Pandemic: Beginnings: A Post-Apocalyptic Medical Thriller Fiction Series (The Pandemic Series Book 1)

by Bobby Akart

  Again, his nervous hands betrayed him. Just as he turned the lock and entered his apartment, he was tackled to the floor and a large man landed on his back in a heap.

  Dr. Alexis tried to scramble to safety, kicking his assailant and clawing at the woven rug on the wood floor. But his efforts were in vain as several other men entered the room to assist. Too frightened to scream for help, Dr. Alexis stared at the now familiar face of his captor from six months ago, the man’s look of hate and anger having made an indelible impression on the young scientist’s mind.

  His hot breath stank of garlic as he spoke the words, “It is your time, infidel.”

  Dr. Alexis begged for his life, to no avail. He was hoisted up on his knees and his head was firmly held down on a coffee table. Following the chant of Allahu Akbar, the striking blow of the knife severed his head from his spine, his eyes wide open in terror.

  *****

  “Search his flat,” instructed Ali Hassan, the son of a member of the ISIS Fighters Assistance Council and the head of the cell located in the DR Congo. It was Hassan who had proposed the operation at Gabon. While ISIS was actively pursuing biological weapons as a countermeasure to Assad’s chemical arsenal in Syria, the concept of using bioterror agents was beyond most of the comprehension of Abu Bakr al-Baghdadi, the mysterious boss of the Islamic State.

  After a plan was created, and with his father’s support, Hassan was promised the necessary resources from the healthy war chest of ISIS as the mission was put into place. Hassan, who was educated at St. Mary’s Hospital Medical School in London, had an excellent working knowledge of microbiology. When reports of the Madagascar strain of the plague began to surface, he quickly worked out the details.

  At first, he wanted to obtain the plague and weaponize it for an attack upon a high-profile tourist destination in Europe. But his plans grew bigger. He began to study the untreatable superbugs that were constantly being discussed in the American media. Hassan began to hypothesize whether through genetic modification, the deadliest bacterium known to man could be married with one of these so-called superbugs.

  Through a small cadre of his brothers who worked for the Gabon government, he learned of and targeted the talented Dr. Alexis—an easy mark because he’d left a young family behind in Paris. The results of the tests in Guatemala proved that he had made the right choice. The Madagascar strain of the plague was deadly, as expected, but it also surpassed his hopes for a timetable from infection to becoming contagious to being symptomatic.

  The next test would come in a matter of days. If the Madagascar strain, as modified, was antibiotic resistant, as Dr. Alexis claimed, then it would be ready for production and weaponization.

  Either way, it was time for Hassan to cover his tracks and hide the evidence, as the American cop shows like to say. At this moment, the wife and daughters of Dr. Alexis were being sent to their maker. In a few short hours, the BSL-4 laboratory would explode from an unknown electronic malfunction in the effluent decontamination system. Hassan and his men would be well on their way to Kinshasa and then on to Raqqa, Syria, to reunite with his father.

  “For you, sir,” said one of Hassan’s subordinates, who handed him a small spiral notebook. Hassan thumbed through the pages and tried to read the notes written in French. He tucked the notebook in his pocket and walked around the apartment. He couldn’t leave anything behind.

  “Burn it, my brothers,” instructed Hassan. “There must be nothing left to chance.”

  Chapter 9

  Day Four

  Defense Threat Reduction Agency

  Fort Belvoir, Virginia

  Nathan Hunter opened up the throttle on his black 1969 Corvette as he passed the Annandale exit on the Capital Beltway. At 5:30 in the morning, traffic hadn’t picked up yet and he convinced himself that the Virginia State Police were still dunkin’ their donuts somewhere.

  Hunter spent the majority of his time in the field, so it was rare for him to report to the office for any reason. After his years in the U.S. Army’s Special Forces Group, he was recruited by Major Scott Horn, the deputy director of the Defense Threat Reduction Agency.

