by Rod Collins
Too depressing, Miranda thought. And then out of the blue she asked, “How are things between you and Jenny?”
Brandt smiled and laughed. “You know, this might be working out. She called this morning and reminded me I owe her a lobster dinner. And … assuming we live out the day … she and I are going to dinner tonight.”
“So?”
“So, she has turned me down about ten times in a row. Why say yes, now? I think she is a wee bit jealous you and I are partners. At least I hope so.”
***
Basma cooperated from the beginning. When Brandt and Miranda showed her their credentials, she nodded and said, “I’ve been expecting you. Please come in.”
She ushered them through a spotless living room to a shiny kitchen. She pointed to the table, saying, “Please sit. Would you like a cup of coffee?”
They each shook their heads and remained standing. Brandt asked, “Is your husband home?”
Tears formed in the corners of her dark eyes. “He hasn’t been home for the past two days. I fear for him.”
“You know that we have to look,” Brandt said.
“I know. Go ahead.”
Brandt waved the small tactical team inside and waited until the team leader came back to the kitchen and said, “Clear.”
“Why do you fear for you husband?” Miranda asked.
Tears rolled down Basma’s brown cheeks, but she brushed them angrily away. “You must understand. He is my husband. When he started asking questions about my job – how the system worked … maps of the system … sources of supply … pumping stations … I didn’t think anything of it. At first, I just thought he was interested in my job. But, when I heard whispers of a plot to poison the water supply, I was terrified. I begged him to go to the police, but he wouldn’t listen. He kept saying it was in the hands of Allah. And then he disappeared. That’s when I knew he had been providing information to terrorists – bad people who would kill Muslims as well as infidels to further their goals.”
Brandt asked, “Did he mention any names, anyone he might have been passing the information to?”
She nodded. “He said someone named Osama was curious about the water supply. I don’t know him.”
Agent Wright said, “Why don’t you sit down. I’ll get you a glass of water.”
“No! I’m afraid of the water. I only drink bottled water.”
Miranda nodded. “I guess I would be scared, too. Now … did your husband have any papers? Notebooks? A desk someplace?”
“There in the back bedroom. He has a little office. I searched the desk. There’s nothing there.”
Brandt pursed his lips and nodded. “Then you won’t mind if we search again.”
“Why would I care? My life is over.”
She wiped her tears away on a kitchen towel, straightened her shoulders and said, “I have asked my neighbor to keep my cats while I’m gone. I’m ready.”
Sadness in her voice, Miranda read Basma her rights and placed her under arrest. Brandt picked up a framed photo of Basma and a tall, bearded young man. Multnomah Falls was in the background. They were both young, smiling, happy … a full life ahead of them.
Brandt said, “Is this your husband?”
Basma nodded. “Happier times.”
A restless crowd of people gathered on Basma’s small lawn. One angry young man shouted, “Hands up, you pigs!” Others took up the chant until Basma yelled, “It is okay! Go home, but don’t drink the water!”
A buxom black woman asked, “What are you saying, Basma?”
“The water has been poisoned by jihadists!”
Miranda watched people frantically dialing cell phones or running up the sidewalk in the direction of the neighborhood grade school while Brandt put Basma behind the cage of the big SUV. She slid into the passenger seat and slammed the door. “Go! Go!” she said. “This will hit the airways in about sixty seconds.”
She called a number and waited. When Special Agent Smith answered, she said without preamble, “We need to issue an emergency bulletin warning people to not drink city water. It may have been poisoned.”
She heard an uncharacteristic swear word, and then Smith said, “On it.”
Chapter 75
Exodus and Chaos
A POLITICAL ADVISER in the mayor’s office wanted to wait until the water was tested for toxins before declaring a state of emergency. The mayor glared at him and said, “George, you are an idiot. You’re fired! Go drink some water and save me the trouble of shooting you.”
***
The Portland Metropolitan Interagency Emergency Response Team was activated, and the governor used her authority to call up the Oregon National Guard to declare a state of emergency for Multnomah County, Clackamas County, and Washington County.
The president of the United States declared a state of emergency and ordered FEMA to Portland. The major television networks scrambled to send teams of reporters to Portland, and by the second hour of the event, talking heads on local and national television were advising people to stay home, to stay calm, and to remember it could turn out to be just a political ruse by the party currently outvoted by the majority party.
