Sheep Dog and the Wolf

by Douglass, Carl;

  “Now, snakes and a little evolution. The cone shell snail and the black mamba evolved separately; but remarkably, they each evolved an amino acid sequence in their genomes that was very, very similar in effect; and each developed a potassium channel blocking neurotoxin that is also extraordinarily similar in action although different in chemical makeup. I won’t bore you with the DNA sequence details, but I do stress the fundamental nature of the neurotoxin. In my lab, we have been able to manufacture mamba toxin in quantity which will serve you well in your work; so, I have been informed. A black mamba bite is usually fatal in thirty minutes unless the victim of the bite receives the antidote almost immediately. Incidentally, the victim meets his doom from respiratory paralysis—a particularly hideous way to go, I am told. A physician would have to know that his or her patient had been envenomated in order to initiate treatment. That would border on being an impossible intellectual leap for a doctor encountering a dying person who had no history of contact with a mamba. Furthermore, unless specifically sought in a competent lab, no evidence of such poisoning would be forthcoming. And you, sir, have a fairly large vial of the stuff with which to ply your trade.”

  Dr. Rothe smiled benignly. Hunter thought that the man was the very picture of the mad scientist or the soulless serial killer. But then, who was he to cast the first stone?

  “As fond as I am of black mambas, it is interesting to note that the world’s most poisonous snake is the rather unassertive hook-nosed sea snake or beaked sea snake [Enhydrina schistose] Mouse LD50 (mg/kg) 0.02, generally considered to be the most venomous sea snake in the world. That poison compares to the Inland Taipan [Oxyuranus microlepidotus] Mouse LD50 (mg/kg) 0.03 generally considered to be the most venomous land snake. We have a supply of the venom from each of these lovely creatures, but we have not yet been able to manufacture synthetic venom; so unfortunately, you will have to be more frugal in your choice of persons to inject.”

  Dr. Rothe’s tutorial demeanor was the very picture of bland. He could have been reading from the Geodetic Survey for all of the emotion he was expressing.

  “Any questions so far, John Smith?”

  Dr. Rothe allowed himself a faint wry smile.

  “Being a pragmatist and not an academic, Dr. Rothe, I need to know the nuts and bolts of how to deliver these poisons.”

  “But of course you do. You will note in the packet of instructional materials sitting before you, a quick and dirty description of directions and a small note sheet telling you where you can obtain extra supplies beyond those I will send you away with. I needn’t say—I am sure—that these instructions and the names and contact information you will have in your possession are not to be seen by anyone else; and I mean anyone else. Capiche?”

  Hunter nodded his understanding of the obvious.

  “Now, let me conclude with a description of Ciguatera—ichthocarcotoxin—a form of fresh fish poisoning produced by tiny marine organisms—dinoflagellates—which grow on marine algae and accumulate in the fatty tissue of the fish—barracuda, grouper, amberjack, and snapper. This obnoxious toxin produces severe stomach distress, a variety of neurological symptoms including aching joints, metallic or peppery taste, mouth and throat dryness, skin itches, dizziness and nausea, and especially, a reversal of cold and hot sensation. Death results from ingestion of high concentrations. It is difficult to detect as an intentional poison, especially in a person who has consumed a fish dinner. I rather like this natural chemical because, with proper planning, the murder can appear to have been only a mishap from eating an infected fish.”

  Dr. Rothe concluded his lecture for the evening with the fish toxin and showed Hunter the fairly large vial of the poison prepared for Hunter’s collection. He then collected Hunter’s personal notes and seemed pleased with his student’s work.

  “Tomorrow evening we will deal with more conventional chemical poisons. I appreciate your attention, John Smith. I assure you that the information you are receiving in addition to the actual poison and toxin materials will give you a distinct advantage in the land of smoke and mirrors and assorted things that go bump in the night.”

  “Thanks. It was interesting, Dr. Rothe. I look forward to the rest of your lectures.”

