"It’s not the scene I’m having trouble dealing with." She sat down opposite him.
"I’d like to think that insubordinate tone was not meant for me," Andrus said.
"Would you? I’d like to think that if the head of Domestic Terrorism was at a RAVENKIL murder site ahead of me, along with a hazmat team, you would decide to tell me about it. So I guess we’re both wrong, aren’t we, Gerry?"
His face paled, whether in dismay or anger she wasn’t sure and didn’t care. She was past thinking of bureaucratic protocol.
"I saw Tennant," she went on. "And I saw a squad of hazardous materials experts. And I think I know why they were here."
"Do you?" Andrus said.
"That woman upstairs was involved in some sort of terrorist activity. DTS tracked her to this hotel and set up a command post in this room. Then they sent in SWAT to conduct an arrest. They found her dead. For some reason they expected to find a biohazard of some sort—in her suitcase, I assume. But the room was clean, which means either there never was any biohazard, or it’s gone. I’m guessing the latter."
"Are you? Why?"
"The worried look on your face."
Andrus shook his head slowly. "What do you want from me, Tess?"
"I want you to stop holding out. Share the wealth. I shouldn’t have to skulk around in corridors and spy on my own colleagues. And I shouldn’t be forced to make guesses when you and Tennant could tell me—"
"Don’t link me to Tennant," Andrus interrupted. "We’re not a team. Hell, you heard my end of the conversation with him last night."
"It was none of my business last night. Now it is."
"Okay, I concede the point. It is your business. And if you’d just been patient and not gone sneaking off on your own—"
"You would’ve told me? Prove it. Tell me now. Tell me everything."
"I don’t know much more than you’ve already guessed." He held up a hand to ward off her objection. "I don’t, Tess. Scout’s honor. But Tennant has assured me he’ll reveal everything, no more secrets."
"At the briefing?" she said.
"You even know about that? Jesus."
"I know it’s at City Hall East and it starts at eleven o’clock. Sharp. I know you’ll be at it, because you have to be. And I know you’re taking me along."
The AD frowned. "I can pass on whatever I learn."
"I want to be there, Gerry."
"No one from the RAVENKIL task force is invited."
"Why not? That makes no sense. It’s crazy."
"Tennant has his reasons. It’s his show, not mine."
"I don’t give a damn whose show it is. Get me in."
He heard the threat in her voice. "Or…?"
She stood up. "Or I’ll investigate on my own. And whatever I come up with, I’ll share with the local authorities."
"The locals aren’t primary. This is a federal case."
She leaned on the back of her chair and met his eyes. "It’s my case."
Andrus held her stare for a moment, then laughed. "Oh, what the hell. I should’ve known better than to work around you. All right, consider yourself invited."
Tess took his hand. "Thanks, Gerry. And I’m sorry if I’m pushing too hard. I don’t mean to make your life difficult."
He laughed again. "Yes, you do."
22
During the long trip into downtown LA, Andrus was silent. He sat with Tess in the backseat of a sedan driven by an agent who was both chauffeur and bodyguard. Andrus had his laptop computer open before him and seemed to be scrolling through a document, but Tess noticed that his gaze often unfocused and became distant.
She had never seen him afraid, and she wasn’t sure if she was seeing it now. But something had him preoccupied, at least. And she was beginning to see the outlines of what it was.
As the freeway traffic blurred past, she broke the silence to ask, "Are we meeting in the mayor’s office?"
"No. ATSAC."
"At-what?"
"The ATSAC command center. Short for Automated Traffic Signal and Control." Andrus still hadn’t looked up from his computer. "All the traffic lights throughout LA are linked together in a network that’s supervised from a central command facility. Computers correct the timing of stoplights at intersections to adjust to changing traffic flow."
"Cool. What does traffic management have to do with Mobius?"
"There’s more than traffic management involved."
He said nothing further.
The driver dropped them off at City Hall East, one of several buildings that made up the sprawling Civic Center that stretched across nine city blocks. Andrus led her to an elevator on the parking level, where a guard stood post.
"Going down," Andrus said.
The guard checked Andrus’s credentials and Tess’s also. Satisfied, he handed Andrus a card key. "Here’s your ticket in, sir. And the downstairs access code is four-seven-two-four."
Andrus swiped the card through an electronic reader. The elevator doors slid open. He and Tess stepped inside, and Andrus pressed the down arrow. Tess felt the start of their descent.
"ATSAC is underground?" she asked.
"Five floors down."
"Sounds more like NORAD than a traffic operations center."
"It’s a little of both. Remember Y2K? The city wanted a command center in case the millennium really did start with a bang. The mayor at the time, Riordan, decided to upgrade the existing ATSAC facility. Basically he created a high-tech bunker."
"How so?"
"It’s earthquake resistant and supposedly can withstand a nuclear blast. It’s got multiply redundant communications systems—including copper-wire and fiber-optic links to the command stations of the Sheriff’s Department and LAFD. It’s fully self-contained and self-sufficient. There’s a dormitory, a kitchen, emergency food supplies to serve fifty people for two years. Backup diesel generators to take up the load in case of a power interruption."
