An arrogant, bombastic man, he was correct in his summation that his men were the best, but the best was not good enough when dealing with someone bent on killing for their belief.
There had been two who had not been the best when they let Paddy Finnegan and Hussein Shafik through the roadblock into town. It had been the end of a long shift and Police Officers Charlie Oliver and Chuck Fredericks had been planning to take their families down to watch the parade. They had both been remiss in their duties.
‘I’m not closing the city, or a pub, or a public toilet based on hearsay,’ Campbell shouted down the phone.
‘You’ve seen the fatalities throughout the country?’ Darius attempted to reason. The Police Chief knew that he was talking to a black man. He had come up from a remote community in Mississippi and old racist attitudes did not die easily.
‘I’ve seen them, but we’ve not had any problems here. Maybe a few, but we dealt with them quickly. I’m not having some wet behind the ears CIA man telling me what to do. If the Mayor phones me up, then I’ll take his advice.’
‘In the meantime, will you at least get the people out of the pub for fifteen minutes while our man checks it out?’
‘I’ll give you that. The police officer who came down when the body was found. Still there?’
‘Yes,’ replied Darius.
‘Then tell him he has my authority. Where’s this helicopter coming from?’
‘The White House. Is that official enough for you?’
‘You mean the one in Washington?’ The Police Chief straightened his back and spoke to Darius in a more civil tone.
‘That’s the one. Let’s hope the next phone call you receive is not from the President.’
‘I’ll send a few more officers down. The patrons are bound to be drunk.’
As predicted, the helicopter landed on the rooftop of the building that Darius had suggested. It had been a difficult landing due to some cables strung randomly across the roof. The pilot was reluctant, would have refused under normal circumstances until Paul Montgomery reminded him that the President of the United States of America was watching what they were doing. He wouldn’t want to be the one to tell the leader of the country that the pilot, a young and keen naval officer, had refused due to concerns that he may damage his machine. The pilot wisely acquiesced and made a textbook landing.
Paul Montgomery exited by the side door of the helicopter and clumsily clambered down the fire escape of the building. Once on the ground and suitably dressed in his spacesuit, much to the amusement of the initially angry patrons, he walked carefully around the premises. It was not long before he came back with the not unexpected news.
‘The spray is in the restroom. Its batch number matches with the others we’ve found. It’s the virus alright, and it’s nearly empty. Anyone here is to be quarantined and taken to a safe holding facility. We’ll need more police to take control and the names of anyone else who may have been here today.’
There were two phone calls for Darius to make: the first to Ed, who would inform the President, who would then tell the Mayor of Philadelphia, the second, to Police Chief Campbell.
‘Chief, it’s confirmed. The President has been informed. You’ll get a phone call from the Mayor in the next few minutes. In the interim, we’ve got to close the city down.’
‘Close the city?’ said Campbell in disbelief. ‘I don’t know how. The place is buzzing with people, and the parade is in full swing. Any idea of the guy we’re looking for?’
‘Yes, we know him well. He put a bullet through my shoulder the last time. The only problem is, he’s changed his appearance – shaved off his beard, lightened his skin. It’s unlikely any of us will recognise him, even me.’
‘Are the Irish pubs the best options?’ the Police Chief asked.
It’s probable. The spray will be more efficient in a closed environment. Hussein Shafik is out for the maximum. You’re aware of how dangerous this is?’
‘Anyone sprayed, dies.’
‘Correct. Anyone sprayed in the toilet is now a statistic. My partner took a blast in the face from Shafik, and he’s now close to death, probably is. Incidentally, he faced off his accomplice at Grand Central.’
‘Brave guy, they showed him on the television,’ the Police Chief said.
‘He saved my life and countless thousands in New York, even when he knew he was dying.’
‘Okay, I’m with you,’ said Campbell. ‘What do we need to do?’ He had to admit that the CIA agent was a smart individual who deserved more respect than he had initially given him. ‘There was a Darius Charleston, good basketball player. Are you two related?’
‘One and the same. A stupid argument with my girlfriend and over the top of the hood of a car, and now, here we are, talking to one another.’
‘Life takes unexpected directions. We just make the best of it. I’ve got policemen moving towards the various pubs, especially the Irish, to attempt to form some control. Barriers seem the best option, at least to prevent further movement in, and anyone coming out is to be confined until we can decide what to do with them.’
‘That’s sounds fine,’ said Darius.
‘By the way,’ said Campbell, ‘should we take special precautions? Are they contagious?’
‘Until they get some sores in about ten to twelve days, they’re perfectly safe. Maybe best not to get too close, in case there’s some lingering spray on their clothes, but apart from that, there’s nothing to worry about. If they’ve been in the male restrooms, they’re probably infected; if not, they’re fine. But don’t take my word for it. We’ve got Paul Montgomery here, and he’s the best there is on the subject. They’re also bringing up a US Air Force Starlifter specially fitted out to deal with the emergency.’
***
Parade Director Bill Brennan reacted violently when Police Chief Campbell phoned him. ‘How the hell do you expect me to close this down? I’ve got over one hundred and fifty groups, at least twenty-five thousand people marching and at least one hundred and fifty thousand more lining the streets. Even if I wanted to, it’s just impossible.’
