Dead Water

by Russ Snyder

  Rockford laughed. "I can't argue with that."

  Soon both men were deeply engaged in their search. Three hours went by before either man spoke. Ragar straightened up, stood, and stretched.

  This caught Rockford's attention. "Getting anywhere, Elliott?"

  "Yeah, I'm getting more puzzled. I can't come up with anything even close to what we apparently have here."

  "Same for me."

  Dressed in their full hazmat suits, the four CDC researchers found making their way through the Alaskan forest difficult. Had the woods been thicker at the base of the trees, it would have been nearly impossible, at least not without damaging their suits. The temperature was cool enough that excessive body heat was not a problem. Slower than expected, the group made its way toward the lake. Twenty yards from the shoreline, the trees began to thin out, and glimpses of what was once a lake became visible. Within two minutes, all four were staring at a spectacle none really expected to see. They were looking at a solid mound of dead fish. Flies were already everywhere. Even birds had accumulated, beginning to feast on the buffet.

  "Shit, Larry, do you believe this?" exclaimed Joey Tanelli, who was Lawrence Larkin's right-hand man. They had been working together for almost fifteen years.

  "Not really. I've seen some major aquatic catastrophes before, but nothing like this. Get the portable satellite feed up and running. There are people who need to see this."

  "It'll be up in five."

  "Tracy, start collecting water samples---also half a dozen fish and some of those dead birds. Be sure you follow protocol to the letter. Alan, do a preliminary on the water. We'll have to do the fish back at the lab."

  Larkin got NSA director Elliott Ragar on the phone. "Director, Larkin here. We've arrived at the site. It's like nothing I've seen before."

  "Can you spot anything unusual from just looking at them?" asked Ragar.

  "Their eyes are black---other than that, no."

  "Black eyes?"

  "Yes, sir."

  "What does that mean?"

  "Probably internal bleeding. We're going to wrap this up and start our way back before it gets too dark to travel. We'll find a place to hole up for the night and get back in the morning. We've got our samples on dry ice, so they'll be fine."

  "Don't get eaten by a bear."

  "Not to worry. Tanelli has that big Desert Eagle .50 with him. Damned gun could stop a bus."

  "Understood. Check in every four hours."

  "Yes, sir. We'll be back in the morning," he answered, ending the conversation.

  "Sir!" Alan yelled over at him.

  "Yeah, you find anything?"

  "No, sir. Not a thing. Except for the biological waste from the rotting fish, far as I can tell, this water is fit to drink."

  "What?"

  "It's clean. Even the oxygen level is where it should be. Granted, there are other tests that need to be run to be absolutely certain, but from what I can tell, it's fine."

  "The plot thickens," replied Larkin, who was known for his clichés. "Joey, you got that feed up and running?"

  "Crystal clear, Larry. Beaming back video as we speak. I was just getting ready to launch our little drone for a fly around."

  "Good. Concentrate on the shoreline and out near the middle. Don't take real long; I want to get away from this lake before dark."

  "Fifteen minutes and I'll be done."

  "Tracy, how are you doing with those samples?"

  "Just about finished, sir," she replied. Tracy Bronn was the new member to the team. She'd graduated top of her class at the University of Hawaii and had been a great addition to Larkin's group.

  While the other members were completing their assigned tasks, Larkin shot over a hundred photographs on his digital camera.

  Finally, the group was packed up and ready to return. Larkin addressed his team. "Okay, everybody, nice and slow. It's almost dark, and we don't need any tears in anyone's suit to ruin the day. Joey, you get some good video for everyone?"

  "Oh yeah. I already sent it back to Director Ragar."