"Impressive, in a Dr. Strangelove sort of way."
The elevator stopped. Tess exited with Andrus into a windowless corridor ending in a heavy metal door that reminded Tess of the door to a bank vault.
"Other cities did the same," Andrus said. "Even though Y2K was a nonevent, the command center has remained operational. You never know when it might be needed for the next earthquake, riot…"
"Or terrorist attack."
"Precisely. In New York, the city’s counterterrorist command center was above ground—in the World Trade Center, to be exact. We saw how well that worked out."
Andrus inserted the card key in another reader, and the bank-vault door slid open.
"Just like Star Trek," Andrus said.
"Or Get Smart."
They walked through, and the door closed behind them. There was a second door just ahead. The space between the two of them, Tess realized, was an air-lock corridor—what biohazard experts called a gray zone. The two doors would never be open simultaneously. The gray zone allowed for decontamination before passing from the outside world into the secure interior of the bunker.
"It’s sealed off from outside contamination," she said. "But the ventilation system must bring in air from above ground."
"Sure—but the air passes through multiple filters to screen out biological and chemical toxins. Whatever’s outside can’t get in."
"So basically this is the safest place in town."
"That’s the idea, Tess."
Andrus punched the access code into a numeric keypad mounted near the second door, which opened with a beep. Together they entered the main space of the ATSAC facility, a large circular room arrayed with computer workstations, each with its own red-upholstered swivel chair. The workstations were modular desks fitted together to form two concentric semicircles, facing a video wall that served as a luminous, multicolored moving background for half the room.
Tess estimated that there were forty flat-panel display screens mounted on the curving wall, each showing a mixture of live video, scrolli
ng data, and computer-generated traffic grids and maps. Some screens were quartered into four images; others showed only a single scene. The views were of major surface-street traffic junctures, including the intersection of Wilshire Boulevard and Veteran Avenue, where the Federal Building, home of the FBI’s LA office, was located. Tess had heard that it was the busiest intersection in the city.
She looked around. The facility extended beyond this central room into glass-walled offices to her left and right, and corridors branching into darkness. This was a sizable complex. And it was buried five stories under City Hall, accessible only by a secret elevator. She wondered how many Angelenos even knew it existed. The government, she imagined, had not been eager to spread the word.
The soft hum of equipment mingled with the burr of recirculated air. She had never been inside a NASA facility, but she imagined that it would be like this. The noise and grit of the city seemed far away.
Thirty or forty people were already assembled inside, a few seated among the rows of swivel chairs, but most standing and conferring in small, restless groups. Andrus went through the meet-and-greet routine with many of them, while Tess hung back. She knew nobody here. But of course she was an outsider—a stranger to this city, and an uninvited presence in this room.
At eleven o’clock precisely, everyone took a seat. Tess saw that a few people, Tennant among them, had special chairs facing the workstations.
Andrus sat beside Tess in the row of chairs farthest from the video wall. She was surprised he wasn’t up front, and said as much in a whisper.
Andrus just smiled. "This isn’t my show," he said.
A woman seated at the front of the room stood up and spoke into a microphone, introducing herself as Sylvia Florez, manager of the Los Angeles Office of Emergency Management. Her voice ticked like a metronome, rapid and precise, as she reviewed the major players present for the briefing—the mayor, members of the city council, the chief of police, the county sheriff. Then there was a quick rundown of the other participants seated at the workstations.
From the city of Los Angeles, representatives from the Department of Public Works, the Department of Transportation, and the Information Technology Agency. From the LAPD, the heads of the Emergency Preparedness Division and the Hazardous Materials/Environmental Crimes Unit. From the City Fire Department, the assistant chief of the Bureau of Emergency Services, as well as the battalion chief, who served as Antiterrorism Coordinator. Two representatives from the county fire department’s Office of Emergency Management. Two representatives from the Sheriff’s Department Emergency Operations Bureau. An agent of the Governor’s Office of Emergency Management—Southern Region. Somebody from the Terrorism Working Group, and somebody else from the Terrorism Early Warning Group, which was apparently a different entity.
There were more people mentioned, including Tennant and Andrus, but Tess wasn’t listening anymore. She got the point. The crisis managers were all on board.
"Now I’ll introduce Special Agent Jack Tennant of the FBI, who will present the details of the anticipated threat."
Tennant replaced Florez at the microphone. He addressed the crowd with an air of brusque impatience that made a sharp contrast to Florez’s polished performance.
"I guess you all want to know what the hell we’re dealing with. All right. It’s VX."
There was a rustle in many seats. Tess frowned. She had heard this term but couldn’t place it.
"Most of you know, but for those who don’t, VX is a nerve agent. A highly toxic nerve agent. The most powerful nerve agent ever developed. And it’s here in LA."
Tess wasn’t surprised, not really. She had known it would be something like this. Part of her was even a little relieved. A chemical weapon was bad, but a biological weapon could be worse. Unlike smallpox or plague, chemicals weren’t contagious. There was a limit to the death toll.
Which would be no consolation at all for those numbered in that toll, or for their families.
