Scorched

by Laura Griffin

  “I’m still running the DNA on the beer can from the house in Utah,” Mia said. “But after swabbing the can, I took it down to the fingerprint lab and they came back with a hit almost immediately.”

  “That was quick,” Kelsey said.

  “That’s because the print belonged to someone we know well,” Gordon said, and she caught the edge in his voice. “Mark knows him, too, from his days with the FBI. Mark?”

  Kelsey held her breath. This was going to be the proof they needed of Trent’s involvement. Maybe it would corroborate her story enough for Gordon to drop the warrant for Gage and arrest Trent instead. She slipped her phone from her pocket to make sure the line was open. She wanted Gage to hear this.

  Mark cleared his throat and looked at the faces around the table. With his dark good looks, the former criminal profiler had always reminded Kelsey of George Clooney. Mark was somewhat new to the Delphi Center, but he’d already established an impressive reputation by spearheading the lab’s new cyber-profiling unit.

  “When I worked at the Bureau, I did consulting for various law-enforcement agencies both here and overseas,” Mark said. “They brought me in on the Bali market bombing of 2009, which killed thirty-three people, including four Americans. I helped develop criminal profiles on some of the suspects.”

  Kelsey leaned forward, puzzled by his lead-in.

  “One of the people I profiled in that case was this man.” Mark tapped his computer mouse and turned to face the screen at the end of the conference room. An enormous photograph of a smiling boy in a football uniform filled the screen.

  “Meet Adam Ramli aka Asmar Husin.”

  Kelsey gaped at the image. The kid in the photo couldn’t have been more than sixteen. He had dark, tousled hair, braces, and a slender build that was dwarfed by his bulky shoulder pads.

  “Where’s he from?” Kelsey asked.

  “Peachtree, Georgia.” Mark looked at her. “Here’s a more recent photo.”

  The next image showed the same person, but all the features had matured: elongated nose, full beard, deep-set eyes. But the real difference was the facial expression. The youthful smile had been replaced by a defiant stare. And instead of holding a football, he held an assault rifle.

  “Adam played wide receiver for his high-school football team,” Mark continued. “He was on the debate squad. He was elected president of his senior class. He’s smart, charismatic, and five years ago he became a committed member of the Asian Crescent Brotherhood, a terrorist organization headquartered in Indonesia.”

  Silence settled over the room.

  “How old is he?” Mia asked.

  “Twenty-four.”

  “And he’s American?” Kelsey still couldn’t believe it.

  “Born and raised,” Mark said. “He speaks English with a Southern accent. He’s got an American birth certificate. A U.S. passport. Without the beard and weaponry, he looks like the kid who might take your order at Applebee’s. He’s the jihadist next door. In short, he’s our worst nightmare.”

  A new photo appeared on the screen, this one showing Adam Ramli crouched in the dirt beside what looked like a homemade bomb. Again, he held an assault weapon in his hand, and on either side of him were heavily armed men. Adam looked straight at the camera.

  “Can you confirm that this is the man you saw in Utah two nights ago?”

  Kelsey glanced at Gordon and realized the question was directed at her. She looked at the photograph again.

  “That’s him.”

  The room went quiet.

  “He was using a white sedan,” she added. “A Buick or maybe a Ford, late model. It looked to me like a rental car.”

  “It’s good information.” Gordon looked at Mark. “Fill us in on the rest. Whatever you know.”

  “Well, the Bureau’s case file on this guy is probably a foot thick, but I’ll hit the highlights. Adam’s father was born in Indonesia. He was raised Muslim but hasn’t practiced since he came to American thirty years ago to attend medical school.”

  “What sort of doctor?” Kelsey asked.

  “Orthopedist.” Mark smiled. “Another bone doc, like yourself. His mother is from Atlanta. Used to work as a nurse, which was where she met her husband. Jennifer Ramli is a strict Southern Baptist and took her kids to church while they were growing up.”

  “Kids?” Mia asked.