  4

  Rijah Ellhad had disembarked the plane and walked toward the taxi stand. Before leaving the aircraft, he had donned a disguise. He was now wearing a surfer-style blond-haired wig complete with beard. His dark skin would merely be thought of as a good suntan. He carried with him an old-fashioned army duffel bag. Complementing his appearance, it contained his gear, including his rifle. He hailed a taxi to bring him to a Holiday Inn on the outskirts of Portland, Oregon, a previously chosen meeting place. Room 333. He knocked twice and stepped back. The door opened. He entered, nodding at the swarthy-looking individual who had let him in. The nod was returned. He walked farther into the suite. Sitting around a table were two other men. Both were Iraqi nationals. One was another former member of the Republican Guard; the other had been a senior adviser to Saddam Hussein. All three were part of the group that had abandoned Hussein at the end. The swarthy man had been a member of Saddam's secret police. Assad Bassir, whose specialty was interrogation---or torture---had been recruited.

  Jamil Abdul-Nasir rose to greet Ellhad. "You have done well, my brother. Our sources tell us the biological agent surpassed their expectations. No living creature in that lake survived. The speed with which death occurred was not to be believed. Allah has rewarded us for our patience and dedication."

  Imad al-Bin agreed. "Yes, good fortune is to be ours. We will avenge Saddam's death at the hands of these infidels."

  Rijah Ellhad asked, "When will we have access to the entire shipment?"

  "Soon, Rijah, very soon. We needed to verify that it would work as claimed. Now that we have done that, money will be paid, and we should have our weapon within two weeks."

  "Have we decided on the target yet?" Ellhad asked.

  "No, that will have to be a full-group discussion. That will happen two nights from now at Ryyaki Ali's home." Ali was the acknowledged leader of this particular terrorist cell. They operated independently from anyone else. They had money, worldwide contacts, and a deep, seething hatred for America. They were determined to kill as many as possible. If they lost their own lives in doing so, there would be only honor and glory.

  "Inform me of the time," stated Ellhad flatly. He turned and left.

  The president's "sword" sat along a table at the Ranch: USMC captain Richard Starr, retired; Sergeant Marvin Styles, USMC Force Recon, retired; Captain James, J. C., Christman, United States Air Force, active; and Darlene Phillips, recently of the CIA. They were located in what was considered their war room. It was where some of the ultrasophisticated computer equipment that Phillips had brought in and installed herself was located. There were eight new LED sixty-inch flat screens mounted along one wall. What Phillips could produce on the large monitors would make a Hollywood special-effects expert jealous. She had earned the respect of the others with her undeniable skills. Myra Banks, head of the CIA's cyber unit, almost had cardiac arrest when President Williams stole Phillips from her group to join the Department of the Presidential Office. Phillips's name was the only one of the four associated with the new agency.

  Phillips's fingers started flying over multiple keyboards. After about twenty seconds, she sat back. Images of total devastation filled six of the screens from varying angles and distance.

  "Holy shit!" exclaimed J. C.

  "You ain't kiddin'," added Styles.

  "Phillips, how close is this to real time?" asked Starr.

  "We have the same photos that all other agencies have, although they don't know it. Guys, we've got a big problem here. These photos were taken by a drone launched by the CDC. On the far-right screen, you will notice a sequence of stills taken by a Lawrence Larkin, lead on the four-man CDC team that was sent in. Now watch this." Once again, she ran her fingers across one of the keyboards. The two screens on the far left momentarily went blank
, and then pictures returned. "Far left shows the lake as it was late afternoon on the day before the kill was discovered. Next to it shows the lake at one hour past dawn the following morning. This entire event happened overnight. I've done some research, and I've found nothing in nature that has even come close to comparing with this. There is no doubt in my mind this was caused by man."

  An eerie silence filled the room with only the humming of Phillips's computers heard.

  Styles asked, "Is this going where I think you're about to take it?"

  "You bet it is. Now, look at this," she said with her fingers back over the keyboard. Then she started to control what appeared to be a video game joystick. Slowly, the image on the left screen began to pan left and up. Then it stopped. Phillips began to slowly zoom in for a closer look. "I'll have to send this to the president. I don't think his people have this."

  "Have what?" asked Starr.

