BioKill (12 page)

Chapter Seventeen

The three terrorists
and their payload of spray cans silently left the Bronx, the Ford Explorer first crossing the smaller Harlem River, then the mighty Hudson, spanned by the George Washington Bridge. Even Bomani was impressed by the huge iron structure, with its immense steel cables running the length of the bridge in a reversed arch, supported near the ends by huge towers. They were awe inspiring and the views between the vertical suspender cables majestic.
A wonderful target
for a future mission
, he thought.

His passengers were now better informed about the general direction they were headed. West. As they drove further from the Hudson, the greater their confidence grew. Of course they would succeed — failure was unthinkable, with Allah on their side. Yusuf felt less and less that he had made a terrible mistake by joining the Takfir wal-Hijra brotherhood. He grinned at his friend.

Any illusion of a road trip vanished as soon as Bomani spoke without taking his eyes off the road. “In one hour from now we will arrive. Tell me exactly what you are going to do.”

Bashir and Yusuf were both taken back. This close? For weeks they had speculated they might be heading to Texas, Kansas or Nebraska, some of the leading cattle-producing states. When they had received instructions to buy bus tickets to Binghamton, even though they knew this was a false trail, they had resigned themselves to less adventure and not going far from home. But this close?

Bashir looked at his friend. Yusuf was no longer smiling. Taking a large swallow Bashir said, “Only an hour? We assumed we would…”

“Assume nothing,” snapped back Bomani, interrupting him. “Our strength is surprise and speed. Already you have been compromised, but we have planned for this contingency. Now tell me your instructions and how you will carry them out.”

“Yusuf and I go to a cattle auction. We find where the cattle are penned, choose a place where there are few people walking about, then reach in between the rails and spray the virus on the cattle.”

Bomani nodded. “And what sort of cattle are you looking for?”

“Breeding cows or young cattle.”

“And why?”

“Because those are the ones most likely to go to other farms, which will mean the virus is spread far and wide.”

“Good. Now, tell me what you are to do when we have finished our work for Allah. You, Yusuf, you tell me.”

“We … we return to our home and assimilate ourselves back into Western society. We are never to mention this to anyone.”

It was Bomani’s turn to smile; it was the only time there had been anything other than a stern, uncompromising look on his face. “Of course, my brothers. Once a Takfir, always a Takfir.”

He looked straight ahead — and if Yusuf and Bashir could have seen his eyes, they would never have set foot in the Ford Explorer. Bomani had survived this long only because of his primeval instinct for survival.
Fools
, he thought,
you have assumed again
.

*

Inox, New Jersey — population just under nine thousand, in 2004 named the eighty-first town out of the Top One Hundred to Live and Work in the USA, by
Money
magazine. It hadn’t been included since. Surrounded by farmland and beautiful forests, in fall the undulating landscape turns to an absolute symphony of bronze, yellow, red and green.

Mainway’s Auctioneers run twice-weekly auctions; one livestock, the other general merchandise. Bidding for the cattle sales takes place in a large, closed-in pavilion. Outside were steel and wooden livestock yards, a large graveled parking lot for vehicles and a further large building.

The livestock auction of a line of cattle was nearly completed for the estate sale of one of the local identities. With the vendor’s untimely death, his Holstein-Friesian herd of in-milk, in-calf cows and yet-to-calve heifers had been placed on the market. Buyers had come to bid, recognizing the proven bloodlines and milking potential of this particular herd. Big Bill Lomas, the owner and proprietor of the auction establishment, was sitting at his desk in the sales office. He stared at his computer screen, trying to fathom the email from the New Jersey Police Department.

“What in tarnation is this all about?”

The livestock sales clerk looked up from her books, puzzled by his remark.

“I’ve just got this message from the NJPD, telling us to be ‘diligent and proactive in our observation of any unusual or suspicious behavior.’ It goes on to say ‘any suspected or observed incidents must immediately be reported with the utmost urgency to this office.’ Goddamn, Josie, what do you make of that?”

“I haven’t the slightest idea,” she replied. “Maybe we have a serial killer?”

“In Inoz? At the saleyards? Now… I can think of something worse than that. I mean… they sent it to us, a livestock yard. Maybe it’s one of those, you know… perverts?”

“No, you got me, Bill.”

