Wild Surge

by Tripp Ellis

  We were sprayed with another disinfectant before peeling out of our protective gear, which was then thrown in a sealable bag that would be destroyed later.

  Dr. Page said she would call me to confirm the identity of the pathogen after she had examined the samples. She said she would contact the CDC and the FBI.

  JD looked unsettled by the whole affair. "Every time I cough from here on out, I'll assume I'm dying."

  "Relax. You'll be fine. We took all the necessary precautions."

  "I know. But there's always a possibility for the gear to malfunction and something to go wrong."

  "I like your optimism," I snarked.

  I called Isabella. "I need you to find out everything you can about Kayden Thomas. We just found him dead in his apartment. He's been exposed to the Surge virus."

  "Has that been confirmed?"

  "It will, shortly. I want to know how he was exposed."

  "I'll see what I can dig up," Isabella said.

  I called Daniels afterward and filled him in on the situation. He grumbled for a moment, then asked, "What the hell do we do now?"

  "I've got my sources on it."

  "Do we know if there have been additional exposures?"

  "Just the manager and his wife."

  "Let's hope that's all."

  "I took Kayden's cell phone, disinfected it, and placed it in a bio-safe bag. I'll sift through his recent contacts and texts. There's no doubt in my mind that this man came into contact with someone who had been aboard the Intrepid. I hate to say this, but that pathogen is in Coconut Key, and it's unaccounted for."

  "While we're on the subject of unpleasant realities," Daniels said, "Charlie Knox was released 20 minutes ago."

  My jaw clenched. "Why?"

  "Because we have weak circumstantial evidence at best, and there wasn't enough to get an indictment."

  I may have muttered a few curse words.

  "Also, his story checks out about his grandmother."

  I frowned.

  "Stay on that little bastard. He's guilty as the day is long. Play the long game. Something will turn up."

  "Copy that."

  I ended the call and slipped the device into my pocket.

  Despite all the precautions and disinfectants, I still felt dirty. Jack's paranoia grew on me like a fungus. I told him to meet me back at the Vivere. I wanted to go home and take a shower and change clothes.

  Afterward, I sat in the salon, sifting through Kayden's phone, compiling a list of contacts.

  Jack grabbed a beer from the cooler and sat on the settee, trying to relax.

  When Isabella called back, I was able to match up some of the names from Kayden's contact list with the information she gave me.

  "Kayden is currently studying at Vanden University,” Isabella said.

  "Could he have been exposed to this pathogen in an educational setting? Surely he wasn't working in the containment lab?"

  "According to the records, he was a biology major."

  "So, he may have had access to the bio-research lab?"

  "It's possible. But unlikely."

  "Why unlikely?"

  "Because he is associates with Damian Lewis, Jonah Murphy, and Grant Andrews—all part of an ultra-radical student group. This is where it gets interesting. They all have debit cards linked to offshore bank accounts. Funds are deposited in these accounts on a regular basis from an Iranian intelligence agency."

  That hung there for a moment.

  Isabella continued, "I looked over the recent transactions that Kayden made on his debit card. He purchased a sophisticated drone along with spraying equipment. I think the plan is to aerosolize the virus and deploy it by remote using a consumer drone."

  "How do we stop this?" I asked.

  "Did you find a drone in the apartment?"

  "No."

  "Then the drone is already in possession of his associates. My guess… Kayden put together the drone and the aerosolizing component and was exposed in the process."

  I grimaced. "This is serious. We know, based on what we've seen in this situation, the time from initial exposure to death is a matter of days. Probably seven or eight, max." A grim sensation twisted in my gut. "I need to find out what the incubation period is. How long is someone walking around contagious without showing symptoms?"

  "Probably 3 to 4 days."

  I deflated. "I think we have a big problem on our hands."

  Isabella mocked me. "No shit. Did you figure that out all by yourself?"