News channels immediately brought in expert consultants to describe how they would go about the business of poisoning the Portland water supply. Computer-generated graphics flashed on HDTV screens showing maps of the Bull Run watershed, pipelines, wells, and the open reservoirs in the city. One well-known newscaster for FOX asked, “Aren’t you concerned that you might be spreading needless panic?” He was immediately portrayed as “insensitive” by CNN.
Other talking heads condemned the City of Portland for its open water supply, an effort that died quickly after other experts listed all the open sources of water for other cities like New York, Washington D.C., and Los Angeles.
What ensued lacked the orderly behavior predicated by the emergency response plan. People did not listen to the urgent voices on radio, television, and social media sites telling then to remain calm and stay home.
Instead, they packed their kids and pets into vehicles and headed out of town, creating a mega traffic jam that would take the Oregon Department of Transportation, the Oregon State Police, the Portland Police Bureau, and a bevy of officers from surrounding municipalities days to untangle.
It was a bonanza for towing companies. Hundreds of vehicles were left abandoned. Television newscasts showed thousands of people with daypacks and water jugs walking the freeways and highways away from Portland.
Urgent care centers, hospital ER’s, and medical clinics were swamped with people convinced they were dying. The sound of ambulance sirens added to the hysteria, and 911 was flooded with more calls than dispatchers could handle.
Predictably, looters took to the streets. Fires burned out of control, because fire engines could not be driven through the clogged city streets.
As word spread, bottled water became a new form of currency. Vending machines were looted, and convenience stores were robbed of any bottled liquid. The National Guard was ordered out and issued live ammunition. One battalion from Salem was able to drive as close as the junction of I-5 and I-205 before congestion halted progress. They slogged the next nine miles to a staging center set up in the West Linn High School football field. They would wait twenty-four hours for further orders.
Police helicopters fed pictures of cars using southbound overpass exits to escape the congestion, then using northbound exits as on-ramps to get to the less congested half of the freeway … driving south in the northbound lanes of I-5.
***
Osama Ali, forty-five years old cleric, a hint of gray in his groomed beard, twisted the cap on a plastic bottle of imported spring water and took a sip. “Amazing.”
He looked from the Channel 6 coverage of a fire engine – lights flashing, horn and siren blaring – trying to edge up Burnside to a fire a few blocks up the street. Drivers did their best to move into right hand lanes and make room.
A reporter br
ushed straight black hair away from her face and said, “Panic has turned Burnside into a parking lot as drivers attempt to leave the city. And, as you can see, congestion is making it nearly impossible for a fire engine to reach a blaze just a few blocks up the street.” The camera panned south on 4th Avenue and zoomed in on a group of young men, most of them in masks, in time to record two of them using baseball bats to break into a cell phone store.
“And it looks like looters are already at work. Let’s hope the police can reach the scene in time to prevent further damage. Amy Chou reporting live from downtown Portland.”
The circle of men lounging on couches and overstuffed chairs in the large side room in the mosque laughed at the confusion and panic. Osama studied each face, trying to judge their dedication. “What do you think?”
One older man shook his head and grinned. “We will all be arrested, is what I think. Our brothers and sisters will turn against us.”
Osama nodded. “Yes. I think you are right. This did not go as planned, but I am enjoying the chaos nonetheless. Who talked?”
They all looked away, afraid to meet the challenge in Osama’s eyes. “No, I don’t suppose it was any of you. But someone did.”
“The weak link,” the old man said, for he was the only one in the room unafraid of Osama, “is Hamas. His wife Basma has been arrested, and I suspect she will tell the FBI everything she knows. They will figure it out from there.”
“How long before they learn it was a ruse … that there never was any poison?”
One of the men shrugged, saying, “The FBI is very efficient. Hours maybe?”
“Well, before they come knocking on the door with a warrant for my arrest, I want you each to instruct your acolytes to be quiet and to pass the word in the Muslim community that there is no poison in the water. Calm everyone down if you can.”
The old man gave Osama a side glance and studied him for a few seconds. “And you intend to be arrested, don’t you?”
“Yes … a small gesture of martyrdom. Besides, can you jail someone for a rumor? I think not.” And then he laughed, “This has exceeded my wildest expectations. Now, go with Allah’s blessing.”
They all rose from the couches except the old man. “What of Hamas?”
Osama said, “By this time next week, he should be sweating in the Libyan desert, training to become a martyr.”
He bowed slightly. “Congratulations, Osama.”
Osama bowed in turn, lowered his eyes and nodded. “The will of Allah.”