“Come on, Josie, you know, one of those beasti… I can’t bring myself to even say it.”

“Oh my goodness gracious me, not one of those men who do unthinkable things to…”

“Yeah, I reckon it might just be that, Josie! Dang it, I’m going to tell the boys to look out for any weirdos hangin’ around the cattle.” Big Bill rose to his Western-booted feet, hitched up his denims as far as they could go beneath his paunch and placed his Stetson on his head. The clerk could hear him mumbling to himself as he strode out the door. “Damn perverts…”

Taking a quick, suspicious glance over the car park, where the buyers’ cars, pick-ups and small trucks were clustered at one end and the large stock trucks at the other, he made his way over to the livestock pavilion.

The sound of the auctioneer with his ultra-quick banter was like a cash register to Big Bill. He loved the sound and the atmosphere of dozens of prospective buyers drooling over the animals paraded before them. He couldn’t believe it had been over forty years —
goddamn, I love this place
.

“Hey Jimmy, quick word in private.”

The head auctioneer followed his boss to where no one would overhear them.

“Jimmy, I just got this email from the police, telling us to look out for lowlifes around the yards.”

“I’ve seen some kids playing behind the yards over there… but that’s all.”

“These won’t be kids, Jimmy, more like dirty old men after our juicy young heifers.”

“You’re kidding me… right?”

Big Bill shook his head.

“Got to be damn near thirty years ago since we had one of those perverts around here! I’ll tell the boys to keep en eye out, boss.”

“Thanks. How’s the sale going?”

“Just got the in-calf cows to go, there’s been good demand for the in-milk cows and some of the heifers went for more than expected. A load of buyers and agents here from interstate.”

“Not surprised. Mr. Mason, God rest his soul, was a damn fine farmer and stockman. Real shame his demise, real shame. Anyways, Jimmy, appreciate it if you let the boys know straight away. Any sign, they get back to me.”

*

Yusuf and Bashir had been silent for the remainder of the hour it took them to reach their destination. They had rightly concluded their comrade-in-arms wasn’t the talkative type — an intensity hung over him, like a veil of invisibility.

The Ford Explorer crunched gravel as it slowly drove into Mainway’s Auctioneers’ car park. Bomani cut the engine and looked around the complex with cold calculation. Yusuf’s leg started to twitch, the muscle spasms catching the driver’s eye. “Calm yourself… now.”

Yusuf grabbed his thigh, closed his eyes and prayed that Allah would look after him.

Bomani was the ultimate in self-discipline, his voice calm. “Take only two cans and go to that area over there.” He pointed through the other parked vehicles to the outside holding yards where large numbers of black and white cattle could be seen. “I cannot see people there, that is good. Both of you go now with the blessing of our brothers and do Allah’s work. Force the American cows to breathe the virus. Do not get caught… this is only the first of our targets, we have much more work to do.” Bomani then gave his final signal to proceed. “
Allahu akbar
.”

Only Bashir had the composure to respond. Yusuf was far too frightened.

“Quickly,” Bashir said. “We mustn’t attract attention.”

Yusuf felt as if his legs were made of heavy stone as he lagged behind. “Bashir, I feel like there’s a dagger in my back and death in front of me! I’m scared.”

Bashir slowed down and waited for Yusuf to catch up, then placed a hand on his shoulder. He looked back to the car, where Bomani was watching. “The dagger is only our friend’s eyes and to our front is our destiny. You’ve got nothing to be afraid of — remember when we were back in Afghanistan at training camp? We faced greater dangers there, we had bullets fired over our heads to make us men.”

“But this guy gives me the creeps… I don’t trust him.”

“You don’t have to like him… and our trust is with Allah. Look, there are the cows. Just ahead.”

By now the cattle yards were close, the smells stronger and stronger the closer they came. The city dwellers were unaccustomed to the distinctive aroma.

“It smells like shit!”

“Exactly, Yusuf, exactly.”

The two laughed, which made Yusuf feel better.

“Wait.” Bashir pulled up suddenly.

“What is it, have we been seen?”

Bashir hesitated; he had seen two men further over in the cattle yards, herding cows out to pens from the adjoining large pavilion. “No, I don’t think so. This way.”

