by Hinze, Vicki
Darcy was the intelligence expert with total recall. If anyone in S.A.S.S. knew anything, it’d be her. Maggie looked over. “Darcy?”
“Colonel Drake will handle the briefing,” she said, avoiding eye contact and sounding totally noncommittal.
Oh, boy. This wasn’t good. Darcy had been in the kitchen waiting for news to come through to the colonel. It had, hence the briefing and likely Crowe’s presence. And that news, whatever it was, explained why Darcy was now as pale as the whitewashed walls.
“Ten bucks says we’ve got a Code Three.” Kate let out a frustrated sigh. “At least a Three.”
A Code Three was an extremely serious situation. The mission scale ran one to five and One was eminent death to masses. Maggie’s nerves began to tap dance.
“I sure as hell hope not,” Amanda said from directly behind Maggie. “The last Three we had left us with two dead FBI agents and contaminations HAZMAT is still cleaning up.”
Hazardous materials brought all kinds of special challenges, short- and long-term, to the table.
“Better hope again,” Darcy said, clenching her jaw.
They all groaned in unison. December twenty-third and an active Code Three mission. This briefing would formally activate S.A.S.S. to prevent a major crisis threatening the public.
Maggie grimaced, questions of where and what and how fired through her mind like rockets sucking hard on jet fuel. Since it was their S.A.S.S. unit being activated, the odds were nearly a hundred percent that the “who” was Thomas Kunz. That would be in keeping with the unit’s primary mission. An icy chill shot up her spine.
“Well,” Amanda whispered under her breath. “Looks like we’re in for yet another merry Christmas.”
“Bah humbug.”
“Stop it, Kate,” Maggie said, still tense and irritated and embarrassed at all Crowe and Colonel Drake had overheard, and now even more worried sick about the crisis that would be revealed in the briefing.
God, please. She silently offered up a little prayer. Don’t let this be a Christmas spent grieving and mourning, or with me hating myself. Please. I—I just can’t take another one hating myself.
She shoved at the conference room door.
Chapter 2
Due to the sensitive nature of S.A.S.S. briefings, it was critical to national security that what was said in the conference room stayed there, and extreme precautions had been taken to assure that it did.
The six-foot-thick concrete walls were copperlined to secure communications and prevent interceptions. Walls and floor were painted and tiled white, and the contents in the room were limited to a well-used conference table, six chairs, a shredder and a viewing screen on the north wall for the projector standing near it.
Darcy held the remote control and took her seat on the left of the table nearest the screen. Kate sat directly across from Darcy. The commander was already waiting in her place at the head of the table, and Amanda took the foot, which put Maggie next to Darcy—and directly across the table from Justin Crowe.
Everyone in the room except Crowe was dressed in an Air Force uniform: pale blue shirts, rank on the shoulders, and dark blue slacks. The slacks proved Kate might not have been home in days, but she was holding up on doing her laundry. Otherwise she’d be in a skirt, wearing hose, and be even more grouchy than usual. The normalcy should have been comforting. No one was dressed in covert gear or BDUs—battle dress uniforms—but the grim expressions around the table, Crowe’s included, had the knots in Maggie’s stomach expanding.
Increasingly uneasy, she stole a sidelong glance at Colonel Drake. Dragging a hand through her short, spiked hair, she radiated vibes of total focus and extreme intensity. Worse news was that the slide projector was loaded, she’d snagged the handheld from Darcy and now gripped it in her fist.
Maggie steeled herself. This briefing was going to be intense. Dread burrowed in, laying heavily on her chest.
“White noise, Kate,” the commander ordered.
Kate reached to the wall behind her and flipped a switch that activated yet another security measure installed to prevent communication interceptions.
“Darcy.” The commander nodded in her direction. “Let’s do it.”
“Yes, ma’am.” She turned to Justin. “We all know, if only vicariously, our guest, Dr. Justin Crowe. Essential specifics are that he and his company have been awarded five defense contracts for various research and development projects, all of which are dual use.” It wasn’t necessary to add that dual use meant the projects had both military and civilian world applications; everyone already knew it. “A year ago,” Darcy went on, “Dr. Crowe won the contract of most concern to us today. It is sensitive, a Black World operations development, and it is classified Top Secret A-4. This project concerns DR-27.” Darcy looked her way. “Maggie, will you brief specifics on the virus?”
