Imminent Threat

by Jack Patterson

  CHAPTER 60

  THERESA THOMPSON GRABBED the remote control and cranked up the volume on the television hanging in The National’s offices. She sank down into an empty chair right behind her next to one of her political reporters. The report painted by the reporter inside wasn’t a pretty one—but it was raw and real. With a quaking voice, she detailed the attack and how they’d learned that the virus was a deadly one that could kill them all.

  “This is unreal,” she said to anyone who’d listen. “How do people pull off something like this? How can anyone expect to be safe if we can’t even keep our own Capitol building free from terrorist attacks?”

  “Petrov was here today,” said one of the reporters.

  Thompson threw her hands in the air. “But that’d be crazy to let him die while speaking to U.S. senators. It’s almost guaranteed to start a war, even if he survives.”

  “Maybe that’s the point.”

  She rolled her eyes. “No way. There’s something else going on here.”

  Before Thompson could utter another word, the anchor on the news desk interrupted the analyst. “Sorry to cut you off, Ben, but we’ve got some breaking news about the origin of the virus. It appears to be a biological weapon developed by the North Koreans. Again, I repeat, the viral attack appears to be North Korean in origin.”

  “The North Koreans? This is unreal. They just wanted to piss everybody off at once, didn’t they?” Thompson said.

  “Guess they wanted to get more bang for their Won,” another reporter said.

  A smile flashed across Thompson’s face. “That’d be a funny tweet if people weren’t going to die—and anyone in our celebrity-obsessed culture knew what the hell a ‘won’ was.”

  “I guess if I have to explain it, it’s not funny.”

  Thompson nodded. “You got that right.” She turned her attention back to the television.

  Senator Ryan was on the air, talking with the anchor about the attack.

  “Why weren’t you there this morning, Senator Ryan?”

  Ryan closed his eyes and shook his head. “I have principles, which include not listening to some deranged lunatic of a leader address our country’s most influential legislators. I’m just not interested, not to mention I think it was disrespectful to our own president for members of my party to invite him.”

  “Guess it pays to stick to your principles, huh?” the anchor said.

  “This wasn’t about sticking to my principles as much as it was about honoring our president, who has some tough decisions ahead of him in the days ahead.”

  “What kind of decisions are you referring to, senator?”

  “The kind that could lead to war.”

  The anchor squinted and cocked his head to the right. “What exactly are you referring to, Senator? The president has been adamant about the fact that he’s not going to engage our troops in any more needless conflicts.”

  “You call this needless? We just experienced the first direct terrorist attack on one of our most iconic government buildings in well over a decade. I’d say he needs to make a statement—and make a forceful one.”

  “Senator, are you suggesting we go to war with North Korea as a result of this attack?”

  Ryan put his hands up. “I’m not suggesting anything at the moment—but I am saying, not just suggesting, that if it’s proven that the North Koreans are indeed behind this, then we need to let them know this kind of brazen terrorist attack will not be tolerated. We need to strike back.”

  The anchor swung back over to one of his embedded reporters, who gave an update that didn’t provide anything new—other than they had less time than when the report began.

  Thompson stood up and returned to her office, shaking her head the whole way. She struggled to believe that North Korea was capable of pulling off such a feat. Pyongyang contained the noisiest saber rattlers on the planet. But when it came to action? They proved to be cowards time and time again.

  However, it didn’t stop her inbox from blowing up with article pitches from foreign relation analysts and journalists wanting to write about the seeds of war that had been supposedly germinating in North Korea for a while.

  Where’s Flynn at? I know he’ll be able to make sense of this ridiculousness.

  Times like these were when she appreciated having a former CIA operative and analyst on her payroll.

  She dialed his number and waited. Straight to voicemail.

  Thompson stood up and closed the door to her office. She needed to clear her head and think—and develop a semblance of an editorial plan for her staff. Undoubtedly, users would be scouring The National website for answers. It was where the nation always turned for truth in reporting. But at the moment, she had nothing.

  One of her section editors knocked on her door.

  She motioned for him to enter. “What’s on your mind?”

  “Do we have a coverage plan yet? This is the biggest thing since 9/11. We need to get on top of this first.”

  “First, we need to gather some facts before we start writing anything. We hardly know what’s going on yet.”

  “We know the what and the who—just not the why.”

  Thompson looked down at some papers on her desk and scratched out a few notes. “You think we know the who already?”

  “You’re right. Maybe we don’t. I’m not quite as cynical as you when it comes to government officials—though I never interviewed Senator Ryan either. You probably have some unique perspective on all this after that piece you wrote about him fifteen years ago.”

  Thompson leaned back in her chair, her mouth agape. “I almost forgot.”

  “You almost forgot that you interviewed him?”

  Thompson shook her head. “No, I almost forgot his story—and I’m not believing for one second that it’s the North Koreans.”

  “Then who did it?”

  “Get outta here. I’ve got some phone calls to make.”

  The editor stood there. “That still doesn’t tell me how we need to direct our reporters.”

  “Just give me a minute.”

  Thompson watched the editor leave and close the door behind him. She picked up her phone again and dialed Flynn’s number. After the third ring, he answered.

