“You’re saying that all these people have to die...”
“So Iran can be attacked and the dollar continues to be oil’s denominator. In...” al-Diin consulted his watch, “about four minutes. By which time I will be out of the building, and you’ll be meeting your maker.”
Alan processed the revelation. “You’re a monster.”
“No. I’m a pragmatist. And you’re a dead man. Now turn around. Now!” al-Diin screamed. Alan pivoted, frantically looking for anything he could use to as a weapon, but only saw his gun on the floor. Al-Diin raised the pistol, and then a series of pops echoed in the room, emanating from the doorway. The terrorist’s head blew apart as three slugs tore into it and he dropped like a bag of rocks. Alan spun and found himself facing a thin blond man he’d never seen before.
“He’s got the agent somewhere in here. We have to stop him,” Alan exclaimed.
The man lowered his weapon. “Have you searched for it? Where is it?” he demanded. Alan registered a slight Russian accent. The man gestured with his gun at Alan’s on the floor. “Pick up your weapon and let’s find this damned thing before it’s too late.”
Alan turned and was approaching his pistol when the blow struck him on the back of the neck, and the room went dark as he slumped unconscious to the floor.
Chapter 36
The first thing he noticed was the pain, throbbing through his skull like he’d been hit by a truck. He reached and felt a bump on the back of his head the size of an egg, and he winced when he touched it.
Struggling, he pushed himself to his feet and swayed for a few seconds before remembering where he was and what he was doing. The biological weapon. Al-Diin dead.
The mystery Russian must have clocked him – but why? Why knock him out?
Alan glanced at his watch. He’d been out for almost four minutes.
That seemed significant for some reason, and then it hit him.
The agent.
He looked around frantically.
Where was the logical place to put it?
Fans.
He lurched towards the gargantuan spinning blades and heard a beep when he was still ten feet away. His eyes widened as a loud hiss came from the center fan, and he ran towards it unsteadily...and saw the canister emitting with a sigh the last of its contents as a fine mist into the air. The cloud was sucked instantly into the fan and disappeared. Alan swung back towards the door. There had to be an off switch of some sort. Had to be some way to kill the power and stop the ventilation from discharging death into the stadium – into the unsuspecting lungs of the innocents.
The room spun and he lost his footing, grabbing at one of the pumps for support as he fell, and then a blanket of tranquility descended upon him and everything faded.
~ ~ ~
When Alan came to again, he remembered everything instantly. Reaching to his side, he groped at a nearby pipe to haul himself to his feet. Still dizzy, he moved slowly so he didn’t pass out again. He checked his watch. He had been out for ten minutes.
Which meant that they were all dead. Everyone in the building. It was just a matter of time.
He pulled his cell phone from his jacket pocket and held it up, the screen blurry as he fought to focus.
No signal.
Of course not. They were underground in the sub-basement, high-density concrete enveloping them.
Alan staggered to the battered door and then out into the deserted corridor, the clamor of the generators and the music reverberating giddily in the background, a reminder that everyone in the building believed things were fine. He climbed the stairs slowly, each step an effort, and at the top used the wall for support as he edged towards the main area. He had no plan. Just get to the security team and warn them.
That they were all dead.
He pushed the service door open and stepped through, his footing unsteady from the effort, and then spotted two security guards by one of the oversized glass panels near the entrance.
“Hey. You two. Do you have a radio?” he called.
They exchanged glances and then one of them held his up.
“Why? Who are you, and what bus ran you over? You okay, man? What happened?”
“You need to call Homeland Security immediately. There’s been a...there’s been an incident. Something released into the ventilation system. It’s not safe. Terrorist attack.”
Their faces got wary, then fearful.
“Who are you? Is this some kind of a joke? Are you drunk or something?” the smaller of the two demanded. “This kind of shit will get you arrested and put away for a long time. You can’t joke about–”
“It’s no joke. There’s a man, shot, downstairs in the ventilation room. A terrorist. The one on the videos. Something got released into the fans. I don’t want to panic everyone, but you need to radio this in immediately.” Alan pulled out his passport. “I’m with the Foreign Service. Make the call. Now.”
The men’s eyes widened and the one with the radio raised it to his lips with a trembling hand and spoke into it, his voice panicked.
Sixty seconds later Alan was surrounded by police, guns drawn.
He raised his hands over his head and waited patiently as they frisked him, then an older officer approached him, ready to begin with questions. Alan cut him off.
“You need to get Homeland Security. Now. You have a situation. This is not a joke. Notify them immediately, or you’re going to have a riot on your hands and the city in chaos,” Alan said, and then repeated his story about the ventilation system and the terrorist attack.
The officer moved away from the rest without speaking and then used his radio.