"We’ll have an expert up here in a minute to give you a complete overview of VX," Tennant said, "but for now, I want you to understand just what ‘highly toxic’ means. It means deadly. It means that one drop of this fucking—sorry—one drop of this stuff, absorbed into your bloodstream, will kill you in ten minutes.
"VX interferes with the brain’s signals to the vital organs. Specifically, it blocks the action of a certain enzyme, the name of which I can’t pronounce, and leads to a buildup of something called acetylcholine in the central nervous system. This buildup stimulates the organs to hyperactivity. Your whole body goes haywire, and bang, you’re gone. Just like that."
He snapped his fingers, then paused to look out over the audience and see if his words had made the desired impression. His gaze drifted toward the back of the room. He seemed to recognize Tess. She thought she caught a hint of surprised displeasure in his glance. Then he was speaking again.
"The toxicity of VX is zero point zero one milligrams per kilogram, meaning that if you weigh eighty kilos—that’s about a hundred eighty pounds—it’ll take only zero point eight milligrams of VX to stop your heart.
"In liquid form, VX is thick and viscid, with the density and color of motor oil. Normally, however, it’s dispersed as an aerosolized mist of fine droplets, like you’d get out of a spray can. As a mist, it can enter your body through your skin, eyes, nose, and mouth. Inhalation is the most dangerous route because of the high vascularity of the lungs. Once it’s in your lungs, the stuff can be very quickly distributed throughout your bloodstream. Onset of symptoms normally occurs within one minute of exposure.
"The mist is odorless and invisible. It can be all around you, and you won’t know it until you experience the initial symptoms of exposure: runny nose, sweating, upset stomach, headache. Like I say, this all starts happening within one minute or so. Move fast, get away from the source of exposure, and the symptoms will subside. Breathe in more of the stuff, and you’ll progress to localized fasciculations or tremors, shortness of breath—then to myoclonic jerks, meaning big muscular twitches like you’d have in a seizure. This leads to muscle fatigue, then flaccid paralysis, where your muscles go limp and become useless. By that time you’re suffering from apnea, severe respiratory distress, because your respiratory muscles are paralyzed. And then—well, then you’re dead.
"That’s the bottom line. Continued exposure means death."
He’s trying to scare us, Tess realized. And he’s doing a darn good job.
"VX can be introduced into a building’s HVAC system or released into the wind in a crowded public place. If it’s an outdoor release, then a lot depends on the speed and direction of prevailing winds. VX is heavier and denser than air and will tend to pancake, flattening out like a low-lying cloud and hugging the ground. Those at street level are more likely to be affected than those at higher elevations, like, say, office workers in skyscrapers. If the stuff is released indoors, the casualty count will be determined by how quickly it spreads through the building before an evacuation begins.
"In either case, our worst-case scenario…Well, let’s put it this way. In the late 1960s, a release of VX in a place called Skull Valley killed six thousand sheep. In a crowded urban environment, we could be talking human fatalities on the order of ten thousand."
Tennant looked hard at his audience and let them think about that.
"Ten thousand dead," he repeated. "That’s what we’re looking at."
23
Tennant said a few more words, none of them very reassuring, then invited Dr. Robert Gant to the microphone to fill in the audience on the chemical itself.
The doctor was the head of a countywide network of emergency physicians drilled as first responders to a chem-bio attack—"bugs and gas terrorism," as he called it. He spoke quickly and fluently, discoursing on the chemical properties of VX. Tess caught the words "an organophosphate compound related to pesticides like parathion," but she wasn’t really listening. Her attention was fixed on Tennant as he made his way t
hrough the room.
Toward Andrus. And her.
"I hope the air filtration system in here is as good as they say," she whispered to the AD.
Andrus blinked. "Why?"
"Because the shit is about to hit the fan."
Then Tennant was at her side, leaning over her chair and looking right past her, at Andrus. "What’s she doing here?" he hissed.
Great. Another guy who talked about her in the third person. The Nose must be giving lessons.
"She’s on the RAVENKIL task force," Andrus began in a low, conciliatory tone.
Tennant wasn’t interested in conciliation. "I know she’s on the goddamned task force. She’s Tess McCallum. Black Tiger, all that shit. She was in Denver chasing Mobius, and now she’s in LA. And I want to know why the fuck she’s sitting next to you in this room."
"Because I invited her."
"Yeah, I figured that out. Damn it, I thought we agreed no task force members were going to be brought in."
"I brought myself in," Tess said, but both men ignored her.
At the microphone, in front of the wall of video images, Dr. Gant was reminding the audience of the Tokyo subway attacks in 1995. Sarin gas had been used that time. VX was more toxic than sarin. It was, in fact, the most toxic of all nerve agents.
"I do have some authority here," Andrus said coolly. "If I wish to call in Agent McCallum or anyone else, I don’t require your permission."
"When you’re in this building, you require my permission to breathe," Tennant said.
"Besides which," the AD went on as if there had been no interruption, "Agent McCallum knew most of what’s going on anyway."
For the first time Tennant favored her with a glance. "Knew? How?"
Tess met his eyes, unperturbed. Tennant might intimidate some people at the bureau, but not her. "You and your hazmat team weren’t as low-profile as you thought."
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