Chapter 76
The World Watches
BUD PULLED INTO his gravel driveway, half expecting to hear Molly’s bark when he opened the driver’s door. He slammed the pickup door a little harder than necessary and said, “Molly. I’m gonna miss you.”
Her water bowl was dry and her food bowl was empty on the back porch, but he just couldn’t bring himself to dump them in the trash. He pushed through the back door and hurried to his bedroom. He pulled a soft-sided carryall from the closet and flopped it on the bed. He was packing socks and underwear, one set for each day he planned to be gone – plus one extra set for emergencies – when his cell phone rang.
He didn’t recognize the number, but something told him he should answer. “Bud Blair.”
BB’s voice growled through the speaker. “Bud, you better turn your TV on. All hell’s breaking loose in Portland. Somebody … at least that’s what the police think … poisoned the water supply. Thousands are fleeing the city, traffic is all jammed up, and the looters are having a field day. It’s a disaster.”
“Hold on.” He rushed to his living room and hit the power button on the remote in time to see a picture of Burnside Avenue in Portland, fire trucks trying to weave through a traffic jam, looters four or five blocks up the street from the television crew. He recognized Amy Chou and heard her say, “And it looks like looting has already started.”
The picture faded and an anchorman Bud didn’t know was saying, “Thank you Amy. It looks like total chaos. Be careful out there.” He actually sounded like he meant it.
The camera shifted to an overhead shot from a Channel 6 helicopter showing the traffic jam at the junction of I-205 and I-5 southbound. An airborne reporter said, “As you can see gridlock has all but closed most major highways out of the city, making it difficult for our police and our first responders to do their jobs. It looks like total panic from up here. We just checked I-205 where it joins I-84 and it looks much the same. And traffic on the Sunset West is not moving at all. It looks like a number of people are abandoning their cars to walk the shoulder of the freeway.
“Reporting live, this is Gordon Sharp for Channel 6 news.”
The scene shifted back to the studio and a newscaster saying, “We’re hearing rumors of a plot to poison the city’s water supply, so we are urging people to not drink any tap water. Use bottled water instead. I need to add that neither our city officials nor Homeland Security have confirmed the story. They are asking people to please stay in their homes and off the streets. The mayor and Police Chief Henry Meyer have scheduled a press conference for thirty minutes from now. Stay tuned.”
Bud turned off the set and called Nancy’s cell. When she picked up, he said, “Have you heard the news from Portland?”
“Yes. I’m headed for Emergency Services right now. Radio is our best bet for communication.”
She paused and said, “I don’t think the Assistant U.S. Attorney is going to expect you to appear any time soon. Oh Bud, do you really think someone poisoned the water supply?”
Bud shook his head thoughtfully. “I don’t know. Millions of gallons of water? How would anyone get any type of poison into the system in sufficient quantities to poison the water? No. I don’t believe it. Something else is going on. I wouldn’t put it past some terrorist son-of-a-bitch to concoct the whole story. And it’s working, isn’t it? Portland is coming apart at the seams. Look, I think I’d better get back to the office. Keep me posted.”
“I love you, Bud Blair. Is this going to interfere with our honeymoon at the cabin? Will you be there?”
“Come hell or poisoned water. Count on it.”
“That’s not funny Bud.”
***
All of the major networks carried pictures of looters shooting at Portland city cops … and losing. One reporter tallied six dead looters and two injured police officers in the first four hours. It made for extremely good program ratings. Networks were buzzing with insinuations about racial injustice and police brutality. Television channels worldwide relayed the pictures from Portland, augmented, of course, by camera shots posted on social media.
In Lakeview, a thoughtless comment by Buck, a local blockhead who allowed that Portland was just getting what it deserved, led to a bloody fistfight between Buck and Charlie Bates, the father of a daughter enrolled at Portland State University … and ended with the father blubbering in fear for his daughter. “I can’t get a call through to her cell phone. I don’t even know if she’s alive or not. And I can’t do a damned thing about it!”
Buck wrapped him in his big arms and said, “Ah, hell, Charlie. I forgot. I’m so sorry.” The bar crowd was surprised to see tears pool in Buck’s eyes. A couple of old cowboys looked away and surreptitiously dabbed at their own eyes.
Denver, the bartender, made a show of pretending to polish his eyeglasses with the open cuff of his flannel shirt.
A man shut his cell phone down and, from the back of the room, said, “I just heard it was some jihadi bastards that did it. They better not come through Lakeview.”