  27

  Kennedy Shaw stormed across the gangway. Her high heels clacked against the teak wood as she marched across the aft deck and pounded her knuckles against the sliding glass door to the salon. She had an angry scowl on her face. She struck me as the type of woman you didn't want angry at you.

  I slid the door open, and she marched into the salon. "What part of keep me in the loop did you not understand?"

  "I was meaning to contact you," I said.

  Her eyes narrowed at me. "Bullshit. I'm the last to know about this. I have to hear about it after the FBI. I told you two to stand down and pass intel to me."

  "It was a routine call."

  "A routine call, and you just happened to have a bio-response team ready?"

  "I don't know what you're getting your panties in a bunch about,” I said. “The CIA doesn't have law enforcement powers domestically."

  "My panties aren't in a bunch," she growled.

  "I'd like to verify that," JD muttered.

  Her eyes blazed into him.

  "I swear to God, you two are incorrigible! How do you still have jobs?"

  "Actually, we don't have jobs," I said. I flashed an annoying smile. "We're volunteers."

  She clenched her jaw.

  "How about we start working together?" I suggested. "We both want the same thing."

  She folded her arms and stared me down for a moment. She was kind of cute when she was angry. She was kind of cute when she wasn't angry.

  "You go first," she said reluctantly.

  I rattled off the names of Kayden's associates. "There were several text messages in his phone to Grant Andrews. They used code words, but it's not hard to get the gist of what they were talking about. I think the drone is in Grant's possession. We're relatively sure they are targeting the golf tournament."

  She grimaced. "We had considered Grant Andrews, but dismissed him early on."

  "How did you not pick up on the bank transactions and the funding from Iranian intelligence?"

  She sighed. "I don't know. We must have missed it. We were looking at a lot of avenues, trying to make sense of the chatter we were picking up overseas."

  "Iran is the largest state sponsor of terror," I said. "This is a military action. You realize what this will do to global markets? The damage the pathogen will cause is one thing. The fear and panic that will ensue is another. The economy could collapse. We’re not prepared for this kind of thing."

  "I'm well aware. Ultimately, that is probably their intended consequence. Decimate the economy."

  "I say we take these guys down now before they have a chance to strike," JD said. "The president arrives in 24 hours."

  "I'll get a FISA warrant on Grant Andrews and the others," Shaw said. "There's enough foreign interaction that I don't think that will be a problem. We'll sit on them, monitor communications, and move in when we have confirmation."

  "I say we move in now," JD said.

  "And if Grant doesn't have the drone in his possession, we've tipped our hand," Shaw replied. "You two sit tight. I'll keep you posted."

  "No. You include us on this. We work together," I threatened.

  She stared at me for a long moment.

  "Joint task force," I said. "You work with NYPD's counter-terrorism all the time. Same thing."

  "You two are far from a counter-terrorist unit," she said, dryly.

  "I beg to differ," JD said. "You know our background. We are extremely capable, despite appearances."


  Shaw thought hard for a moment. "Fine."

  "Free flow of information," I said. "You don't hold anything back."

  "That's a two-way street. I'll share everything with you that your security clearance allows."

  She spun around and marched toward the aft deck. She called back, "Answer your phone when I call."

  She slid open the door and stomped across the deck to the gangway.

  "She needs to smile more," Jack said.

  28

  A utility van parked at the curb draws little attention. It's a perfect cover for a mobile surveillance operation. Dress in a neon yellow vest and wear a hard hat, and people will let you walk around their yard, climb up poles, and rig surveillance equipment.

  JD and I sat in the van with Shaw and a technician, gazing at the bank of display monitors. We staked out the house rented by Grant Andrews. He lived with Jonah Murphy and Damian Lewis. Laser microphones were aimed at the windows, detecting audio vibrations. Cell phones had been tapped. The latest top-secret thermal imaging cameras gave us a clear view of the occupants within the home. All computer and email activity was monitored. There was no crevice of the suspects’ life that wasn't exposed by the CIA's surveillance. They knew what kind of books they read, what kind of food they liked, and what kind of porn they watched.

