by Judith Lucci
Finally, Mohammed said quietly, "Holy War is not the work of one soldier. It is the work and plans of many of us."
Syed said nothing and the silence ensued.
None of the men was aware of the presence behind them until a voice spoke in Russian, in the dialect of North Caucasus.
"Ah, my friends. Are you congratulating yourself on a hard-won victory?" Vadim asked, his tone sarcastic, his manner disrespectful. Vadim was dressed as a tourist and had taken off the brightly colored clothing he wore every day as the organ grinder. His monkey stood beside him, his leash attached to Vadim's wrist. The monkey's baleful, malevolent eyes glared at the three men.
As Syed stared into the monkey's eyes, he could swear the monkey was planning a vindictive attack.
Mohammed rose from his seat, his thick body tense, ready to fight. "You must be the traitor, Vadim. Why did you betray us?” Mohammed accused the Russian. "Where is the real virus, the one you smuggled out of New Orleans in 1964?" Mohammed spat the words at the man, his manner deprecating and insulting. He hated the Russian.
Vadim, equally strong and well-muscled, replied in a similar, derogatory tone, "Certainly you don't think I stole the virus, do you? I am not that old. However, it is our virus. It was developed by Russians just as the Novichok was developed as a Russian nerve agent. Have you idiots no imagination or the ability to develop your own weapons of mass destruction?"
As the men continued to stare at each other, Syed's autonomic nervous system kicked in. He wanted to run as far as he could away from the terrible fight he knew would soon ensue between the two men.
"Just a little history here for you," Vadim continued. "We helped the Americans make the virus years ago and planned to use it against them. Of course, our ruse was to use the virus to kill Castro when indeed we planned to kill the Americans." Vadim laughed aloud as he remembered the story from his childhood. He loved the story that depicted the stupidity of the American government. "The virus was mutated in order to kill Kennedy and countless other Americans. As a matter of fact, we can inject the virus directly into someone and they will die within hours of a lethal lung cancer."
Mohammed continued to stare at him and said nothing, waiting for the first chance to strike the Russian.
Vadim continued gleefully, "But don't worry, you are somewhat correct. The virus is the same and we have copious quantities of it in safekeeping. As a matter of fact, we'll probably use it against you bastard Muslim insurgents who send in suicide bombers and kill our citizens every day and denigrate the Russian way of life.”
Mohammed was furious but continued to hold on to his patience.
"The virus was created by Dr. Mary Sherman and Dr. Oschner in a secret lab in New Orleans and we grew it on diseased monkey kidneys. Later the American government helped us. My favorite part of the story is how the Americans accidentally contaminated the virus with a monkey virus, the Simian Virus, and then grew the polio vaccine on it and administered it to three million American children. The Americans knew it would cause cancer in their children. And to think, they call all us savages." Vadim stopped for a moment to examine the eyes of the three men. All were listening intently but the Russian knew it was only a matter of time before they attacked.
Vadim smiled and continued, "Now there is a huge increase in soft tissue cancers in Americans. The dumb Americans have weakened their infrastructure with their stupidity, causing an exponential increase in cancer all over the country and they did it on purpose. Now, who is the monster?" Vadim was smug, as he added, "Never fear, we will move against them again with this same, but much improved, cancer-causing virus. They will die but this time, we used you to learn how they would react to a viral outbreak. And you Jihadists think you are so smart - blah! You are ignorant guinea pigs!" Vadim said as he spat at Mohammed's feet.
Mohammed was incensed with rage but held on to his temper. "You double-crossed us, Vadim. You were to work with us. We cannot have that. You are a traitor to our cause and to Allah."
Vadim threw back his head and laughed hard. "A traitor? It is you and your pack of roving, thieving Jihadists who are the traitors. You are traitors to Mother Russia. You thieve in the night, and use your ignorant suicide bombers to kill innocent, hardworking Russians. You are traitors and sons of bitches and this is what I think of your Quran."
Panic boiled into outrage as Syed watched Vadim throw the Quran to the wooden floor of the Riverwalk deck then stomp and spit on it.