  “Adam has a sister, Marissa. She’s a file clerk at a law firm in San Francisco. Anyway, shortly after Adam graduated from high school, he took a trip to Jakarta to visit relatives. Within months of that trip, during his freshman year of college at Georgia Tech, he started going to a local mosque. About this time, Marissa left home and moved to the Bay Area with her boyfriend. She’d had a falling-out with her parents, from what we can gather. Adam did, too. In April of his freshman year, he withdrew from school, cleaned out the checking account his parents had provided for him, and bought a plane ticket to London. Our investigation shows that this was when he met face-to-face with some people he’d previously only known online. He started visiting a mosque headed by a man on the Bureau’s terrorist watch list.”

  Mark tapped a button and a video appeared on the screen. Kelsey recognized the footage she’d seen at Blake’s place.

  “When Adam Ramli turned up at this Al-Qaeda training camp in Indonesia, he himself was placed on the watch list.”

  “So, he’s Al-Qaeda or Asian Crescent Brotherhood?”

  “Now he’s ACB,” Mark said. “Which is just as bad—maybe worse, because we know less about their operations. This offshoot of Al-Qaeda is extremely violent. Not long ago they kidnapped a group of missionaries in the Philippines. Thirty-one people were beheaded. All the female victims in the group showed signs of brutal sexual assault.”

  Kelsey had heard about the attack while she was working in the Philippines. She watched the men on the screen as they conducted target practice.

  “Stop the video.” She leaned forward. “That man there.” She looked at Gordon. “That’s James Hanan, the man whose bones our team recovered in the jungle on Basilan Island.”

  “That’s correct,” Gordon said. “Our investigation shows that the week before Blake Reid’s death, he took a phone call from one of our lab technicians at Quantico, where he’d sent a sample for analysis. The technician confirmed the identity of those bones.”

  Kelsey sat back in her chair. A sick feeling washed over her. The favor she’d asked Blake to do may well have gotten him killed.

  “What is Hanan’s connection to Adam Ramli?” she asked.

  “Besides being Asian Crescent Brotherhood? They’re both Americans. We’re seeing an increase in Americans joining some of these groups, and it’s very alarming. The groups gain an advantage because American membership helps them spread their message in English-speaking countries. Also, these guys possess U.S. passports, and if we don’t know they’ve been radicalized, they can move in and out of our borders with little or no trouble.”

  “Hasn’t his passport been flagged?” Kelsey asked.

  “Absolutely,” Gordon said, “but the border’s porous. Or he could have come in on a fake passport. Or a stolen one. Someone with his accent and knowledge of the culture would be able to blend in easily and not draw attention to himself.”

  “So, with Kelsey’s eyewitness account, plus the fingerprint evidence from Utah, we have to believe he’s here now,” Mia said.

  “Which brings us to our next problem,” Gordon said. “Dr. Richard Spurlock. Until his recent death, the retired microbiologist was one of our country’s foremost experts in anthrax.”

  A new photo appeared on the screen, and Kelsey got her first look at Richard Spurlock alive. He appeared thin, bald, and nervous behind a pair of wire-rim spectacles. He gazed straight ahead at the camera.

  “This is a driver’s license picture?” Mia asked.

  “It’s from his employee badge at Dugway Proving Ground, which is a high-security biological and chemical weapons testing facility in the Uta
h desert. Spurlock worked there for eight years and handled some of the most sensitive biological research ever conducted by the U.S. government.”

  “Retired?” Mia asked.

  “He was let go in 2005,” Mark said, “after a series of minor security infractions. Entering the lab at non-designated hours, failing to turn in routine reports, that sort of thing.”

  Kelsey looked at Mark. “You profiled him, too?”

  “Someone on my team did. As part of the anthrax investigation of 2001, we were called in to profile every researcher who may have sent those letters. We looked at several key factors to put together our suspect list: scientific ability, lab access, proximity to the mail sites, and suspicious behavior. Spurlock fit all of our criteria except proximity to the sites where the anthrax letters were mailed. He was high on our suspect list for months. But ultimately the FBI lab was able to genetically trace the strain used in those attacks to a particular flask in a particular refrigerator in a particular research laboratory on Fort Detrick, Maryland. Spurlock was crossed off our list, but he’d raised some red flags, so we continued to keep an eye on him. After a few years, he’d racked up a number of minor violations, so the lab let him go. Until we officially closed the anthrax investigation, he was still getting occasional media attention as a possible suspect, which is probably why he decided to change his name.”

