Dr. Collins said, “We have our index cases identified at this point–those who contracted the disease while on the cruise. What we have to do now is identify everyone who came in contact with those persons, from the time the patient became contagious to the time he was placed in isolation. Every one of those contacts must be vaccinated and quarantined in a negative air pressure room for at least fourteen days to make this strategy effective. Each state has its own regulations.”
“And if the patient can’t or is unwilling to cooperate?” McGraw asked.
“Then we have no choice but to reconstruct the patient’s history as best we can by talking to family members, co-workers, and anyone else who might be familiar with the patient’s behavior.”
“And your job, Agent McGraw,” the president said, “is to find out who in hell is responsible for dispersing this deadly pathogen–and why.”
33
Tom pulled his Toyota 4Runner forward to the ornate wrought-iron gate. He saw no workers on the Plantation House property this time and no open gates. In fact, no activity at all. Just a few vehicles parked near the main entrance and several windows partially open in the warm, tropical breeze.
He got out and pushed a button on the stone pillar anchoring the left side of the gate. A half-minute later, a voice answered with a curt, “Yes?”
“Tom Shannon to see Mr. Hollingsworth.”
After a long silence, the man said, “Hold on.”
A minute later, Tom saw two men emerge through a side door of the residence and leap into an open-top Jeep. They backed up hurriedly and headed for the gate, pulling to an abrupt stop on the driveway to the left of where Tom was standing. The front seat passenger hopped out and walked to a control panel near the pillar. Seconds later, the gate swung open.
“Follow us,” he said, pointing up the driveway. Tom swung his large frame back into the front seat of the Toyota and drove behind the other vehicle to the main entrance of the house.
Once they stopped, Tom asked, “Is Hollingsworth in?” A rhetorical question, he hoped, since if he weren’t, they wouldn’t be leading him to the entrance.
The heavy wooden door swung open. A six-foot man, slim with broad shoulders, dressed in chino slacks and khaki shirt, gave Tom a suspicious look.
“Mr. Hollingsworth?” Tom asked.
“Yes,” he answered, hesitantly.
“My name is Tom Shannon. I’d like to talk with you about Bradley Vaughn. The name ring a bell?”
He shook his head. “Can’t say it does.”
“He had in his notes he had an appointment with you a week before he died. You don’t remember that?”
He thought for a minute. “No, I really don’t…”
Tom decided to get straight to the point. “Brad wanted to ask you something about a false flag operation involving our government and Iran.”
He looked puzzled. “Is this a joke?”
“I’m afraid it’s not.”
“Look, I’m a biochemist. I mind my own business–particularly when it comes to governmental affairs. I promise you, I never deal with any branch of the government, civilian or military if I don’t have to.”
Tom shrugged and continued, “He mentioned in one of his notes the two of you did meet–that you gave him specific information about the proposed operation and how it’d been compromised.”
He paused for a minute and then nodded. “Okay, now that I think about it, I do remember a journalist coming by. He merely asked what I thought about potential threats to US interests by Iran, and I gave him my opinion. That was the extent of it.”
“Your opinion about what?”
“Taking out Iran’s nuclear plants,” Hollingsworth said.
“Why would Vaughn be asking you about that if you never deal with the military?”
“I don’t know, perhaps because I’d taught a couple of semesters at Cal Tech on biological and chemical warfare. He thought there might be a connection.”
“But you knew nothing about a specific threat to the US?” Tom persisted.
“Of course not,” he said and glanced at the armed guard walking back up the driveway.
“Nor about a plan to spark a phony shooting incident in the Persian Gulf?”
He suddenly stiffened. “I don’t know what you’re after, Shannon, but I really must be–”
“Just a few more questions and I’ll be on my...”
Whatever patience Hollingsworth exhibited up to that point suddenly evaporated. “Look, Shannon, unless you have a subpoena or some other legal document telling me I have to talk to you, I’m finished. You’ve got balls coming here in the first place. “
Tom shrugged. “Yeah, I get that a lot.”
“As a matter of fact, you’re trespassing,” Hollingsworth added. He motioned for the guards to join them. The familiar one drew a pistol and spun Tom around. “Take him to the back,” Hollingsworth said.
Hollingsworth pulled up a chair and smiled. “Comfortable, Mr. Shannon?”
“Yeah, a paradise,” Tom said, as he strained against the leather shackle fastened around his wrists in front of him. Sweat dripped down his neck and back, his face flushed with anger. “What’s this all about? Why are you holding me?”
“Let’s start by me asking the questions... about why you’re so interested in my affairs. You’ve come to my residence twice now, uninvited. Then you insinuate I know something about a plot involving our government and Iran.” He planted a foot on a nearby chair. “So why are you here?”
“A curious guy by nature, I guess.”
“Your curiosity will lead to your demise I’m afraid.”
Tom locked eyes with him. “Think about it, Hollingsworth. Friends know I’m here. When I don’t show up later, the cops will be all over this place faster than beans through a cowboy.”
“I don’t think so, Shannon. My story is simply that you came by looking for information about this Vaughn fellow. We talked briefly, I couldn’t help you, and you went on your way.”