‘We’ll do the best we can to protect the people,’ said Campbell, ‘but that may not be good enough.’
‘You’re the police chief, how did this fool get through?’
‘The same as you can’t disperse close to two hundred thousand people. One man who doesn’t want to be discovered can slip in anywhere, be anywhere. He’s killed once today and condemned a few hundred to death. God knows where he’s going to stop.’ The police chief countered the Parade Director’s criticism.
‘Is this to be a repeat of what we’ve seen around the country?’
‘Yes, the Mayor’s had a phone call from the President, and they’re setting up a plan to contain the damage.’
‘If we had known before, maybe we could have done something, but now, there’s just no way. We just have to let it conclude and then disperse the people as soon as possible.’
‘We’re closing all shops, pubs, restaurants progressively as the parade moves by,’ continued the police chief.
Meanwhile, Shafik, now down to four spray cans, continued to the next pub. He had become accomplished at pretending to be a drunken Irishman and had not been challenged, even when he sat in a corner at Murphy’s pub on Drury Street and casually sprayed into the air. Heading up Chestnut Street, he saw the heightened police presence. He decided it was time to speed up his plan and, in five minutes, he was close to O’Leary’s. The police were already blocking the road close to the bar. He abandoned his planned target and headed to the parade.
It was easy for him to join in and, for a while, he enjoyed the revelry of the occasion. It was a windy day, much too windy for maximum effect. He chose to wait for the ideal moment.
The police presence was noticeably low-key. Parade Director Brennan and Police Chief Campbell had decided that it would have only caused a possible rash action from Shafik.
It was pure luck when off-duty Po
lice Officer Charlie Oliver saw one of the men he had let through that morning. The green wig and the Leprechaun hat on a man who did not seem Irish on closer inspection had refocussed his attention. The photo on his iPhone of Paddy Finnegan and the pale face of the man in front of him brought back a recollection of the passenger in the car, and here he was, standing not three feet from him.
‘I’ve seen him,’ he shouted down the phone to Campbell. There had been a clear directive: if you see anyone suspicious, call the hotline and ask to speak to the Chief. Oliver was doing just that.
‘Don’t approach him, just wait for us,’ ordered Campbell.
‘But he’s moving away.’
‘Then follow him.’
‘I can’t. I’ve got my two children and my daughter’s friend from over the road. There’ll be hell to pay if I leave them here on their own.’
‘Okay, do what you can and we’ll get someone as soon as we can.’ The Police Chief, if he had known Oliver personally, would have understood why, after ten years in the force, he had not risen from being a police officer in a patrol car. Devoid of imagination he lacked the personal drive, the ambition and the instinct that separated a good cop from a bad cop.
‘He’s following the parade. I’ll keep close by.’
‘Don’t do that! What if he sees you? He could do something stupid.’
‘I’ll be careful.’ Oliver, initially slow to react, now oblivious to the children in his care.
With three kids– Sophie, eight and precocious, Will, six and naughty and Susie, Sophie’s best friend – it was proving difficult for Charlie Oliver to keep close to Shafik.
‘Where is he now?’ asked Campbell.
‘We’re just crossing the corner of Vine Street and Kelly Drive.’
It was then that Police Officer Oliver’s daughter made the statement that was to change their futures from long to very short. ‘Daddy, why are we following that man with the funny hat?’ Sophie bellowed no more than two feet from the back of Shafik as the crowd surged.
‘Be quiet Sophie,’ he hissed. ‘It’s a secret.’
‘I don’t like secrets,’ she said loudly.
Shafik heard the conversation and turned round.
‘Stop, you’re under arrest!’ Oliver shouted. Unimaginative and foolish, he was not carrying a gun and had three children under the age of ten with him.
In sheer panic, Shafik pushed forward, releasing the remaining sprays from both hands but not before spraying Oliver and the children. The police officer’s stupidity had doomed them. Shafik was free and running to exit the area.
His work complete, he slowly trekked undercover and at night out to Fairmont Park, a few kilometres to the north. There, hiding by day and foraging by night, his sores began to appear and then turn to pus. In three weeks he was dead, along with Caterina’s boyfriend, Daniel Mulroney, Police Officer Oliver, his two children and the girl from across the road, and at least two thousand patrons from the Irish pubs. Remarkably, only two hundred and fifty-nine other people died from the parade.
Chapter 21
Samir Habash sat quietly in the mud hut he called home. Rehmani, his teacher in all things Taliban and fundamentalist, had given him a wife, his thirteen-year-old daughter, to keep him fed and occupied during the increasingly cold nights in the Hindu Kush.
‘She will give you many sons,’ he had said.
‘She is no more than a child,’ Samir had protested.
‘This is not your decadent America. Her age is of no importance. She is ready to breed.’
Samir had tried to keep clear of her, but she had a pleasant face and a lithe body and, reluctantly, he bedded her one night. Passive, frigid, but at least warming and, as the weeks passed, he found some attraction in her.
‘Does she not please you?’ her father asked.
‘She pleases me,’ Samir replied.