Ten minutes later Alan was cuffed in a holding area set up inside the building, as hazmat-suited figures ran chains through the doors so nobody could get out except through the main entrance. A gray-haired man in a rumpled suit with a grim expression approached him on the opposite side of the glass, standing on the sidewalk, and then one of the police inside the building un-cuffed Alan and handed him a cell phone. He held it to his ear, and the man outside introduced himself as Agent Ryker, with Homeland Security, and began peppering him with questions.
“We found the body downstairs, and the device. Who are you?” Ryker demanded.
“Check my ID. I’m with the Israeli consulate.”
“I saw that. I’m guessing Mossad. Am I close?”
Alan didn’t say anything.
“You know how bad this is, right?” Ryker asked.
“I’m completely aware. I was exposed. So I’m in the same boat as everyone else in here. You don’t have to tell me how bad it is.”
“What happened?”
Alan ran through the story again.
“This is going to be a nightmare. Trying to do crowd control on fourteen thousand people who will all want to get out at once. We don’t know if this is contagious or not, so we can’t allow anyone out...”
“May I make a suggestion?”
Ryker studied Alan’s face. “Sure. What do I have to lose?” he responded glumly.
“The best way to ensure everyone doesn’t try to exit at once would be to tell them that there’s a hazard outside. A chemical spill or a bio-hazard on the street surrounding the coliseum that you’re trying to clean up.”
Ryker considered the suggestion, and then nodded slowly. “That’s not bad. At least it’ll buy us a little time to test the weapon canister and see what we’re dealing with.”
“The only way to keep everyone from trying to escape is to have them begging to stay safe inside.”
Ryker nodded again. “You need to talk to anyone on your end?” he asked. “Technically you’re not under arrest. You have diplomatic immunity. But I would appreciate some cooperation.”
“I understand. I have a cell phone. It was confiscated along with the rest of my things. Please give me back my phone and my passport.”
“All right.” Ryker gave Alan a warning look. “I don’t have to tell you to be discreet.”
>
“No, I think by now I got that.”
Twenty minutes later the ice show was interrupted by an announcement over the sound system about a hazard outside the stadium, warning everyone to stay seated while the authorities cleaned it up. The ice show then resumed for the final hour’s performances. There were a few isolated outbursts of panic or outrage, but for the most part people were more annoyed at being delayed going home than anything. Crowd control was handled by the security forces that were already inside, while outside the National Guard was deployed, along with every hazardous materials team in the county and several thousand police and firefighters.
Alan got through to the director on his cell and explained the situation. There wasn’t a lot either man could add to his dry report. The director sounded deflated when he wished Alan the best and hung up. It wasn’t comforting.
Minutes ticked by, and then hours. After three had gone by, Ryker returned, bringing an entourage of serious-looking men inside the building, and confronted Alan. “Tell me what the hell is going on here.”
“You seem upset that I, and a stadium full of women and children, aren’t dead yet.”
“The canister was clean. There was no agent,” Ryker stated flatly.
Alan nodded. “I figured that out. I’m not dying. I’m pretty good at putting puzzle pieces together.”
“What happened to it?”
Alan shook his head. “How would I know? Obviously something went very wrong for the bad guys. Crisis averted.”
Ryker scowled at Alan, an angry tic twitching his left eye. “If there wasn’t a dead terrorist downstairs with his prints all over the canister, I would arrest you, diplomatic immunity or not. You had a phony badge and were carrying a gun.”
“But as you point out, there is diplomatic immunity, so it’s a moot point. Look, we got lucky on the bio-agent. Sometimes that happens. You might want to say a little prayer of thanks tonight, because it doesn’t happen often.” Alan looked around at the crowd outside, finally being allowed to go home. “And this was a good place to get lucky, I hope you know.”
Two men in their forties with a military bearing approached from down the hall and then stood silently in the corner of the room, arms folded, staring at Alan.
“What about this mystery man who shot Saif al-Diin? Can you describe him again?” Ryker ordered.
“I already told you. He was maybe five-eleven or so, thin, blondish, or maybe blond-gray hair. Wearing jeans and a brown leather jacket. No distinguishing features. And he struck me as Russian. That was the accent. It was subtle, but there.”
“Russian. And he just walked in, blew al-Diin away, and clobbered you. Just like that,” Ryker summarized skeptically.
Alan tentatively touched the bump on his head. “Pretty much just like that. And then I passed out.”
The two new arrivals exchanged glances with Ryker.
“Tell me about your interaction with the terrorist again. What did he say?” Ryker asked.
“We’ve been through this. He said that he was going to kill everyone, that it was going to be the biggest event in the history of the country, that Allah was good...all the usual crap.”
“And didn’t you say something about Iran?”
“That was sort of confusing. He did mention Iran. But he wasn’t very clear – at least not to me.”
“Did he say that Iran was behind the attack?”
“No. That wasn’t it. I...I’m sorry. The moments just before I blacked out are still kind of hazy. Like they’re there, but when I try to focus on them, they sort of...flit away and go out of focus.”