“Sgt. Kalani of the Kauai Police knows I’m here, too.”
“Oh, please. Kalani’s got more important things to do right now than follow you around. Besides, my story makes perfect sense: I’ll admit you were here; I just don’t know where you are now.”
Tom thought for a moment and considered his options... which were not encouraging. So he said, “Fuck you, Hollingsworth.”
“Now that wasn’t very nice, Mr. Shannon, considering what pleasant hosts we’ve been.” He poured himself a cup of coffee and returned to the table. “Nothing personal. It’s just that, for some reason, we find you snooping around at a very inconvenient time for us right now.”
Tom looked around. “Why’s that?”
“Because we’re busy saving the good ol’ US of A.”
Tom glanced at the two guards sitting in chairs a few feet away: one a stout Polynesian with Fu Manchu mustache; the second, clean-shaven, younger, and considerably more muscular than the other.
“Saving us from what?” he said. “These two look like they can barely walk and chew gum at the same time.”
Muscles shifted his weight forward and started for him, looking as though he were about to tear Tom apart.
“On the contrary,” Hollingsworth continued, “they’re capable, long-time employees of mine doing exactly what they’re instructed to do.” He nodded toward the door, and the guards backed off and left the room like dogs. “They’ll be right outside with two others, so I wouldn’t try anything foolish–not that you’d make it very far with a table attached to your wrist.”
He offered Tom a bottle of water, which he declined.
“I suspect you and your friend Marchetti already know more about Vaughn’s activities than anyone else on the island–certainly more than our unsophisticated police officers. They do a great job of scolding panhandlers and chasing half-assed drug dealers but are rather inept when it comes to the really important things.”
“Like murder?” Tom said.
Hollingsworth shrugged.
How did Hollingsworth know about me having a partner anyway? If Tom had any doubts after their first encounter, it was now obvious Hollingsworth had a huge ego he wore like a badge of honor. “What’s that supposed to mean anyway–saving the country from what?”
“If you were going to be around for a while, you’d know what I mean. But you’ve already seen too much.”
“Don’t flatter me. I don’t know as much as you think.”
Hollingsworth thought for a few moments and nodded. “Suffice it to say, well-placed friends of mine and I have had enough of Washington–enough of the current administration driving the country to ruin, eviscerating our military, hog-tying our intelligence agencies. I could go on, but you get the idea.”
“Yeah… and so do most people.”
“No. Unlike most, we’ve decided to do something about it.”
“Like what?”
He hesitated, then said, “Make necessary changes.”
Tom stared at him. “If you mean what I think you mean, you’re out of your minds.”
“On the contrary, we’re quite sane. And if all goes as planned, we’ll have a new president in very short order.”
“Assassination?” When he didn’t respond, Tom said, “The Secret Service might have something to say about that.”
Hollingsworth shrugged. “That’s debatable. The so-called elite Secret Service has serious problems of its own right now. Perhaps you’ve heard, agents are leaving faster than they can hire new ones. We figure security will be lighter than normal when he visits the base tomorrow morning.”
“That’s asinine,” Tom said. “They’ll be checking everybody closely, as they usually do.”
“Doesn’t matter, anyway. Magnetometers won’t be effective against what we’ve got, even if they use them. They’ll also do relatively few background checks or have counterterrorist or sniper teams in place, since the president is visiting a secure military base.”
Tom stared at him and said, “If you think you’re gonna shoot the president on a military base, you’re crazier than I thought!”
“Why risk a rifle shot, when a simple microbe will do just as well?”
Tom looked around the room and wondered what he meant. And why would someone planning to kill the president spill his guts to a captive stranger? “What’s with you, Hollingsworth? Your ego can’t stand keeping this brilliant plan to yourself?”
“I’ll admit it does feel good to lay it out in front of someone who might truly appreciate its complexity,” he said. When Tom didn’t reply, he continued, “But it doesn’t matter that you know what we’re doing. You won’t be around to see its success. You’ll be on a one-way dive to sleep with the fishes.”
Tom strained at the shackle on his wrists, then sat back and relaxed his arms for a few minutes. He realized how useless it’d be to even try to break loose, with Hollingsworth’s guards waiting and wanting to kill him.
“What kind of microbe are you talking about? I thought all that nasty shit was locked up at CDC?” When Hollingsworth didn’t reply, Tom continued, “Unless, of course, you have friends in Yemen or some other delightful place more than happy to give you some of theirs.”
Hollingsworth laughed. “You’re close, Shannon. I’ll admit that much.”
‘You’ve been immunized, I suppose.”
“Of course.”
“So wouldn’t it be routine for the president and cabinet members to do the same?”
“Probably, but we’ve modified the strain to make it resistant to normal immunization. Synthetic microbiology it’s called–interesting don’t you think?”
“Yeah, fascinating.” Tom thought for a moment. “Since you’re not alone in this half-assed scheme of yours, I guarantee one of your buddies will eventually run his mouth. Once the feds start investigating–assuming you get that far–you’re toast and you know it.”
“Now there you go being naive again, Shannon. Those of us involved in this project occupy positions of substantial power, and we have a lot invested in seeing it through to a successful conclusion. There’ll be no breaking of ranks, I assure you.”