  The next three evenings, Hunter and Dr. Rothe were alone. John Smith I left directly after supper on those days and was enigmatic about his whereabouts and activities. Dr. Rothe presented extensive descriptions of Sarin, the deadly nerve gas and Ricin, from the common shrub Ricinus communis oil, which is considered so highly poisonous that the very activity of squeezing the oil from the seeds leaves powdery dry pulp that requires elaborate measures to protect the manufacturers and has been abandoned even by chemical warfare operatives as being too dangerous.

  “The gas is 6,000 times more toxic than cyanide,” Dr. Rothe stressed. “You have been given a hermetically sealed canister. You must—absolutely must—wear protective gear if or when you use it, which is likely to put a damper on your enthusiasm for this agent. My suggestion is that you plan to use it in conjunction with a small explosive to disperse it in a building. You—of course—will detonate the bomb from a safe distance.”

  The poisoner went on to describe atropine [Deadly Nightshade]; Bryony berries, noting that as few as 10 berries can kill a large man, and hemlock leaves—six leaves of Great Hemlock [Conium maculatum] are fatal in even a large man, he told Hunter.

  “Piperidine alkaloids are identified by their saturated heterocyclic ring, that is, the piperidine nucleus. The best known piperidine alkaloid poisons are those of poison hemlock. Socrates is reputed to have been killed by being forced to choose to eat a poison hemlock extract.

  “Death Cap mushrooms contain two poisons,” he continued, “and produce initial vomiting and a coma-recovery-relapse series of symptoms with death coming a few agonizing days later.”

  Dr. Rothe advised, “Our especially nice mushroom potion might be reserved for someone you would rather like to have suffer for a time.”

  He concluded the didactic portion of his lecture series on day four with presentations on strychnine—from the Indian Koochla tree [Strychnos vomica], a poison that usually acts so rapidly that there is no effective antidote and curare—distilled from the bark of two South American trees [Strychonos tosifera and Chondodendrum topmentosum]—a paralytic used as a muscle relaxant in surgery. Dr. Rothe explained that death comes from inability to breathe or move but with retention of full brain function until the very end.

  His last presentation was on Furadon.

  “Furadon is probably your government’s favorite choice since it is cheap and almost impossible to trace to its source. It is used to kill lions.”

  He showed Hunter a baggie of purple/blue granules.

  “Furadon is tasteless, colorless and is sold in Kenya in Agri-Stores at a cost of two dollars per bottle. It is considered to be a pesticide and is sprinkled on a carcass to kill lions. It has all of the poisoner’s favorite properties, and we are giving you a hefty lot to use. There is no American connection to this poison; so, you can use it freely. It dissolves in most solvents including water, and is undetectable unless some intrepid Kenyan physician happens to be on the scene, an unlikely scenario.”

  He and Hunter shook hands, and the fussy professor of secret death handed over a neat little zippered brief case containing the vials and laminated instructions, and Hunter’s own notes that had been neatly typed onto five by six inch color-coded cards.

  “Thanks.”

  “My pleasure. Good hunting, John Smith. I hope this helps.”

  They parted, and Hunter began to wonder what John Smith I had been up to the past three evenings.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  White House Oval Office: Daily Briefing, 0630 PRESENT: POTUS, DCIA, SECRETARY OF STATE, SECRETARY OF DEFENSE, CHAIRMAN JCS

  “Do we have a laudable military and intelligence success or a lamentable snafu, Michael?” The president asked without preamble.

  The secretary of Defense pau
sed a moment before answering.

  “Some of both, Mr. President. Let me explain. Our intelligence was good.”

  He gave a small appreciative nod to Gerald Lang, the DCIA.