Omar lunged at Vadim but Vadim was prepared. He released his monkey and the beast attacked Omar, biting him repeatedly on his face and chest. The monkey then raked its paws across Omar's eyes until they streamed blood. Omar fell to the ground, bleeding profusely and clutching his eyes, moaning that he had been blinded.
Mohammed was furious and pulled his gun. He aimed at Vadim's head, but Vadim was quicker and wrenched the gun from Mohammed's hand. He cursed in English and watched helplessly as Vadim kicked his gun away from his reach, and with one hand, threw him to the deck.
Mohammed, resigned to death, looked at the writhing, bloody body of Omar. He reached out his hand to comfort his old friend, and said, "My brother, we have fought the Holy War long and hard. Allah will reward us."
Omar nodded in understanding as he awaited death, always the strong, enduring Muslim warrior.
Several seconds later, Mohammed watched helplessly as Vadim withdrew a syringe. Mohammed was furious at the death of his friend, attempted to rise, but Vadim kicked him hard in the chest and he fell back to the floor.
"You Jihad bastards have stolen our technology, our virus, our nuclear technology, and now our chemical weapons. I will give you a taste of your own medicine. You loaded the canisters with Novichok to kill the Americans. I will return the favor and use the nerve agent to prolong your death."
Mohammed did not resist as Vadim pinched his nostrils, forcing him to open his mouth in a few seconds to breathe. Mohammed's eyes grew wide as Vadim inserted the syringe into the Muslim leader's mouth.
Syed watched in horrified silence as Mohammed began to twitch and seize violently until he finally convulsed in death. Syed was so fixated on the process that he failed to notice that Vadim was coming for him with another syringe in his hand.
"I watched you, you little Muslim bastard, as you blew your friends up today. Now it is your turn," Vadim said as he turned toward the young Muslim warrior.
As Syed stood his ground and spoke defiantly, the enormous Russian moved toward him. Syed replied, "Yes, I killed them. Both of them. They were weak and not fitting to serve Allah."
Vadim thrust out an enormous hairy hand to grab Syed, but the Muslim was quick and twisted away from the Russian.
In a second, Syed scaled the balcony and jumped from the second floor of the Riverwalk. Landing on his feet, he quickly disappeared into the crowd.
Vadim spat a curse and reached for his weapon, but he knew it was too late. If I shoot into the crowd, it will only be a matter of time before the FBI snipers pinpoint my position and come for me. I'll get the little bastard later. There is plenty of time for killing, especially the ignorant Jihad insurgents that spend their lives fighting President Putin and his men. There was nothing more pleasurable for Vadim than killing Jihadists from the Cadesus. After all, those bastards had killed both of his sons. And besides, he'd liked Nazir. Nazir reminded him of his younger son, and he was filled with fury that these Jihadist bastards had killed him. He wondered where Ali was. Perhaps he'd try to find him and offer him protection.
Ali was crouched behind a table in a bar within view of them and had watched every movement of Vadim, Omar, and Mohammed. He'd watched Vadim kill the leaders and watched Syed escape.
What should I do? Ali was fraught with indecision. He'd wanted Syed to die, especially after he'd admitted killing Nazir. Now he wasn't so sure. He just wanted to hurt him, torture him for a long time before he killed him. But he would destroy him, if not today, then another day soon. After all, Syed had taken his only family from
him. He was a vile, ignorant Jihad bastard.
Ali reached in his pocket and pulled out his phone. He sent a text to Syed. “Meet me at the apartment. I will help you. Ali.”
Ali waited in his hiding place until Vadim left with his monkey. He watched the city smolder below him as he carefully planned the death of Syed. Finally, he left and walked over to Decatur Street where he assisted the nice lawyer lady named Alex from the hospital help the injured people at the French Market. He liked her. He hoped they'd become friends but, in the meantime, he knew what he had to do.