“Right,” Tom said. “I’ve worked with psychopaths a long time, Hollingsworth. I promise you, someone always squeals when his nuts are squeezed.”
Hollingsworth contorted his face into another sarcastic smile. “Think about it, Shannon. We have a smallpox epidemic taking place in our country that originated right here on the ‘Garden Isle.’ All caused by those evil Iranians–or, at least, they’ll get the blame.”
“So you’ve got a false flag scenario set up to murder the president, declare martial law, get your own people in power, and sacrifice innocent people in the process. Is that what you’re looking for?”
He shook his head. “What we want, Mr. Shannon, is not for ourselves but for the good of the country. It is imperative Iran’s nuclear reactors be destroyed in order to terminate its nuclear weapons ambitions. And to reach that goal the president must be removed. Simple as that.”
“And what does that accomplish?”
“Both goals are achieved with relatively small loss of life. Certainly not as many as we’d have if Tehran smuggled a nuke into New York Harbor, or dropped one on Washington... although lobbing one on Washington might not be a bad idea.”
“And if the epidemic gets out of control?”
“That won’t happen. CDC and law enforcement will contain it in short order. We merely want to scare the hell out of inept politicians and clueless citizens sufficient for them to allow us to temporarily suspend certain constitutional safeguards. Once we’ve done that, we replace the current administration with servants of principle and backbone.”
“And call it ‘Patriot Act Two,’ I suppose.”
He nodded, as if approving the suggestion. “Actually, we’ve termed it Operation Omega. And if all goes as planned, the traitorous Charles McHugh will be unfortunate enough to become infected with smallpox while visiting our lovely island.”
“You do have hospitals here, you know.”
“He’ll be back in Washington before he shows any symptoms, and by then it’ll be too late. Despite valiant efforts by the doctors at Bethesda, the president passes away after suffering the terrible effects of the virus.”
“And you figure Americans will simply go along with this plan of yours?”
“No reason not to. We get a new president under the Twenty-fifth Amendment to the Constitution, the country mourns for a week or so, and then life and the Republic go on.”
Tom glanced outside the back windows and then strained to look at his watch. Nine-thirty. He had to admit Hollingsworth could be right–the scenario was plausible and capable of being carried out and covered up. Upon learning of the president’s illness, media-crazed congresspersons would commence ranting about terrorists, the secretary of state would hurry off to Geneva or the Middle East for consultations ad nauseum with so-called allies, and odds were there’d never be a thorough and impartial investigation of the whole wretched affair.
“And if the smallpox attack doesn’t work?” Tom asked.
Hollingsworth nodded. “We’re not worried about that. The operation is failsafe. And if something unforeseen were to go wrong at the missile base, he’ll be vulnerable again later in the day.” He paused to collect a few papers from a locked file cabinet. “Before I go, Mr. Shannon, perhaps you’d like to see our weapon of choice?” Hollingsworth ignored Tom’s apparent lack of interest and left the room.
When he returned a few minutes later, he appeared beaming with pride. “This is our baby,” he said, holding a two-inch-long aluminum capsule between his thumb and forefinger. “You think the president’s Secret Service detail is smart enough to find this child of ours deftly hidden in a busy and complex operations room? Not likely.”
Tom studied it carefully. Hollingsworth’s “child”–dangerous enough to kill the president and thousands of others with ruthless efficiency–was as small and i
nnocuous looking as a ten-dollar tube of lipstick.
34
After a forty-minute drive through occasional groves of eucalyptus and kukui nut trees, Hollingsworth’s men brought Tom to a structure hidden from view of the little-used Route 550 they’d been on.
As they climbed the gravel driveway leading to the house, Tom guessed the small property listed on the tax rolls belonging to Alicia Hollingsworth’s LLC was the lab Brad had been so intent on finding.
Hollingsworth had ordered the guard with the Fu Manchu mustache to drive with Tom in the front seat of the Ford Expedition, while the younger, muscular one rode directly behind him. A third guard would bring Tom’s rented SUV over later.
As best Tom could figure, they were just a few miles as the crow flies from the heart of Waimea Canyon. Though if they had to drive it, it’d probably take an hour or more. Civil engineers and state planners were at the mercy of the beautiful but rugged topography on Kauai. Straight sections of road were few and far between.
As they pulled up near the building, Tom saw a number of “No Trespassing” signs here too, stapled along the fence line on the south side of the property. He also spotted two vehicles parked toward the rear of the structure–a dark Jeep Grand Cherokee and a gray SUV of indeterminable make.
Power poles on three sides of the property held cameras he assumed transmitted images to closed circuit monitors inside the house. Dim red lights at each base suggested they were powered and operating normally.
The driver stopped at the rear of the building. Tom exited the Ford SUV, while the younger guard moved in close beside him. Both guards wore pistols on their hips. Together they walked the few steps to a concrete landing and knotty-pine entry door.
“What’s that for?” Tom asked, gesturing toward the gunmetal gray, semi-automatic pistol Fu Manchu guy was wearing.
“Guess you didn’t see the ‘No Trespassing’ signs back at the other house,” he said.
The Omega Covenant Page 20