  “We had essentially perfect intel about the shipment including unequivocal evidence of its origin, destination, contents, and the names and bios on the participants. We knew the route they were taking from Saudi Arabia into Yemen. That’s the laudable success part. However, the truck made a totally unexpected stop at the southern edge of the Ar-Rub’-al-Khali—the Empty Quarter—near Sabya, shortly before our Predator Drone was about to launch its missile. The perps got away in the desert. That’s the lamentable part; we lost the chance to get even more intel from them; and we lost the bargaining chip they would have represented in the diplomatic arena. On the plus side—however—we removed a large truck load of high explosives from future use by the “facilitators”—Semtex, RDX, PETN, dynamite, blasting caps, fuses, disposable cell phones—the whole magillah.”

  “That’s good work, but I’m more concerned about how and why the perps were able to evade the Predator,” President Storebridge asked pointedly, looking at Army General Lemuel Simons, The chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff.

  “It happened because some rag head paid twenty-five bucks to SkyGrabber for a satellite card to be able to intercept all of the drones’ communications,” General Simons said almost gritting his teeth in anger.

  DCIA Lang interjected.

  “Mr. President, please allow me to explain. The fundamental problem lies with budget cutbacks and our new world friendly diplomatic policy.”

  The secretary of State, Jeremy Southem, glared at the DCIA, but held his tongue for the moment.

  The DCIA continued, “We have not taken the necessary measures to scramble the signals being received by SkyGrabber to and from our drones. Although U.S. military personnel sitting stateside can program and direct a drone aircraft halfway around the world to deliver a missile or a bomb on a specific target, the Pentagon has not encrypted the signals going to and emanating from the drone. Six years into the war in Iraq, the very capable hackers of the insurgency were able to use SkyGrabber technology to pinpoint flight paths, moment-to-moment locations of the drone, and the timing and location of planned attacks. Incidentally, the technology is available for $25 at retail software dealers around the world and is perfectly legal in every country on the planet.”

  “Co-opting the incredibly sophisticated computer and communications of the Predator Drone just can’t be that simple. Can it?” The president had a bemused look on his face. “How on earth does such a technology work?”

  In his driest monotone, the DCIA explained, “SkyGrabber is an offline satellite internet downloader. It accepts free-to-air [FTA] satellite data like movie, music, or pictures by using a digital satellite TV tuner card called a DVB-S/DVB-S2 which saves information onto a hard disk. You don’t even have to keep an online internet connection. The company can customize the customer’s digital satellite TV tuner card to a satellite provider to start accepting free-to-air data. There are different types of internet connections, such as Dial-Up, ADSL, Leased Line, etc. Satellite internet is a kind of internet connection and is used mainly in remote areas like the Empty Quarter of Yemen or in areas where internet access is problematic because of its not being available at all, or is only available in nearly useless slow speed or where budget conscious terrorists resist the high cost of local internet connections.

  “Besides, the local internet hook up is fraught with hazards of traceability, a taboo for our Muslim “facilitator” friends. The hookup from a mud hut somewhere out in the desert where an illiterate Bedouin al-Qaida flunky sits waiting is to the internet through various geostationary satellites, which are located at an altitude of 35,786 km above the equator and provides a zone coverage which allows our Bedouin to have access to several satellite transmitters with no more knowledge of the computer that to use the point-and-click moves his handler taught him. Our Bedouin’s set-up is almost impossible to locate. The high value of the signal—48dBW—used by al-Qaida allows an antenna of only 60 centimeters in diameter. That is only 23.62 inches, no bigger than his cooking wok.”

  “Well, Director, you have quite evidently done your homework. So, how do we stop this intrusion into our communications?”

  “Let me answer that, Mr. President,” The secretary of State interrupted. “We don’t. We have international agreements that are iron-clad in which we have agreed that we will never jam internet connections. Moreover, it is not in our best interests to do so. We can intercept internet messages better than can our Bedouin friend, and we obtain a ton of useful intelligence by doing so. I could not, and will never approach the UN or any individual country to push such an agenda that would jeopardize our hard-won friendships. President Obama staked his and the country’s reputation on a program of change in our diplomatic relations to one of friend and ally from the abysmal communications of his predecessor. It has worked and could only be countermanded at our peril.”

  “So, we’re just stuck, then, you say, Mr. Secretary?” Michael Chisholm asked testily.