  Major Horn was very impressed with Hunter’s success in leading the 1st SFOD-Delta operators into Al-Amr, Syria, to capture a senior leader of ISIS named Abu Sayyaf. Sayyaf engaged Hunter’s team in a firefight, resulting in the terrorist’s death, but the mission was declared a success.

  The 1st SFOD-Delta, commonly referred to as Delta Force or The Unit, was garrisoned at Fort Bragg, North Carolina. They operated in a similar fashion to their Navy SEAL counterparts, both being capable of executing all types of specialized missions.

  While in Syria, Hunter had seen the effects of chemical weapons on the innocent people who opposed the Assad regime. He was infuriated by this, and when Major Horn called on Hunter to head up a new mission for the DTRA that was dedicated to battling bioterror, Hunter jumped at the chance. The fact that his team would be operating off the books, as they say, made the opportunity even more attractive. Every soldier in the Middle East theater was frustrated with the politicization of their efforts and the hamstrings placed upon them by rules of engagement designed to avoid controversy rather than winning. His role with the DTRA allowed him to do his duty without strings attached.

  He slowed the ’vette, his pride and joy, as he approached the exit to Fort Belvoir. The facility, located on a peninsula extending into the Potomac River, was home to a variety of U.S. Army units—most notably, the Army Intelligence and Security Command.

  The DTRA was not well known outside the military and certain government agencies. When it came to bioterror operations, the CDC, CIA, and FBI usually were mentioned most often in the media. The DTRA added a combat element to the war on terror with its ability to counter weapons of mass destruction. It was under the leadership of Major Horn that an emphasis was placed on bioterror agents as a weapon of mass destruction—a WMD.

  In the past, the agency focused on events right of boom—a phrase that referred to the timeline of a disaster, in particular the aftermath. In a world at war with terrorists, governments had concentrated their efforts on what happens after a catastrophic event, hence the phrase right of boom.

  The DTRA had done important work in the aftermath of catastrophes. When the tsunami caused a nuclear meltdown at Fukushima, the DTRA was on the scene to assist within hours. When WMDs were discovered in Libya after the fall of the Qaddafi regime, the DTRA quickly neutralized and destroyed the stockpiles.

  But the new leadership under Major Horn didn’t think post-catastrophe mitigation was enough. As a result, Project Artemis was born. In Greek mythology, Artemis was the Greek goddess of the hunt. The daughter of Zeus and the twin sister of Apollo, Artemis was known as the protector of young girls, especially for relieving disease in women.

  For the DTRA, Project Artemis was designed to liaison with the CIA and the NSA to stop the use of biological weapons by terrorists—before boom. Whether it was the use of anthrax by domestic terrorists within the United States or weaponized smallpox throughout Europe, Hunter and the team at Project Artemis worked around the clock to prevent bioterror events from happening.

  In order to do so, the Project Artemis team had to think outside the box. They were adept at analyzing data and intelligence, and piecing threads of evidence together that might seem far-fetched to some. Sometimes their working theories didn’t pan out. When they did, and a bioterror attack was thwarted, it was a rewarding feeling for Hunter, who worked tirelessly for the country he loved.

  Just as the sun peeked over the Potomac, Hunter entered the DTRA building and sought coffee, the nectar of the gods and goddesses of Project Artemis. Based upon the phone call he’d received a couple of hours ago, coffee was going to be a necessity for several days to come.

  Chapter 10

  Day Four

  Defense Threat Reduction Agency

  Fort Belvoir, Virginia

  Hunter walked around the room and spoke to each of the membe
rs of the team. It appeared that all hands were on deck for this hastily called meeting. It must be something big.

  “Good morning, folks, let’s get started,” announced former USAF Master Sergeant Scott Jablonik, a career military man who coordinated intel gathering with the other intelligence agencies throughout the government. He also acted as a shield to maintain the identities of the Project Artemis operatives discreet, if not anonymous.

  Jablonik powered up the monitors attached to the wall and opened his laptop. Using his Apple Mirror capability on the MacBook, he displayed a series of slides depicting satellite images above Franceville, Gabon.