Maggie launched into it. “DR-27 is a lethal virus few in the world know exists. It originated in a lab in Germany just over a year ago. We contained it, and we’ve been working on an antidote to it ever since. That antidote is Dr. Crowe’s sensitive contract. We believe he now has successfully developed that antidote, though it hasn’t yet been field-tested.” She looked at him. “Is that an accurate assessment of the current standing, Doctor?”
“Yes, it is. I can add that lab results have been impressive, but the field test isn’t scheduled to occur for another two months.”
Kate frowned. “Why the A-4 classification? That’s extraordinarily high. I’d expect an A-1 or maybe an A-2.”
“We deemed it a national security asset,” he said. “Frankly, the last thing the U.S. needs its enemies to know is that there’s a lethal weapon, a virus for which there is no existing antidote, on the loose and available for black market purchase through GRID.”
“True.” Amanda cocked her head. “But why hasn’t GRID broadcast it to its potential buyers?”
“Because it lacked an accurate damage assessment projection,” Darcy responded. “Kunz has made a concerted effort to secure documented proof of the virus’s effects, but so far, he’s failed to do it.”
“So who has the proof?” Amanda asked. “I haven’t seen it.” She looked at Kate, who shook her head. She hadn’t seen it, either.
“We have it—now,” Colonel Drake said. “It was in the lab during the containment, but the text was encrypted and we’ve only now broken the code, which gives us the tests they took and the effects.” She nodded at the screen. “Take a look at these slides. They’ll show you the effects of DR-27 exposure.” She hit the clicker. “These photos were taken six, twelve and twenty-four hours after exposure.”
Three slides flashed across the screen. Each was of an individual ravaged and made grotesque by the virus. Torn between being sick and fighting tears, Maggie’s reaction was intense and swift—and she’d seen the slides before, though she wasn’t at liberty to mention it. She never got used to such images.
Kate obviously hadn’t seen them. Rattled, she flinched and the color drained from her face. “Oh, God. They did this to these poor people just to test the virus? They used them as freaking lab rats?”
“They did,” the colonel confirmed. “These people and many more….”
“May they burn in hell.”
Colonel Drake sent Kate a cold level look. “They are.”
Kate cleared her throat, turned her gaze to Darcy. “Are we sure GRID has this virus?”
“Our sources strongly suspect it does, Kate,” Darcy hedged. “In the past few days, Intel has reported significant chatter from multiple sources about an impending DR-27 attack. As usual, the information hasn’t been specific enough for us to act on beyond the usual awareness warnings—at least, not until this morning.”
“What happened this morning?” Amanda asked.
Darcy shifted in her seat. “A few hours ago, the Terrorist Threat Integration Center alerted First Responders through Project Bioshield that a GRID ‘capabilities demonstration’ on DR-27 is likely to occur
on Christmas Eve. If it does, they project that black market bidding for the virus will begin immediately following it.”
Colonel Drake stepped in. “Homeland Security contacted General Shaw at the Pentagon and requested he activate S.A.S.S.”
“Why is that?” Dr. Crowe frowned at the colonel. “Why you, out here?”
Colonel Drake hesitated a short second, clearly not eager to tell him the S.A.S.S. offices had been moved out of D.C. to avoid undue interference from those on the Hill. But she did formulate an answer.
“Our entire mission centers on GRID, Doctor. When General Shaw activated this unit, one of its first orders was to stop a potential attack and recover the DR-27.”
“Tall order.”
Colonel Drake held his gaze. “Yes, it was.”
“I understand now.” Crowe nodded. “I guess it’s too much to hope that a GRID capabilities demonstration isn’t exactly what it sounds like it is.”
Kate groaned and slid down in her chair.