“So you don’t know for sure whether he said that Iran was behind this?” one of the two new arrivals demanded from his position in the corner.
“I told you. I’m sorry. I thought I was clear. He in no way intimated that Iran was behind it. He just babbled something about Israel and Iran, and then the Russian came in and shot him. End of story.”
Ryker’s radio crackled, and he listened and then muttered into it. He looked up at Alan and shook his head. “I need to keep you a little longer. I hope that’s not a problem.”
“Well, actually, it is. I’ve sustained a blow to my head; I’m experiencing dizziness, memory loss, and disorientation; and I’ve said several times to your people that I need to get to a hospital. I think, almost three hours into this, I need to get a CT scan, not sit here so that I can be interrogated over and over – especially since I’m the one who spotted al-Diin in the first place. So I’m going to have to respectfully decline. I need medical attention, and you have no authority to hold me – isn’t that correct? Am I missing anything?”
Ryker approached Alan until his nose was a foot away. “I can do anything I want. I can detain you without explanation for months. Do not screw with me. Your story about why you were here and how you spotted al-Diin is complete bullshit. I will hold you until I get straight answers, and that means the whole truth.”
A frown flitted across Alan’s face. “I spoke with the Israeli consulate a few minutes ago. They’re sending people here. They know I’m here, and know that I’ve been cooperating, and also know I need urgent medical attention. So you have a choice. Either let me go when they arrive, or cause an international incident with severe diplomatic repercussions by bullying a friendly ally who just saved your ass. To me, the choice is clear, but if you want to play hardball, I’ll request an attorney, clam up, and then sue everyone and everything for reckless endangerment, given my medical situation. And since I’ve told you, on the record, that I need medical attention, I presume if you continue to decline me access to it, I can sue you personally, because you’re definitely not doing this by the book. I get the feeling it’s because you don’t like something about me. Maybe that I’m Israeli? I wonder how that will play in the press? ‘U.S. Government violates diplomatic rights of Israeli hero.’ I have a feeling it would be a career ender, Ryker. You sure you want to go out like that?”
Ryker’s radio crackled with static, interrupting the stand-off, and he listened to a few sentences and then spoke softly into the device before moving back to Alan.
“There are two diplomats from the Israeli consulate here to take you to the hospital,” Ryker fumed.
Alan nodded. “And my passport? I obviously have my phone...”
Ryker glared at the two men in the corner and then reached into the inside pocket of his jacket and retrieved Alan’s passport. He handed it to him without saying a word.
Another officer by the door motioned to Alan, and he moved towards him, without looking back. They pushed through the door and then walked slowly down the long corridor to where the consular officials were waiting.
Ryker shook his head and sighed. “What do you think?” he asked the two men.
The taller scowled.
“He’s lying.”
Chapter 37
Washington D.C., United States of America
The club door swung open and the older man entered, then stalked to the usual room without saying a word. Inside, a pall of cigarette smoke drifted over the table, the air-conditioning struggling to clear the air. He sat down in his customary seat and exhaled noisily.
“This is a disaster,” he said simply.
“We’re still trying to get details, but it doesn’t look good,” a sweating, porcine bald man said from a corner, tapping furiously at a laptop computer.
“What happened?”
“It looks like the agent was deployed...but it was harmless. We don’t know what to make of it.”
“Well, I do. We got screwed. Why didn’t we just get something from one of our own sources? Why again did we jeopardize this entire operation by buying it from this Russian?” the older man asked, his tone menacing.
Another man, youngish, in his late thirties, put his pen down and sighed.
“It was a good call. We couldn’t have anything trace back to us. That would have been worse than what we’re facing now. It had to come from a third party – one that
would likely be perceived as an ally of Iran.”
“That’s always the problem with theory, isn’t it? When it collides with fact?” the older man spat.
“Nobody’s happy about this. But rather than recriminations, I would suggest we start thinking contingencies. This can still be used to further our purposes. A terrorist attempt – albeit unsuccessful due to the crack response of our intelligence apparatus – occurred, targeting innocent women and children. The public outrage will still be significant.”
“But not nearly the same as if it had been successful. We all know that. And yes, we need to focus on making an omelet now that we have a bunch of broken eggs. But this could be the difference between success and failure. The international community isn’t going to just step out of the way and let us invade Iran on a failed attempt, no matter how much spin we use. We’ve already been politely called liars by the atomic energy people when the intel we provided them on Iranian nuclear malfeasance turned out to be false. Gentlemen, after Iraq, we don’t have the benefit of everyone believing us automatically. We played that card with the WMDs that never materialized. We don’t get to double dip with another of the largest oil producers in the Middle East. No, we have a serious problem. I’m telling you that we’re on perilously thin ice with this.” The older man reached for a pitcher and poured himself a glass of water, ignoring the tumblers of scotch in front of several of the men. “So what have we got?”
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