by Cindy Dees
It took nearly an hour for Abahdi to turn into a mid-range chain hotel parking lot. The FBI guy drove past the hotel and then turned around at the next cross-street while Piper watched in silent panic out the rearview window to make sure their quarry didn’t slip away from them. Not that the Scientist had shown even the slightest hint of evasion or concern about tails in his behavior so far.
Their SUV finally pulled into the hotel parking lot.
“Set up a perimeter,” Mike told the guy. “Very, very quiet. Keep it out of sight. But at all costs, don’t let this guy out of the building without us.”
The agent nodded crisply. He spoke briefly into a cell phone and then reported, “Cordon’s in place.”
Wow. That was fast. The FBI must have had a bunch of vehicles running parallel to them this whole time. She hadn’t spotted any of them. Nice.
“Okay, kid. We’re up,” Mike said as he climbed out of the vehicle.
She followed him into the lobby. Mike waved the front desk attendance to silence as he moved around the front desk and into the office behind it. Piper followed, smiling reassuringly, her hands held out to indicate she was harmless.
Mike flashed his military ID quickly and explained in low tones to the guy, who turned out to be the manager on duty, that he needed to know the room number of the man in the ball cap who had just come in with his daughter.
“You mean Mr. Tariq?” the manager asked.
Mike showed the guy a picture of Salima Abahdi. “This is his daughter.”
“Yes, yes. That’s Salima Tariq. Sweet little girl. Nice man. Is he in trouble?”
“Not at all,” Mike replied. “We need his help with a sensitive government investigation, and it needs to be kept low-key. For his safety, we don’t want to draw any attention to Mr. Tariq. If you’ll just give me his room number and a master key, we’ll have a small chat with him and be out of your hair.”
“I can’t give you a key, Mr. McCloud.”
“I’ve got a dozen FBI agents ringing this building. Do you need me to have them storm the place and freak out your other guests?”
“No, but a warrant would be nice.”
“No time. This is a national security matter. I am, in fact, authorized to take a key by force, but I’d much rather have your cooperation—”
Piper interjected. Getting into a pissing match with this guy wouldn’t do anyone any good. “I’m a scientist. Mr. Tariq is the leading expert in the world in genetically engineered retro-virus recombination. It’s my fault we’re here. I have to talk to him right away, and these nice men from the FBI have been ordered to make the conversation happen. Because of the sensitive nature of our work, people like Mr. Tariq and I can be a little, umm, paranoid.”
She leaned closer to the manager and smiled a little. “I wouldn’t answer my door if a stranger knocked on it. I might even flee the room. Thing is, I’ve got to talk to him right away. There’s a…problem. A virus has gotten away from us. I desperately need Mr. Tariq’s help regaining control of it.”
The manager looked like his resolve to demand a warrant was starting to waver. She pressed her advantage. “Left to their own devices, these FBI guys would storm the room and scare Salima to death. She’s already had enough bad shocks in her life. I don’t want to traumatize a child. Please help me protect that little girl.” She rested a beseeching hand on the guy’s sleeve and poured on the helplessness and charm.
“I see. Well in that case…” The manager moved over to a machine on a counter to one side of the space. “Let me get you a card for his room. Number 316.” He swiped a plastic card through a magnetizer. “Here you go.”
Mike got on his cell phone and muttered into it while she gifted the manager with her best smile and gushed, “Thanks so much. I owe you huge. Now if you’ll excuse us, time really is of the essence.”
“Of course.”
Piper was surprised when their FBI driver strode into the lobby. He engaged the manager in conversation, thanking the guy for his help and writing down his name for some sort of commendation.
The elevator door closed behind her and Mike. “What’s up with our FBI escort?”
“He’s watching the manager to make sure he doesn’t call up and warn Abahdi that we’re coming.”
Ahh. She wouldn’t have thought of that.
“Nice work, sweet talking the manager. That’s what I was talking about when I said you should use your gender to help you.”
“Don’t piss me off, McCloud.”