Maggie frowned at her and then at him. “Given the chance, Thomas Kunz intends to demonstrate the virus on the public, Doctor. To prove without a doubt how many it will kill, how long it’ll take them to die, and how much they’ll suffer in between. That’s how this cold-blooded bastard works.” She turned to Darcy. “Do we know where he plans to attack?”
“Indisputably, no. But Intel has generated several sixty-five-percent projections,” Darcy said. “Multiple S.A.S.S. units are being activated—one to cover each high-potential, high-value target. Intel cites these specific targets key. Any of them will net Kunz maximum benefit, all he could possibly want or need from the demonstration, including more than a little drama and sensationalism.”
“How many potential targets are there?” Maggie asked.
“For obvious reasons, that information is classified above our pay grades,” Colonel Drake said. “They’re saying several targets, so I guess that’s a minimum of three. Knowing Kunz, it’s likely twice that, or more.”
“Where is our unit’s potential target?” Amanda leaned forward in her chair.
Darcy frowned. “Santa Bella.”
“The shopping mall?” Crowe’s tone rippled with incredulity.
“I’ve reviewed Kunz’s criteria and Intel’s deductions,” Darcy said. “Santa Bella fits both profiles so well it’s scary.”
The mall Maggie had sworn on the way to work not to return to until after the new year. Damn it. She rubbed a weary hand across her brow, still curious about the other targets. “Of course Kunz won’t hit someplace like New York this time of year.” Not that she would wish a strike on anyone anywhere, but New York, Wall Street, was a prime target for all threats and had been since 9/11.
“Why won’t he?” Crowe asked. “It’s bigger and busier.”
“Money,” Maggie said. “Kunz is totally into money. He won’t hit a financial center for a test where anyone dying will do. Uh-uh. It’d cost him a fortune in stock losses.”
“Why exactly is Intel deeming Santa Bella high-risk, Darcy?” Amanda asked for more specifics, clearly trying to home in on the big picture.
“As I said, I’ve reviewed the criteria and deductions and they’re solid. There are reasons, Amanda, but I’m prohibited from disclosing them unless it becomes mission essential. The Center is exercising restraint to protect embedded agents. But I am free to state the obvious. Santa Bella is the biggest mall in the South, and on Christmas Eve, about 20,000 last-minute shoppers will be rotating through, keeping the facility packed to its three-story rafters.”
Twenty thousand. Oh, man. Major challenges trying to defend in that situation. Major challenges. Maggie chewed her lip, worrying. “Are post-attack projections in yet?”
“Some. Two to four thousand fatalities and a minimum additional two thousand permanently disabled. I didn’t get dollar cost projections on contamination losses. Bean counters are still working them.”
At this point, who cared about the property? Good God, two to four thousand fatalities? Maggie broke into a cold sweat. “Are the projections as dire for all potential targets?”
Darcy nodded. “I’m told some are worse.”
Maggie expected it, but hearing it confirmed curdled her blood and she regretted earlier choking down that doughnut. This kind of news was best digested on an empty stomach.
Kate curled her fingers, gripping the table. “What are we likely looking at with the infiltrators?”
“We don’t know.” Darcy grimaced. “Intel can’t project which specific GRID operatives will launch the attack, though they believe Kunz will use his own subject-matter experts and not outside forces to release the virus. For tighter control and lower odds of leaks. We have no idea how many GRID operatives will work the launch, or in what part or parts of the mall they’ll cut it loose—if, of course, Santa Bella is the target.”
“This is a nightmare from hell.” Maggie looked at the colonel.
“It gets worse,” Colonel Drake said. “We can’t forget the body double factor.”
“What body double factor?” Justin asked, looking baffled.
Colonel Drake responded. “A lot of high-powered, influential people hire body doubles, Dr. Crowe.”
He nodded, familiar with the concept. “And that relates to this…how?”
Colonel Drake didn’t dodge. “Our experience has revealed that Kunz has a number of body doubles for himself and for key business associates on high-impact, lucrative black market deals. He has a nasty habit of inserting them when he knows, or senses, we’re closing in on him.”