  “Oh, thank God, I reached you. Where have you been?”

  “It’s a long story.”

  “We need to talk. Where are you now?”

  “In the Capitol building. There’s a little bit of a biological scare—hopefully you’ve heard about it by now.”

  Thompson gasped. “You’re—you’re in the Capitol building right now?”

  “Quarantined and everything.”

  “Well, look. I think I know who’s behind all of this.”

  “I’m glad someone does because it sure as hell isn’t Sergeant Thatcher.”

  “I know. It’s a far worse situation—it’s Senator Ryan.”

  CHAPTER 61

  FLYNN SAT ON THE FLOOR against the wall in the hallway outside one of the offices commandeered by the Capitol police. He heard through the walls Staff Sgt. Thatcher’s repeated pleas of innocence, but there wasn’t much he could do about it at the moment. The evidence displayed in front of the Capitol police when they stormed into the boiler room pointed toward Thatcher’s guilt. There was no denying that, not even for the most ardent defender of the Army survivor.

  “Think they’ll find him guilty?” Banks asked.

  Flynn shrugged. “May not matter. We might all die in here.”

  “Have you tried to reach Dr. Watson?”

  He nodded. “I haven’t been able to reach her. All my calls go straight to voice mail.” He shook his head. “She’s our only hope of surviving this thing—and she’s probably dead in a ditch somewhere.”

  “I doubt they’d bother to even throw her in a ditch.”

  “So, who’s behind all this?” she asked.

  “Senator Ryan.”

  She jerked back from him as her eyes narrowed and her head tilted
to one side. “The old senator that hobbles around on a cane? That guy?”

  “So my editor says.”

  “And you believe her?”

  Flynn shrugged again. “I’ve got no reason not to. She’s not one to create conjecture without a solid hunch or lead.”

  “What does she have on Ryan?”

  “A feeling.”

  Banks laughed. “A feeling? If only I could make arrests based on that without consequences.”

  “For what it’s worth, she said it was a strong feeling.”

  “Oh, a strong feeling. Well, then, that changes everything. Let me call my boss. We’ll have him picked up right away for terrorist acts against the United States.”

  Flynn sighed. “Now, now. No need to get snarky. I’m just relaying a message.”

  “I hope there’s more to the story.”

  “There always is—but for once, I’m not concerned about the story.”

  “Oh?”

  “I’m concerned about surviving.” He felt a strong twinge in his chest and doubled over in pain.

  “Flynn? Are you okay?” She reached over and put her hand on top of his. “Do you need medical attention?”

  He grimaced. “I’ll be fine.” He staggered to his feet. “But we need to find Dr. Watson—or I won’t be fine. None of us will be.”

  CHAPTER 62

  WATSON DUG HARD into her leg with her fingernails. The pain smarted as blood started to trickle down her calf toward her ankle. She collected some of the blood and hunched over to avoid being seen.

  She sat up and screamed. “Oh, my god. What is happening?”

  Zelinski turned around and his mouth fell agape. He backed up, hitting the side of the tent as he put his hands out. “Stay right there. Don’t move.” He then raised his voice. “Everybody, out of here now!”

  The assisting officers glanced over at Watson and scrambled out of the tent.

  Less than a minute later, Zelinski stuck his head back inside the tent. “We’re going to quarantine you in one of our police vans.”

  “I don’t need to be quarantined—I need to get the antidote.”

  Zelinski’s eyes narrowed. “I don’t have time to argue with you right now. I’m dealing with a crisis situation and you need to do what I say or else it won’t be pleasant for you.”

  “If everyone in there dies, it’s going to be very unpleasant for you.”

  Zelinski pointed toward a surveillance van. “Not another word. In there now.”

  Watson trudged through the tent. Two officers flung the side doors open and sprinted away from the vehicle. She climbed inside before they slammed the doors.

  She mouthed, “Help me,” to the officers, but they backed away and returned to Zelinski, who shook his head before turning his back.

  Watson surveyed the scene again. No officers were paying any attention to her. She glanced at the van and noticed the keys still in the ignition.

  Perfect.

  She jumped into driver’s seat and turned the key as the engine roared to life. She looked to her left to see if anyone noticed what she was doing. They were all absorbed in the crisis at hand.

  She eased out onto the road and gave one more quick glance in her rearview mirror. Her getaway was clean.

  Who’s gonna want to arrest me anyway since I have the virus?

  She smiled and wiped the blood off her face.

  Easier than I thought it would be.

  Several minutes later, she pulled onto the George Washington University campus and raced to the biosciences building.

  She threw the doors open to Noah Plimpton’s lab.

  “Dr. Watson?” he said as a grin spread across his face. “To what do we owe this privilege?” Then his face dropped. “Are you okay?”

  “I need your help, Noah, and I need it right now.”

  “I’ve got a class that I have to teach in a few minutes.”

  She ran up to him and grabbed his shirt. “Hundreds of people are going to die at the Capitol if you don’t help me.”

  “Okay, let’s go.”

  “You drive,” she said.