  “What you’re looking at are satellite images of the biosafety lab located in Franceville, Gabon, West Africa. The first image was taken during our flyover twenty-four hours ago.” He walked up to the monitor and circled the location of the lab with his finger. Afterwards, he pressed a key on his laptop and an image of the same location came on the screen, showing dark black smoke trailing into the sky, almost hiding the remains of the destroyed building he’d indicated before.

  “Jeez, somebody fire a Scud missile at the facility?” asked LaMar Johnson, former Marine and the newest member of Project Artemis.

  “No, not enough collateral damage,” replied another member of the team. “A Scud produces a blast radius of a half mile. The destruction shown here appears to be limited to a single building.”

  Jablonik stepped into their view of the screen and crossed over to pick up his notes. “The information we have is that the blast originated in a decontamination area that contained highly pressurized tanks. The local authorities were quick to declare this an industrial accident, possibly caused by an equipment malfunction.”

  “But you disagree,” interrupted Hunter.

  “I do,” Jablonik said as he put his hands on his hips and stared at the monitor again.

  Hunter inched up in his chair for a closer look at the screen. “What caused the smoke to the right, roughly three or four blocks away?”

  “A small apartment building caught on fire two hours before the blast,” replied Jablonik.

  “Coincidence?” asked Johnson.

  “No way,” Hunter responded although the question was probably directed at Jablonik. “A building catches fire a few blocks away from where a major explosion destroys a BSL-4 laboratory. No coincidence.”

  Jablonik took down the satellite images and replaced them with an image of Dr. Alexis. “This morning, Gabon time, local law enforcement began to search for the employees of the facility, hoping to find them alive and not buried in the rubble. As they worked their way down the roster, one of the first employees to contact was Dr. Francois Alexis. He lived on the second floor of the apartment building that burned to the ground that night. He is missing and so is his family in Paris.”

  “Do you think he had something to do with this?” asked Hunter.

  “Too early to tell,” replied Jablonik. “At this time, our instructions are to stand by until the Secretary of State can get the permission of the Gabon government to join the investigation. This might take a couple of days.”

  “What can we do in the meantime?” asked another member of the team.

  Jablonik handed out a list of assignments to each person in the room. Some members of the team were to focus on Dr. Alexis; others were to focus on terrorist cells in the region.

  “Sir,” Hunter started to speak.

  “Go ahead, Hunter.”

  “Do you have any information on what this particular lab, or scientist, was working on? There might be a connection that leads us to a motive for destroying the facility.”

  Jablonik nodded and reached into his folder. He scribbled down the name and phone number of a high-ranking member of the Gabon Armed Forces in Franceville. “Contact Ali Massard Benin in Libreville. He’ll make sure that you’re the first outsider to gain access to the details of their investigation.”

  “What about the CDC?” asked Hunter. “Would they know what this facility was up to?”

  “Probably,” replied Jablonik. “Give them a call first.”

  “Anyone in particular?” asked Hunter.

  “Don Baggett,” replied Jablonik. “He’s our point of contact. We worked on the Postal Service anthrax matter when I first came on board.”

  Jablonik turned off the monitor and took a seat at the head of the conference table. “Good. Now, speaking of the CDC, what have you learned as a result of your trip to Central America.”

  Helen Yee, a former NSA analyst who was brought on board for her expertise in tracking people via online resources, spoke up first. “I don’t want to speak out of turn, but let me mention one thing as it relates to Hunter’s trip to Guatemala. There has been a marked increase in terrorist movements from the Middle East into Latin America. I have tagged several flights from Damascus to Caracas for special attention. Literally every flight that has landed in Caracas from the region has included one or more persons of interest. You’d think they were building an army in South America.”

  “Or farther north,” added Jablonik. “The CIA has always warned that terrorists are entering Latin America with the intention of creating cells and recruiting. We know Venezuela is a port of entry and places like Trinidad are hotbeds of terrorist activity.”

  “Is the Trinidad operation still a go?” asked Hunter.

