral medication on board?’’ Jesse asked.
‘‘We have acyclovir, but I’m not sure it will do any good.’’
‘‘Can it hurt?’’
‘‘No,’’ Andy said. ‘‘Let’s give it to her right away.’’
Chapter Forty-Six
The conference room off Langley’s mainframe computer area buzzed with activity as the impromptu group worked their way throug
h the reams of data from Kamal Yamin’s laboratory. The CIA’s computer techs had copied the data from Kamal’s drives onto the mainframe, and were in the process of analyzing it. The specimens from Kamal’s lab were at Ft. Detrick, but investigation on these agents would take time.
The DCI had asked Claire Cousins to chair this group with one objective in mind: to discover the nature of this smallpox virus, its potency, and its infectivity.
A CDC virologist and his counterpart from Ft. Detrick, an army colonel, sat together, analyzing several large data spreadsheets.
‘‘It’s obvious,’’ the colonel said, ‘‘that Yamin was exploring the possibility of augmenting the smallpox by exposing it to a range of chemicals and biologicals.’’
‘‘This is sophisticated stuff,’’ the CDC man said. ‘‘He exposed the virus to a variety of antibiotics, chemicals, and even manipulated gene sequences. He then assessed growth in culture and its effects on mammalian cells.’’
‘‘Give me the bottom line,’’ Claire said. ‘‘Are we dealing with standard smallpox, or some new form of super virus?’’
‘‘We’re familiar with these approaches,’’ the colonel said, ‘‘and we’ve used similar techniques at Fort Detrick. These data suggest a marginal increase in infectivity, but, while I don’t see data to support an increase in virulence, I’m not ruling it out.’’
‘‘This isn’t the time to cover your ass,’’ Claire said. ‘‘Do you think we’re dealing with something new and more dangerous?’’
‘‘Oh, give me a break, Ms. Cousins. We’re not the CIA.’’ He paused for effect. ‘‘The only thing I’m covering up is my difficulty in answering your questions. What we do know for sure is that Kamal Yamin was a brilliant investigator, and he was searching for a way to change smallpox from epidemic to apocalyptic.’’
Rafael Ochoa pushed the blinking light on his phone. ‘‘I’m sorry, Presidente, but the U.S. HU-25 attack jet forced Faul II to withdraw. The terrorists remain with the Americans.’’
‘‘What’s our next step, Colonel?’’ Castro asked.
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