“I see.” Justin leaned forward on the table, rubbed at his temples, clearly distressed by this added complication. “Is there a way to know whether we’re dealing with a double or the real McCoy?”
“DNA,” the colonel said. “Though we have noted a three-month absence trend.”
“Three-month absence?”
The colonel’s gaze slid to Amanda and she responded. “Kunz kidnaps the person he wants to double, keeps them drugged and learns all he can about them. During that time, his surgeons and shrinks are creating a body double. One who looks, acts and learns to think like the real person. It’s an intensive training program to become that person, and it’s very effective.”
Justin’s expression sobered. He’d intuited that Amanda had been one of Kunz’s victims; Maggie was certain of it.
“Anyway.” The colonel resumed her briefing. “We obviously must be on our guard and expect that he’s made insertions of body doubles on this mission, as well.”
Maggie nodded. “He has a hundred percent track record, Colonel. Every attack, every mission…”
“How many have there been?” Justin asked, clearly stunned.
Maggie wasn’t surprised. None had made the press. So far S.A.S.S. had denied Kunz success, though it’d had too many close calls to feel overly confident about it, and everyone in the know realized it was only a matter of time until he managed to pull off a success.
No one responded, and Justin caught on that he’d tread onto classified ground. “Forget I asked,” he said.
Colonel Drake looked at him, but didn’t acknowledge he’d spoken.
“So who would he be likely to double?” Justin asked, still seeking a firm grip on this new complication to an already complicated mission.
“Anyone in authority or with the power to countermand our actions,” Maggie said. “Anyone who might be able to relay our actions and defenses to him.”
Justin paled. “But that’s pretty much everybody.”
“Yes, it is.”
“Also, if the only way we can tell they’re real or a body double is through DNA or three-month absences, which they aren’t damn likely to admit, then how do we cover our assets?”
Everyone looked to Colonel Drake, who lifted a hand in Maggie’s direction. “Captain Holt has discussed this type of challenge with Dr. Cabot.”
“Morgan Cabot,” Maggie explained, “is an expert psychologist and profiler. She believes that bod
y language or abrupt changes in behavior are our best shot at telling the difference between a person and his or her double. Facial expressions, innate reactions to others—before they’ve had a chance to stop and think—and sudden changes in the way they process input. For example, if someone is quiet and suddenly they’re aggressive, that should elevate concern.”
Amanda nodded, agreeing, then turned the topic back to the attack location. “Why doesn’t Intel recommend a total shutdown on all potential locations?”
“Can’t. The administration wouldn’t consider it, much less go for it. Makes us appear too fearful and vulnerable, which emboldens all of those against us.” Darcy blew out a slow breath. “Listen, the truth is Intel isn’t certain enough that the attack will be at any of the identified targets to request Homeland Security order shutdowns.”
“True,” Colonel Drake cut in. “But local First Responders are on heightened alert, advisory status. They are not, at this point, activated. If at any time we discover hard evidence Santa Bella is the target and conditions warrant activation, we can call them up to assist us.”
“By then,” Maggie said, “it’ll be too late for them to successfully intercede or be much help, Colonel. And knowing Kunz, he’ll keep things ambiguous until the very end. He always has, to prevent us from being able to go after him with full force.”
Colonel Drake’s level look proved she didn’t like this circumstance a damn bit better than Maggie, but her hands were tied. “I’m aware of that, which is why I’m telling you, Maggie, if the rules get in the way on this mission, you break them.”
Maggie frowned. Often in the S.A.S.S., rules had to be broken, but that didn’t mean Maggie had to like breaking them. Actually she hated it, and the colonel well knew it.
Hence, the reason for the direct order—and there was no mistaking by anyone at the table, except maybe for Crowe, that this remark had been a direct order. “Yes, ma’am.”
“Right now, we work with what we’ve got,” Colonel Drake said. “And what we’ve got is Intel, Homeland Security, the Pentagon and the President all stating their belief that this threat is credible. In our post-9/11 world, that compels everyone responsible for defending the public to act. The S.A.S.S. unit has been activated, and we will de fend Santa Bella, whether or not it wants to be defended.”