“Only time you’re not pissed off is when you’re having screaming orgasms in my arms,” he muttered as the door opened.
He timed that comment intentionally so she couldn’t respond. Bastard.
“I’ll go first,” he breathed.
She shook her head sharply. “No. Let me go first. Abahdi’s a Middle Eastern man. In his world, women aren’t threats. He won’t pull out a weapon and make a shootout of it if I go first.”
Mike looked dubious for a second and then nodded in decision. She lifted a stack of towels off a cleaning cart they passed and covered her handgun with the white terry cloth squares. At her nod, Mike eased the key card into the lock and turned the knob smoothly. He held the door open for her and stood back as she walked forward.
“Mr. Tariq? I brought you and your daughter more towels—”
Abahdi leaped to his feet as she moved quickly into the room. She turned the folded towels so he could see the black, round bore of her pistol and spoke quietly, soothingly even. “I urgently need to speak with you, Mr. Tariq. Perhaps we can step out into the hall and let your daughter sleep?” Salima was passed out across one of the beds with a blanket pulled over her.
Abahdi’s gaze shifted to the window, back to her gun, to the open door, and back again. “Please. I mean you and Salima no harm. I just want to talk.” To that end, and to gain his cooperation, she lowered the towel-covered gun. Of course, her target didn’t know how quickly she could fire it from her hip or that she could hit a two-inch target at twenty feet every time when firing from her side.
The Palestinian nodded reluctantly. He stepped out into the hall and Mike moved away from the wall, flanking him. “If you’ll come with us, Mr. Abahdi, we have a few questions for you,” Mike murmured in Arabic.
Yusef stiffened sharply. Tried to turn around. But it was too late. Piper pressed her weapon lightly into his ribs. Mike took the man by the arm and led him into a room a maid was cleaning.
The maid looked up, startled, from making a bed and Mike jerked a thumb at the door. She scuttled out.
“Sit down, Yusef.” Mike planted a chair in the middle of the open space in front of the window.
The Palestinian sat. His facial expression was calm. He was completely at peace with what he’d done. There wasn’t even a hint of fear—or madness—in his steady, intelligent gaze. This was a true fanatic of the worst kind. He believed all the way down to the bottom of his soul in his cause. He knew he had God and Right on his side. Nothing they could say or do to him was going to sway him from that certainty.
She made brief eye contact with Mike and headed back for Abahdi’s room to search for the vials of virus samples. She poked around quietly, and it was quickly apparent that the virus wasn’t there. As she’d expected.
Piper made a quick cell phone call. “The virus is not here. We need an FBI agent in here to babysit Salima Abahdi. She’s asleep in Room 316. If you have an Arabic speaker experienced with kids, send that agent in. In the meantime, a search of the hotel would be in order. Not that I expect to find the virus here. This guy won’t go on vacation with his daughter anywhere near that stuff.”
“Roger, ma’am.”
In under a minute, a man in a suit knocked quietly on the door.
“Babysitter?” she murmured.
The agent nodded and she thanked him as she slipped out. “We’ll be down the hall.”
Mike sat on the bed in front of Abahdi as she entered the room. He ordered her quietly, “Close t
he door, Agent Roth.”
She turned in time to hear Mike ask pleasantly, “Where’s the virus, Yusef?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about—”
“Sure you do. The three coolers you carried out of the house in South Sudan a few days ago. You loaded them in a Land Rover with Salima and drove away while those two Americans stuck around to burn the place down.”
Abahdi gaped.
“Remember all those poor girls in the body bags in the basement? Their eyeballs blood red and staring at you as you worked in your lab?”
Fear flickered in Yusef’s eyes for a second only to be replaced by stony resolve.
Crap. He was going to stonewall them.
Piper stepped forward. “Your wife. Marta was her name, yes? I’m so sorry for your loss. What a horrible tragedy. And for your daughter to witness it…so sad. I lost my mother when I was very young. It’s a terrible blow to a child. I don’t know if Salima could survive losing you, too.”