  “It is and I need to speak with you about it after our meeting,” replied Jablonik. He turned his attention back to Yee. “Do you have reason to believe that the Guatemala outbreak was connected to this insurgency of terrorists into Venezuela?”

  Yee was noncommittal. “Maybe. Just like Gabon, I don’t like coincidences. You get an unusual outbreak of a mysterious, killer disease and couple it with an influx of bad guys. You never know.”

  “Hunter, what do you think?” asked Jablonik.

  “I spoke with the pathologist who conducted the autopsy on a young boy killed in the village. He didn’t perform the kind of detailed analysis that I’m sure the CDC folks would expect, but he did reach a conclusion.”

  Jablonik removed his glasses and set them on the table. He leaned forward and asked Hunter to explain. “What did he say?”

  “There were two things that struck me. One was the speed at which the disease killed the boy. Based on the timeline he’d developed from the reports given to him, he concluded that the disease was highly contagious and fast acting.”

  “What’s the second thing?”

  Hunter sat back in his chair and sighed. “He’s of the opinion that the boy was inoculated.”

  “Do you mean that he was given some type of vaccine to ward off the effects of the disease?” asked Jablonik.

  “No, sir,” replied Hunter. “The boy may have been inoculated with the disease.”

  Chapter 11

  Day Five

  Atlanta, Georgia

  Mac worked her way through the trees, keeping the dense underbrush between her and the man she was pursuing. He’d been separated from his group, with Mac and Danny Cantore hot on his trail. She darted across a small clearing and joined Cantore behind a limestone rock outcropping.

  “Are you sure he’s not leading us into a trap?” asked Mac, fighting for breath in the humid air.

  “I thought about that because he doesn’t seem to care that we’re trailing him,” replied Cantore. “Should we let him go and circle back to our guys?”

  Mac studied her prey, who’d stopped at the top of the hill. She didn’t like the fact that he held the high ground, but based upon his previous attempts at shooting them, he’d proven himself to be a poor marksman.

  “Let’s press the fight,” Mac announced. “Circle around to the right and keep your eye on him. I’m gonna run straight up the hill and force his hand. I’m tired of fooling with this guy. The longer we’re separated, the more vulnerable we become.”

  “I’m down with that. Give me a minute,” said Cantore. “I’ll attempt to draw his fire so you can get closer for a clear shot.�
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  Cantore took off through the woods and found his way to a cluster of oak trees just twenty yards from their target. Upon his signal, Mac slowly walked through the underbrush until she reached the trail and then bolted into the opening.

  The man swung his weapon in her direction and fired wildly over her head. Instinctively, she ducked to avoid being hit but continued advancing toward him. Cantore opened fire and distracted the target. That was all Mac needed to make the kill.

  SPLAT—SPLAT—SPLAT.

  Her Tippmann X7’s superior accuracy easily found the mark, plastering the man with five red splats of paint—a good kill. Her target fell to his knees and raised his hands in an X over his head, indicating he was out of the game.

  The air horn sounded, indicating the game was over. Mac and Cantore removed their helmets as they joined their opponent. The three of them had a good laugh as the man explained he was lost, out of energy from the pursuit, and appreciated getting killed.

  Mac had joined a paintball team three years ago and they regularly competed at Paintball Atlanta in Alpharetta, north of Atlanta. Growing up as a military brat, she enjoyed working with weaponry and honing her firearm skills. Paintball allowed her to practice combat drills and teamwork.

  “Let’s count ’em up!” shouted Cantore as the three made their way back to the start of the Woodsball field.

  Mac quickly surveyed the number of red-painted opponents and immediately smelled victory. Truthfully, her group won most of its matches. The team known as Alpha Squad was made up of ten DEA, FBI, and National Guardsmen who’d been together for years. Mac was invited in initially because the local rules required that two females be a part of the squad. Mac, who was extremely competitive, didn’t like being added as a token female and worked overtime to prove herself worthy of being on the team. It didn’t take long for her to fit in and excel at the sport.