  "This. Look at the far left. Concentrate. You see that yellow spot?"

  "Yeah," the three men answered in unison.

  "Keep watching, guys." Slowly, the yellow spot grew, just slightly, but enough to be recognized as a figure wearing yellow.

  "Is that someone wearing a hazmat suit?" asked Styles emphatically.

  "Gold star for you, Styles. It sure is!"

  Starr continued, "Why did you say that the president's people don't have this?"

  "'Cause they don't have this program. I designed it, only one in the world. A satellite sends a signal. The signal contains the image. What you normally don't see clearly is the static that surrounds that image. I created a program that can clean up the static. We're the only people on the planet who have this information."

  J. C. Christman whistled softly between his teeth. "Jeez, Phillips, that's some damned unreal work you've done here."

  "And you boys all thought I was just another pretty face." This brought a round of chuckles from the table.

  Styles spoke first. "No, Darlene, you showed us that quite some time ago." He'd used her first name, an unusual occurrence in itself.

  "So, for the other two who are not as sharp as Styles here, we have caught someone putting something in that lake, and I'd guess he's testing a bioweapon."

  Starr asked, "Where exactly is this lake?"

  "In a very remote part of Alaska, which means it's really remote. Only way in or out would be by chopper. I've already got a program running searching the area for any sign of one for two days previous and two days afterward."

  "Why only two days?" asked Starr.

  "Couple of reasons. Two days seems reasonable to me, plus I'd have to hack into the archives to go any further. Not a big problem, but I've got a feeling we're working in a four-day window. I'll know soon enough."

  Starr stood up. "Guess I'd better call the Man. Let him know what you've found."

  "I've got a better idea," Phillips said. "Let's show him. I've downloaded this info on an encrypted flash drive. When you see him, call me on a secure line, and I'll give you the code. I can't give it to you now because I designed the code to be a rover. I'll have to run a sequence program, given the time and date, to be able to tell you what it will be at a certain time. No other way to open it. This material is too sensitive to be handled any other way."

  "Smart," said Styles.

  "I'll go make the call," asserted Starr.

  5

  "Yes, Richard," President Williams answered.

  "Sir, I have vital information for you regarding the situation in Alaska."

  "We've been studying satellite photography ourselves. It is definitely concerning, to say the least."

  "Yes, sir. What I have to show you will concern you more."

  "What do you have, Richard?"

  "Something I need to show you, sir, not just tell you. Phillips found something in the satellite feed."

  "Richard, I'm sure we've seen it ourselves."

  "Not this. Trust me. I need to see you immediately. I'm bringing an encrypted flash drive with me. You really need to see this, sir. ASAP."

  The line was silent for a moment. "All right. Meet me at Camp David at 7:00 p.m. I'll have the security transponder numbers sent over. I trust Christman can get you there in time."

  "Not a problem, sir."

  "See you then." The president hung up.

  Starr walked back into their war room. "J. C., I need to be at Camp David by seven. Can we make it in the chopper?"

  "Easy. We'll leave at four thirty this afternoon. That'll give us plenty of time."

  "Phillips, in your recon of fish kills, you stated you'd never seen anything like this one, right?" asked Starr.

  "Affirmative."

  "Phillips, you're beginning to talk like a marine," deadpanned Styles.

  "No, I'm not; I didn't swear." They grinned at each other.

  Starr rolled his eyes. "May I continue?"

  "Please do," cracked Christman.

  "Thank you. Now, the point I was attempting to make was to ask Phillips to search around for any other kind of unnatural phenomena, anywhere, that might have resulted in some type of devastation. Look for, I don't know, plant life, anything that is way out of bounds. Think outside the box. Have Sunshine Boy help you, if he can."

  "Sure," Phillips agreed. "He can make us dinner."

  "Hope you like boiled hot dogs," Styles muttered.