  Shaw coordinated a team of CIA officers to follow the occupants’ individual movements, but Damian remained at large. We hoped he would return to the home shortly.

  "We need eyes inside the house," I said. "We need to see if Andrews is in possession of the drone."

  "The first opportunity we get, I'll send a tech team in and set up a wireless camera system," Shaw said.

  Grant Andrews's course schedule from the college suggested that he should be in class today, but he wasn't. He was at home with Jonah Murphy. We watched them mill about the house, playing video games. After a while, they ordered pizza. We monitored the call and intercepted the pizza delivery guy. A CIA officer took his place, donned the delivery gear, and delivered the pizza. For a brief moment, it gave us eyes into the house, and also let us put a wireless listening device in the cardboard pizza box.

  Shortly after they scarfed down the pepperoni, Grant Andrews got a phone call. The voice on the other end of the line said, "I've studied for the exam."

  "How do you think you will do?" Grant asked.

  "I'm concerned. The exam covers a lot of material."

  "You'll be fine," Andrews assured.

  They weren't talking about an actual exam. Exam was code for the terrorist action.

  "Do we know who he's talking to?" I asked Shaw.

  "I'm tracing the call now," she said. "Looks like it's from a burner phone."

  The conversation between the domestic terrorists continued.

  "What are you worried about?" Andrews asked.

  "Biology is my worst subject," the voice said. "I'm worried I might fail, like Kayden."

  There was a long silence.

  "That's not possible. The study guide is not a problem."

  I assumed that study guide was code for the drone. It seemed to me that the voice on the other end of the line was in possession of the drone, and he was worried that he would suffer the same fate as Kayden.

  "You are well prepared," Andrews assured. "You'll do fine. Afterward, we will all celebrate together. You know where to meet."

  "What if something goes wrong?" the panicked voice asked.

  "Nothing will go wrong. Call me when you've completed the exam. Not before then. Good luck."

  The call ended.

  "Tell me you've got a location on the caller?" I said.

  Shaw grimaced. "No. Didn't have enough time. That call is bouncing all over the Internet."

  "Running it through the voice recognition database," the technician said. A moment later, "I’ve got a 95% probability that is Damian."

  "So, Damian is out there in possession of the drone, ready to deploy it," I said. "But we don't know where?"

  "That's my take away," Shaw replied.

  "We need to find him," I said.

  "Andrews talked about celebrating afterward," JD added. "If this is going down tomorrow, I bet Andrews is planning on leaving the area. Damian stays behind, launches the drone, executes the attack, then hightails it out of Coconut Key." He paused. "At what point do we lock down the island?"

  That hung there for a moment.

  JD continued, "I mean, if these dirt-balls are going to unleash a deadly pathogen, we need to keep that contained. We need to suspend all ground and air traffic to the island."

  "Those kinds of decisions are well above my pay grade," Shaw said. "I need to make some phone calls. I think we have reasonable suspicion to believe that a terror attack is planned. Secret Service needs to make arrangements, and it is going to be my recommendation that the President postpone his visit," Shaw said.

  "We need to proceed with caution," I said. "If they suspect we're on to them, they may switch targets. I don't want to get blindsided on this one."

  "Nobody does," Shaw said. "I want to keep this secure."

  "I say we raid the house and beat Damian’s location out of Andrews and his buddy, Jonah," JD said.

  We continued listing to the surveillance audio.

  "I think it's time," Andrews said to his roommate, his voice crackling through the speaker in the surveillance van. "Is the vehicle ready?"

  "It's all packed, gassed up, and ready to go." Jonah replied. "We're set to fly out of Miami this evening."

  There was a long pause.

  "You shouldn’t have lied to Damian," Jonah said.

  "We all knew there would be sacrifices," Andrews said. "If we wait until after the event has taken place, it will be more difficult to leave the country. Are you willing to take that risk?"