  “The anthrax doc and the jihadist,” Ben said, speaking up for the first time. “What a duo.”

  “An extremely deadly duo.” Mia looked around the table. “I realize I’m the only microbiologist here, but do you all grasp the gravity of this situation?” She leaned forward. “Imagine a five-pound bag of sugar. If you spread that amount of weaponized anthrax over a city the size of Washington, D.C., you could wipe out half the population.”

  A chill slithered down Kelsey’s spine. She looked at Gordon. “Don’t they keep track of the samples in the lab? Did he steal some before he left?”

  “They keep very close track, and no, there’s no evidence that he stole any. There’s none missing.”

  “So what do we think was going on?”

  “We don’t know,” Gordon said. “And I, in particular, am not in a position to know because I’m not part of the FBI’s counterterrorism division. I investigate violent crimes.”

  “I’m still not seeing it,” Kelsey said. “If there’s none missing, then where would Ramli get it? How could some twenty-four-year-old commando get hold of one of the most tightly controlled substances on the planet? That seems like a major stretch.”

  “You might not think so if you’d been on the investigative side,” Mark said. “Literally hundreds of scientists have had access to the material at some point in their careers. If it didn’t come from Spurlock, it could have come from someone else.”

  “And he might not have gotten it here,” Ben said. “Think about Iraq, Libya, Egypt—all the places that were probably developing this stuff whose governments have fallen apart post–Arab Spring. There’re all kinds of weapons on the black market now, from rocket-propelled grenade launchers to mustard gas.”

  Kelsey’s chest tightened. She’d heard through the rumor mill that the missile that downed Joe’s helicopter had been traced to an arsenal in Libya.

  She touched the phone in her pocket and wondered if Gage was still listening.

  “Ben could be right,” Mia said. “Non-weaponized forms of the virus are much easier to obtain and transport.” She looked at Kelsey. “That means a liquid form, such as a slurry. The trick is to dry it out successfully, which is a much more complicated task involving special expertise and equipment. When it’s deprived of liquid, the virus forms durable spores. And here’s the part that’s hard to pull off: It becomes weaponized when the spores are milled into extremely fine particles, small enough to enter the lungs. The disease itself is not contagious, but a mass release of weaponized spores could kill thousands and thousands of people.”

  “Once it’s in a fine-powder form, it’s not difficult to disseminate,” Mark added. “All he’d have to do is put it in a fragile container—a bottle, a jar, a lightbulb—and drop it in a public place. Once the container shatters, the spores take to the air.”

  Across the table, a phone chimed.

  “Excuse me,” Mia said, standing up. She slipped out of the room.

  “So, it’s possible Adam Ramli or someone provided the raw materials, and probably the funding,” Kelsey said, “and Dr. Spurlock provided the expertise.”

  Mia slipped back into the room. “It’s for you.”

  Kelsey took the phone, startled. “Hello?”

  “Tell everyone to quit dicking around with the science lesson,” Gage said. “We’ve got a fucking weapon of mass destruction inside our borders. What is Moore doing to locate Ramli?”

  Kelsey glanced around the table, and all eyes were on her. “Gage wants an update on the manhunt. Where is Adam Ramli?”

  “And Trent Lohman,” Gage added.

  She put the phone on the table and switched it to speaker mode. “And Trent Lohman. Where is he while all this is going on?”

  Gordon glanced uneasily at Mark. “We have reason to believe one of our agents is involved in this plot.”

  “We know it for a fact.” Gage’s angry voice joined the conversation. “Kelsey and I saw him with our own eyes. He needs to be brought in. He can tell us where Ramli is.”

  “Lohman is being protected by someone very high up in the organization,” Gordon said. “It’s not as simple as just asking him.”