  Five men converged on Ryyaki Ali's home. The door was opened as they approached. Two Middle Eastern men, dressed entirely in black with AK-47 assault rifles held at the ready, stood alongside the entrance as the men entered.

  A large man in his early fifties greeted them. "Welcome, my brothers. Please follow me." He led them down a stairway and along a hall. At the end was a large metal door. Ryyaki Ali punched in a seven-digit security number on an electronic keypad, and the door slid open silently. "Come in, sit at my table." The room was impressive. It had two large flat-screen monitors along a full-length desk that housed multiple desktop computers. The table was made of solid rosewood, with matching chairs. A pitcher of water and a glass were arranged at each seating place. Everyone took a seat.

  "We have complete security here. We may speak our minds without fear," added Ali.

  Rijah Ellhad spoke first. "I would be comfortable not stating names aloud. I mean no disrespect, but that has always been our way. I see no reason to change."

  Ryyaki Ali smiled. "As you wish. We are here to discuss the beginning of our revenge on these infidel Americans. We shall possess the means within two weeks. I have an idea I want to discuss with the group, as it is our decision to make together." Slight murmuring of agreement reached him. He continued, "My vision is to have multiple targets. The agent works so well that I feel it would be wasteful to use it all on one populace unless a particular venue comes to light. I've researched and believe we have enough to feed four major public water supplies. If you agree, we need to make choices."

  Ellhad inquired, "Do you mean all at once or separate?"

  "Separate. I believe that manner would instill the most fear in these infidels."

  Imad al-Bin asked, "Which ones do you think best serve our purpose?"

  "I'm not quite prepared to answer that tonight. I have an assistant working on that assignment as we speak. I will know by tomorrow. I seek the highest possible damage. The most populated areas will increase our revenge. That can never be too great." Murmuring of agreement again reached Ali's ears.

  Rijah Ellhad spoke. "I like your plan. I would think as widespread as possible would also be a good thing. Let the Americans realize that no place is safe, that we can strike them anywhere. I will take you at your word that we can speak names freely in this room, but only here."

  "My thoughts exactly," Ali replied. "Then it appears this will be a short meeting."

  "It appears," Ali agreed.

  T-Minus 64 Hours
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br />   Starr and Christman were met by an eight-man security team after landing at Camp David. Christman was directed toward the dining room while Starr was led to a small conference room. "Have a seat, sir." Starr sat. Two minutes later, a door opened. President Robert Williams entered the room. Starr immediately stood.

  "Richard, it's just us. Sit back down."

  "Yes, sir."

  "What's so important you had to show me personally?" asked the president.

  "Question, Mr. President. Any chance you have some large screens hooked to a computer somewhere? For this, bigger is better."

  "Yes, and Richard, when it's only the two of us, call me Bob. Follow me." He led Starr out the door he'd come in and down a hall. Four doors to the left, they entered a larger room. Two men inside immediately stood. "Guys, I need the room." Both left.

  "Bob, I need a secure line."

  "The blue phone." The president pointed toward the table.

  Christman picked it up and dialed Phillips. He put the phone on speaker.

  "You near a computer?" she asked.

  "Yes."

  "Send me an e-mail."

  "What about?"

  "I don't care. Just send me an e-mail so I can reply to it."

  "Okay." He sent the request. Within two minutes, he got a reply from Phillips.

  "Okay, Starr. Now, plug the flash drive you've got into the computer. In my e-mail, there's an attachment. Open it up."

  "Done," replied Starr.

  "There should be a window that popped up with multiple choices; click on flash drive."

  "It doesn't say flash drive. Closest thing is jump drive."

  "Christ, Starr, I'd swear I was talking to Styles. They're the same fucking thing."

  "Uh, Phillips, the president is three feet away."

  "Oh. Uh, hello, Mr. President. Sorry about that."

  "No need to worry, Ms. Phillips. I can understand the difficulty in working with the two of them." He chuckled.

  "You have no idea, Mr. President."

  Starr interrupted, "Can we get back to business?"