The resolve cracked just a little.
Following her lead, Mike asked quietly, “Where’s the virus?”
He shook his head. “It is done. God is great and has answered my prayers.”
Crud. What did that mean? “I saw your lab, Dr. Abahdi. Read your notes. Most impressive. Engineering a virus like you did with the equipment you had available…that was world-class work. But here’s the thing. My government needs to know where the virus went. And I’m afraid Uncle Sam isn’t going to take no for an answer.”
He shrugged. “Giving the Great Satan an answer at this point is meaningless.”
She glanced over at Mike, and his eyes were black with worry. Yup, he read this guy the same way she did. The virus had already been released. Mother of God.
Tamping down on her panic, she asked as calmly as she could manage, “I’m fascinated by your work. Can you tell me a little about it? Were you able to modify the incubation times along with combining spread vectors and lethality factors?”
Abahdi just looked at her. His pain was so deep, so crystallized, she could see it in every pore of his skin, every hair on his head.
She spoke solemnly. “I understand your rage. I accept it. I will not shake you from your course. You are bent on dying…and so you shall. But are you willing to sacrifice your daughter to have your revenge as well?”
Mike’s gaze snapped to her and then back to their prisoner, measuring, testing her assessment. It didn’t take a rocket scientist to see that this guy was totally committed to avenging his wife’s death. He had nothing else to live for. Except maybe the daughter.
Abahdi pressed his lips more tightly together.
“Really?” Anger crept into Piper’s voice. “You’re going to throw away your own child’s life, too? My father might have been a crazy sonofabitch with extreme political beliefs, but he never would have sacrificed me and my brother. You’ll never see Salima again. We’ll raise her to hate you and everything you stood for with all her being.” With every word, more fury infused Piper’s voice. “We’ll turn her into your worst nightmare, Yusef. Is that what you want for your daughter? For her to know that your revenge was more important to you than her life?”
By the end of her tirade, she was battering at Yusef emotionally, pouring out rage and grief at him she didn’t even know until then she had inside herself.
The man had the good grace to look at least a little taken aback. For a few seconds. But then that diamond-hard resolve glittered in his black stare once more.
Rage literally poured off the man. It disturbed the air around him like heat devils in the desert. If she reached out with her hand, she would be able to touch it. Feel it. His fury was so palpable, it had taken on a life of its own. It writhed around Abahdi like a sycophantic serpent. It was arguably one of the most frightening things she’d ever seen. Here was a man of intelligence and resolve, a man of action. And he was motivated by so much rage that murdering thousands or millions of innocent civilians was a shrugging matter to him.
She looked into his black eyes for signs of the monster within him, for surely Satan himself had consumed this man’s soul. But instead of the Beast, she saw only a man. A self-satisfied man. She might even call that expression one of smug satisfaction. He was not a reasonable man. He was a fanatic. Lost to them. Furthermore, the man was convinced he’d already gotten his revenge.
Which made her blood run cold. What had he done? There was very little she would put past this man and his invisible cloak of rage.
Mike picked Yusef up by his shirt front and the man did not resist. It was almost as if he welcomed violence. Mike snarled from a range of about four inches, “Where is it, Yusef?”
“Go to hell, Yankee pig.”
Mike flung Abahdi back down into the chair. “I’m not going to give you the satisfaction of losing my temper and burying my fist in your face. You’re not worth it. But you’re done, Abahdi. It’s over.”
The Palestinian laughed. “Oh, no, American. You are wrong. It is just beginning. The wrath of God is coming for you. For all of you.” Abahdi’s laughter changed in pitch. Took on a maniacal quality as it turned into a cackle of encroaching madness. No doubt about it. He’d already turned the virus loose.
“Sir?” An FBI type appeared in the doorway. “Everything okay in here?”
“Take him. He’s yours,” Mike snapped. “This is positively Yusef Abahdi. Take his kid into custody, too. Use her as necessary to break this sonofabitch. Drug him or water board him or whatever you do to people like him to make him sing like a bird. Find out where the virus is.”