  “Oh, yeah? Give me ten minutes in a room alone with him, and I’ll ask him,” Gage said. “I bet I get some answers, too, before he murders a hundred thousand people.”

  Mark leaned forward on his elbows and looked at Gordon. “How high up?”

  “The assistant director for CT,” Gordon said.

  No one spoke. Kelsey glanced at the phone, where even Gage had gone quiet.

  “You see why my hands are tied. I’m investigating a potential terrorist attack without involving counterterrorism.”

  “Who are you using?” Mark asked.

  “Two trusted agents, people I’ve known for more than a decade. One of them is surveilling Ramli’s parents down in Atlanta, hoping he’ll make contact. The other was just in San Francisco, interviewing the sister, but she claims not to have had any contact with him in five years.”

  “So, what’s Lohman’s role in this?” Mark asked.

  “He was a brand-new agent in 2001 when we started the anthrax investigation,” Gordon said. “That was one of the most heavily staffed investigations in our history, and Lohman was part of it. He had access to the FBI’s suspect list, so I think his role in this was to connect Ramli with a scientist who had the expertise to help him make a biological weapon. I doubt Lohman would involve himself in an actual attack.”

  “Where is Trent Lohman now?” Kelsey asked.

  “I don’t know,” Gordon said. “But he’s supposed to be in some meetings in Washington tomorrow afternoon.”

  “He might know where Ramli is,” Mia said. “And we obviously need to find him and get control of this material.”

  “Talk to Ramli’s sister again,” Gage said. “She’s a better bet than the guy’s estranged parents.”

  “We’re doing everything we can.”

  “Using only three people, including yourself?” Kelsey asked. “You’re not taking this seriously!”

  Gordon’s face hardened. “Do you have any children, Dr. Quinn?”

  She drew back, affronted. He knew damn well she didn’t have children.

  “Do you?”

  “No.”

  “Any nieces or nephews?”

  “No.”

  He leaned forward and looked her squarely in the eye. “I have two daughters, ten and twelve. They live in our nation’s capital. You’d better believe I take this seriously.”

  “What can we do?” Mark asked, breaking the tension. “You obviously need as much help as you can get from ou
tside the Bureau.”

  Gordon looked around. “That’s why I’m here. Ben is investigating all digital activity related to Adam Ramli, his family, and also Trent Lohman. Your lab has helped expedite the physical evidence and provided a criminal profile.”

  Kelsey turned to Mark. “Do you have any predictions about this guy? Anything that might help determine where he is now or what he’s planning?”

  Mark nodded. “I can tell you about his Achilles’ heel. The man’s a narcissist, which is good and bad. Bad, because I can almost guarantee he’s planning something big, something that makes a splash and gets lots of media attention. The good part, though, is that he’ll want to survive the attack and bask in his achievement. This man isn’t suicidal. And despite all his rhetoric, he’s not even that religious, when it comes down to it. He’s egocentric. He thrives on attention. He doesn’t want to die for his cause, he wants to shine a spotlight on it, as well as himself. This means he has an exit strategy, and that involves planning—travel arrangements, documents, funding.”

  “I’ll check it out,” Ben said.

  “So, the main question now is, are we searching for the right person?” Gordon looked at Kelsey. “You’re one hundred percent sure the man you saw in Utah is Adam Ramli?”

  Kelsey looked at the screen again. The video was paused on an image of Ramli standing in front of a group of armed men, and he looked to be giving a speech. He stood taller than the others. She studied his face.

  “I’m looking at the pronounced cheekbones, the orbital ridge, the bump on the nose,” she said. “Disguises come and go, but without plastic surgery, those features stay the same.” She paused for a moment. “Push play again.”

  The scene changed. He was leading a group of commandos now, walking over rocky terrain, his weapon slung casually across his body. Kelsey remembered the same face, the same posture, the same gait from the encounter in Utah.

  “I’m sure,” she confirmed. “It’s definitely him.”

  CHAPTER 18

  Kelsey cast a worried look at Gage in the driver’s seat. She could practically feel the anger seeping from his pores.