  “Your clever techies at the Pentagon will have to come up with a better way, it appears, if you are going to get around this inconvenience.”

  “Inconvenience?!” Chisholm snarled.

  The secretary of State responded with an irritatingly avuncular small smile of one-upmanship.

  “What happens now, Director?” The president asked.

  “Not a lot. We now have a nice store of explosives. Perhaps our agents can find a use for them. I would not advise turning them over to the Yemenis. Al-Qaida has infiltrated the Yemeni law enforcement, military, and security forces so thoroughly that the lethal shipment would be in their hands within the week.”

  General Simons spoke up, “I’d like to suggest with some emphasis that we initiate the Sheep Dog program in Yemen first.”

  “I will make that a presidential order, General.” Turning to the DCIA, he said, “Director, consider that as of this date, the order stands for Sheep Dog’s first orders are to visit Yemen.”

  “Yes, Mr. President. We will accelerate the preparations.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  May

  Hunter became aware that there was a developing acceleration and a harder edge in his training program. He guessed that the powers-that-be were becoming impatient.

  “You’re pushing a lot harder, John,” he said. “What’s up?”

  “The DCIA, himself, called in an order to push you harder, to cram more training into a shorter period. Must be some source of urgency us peons don’t really know much about. I had wanted to let you work on all of the skills we have been practicing; but now, we are going into overdrive on the schedule. Today, we’re going to get into explosives, bombs, and IEDs. Before we do, I want to show you something I did for you. You remember how, about three weeks ago when you and Dr. Rosen were working together without me; and I was gone for several evenings?”

  “Um-hmmh.”

  John walked to his desk and extracted a large manila envelope, opened the clasp, and dumped the contents on the kitchen table.

  Hunter saw something like two dozen passports. He gave John a quizzical look. “All for you. Several of them are Belgian, you’ll note. Since 1990, well over 20,000 blank passports have been “stolen”, actually sold by crooked civil servants on the side. They were easy enough to come by, and you can think of them as use-once-and-discard passports. All of this is offline and wouldn’t be appreciated by the Great Ones, but I’ve been around a bit; and I know something about what happens when the winds of fortune and political wisdom shift in D.C. Someone takes the blame or becomes the tethered goat. It’s usually not the generals or the president. The stuff still rolls down hill, and I think there’s a possibility that you might find yourself in the valley. So, I have gone out on a limb for you. I guess it’s unprofessional; but I’ve taken a liking to you; and I want you to survive this up-c
oming adventure of yours.”

  “Thanks,” Hunter said quietly.

  “You’re quite welcome. First, let me tell you about the passports. They are from a dozen different countries, and they are altogether genuine, right down to the multiple entry and exit stamps. Your picture has been very expertly photoshopped; so, you look every bit the businessman from France, the aging English Duke, the gruff union boss, the consulting engineer, the soldier, and the Arab sheik, etcetera. We’ll put in long hours with a make-up artist to make you an expert in altering your appearance to fit the passport photos. And, if you have the good sense I credit you with, you will keep mum about all of these passports and about the disguise program.

  “I advise you—my friend—to take every opportunity to amass money and salt it away in secret accounts in the Caymans or Vanuatu or wherever. You can steal or extort from your victims. You can purloin their caches and burglarize their safes without Uncle Sugar becoming the wiser. Remember that a secret is something only one person knows. Whatever you think about your handlers, always keep something back from them. Always have escape routes, exit strategies—not only from your assignments, but also from them. You work for the CIA; it shows on your face. They don’t care a whit if you are dishonest or queer or enjoy perversions so long as it does not threaten The Company or the United States. God help you if you do become a perceived threat. You have to prepare for that day and hope that it never comes as much as you have to be an absolute expert on the deadly arts and the arts of subterfuge, being an imposter, and escape.”

  John’s face was grimmer than Hunter had ever seen it in the months they had worked together. He was clearly serious, and Hunter paid serious attention.