  There was silence for a moment.

  "No," Jonah admitted.

  Over the next several minutes, they collected their things and prepared for departure.

  We didn't have to break the door down and storm the house. We took them down on the driveway as they prepared to enter their vehicle. JD and I swarmed them.

  "On the ground, now!" I shouted.

  The would-be terrorists exchanged a nervous glance, then dropped to the concrete, facedown.

  "Put your hands behind your head!" I shouted.

  The perps complied.

  JD ratcheted cuffs around Andrews's wrists, and I cuffed Jonah’s.

  I was about to call Sheriff Daniels when Shaw stopped me.

  "No,” she said. “We keep this off the books.”

  A black van screeched in front of the driveway, and the sliding cargo door opened.

  Shaw motioned for us to load the perps into the van. We yanked them from the concrete and shoved them inside the vehicle. We climbed in with them, and Shaw joined us. The driver sped away, and the whole thing was over before anyone noticed.

  Shaw, and another officer who I assumed was with the CIA, pulled black bags over the men's heads.

  "Where are we going?" I asked.

  Shaw said nothing.

  29

  The van zipped across the island and pulled into the driveway of a modest home on the east side of the island. The driver hopped out of the vehicle, then pulled open the cargo door. Blinding sunlight beamed in, squinting my eyes as the door rattled open. Shaw and the other officer pulled the perps out of the van and shuffled them in through the back door of the home.

  Shaw stopped us before we entered. "Before you guys go inside, let's get a few things straight. This place doesn't exist. These men were never here. What happens inside the house, stays inside the house."

  JD and I exchanged an uneasy glance.

  "You wanted to be involved," Shaw said. "I'm involving you. But I need certain assurances. Do we have a deal?"

  "Deal," JD said.

  The home was a small, one-story, concrete structure, painted in a faded pastel yellow. The furnishings inside were sparse. There was no artwork on the walls. There was a
kitchen table, a sofa in the living room, and a television. That was about it. The windows were covered with blackout curtains.

  It was some type of safe-house or black-site.

  Shaw and the officer shoved the men to the ground in the living room.

  "I want to speak with a lawyer," Andrews said.

  "I don't give a shit what you want," Shaw replied.

  "You can't do this," Andrews protested. "We have rights."

  "No, you don't. You are unlawful enemy combatants. You have no rights," Shaw snarled.

  It was a complicated area of law, and Shaw didn’t have the authority to declare them as such. But something told me she didn’t care.

  JD grinned, "I’m starting to like her."

  Shaw pulled off Andrews's hood, then drew her pistol and placed it against the terrorist's head. "You're going to tell me where your buddy Damian is. Otherwise, things are going to get ugly."

  "I don't know who you're talking about," Andrews said.

  The muscles in Shaw's jaw flexed. "Not the answer I was looking for."

  She nodded to the other officer. He grabbed Jonah by the arm, yanking him to his feet. He dragged him down a hallway into a bedroom.

  "If you don't start talking, it's going to make me angry," Kennedy Shaw continued. "And you really don't want to see me get angry."

  "You can do whatever you want to me," Andrews said. "But I cannot tell you things I do not now."

  Shaw stood up, holstered the weapon, and backed away. She commanded us to, "Put him in a chair in the kitchen."

  JD and I exchanged a glance, then we grabbed the perp by either arm, yanked him up, and dragged him into the kitchen. JD pulled a chair away from the table, and I forced the scumbag to take a seat.

  Shaw moved to a drawer in the kitchen and pulled out a hammer and set it on the counter. From the cabinet under the sink she grabbed a propane blowtorch and set it by the hammer. The items were within Grant's view, and they made him more than a little nervous.

  Shaw found a pot in a cabinet and filled it with water. She ignited the burner on the stove, and blue flames erupted with a whoosh. She set the pot atop the flame. It would boil in a matter of minutes.