Chapter 49
Alex hid in her bed under the covers. She had watched the sun rise through her bedroom window and had seen the shadows deepen as the heavens darkened and night descended onto New Orleans and into her room. She hadn't eaten or slept since before the attack, and she didn't want to. Ever. She had spoken only with Robert, and then, only about her grandparents. She wouldn't allow any other conversation. She knew he’d been trying to see her, but she hadn't answered her door bell or phone. Alex was powerless to move from her bed. In truth, she was emotionally and physically crippled. I'm done, I will never get over this. Each time she closed her eyes, all she could see were mangled bodies, limbs without torsos, pink painted fingernails without a hand, and blood. Blood was everywhere. She saw blood, body pieces, and human carnage on the walls of her bedroom and even on the floor. She didn't move. She could not. The memory of the twisted and bent baby carriage never left her mind, and the mangled steel pierced her heart as she remembered the desperation in the young mother's voice crying for her baby. The sounds of the dying, injured and tortured obsessed her brain, and she couldn't wipe the sights from her eyes nor the sounds from her ears. Please, God, when will I get better? Will I ever?
Finally, after a long time, several days, Alex really didn't know, she felt a presence in her room. It was a woman. Alex recognized the perfume, but she couldn't place it. As the woman pulled the covers from around her face, Alex stared up into the dark, intense eyes of Monique Desmonde.
"Come on, Alex. It is time to get up. We have things we must do."
Alex arose slowly from her bed, but fell helplessly onto the floor, unable to walk. She was startled at her weakened and debilitated state. As she lay on the floor, fear pumping though her heart, she could hear her blood racing through her veins. She stared wordlessly at Monique, unable to speak and frantic with fear. Finally, she felt herself tenderly lifted by strong arms and carried into her sun room. She was placed on her chaise lounge where the sun was streaming through the French windows and she could smell fresh flowers. Hot tea was steeping on the coffee table.
Alex stared at Monique and Jack, her best friends in the world, but she was still wordless.
"Come, drink, Alex. Your grandparents need you. I need you, and so do Jack and Robert.”
Alex nodded and said, "Thank you. I will." She smiled as she heard Jack heave an enormous sigh of relief. Life would begin again. Thank you, God.
Aftermath
Commander Jack Francoise stood to toast his most favorite people in the world.
Alex nudged Robert and whispered, "This ought to be good. The big guy can certainly screw up a toast. We've both witnessed it before."
Robert chided her gently, admiring his beautiful date. She was serene in a beautiful emerald green gown with a lovely emerald and pearl encrusted necklace. Robert was pleased Alex had worn the necklace. It was a Bonnet family heirloom and his mother had presented it to Alex on their wedding day. "Shhh," he admonished. "Give him a chance. He may pull it off."
Alex rolled her eyes and muttered, "Yeah. Right. Sure he will," She squeezed Robert's hand under the table. Alex gazed around the restaurant aware that people were watching them. For a moment, a shadow of fear overcame her and she looked around for a Jihadist intent on killing her grandparents. Immediately, she chided herself. I cannot live with this fear. It will kill me.
It had been a little over a month since the terrorist attacks on the Crescent City and while the recovery was slow, the gang had gathered at Commander's Palace for the long-awaited dinner. Thanksgiving had been only a week ago, and Alex had decided this would be her last big meal before the Holidays. She didn't want to add to the pounds she gained every year.
She gazed fondly at her grandmother. Kathryn looked beautiful in a pale rose gown, her arm in a sling as the Congressman hovered close by. Her bruises had faded, her white hair was growing back, and her blue eyes, so much like those of her own, sparkled in the candlelight. She had refused her wheelchair for the evening and had made sure the walker was placed well out of everyone's sight. Kathryn was doing great.
Jack stood and smiled happily at the people he loved best in the world. Monique sat to his right, demure in navy blue silk, and Alex and Robert were seated along with the elder Lees and Yvette Charmaine who had flown to New Orleans from Atlanta for the celebration. Even John Houser from the state police had journeyed to NOLA for the celebration and was seated across from Jack. His wounds had healed well and he hoped to be back to work by the first of the year.
"Jack, get to it. I want some champagne," Monique hissed loudly.
Jack gazed at his beautiful fiancée, dressed in silk, and once again wondered why she loved him. "OK, Monique. I want to do this right. Give me a moment." Jack took a deep breath.
Alex had to admit that Jack cut a handsome figure in his tuxedo. His silver grey hair gleamed in the low light of the chandelier and she could swear he was thinner. She touched Monique and nodded toward Jack with approval.