  They piled into his car and tore out of the parking lot.

  “Where are we going?” he asked.

  “The Goldstein Group.”

  “The Goldstein Group? What’s going on?”

  “I have to level with you, Noah. This is very serious—and The Goldstein Group isn’t exactly the kind of place you want to work.”

  “But you work there.”

  “Worked there.”

  “What happened?”

  “Those people are evil—the kind of people I never wanted to associate with. They only want to use science to further their twisted agenda to wage wars for profit and power.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “That virus I looked at in your lab was deployed this morning in the Capitol while the Russian president was speaking. It’s highly contagious—”

  “And you brought it into my lab?”

  “I know how to handle it. Your lab is clean. But that’s not important right now.”

  “So, what are we doing?”

  “We’re going to break into The Goldstein Group and steal the immunogen we need to make the antidote for the virus.”

  The car lurched forward as he pumped the brakes for a red light. “You want me to break into The Goldstein Group lab? Are you out of your mind?”

  “Quite possibly, yes. But there are some very important people who need saving right now—and we might be their only hope.”

  He sighed. “Okay. Just tell me what to do.”

  As they approached the lab, she asked to be let out.

  “Just drive up to the guardhouse and ask to see me. Keep him preoccupied until I give you the signal. And then go park on the street. When you see me come out, blast through the gate and come pick me up. It’s simple really.”

  He chuckled. “Simple?”

  “Maybe not, but it’ll get the job done.”

  “Are you sure about this?” Noah asked.

  She shook her head. “No, but what choice do I have?”

  Noah’s stunt brought the guard out of his hut for their conversation. Watson snuck up to the guardhouse and dashed inside and snatched an access card lying on top of his desk. She flashed a thumbs-up sign to Noah and sprinted toward the building.

  In a matter of minutes, she was inside the building and in her lab. She’d produced extra immunogen as a precaution and placed it in the back of her fridge. If Franklin thought for once that she might return to try and retrieve the immunogen, he would’ve surely moved it.

  Never underestimate a mad scientist.

  She collected enough immunogen to make a sufficient amount of antidote for everyone in the Capitol building, based off what she heard the police saying. It required careful handling and several large containers. She packed them into a crate with heavy padding and attached it to a hand truck. Using the stairwell, she exited through a fire exit on the side of the building.

  She looked around and saw no one in the parking lot—just Noah parked on the street like she instructed him. She waved for him and moments later his car tore through the guard gate. He skidded to a stop near her and she immediately hoisted the crate into the backseat.

  She slapped the dash. “Let’s go!”

  He stomped on the gas and the car roared toward the exit. The guard stood in the way with his gun drawn. He held up one hand and was pleading with them to stop.

  As Noah bore down on the exit, the guard put both hands on his gun and aimed at Watson. The windshield shattered as two shots ripped into the car. The guard dove out of the way as Noah barreled past.

  Watson turned around and looked at the backseat to see if the immunogen was damaged.

  She sighed. “Thank God, the immunogen is okay.”

  Noah’s eyes bulged as he looked at her. “The immunogen might be okay, but you’re not.”

  “What?” Watson looked down. Her arm was covered in blood.
>
  CHAPTER 63

  FLYNN FOLLOWED BANKS into the makeshift holding cell for Staff Sgt. Thatcher. Banks flashed her badge to the officers guarding him. She asked for privacy and the two men stepped outside and pulled the door shut behind them.

  Thatcher sat on the floor, hunched over in the corner. His lips quivered as he tried to speak, but no sound came out. A tear streaked down his face as he looked up bleary-eyed at his visitors.

  Banks squatted next to him and put her hand on his shoulder. “It’s going to be okay. We’ll help you get through this.”

  Thatcher’s eyes widened. “You mean, I’m not going to be charged for this crime.”

  She shook her head. “That’s a problem we’ll have to let the legal system sort out. Right now, nobody believes you.”

  Thatcher clenched his fists and pounded the floor. He kicked at the air and screamed in frustration. “I wish Kramer would’ve just thrown me from that bridge.”

  Flynn sat down on the floor next to him. “He was going to throw you from a bridge?”

  Thatcher wiped his nose with the back of his sleeve. “Yeah. He was just moments from tossing me to my death when some man pulled up in a limo and said they had other plans for me.”

  “Did you get a good look at him?” Banks asked.

  He shook his head. “It was dark and before I had a chance to study his face, I got hit in the head. The next thing I knew, I was holding a gun over a security guard in the boiler room of the Capitol Building. You’ve gotta believe me. I didn’t do this.”

  Flynn grabbed Thatcher’s arm and squeezed. “I believe you. We’ll exonerate you no matter what it takes.”

  Thatcher sighed. “If you’re still alive.”

  “Just keep your chin up and your hopes high—it’s all we’ve got right now.”

  Thatcher’s head dropped. “I’m a patriot—not a traitor. I was willing to give my life for this country, but I hate the idea that I might be remembered as someone who tried to kill innocent people.”

  Flynn stood up. “If I have anything to say about it, we’ll make sure that people not only know you’re a patriot, but that you’re a real hero.”