The FBI agent spoke into a microphone in the collar of his shirt, and faster than Piper could believe, a half-dozen FBI agents rushed into the room, cuffed the Scientist, and hauled him out.
A few moments later, the agent who’d been left with Salima passed by the open door, carrying the child down the hall wrapped in a blanket, still sleeping peacefully. God knew, that peace would be shattered when the little girl awoke. But at least she got one last night of sweet dreams before her life went the rest of the way to hell.
Mike got on his phone and made a quick report to his boss. He pocketed the device grimly. “HQ says to find the virus ASAP.”
She replied heavily, “I think the virus will announce itself soon enough.”
He nodded. “If we can give the government and health care system any kind of a head start on knowing where to mass their resources, lives will be saved.”
They headed outside, where an army of police cars and government vehicles had gathered, filling the parking lot silently in the gathering dusk with dozens of flashing lights. Mike commandeered a vehicle from the FBI contingent, and he and Piper pulled away from the garish scene.
“Where to now?” she asked.
Mike was grim. “I don’t know. But I need some quiet to think this through, and it was a zoo back there.”
She talked through what they knew of Abahdi aloud. “Somewhere between South Sudan and Los Angeles, Yusef dropped off the virus. I got the definite impression he turned it loose, himself. My gut says we’re not looking at a middleman.”
“Someone paid for that house, the lab equipment inside,” Mike commented.
“And paid for the girls he gathered virus samples from,” Piper added. “Fatima said El Noor was paid to find those girls and ship them south. Yusef didn’t have the resources to do all of that on his own.”
“Okay. So there’s somebody financing Yusef, but Abahdi turned the virus loose personally. Are we agreed on that?”
“Yes. He was far too smug back at the hotel. He got his revenge in person. And his rage was such that he would have insisted on doing it himself.”
“Odds are he flew from Africa to South America off the radar, literally and figuratively,” Mike speculated. “Which means he came into U.S. airspace from the south.”
Piper shook her head. “The government has excellent radar coverage of U.S. airspace. He came in very low on a small drug plane or he drove across
the border, which I don’t see him doing with those big coolers and with his daughter.”
Mike took up the thread. “He could have come in by boat, which opens up all the east coast cities as targets, too. He either attacked someplace in South America, which I highly doubt, since he took great pleasure in calling me a pig, or we’re looking at a U.S. city as his target.”
“He said the wrath of God is coming. I read that to imply a big population has been targeted. Which means a big city.”
Mike called Alex to see if a money trail on Yusef had been identified yet. Piper crossed her fingers, but as Mike listened to Alex, he shook his head in the negative. Rats. They were back to square one. The United States was a big place with a lot of large cities, every one of them a potential target.
“Ideas?” Mike asked. “I’m open to wild-ass guesses at this point. We’ve got no time, and I’ve got no idea how to proceed from here.”
“You don’t think the FBI will get him to talk?” she responded.
“No way. I’ve questioned guys like him before. He’ll die under the most extreme torture without a peep. He’ll lose himself in a fanatical religious hallucination.”
“What if they drug him?” Piper asked hopefully.
“Chemicals aren’t nearly as effective as everyone would like to think. With enough willpower and a little madness, he can defeat drug-induced questioning or at least side-track it. And he only has to hold out a few days. Just until the outbreak occurs.”
Outbreak. The word resonated like a death knell through her. Thousands of people sickened and dying from a horrendous viral attack that she’d stopped Mike from preventing. Had Mike not been forced to rush in to that burning house to save her, he’d have been able to stop the Scientist from turning loose his killer virus, or at least he could have tracked the guy and known where the virus was about to strike. When the dust of this catastrophe settled, all fingers were going to point at her. This was her fault.
Mike stretched out a cramp beneath the camo netting draped over him and Piper and then settled back into place on the mountainside above the PHP compound. Coming to Idaho was a long shot, but what else did they have to go on?