Monique flashed a swift smile to her and mouthed, "I put him on a diet."
Alex laughed out loud as Jack began his toast.
Immediately, he was overcome with emotion and tears streamed down his cheeks. "I love you all and that's all I have to say," the burly commander said as he flopped back into his chair. "I just can't do this without blubbering all over myself and I'm a Police Commander and we can't do this in public." Monique patted his leg.
Alex shot Robert a triumphant smile and turned her attention toward the maître de as he appeared with trays of Bananas Foster and Cherries Jubilee. Her grandmother had ordered her favorite bread pudding and light-hearted conversation continued through champagne and dessert.
The evening ended with Adam and Kathryn inviting the group to Wyndley for Christmas.
Alex was delighted and everyone, even Yvette, promised to come. Life was good after all. A short time later, Alex noticed how tired her grandmother was becoming and suggested the party continue at her home. She knew her grandparents needed to retire and she and Robert dropped them off at The Palm Court on their way home. Besides, she was dying to hear Jack and Yvette's final reports about the attack.
Alex sat impatiently in her solarium as Jack and Yvette talked endlessly in the kitchen. Monique and Robert sat quietly by her side.
Monique arched her eyebrows and said, "Really, Alex. Who's the impatient one now? They're just comparing their facts. We'll know in a few minutes."
Robert nodded in agreement. "It won't be long now. We've been waiting over a month."
Nevertheless, Alex was impatient as she moved toward the bar and poured herself her second snifter of Armarula. She loved the fruit-flavored African liqueur even though it had a zillion calories an ounce. What the hell! It's almost the Holidays.
Several minutes later, Jack and Yvette emerged from the kitchen laughing, each with a cup of coffee.
Yvette had a bottle of Bailey's Irish Cream in one hand and offered some to Robert and Monique. Robert declined, sticking to his brandy, and Monique consumed very little alcohol.
"OK, you all. What's the scoop? I want to know everything," Alex demanded as she turned an intense gaze toward the Commander and the CDC physician.
Jack laughed at her and said, "Geez, Alex. Keep your pants on. We're going to tell you everything we know. Take a break."
Jack ignored her withering look and began, "The final death toll was 536, much less than we initially anticipated.
All in all, that's not bad considering the thousands of people in the Quarter that day."
"It's still 536 too many," Alex blurted out. "Those people didn't deserve to die like that."
Robert placed his arm around Alex's shoulders and said calmly, "That's for sure, but there could have been many, many more, especially with the nerve gas and the aerosol virus."
Alex, her rage in check, nodded.
Jack continued, "No politicians were killed which was amazing because the levels of the Novichok and virus were much higher in the canisters at the Convention Center and the Hotel Casino than other locations. Some of that is because the gas stayed in a confined place, while the canisters outside dissipated more quickly in the air. The President escaped unharmed, as you know, and the two U.S. Senators who were ill recovered and are doing well. No residual effects.”
"What about the dead Jihadists? Were the FBI and Secret Service able to conclude they were totally responsible for the attacks?" asked Robert.
"Yeah." Jack nodded. "They were Russian Red, just as Stoner thought. The same group that attacked Boston. His intel was remarkably accurate, as was Bodine's, throughout the entire attack. Gotta hand it to those guys, they have the technology stuff going on. They are American heroes, both of them."
"Who killed the terrorists?" Alex changed the subject, not so sure Jack was right. She remained indignant about the attack and somewhere in her mind believed that the government should have totally prevented it. Of course she knew she was being unreasonable and dreaming, but she was still pissed. She guessed it was because they hadn't treated the sick and dying quickly enough. The smell of explosives and burning flesh, the cries of the wounded and the attack on her grandmother would be with her forever.
"We're pretty sure it was a Russian named Vadim. He's been around the Quarter for a few years with a Calliope and a pet monkey. We think his monkey carried the virus - at least the virus that killed Yahwa, Omar, and Mohammed. All three were covered with monkey bites and an analysis of their wounds detected a monkey Simian virus. We also think the Russian had access to the same virus created in the secret laboratory in New Orleans that Dr. Mary Sherman developed in the 1960s."