Taking the lead Bashir veered away and approached the yards from an angle. The yards were made of wooden railings. Between the railings, the two could see the large beasts milling around on concrete pads. The odd cow watched as the two humans approached, some were chewing their cud while standing, some were laying down, resting.

“We’re too far from them — we can’t reach them through the rails.”

“I know — but we have to spray directly into their noses. We’ll have to get in with them.”

“I’ve never been this close to cows before,” said Yusuf. “What if some of them are bulls?”

“Then we really will be in the shit.”

“You are
such
a big help. You go first.”

Bashir looked cautiously around for any sign of someone looking. As far as he could tell no one was. “Here, hold this while I get over.” He handed his friend the spray can then cautiously stepped up on the first rail. His heart pounded in his chest. The cattle showed some anxiety as he drew himself up, leapt quickly over the rail, then crouched down in the yard. His feet squashed into animal dung. Reaching through the rails, while keeping a close eye on the cattle not six feet from him, Bashir grabbed for the two cans. A cow gave a loud cough. Startled, Bashir turned quickly and the cans caught between the rails. One hit the concrete floor of the yard, clinking before coming to rest in the muck, the other tumbled backwards to the gravel next to Yusuf.

“Fuck!” Backed hard up against the rail, it was Bashir’s turn to feel vulnerable. Slowly he regained his composure as he realized the cows weren’t going to attack him. The animals themselves were uneasy, sensing fear in the human. Most of those that were sitting rose to their feet, and the cattle all looked towards the two men. Bashir forced himself to look away for the dropped cans — there — he saw one lying in the yard.

“Are you all right?”

“Of course I am!”

“Do you see the other can?”

“Yes.” Bashir crouched down and felt for the can in the yard. Not a good idea. The cows looked even bigger from closer to the ground. A couple of the more inquisitive ones inched forward, their heads low, snorting intermittently. Blindly Bashir reached out for the dropped can, his hand making a small bow wave as it pushed through a slurry of excrement. Clutching the virus-filled can he slowly stood up and grimaced at the shit-covered surface. He would never make a cattleman.

Yusuf watched from relative safety on the other side of the rails as Bashir pulled off the plastic lid and walked cautiously forward. “Nice cows, nice cows.” His feet squelched, and he realized his running shoes probably weren’t the most appropriate footwear for a cattle yard. He hoped he would have time later to clean them before getting back into the Ford. Some of the cattle moved to one side as he approached, others remained still. One in particular with long eyelashes had a kinder face — that would be his first victim. The targeted cow flicked her ears. The human was very close, she reached out towards him, stretching her long neck, her tongue pushing forward trying to reach him. The cow belched, sending a foul breath of methane gas towards him and he had his first whiff of the gaseous contents of one of a cow’s four stomachs. Bashir extended his arm, his hand holding the can, his finger on the spray nozzle. The moment was close — the first transmission of foot-and-mouth disease in America since 1929 — it would take only one infected animal to be diagnosed and the country’s economic growth would be affected. The friendly cow with the long eyebrows opened her mouth inches from the can and thrust her large tongue forward again. Bashir pressed the nozzle.

“Have you done it?” hissed Yusuf.

Bashir again pressed the nozzle down. He retracted his arm and looked at the can, then violently shaking it, causing some of the wetter cow manure to fly off. He tried again. “It’s not working… it won’t spray. The solution won’t come out.”

“Here, come and get my can!” Yusuf called out from the other side of the wooden rails.

Two of Mainway’s employees were bringing a pen of sold cattle from the pavilion back to the holding yards. One looked up at the sound. “Hey, you hear that?”

“Someone over by the far pen?” replied the other man.

“Yeah, I reckon. You go ahead and pen these heifers, I’m going to go have a look.”

“If you catch any dirty bastard with his pants down, use your stick and whack his pecker off.”

“Yeah!” The first man climbed up on the railings next to him for a better look. Scanning over the backs of the cattle in the individual pens, his expert eye noticed one group facing in one direction, their attention focused on something in particular. Grabbing a hand rail above he pulled himself up onto the narrow plank walkway running the length of the outside cattle yards. He noticed two men, one in the yard itself.
You dirty perverts
, he thought. “Danny,” he yelled down to his workmate. “Go get help, there’s two of them and one’s in the yard. “HEY YOU! What the fuck d’you think you’re doing with them cows?”