‘I will give you my other daughter as soon as she bleeds but make sure this one is with child first.’
‘I will,’ Samir answered.
‘Let us come back to our original proposition. What are you going to do with the four crates that you brought here?’ The Taliban’s concern was the crates, not his daughters. A female child brought no honour to an Afghan warrior.
‘We need to decide where we want to use them.’
‘How many can you kill with them? Give me some numbers.’
‘It depends on where you release it.’
‘What has where got to do with it?’ Not a patient man, the tribal leader was becoming annoyed by Samir’s procrastination.
‘Africa, maybe another one hundred million, possibly more.’
‘What do I care about Africa? It is the great Satan that interests me.’
‘America’s economy is shattered. It will take years to recover,’ replied Samir.
‘Your attempts in New York failed?’
‘They are an intelligent and resourceful people.’
‘I want New York and Washington to be hit.’
‘Then I will need to devise another method of release. We have removed their ability to wage war against us. Why do you want to destroy them?’
‘I want them to pay. I want them to know the pain of losing sons. I want them to know the pain of torture.’
‘Then you want revenge.’ Samir realised that Abdul Rehmani was not a man following Allah’s cause, but a man bent on retribution. He wished at that instance to return to Sam Haberman or to be the Samir Habash that had been with Yanny in Jordan. However, he knew it was not possible and that he was doomed, just like those millions who had died as a result of his idealism to help the Palestinian people.
It had all gone terribly wrong and, listening to Rehmani, he had for a while believed that it was the will of Allah. But he was an intelligent man and Rehmani, an embittered tribesman of little education. How could he have been seduced by his arguments, his prejudices? He was determined to make amends if he could, but how? It was impossible, and he knew it. It was better to carry on with Rehmani and to sleep with his child bride than to believe that another future was possible. Hopefully, one day he may be able to sleep properly, but he knew that was unlikely.
‘I will come up with a plan,’ Samir said.
***
In the first few days in Afghanistan, Yanny had spent time tending to the sick and assisting Bob Smith at the makeshift medical centre. Steve was out in the field, checking mountain tops and sites in the villages for the proposed communication links. It gave him an ideal opportunity to see if there was any sign of the whereabouts of Habash.
‘We’ve no idea where he is,’ said Steve. ‘People either don’t want to tell us, or they simply don’t know.’
‘Maybe he’s not here?’ Bob said.
‘He is here. I can sense him,’ Yanny said. Bob did not know the intensity of her relationship with Habash in Amman while Steve did not want to think about it.
‘If he’s not in the city, then he’s hiding in one of the villages up the valley,’ Steve said.
‘That’s clear,’ Yanny said, ‘but which valley, which village?’
‘And how do you intend to check them out?’ asked Bob. ‘The weather’s closing in. Another few weeks and the snow will make any movement impossible.’
‘How did you find the village where your colleague picked up smallpox?’ Steve asked.
‘By helicopter, but there are so many villages up there. It would be like finding a needle in a haystack.’
‘We can’t stay here doing nothing.’ said Steve.
‘We’re not sitting on our hands. We’re helping the people.’
‘You know what I mean. What if he had more virus stashed here or in America or somewhere else? What are his plans? We can’t just leave him alone. The world could be held hostage indefinitely, forced to respond to demands from some unknown village in the mountains of Afghanistan. What if he finds a more efficient method of dispersing it?’
‘Steve’s right,’ said Yanny. ‘We need to find him.’
<
br /> ‘It will look suspicious if we all of a sudden charter a helicopter and head up into the hills. Our presence here is hardly inconspicuous,’ Bob said pragmatically.
‘What we need is a reason, a natural disaster, an outbreak of some disease.’ said Steve.
‘You’re not suggesting smallpox.’
‘Why not or maybe we just go for chickenpox?’
‘I’d go with chickenpox,’ said Bob. ‘We’ll need to say that it’s been found in one of the villages and then spend our time vaccinating everyone in the area.’
‘But chickenpox doesn’t need a vaccination, does it?’ Yanny asked.
‘No, but we’ll tell everyone it may be smallpox. It’s best to be on the safe side. Believe me, they’ll be glad of the medical treatment, and we’ll give everyone who’s vaccinated a bag of rice or flour. It’ll give you and Steve a chance to have a look around.’
Steve agreed. ‘That’s what we’ll do. We can bring in some additional help. Make them look like medical assistants. You can help with that, Bob.’
‘I can teach them how to take a temperature, give an injection. It should be enough. What are you looking for?’
‘Not sure. What are we looking for, Yanny?’ Steve asked.
‘Just talk to the people about strangers in the village. Keep it to general conversation.’
‘Count me out,’ said Steve. ‘I’ve can’t help you with the local languages.’
‘You spent years here, and you can’t speak the local language?’ Yanny teased.
‘Everyone spoke English to me. Apart from a few words, I’ll not be able to help.’
‘I’m reasonable at the language,’ said Bob, ‘and Yanny can get by. We should be okay.’
‘Anyone we should bring in?’ asked Yanny.
‘Harry and Phil.’ replied Steve without hesitation.
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