BioKill (15 page)

Yusuf looked at the small piece of wrinkled squishy skin as if it was something evil he needed to expel. He flicked his hand violently, sending the circumcised foreskin flying off to land in a bloody mess on the stones. Yusuf stood up looking for some way to get rid of the red blood over his hands. The knife dropped from his grip.

Both the men holding down the circumcised victim released their hold, there was no point in further restraint, he wasn’t going anywhere. The screaming gradually reduced to an uncontrollable moaning as the poor man withered in agony, his hands and feet still bound, the gag still in his mouth.

Bomani had a large grin on his face, his young Takfir apprentice would live to see another day. “You see, the infidel lives, but now, through your knife, he is closer to Allah… and you live. I am indeed a generous man. Come, we go.”

The injured waiter was dragged roughly out of sight into a small stand of bushes not far from the road. The white van and its three occupants, together with the two remaining cans of virus, drove off. Five minutes down the road the van came to an intersection. Instead of continuing straight ahead, it turned left. Not long after that it turned again. Bomani was working to plan. He wasn’t heading inland any more. Bomani was backtracking.

Chapter Twenty-two

Matt Lilburn and
his team, weapons drawn, stood beside the empty Ford Territory. They had broken a window to gain access to the locked vehicle — nothing of immediate interest was left inside the van, save for spent rifle cartridges. When Lilburn contacted Albany, they had no further information, other than to confirm they lost visual contact once the Ford went under cover. He asked to talk to Dr. Crawston.

“Matt, are you all right? I heard your helicopter crashed?”

“Not so much crashed, just an unforeseen landing. Unfortunately we’ve lost sight of the cell at a racetrack, they’ve taken off on foot. Look, there are horses all around the place, is there any chance they would release the virus here?”

“Horses aren’t affected by foot-and-mouth disease; they only have a single hoof on each foot. The virus affects cloven-hoofed animals — those with split hooves — two on each foot.”

“OK. Do you think the terrorists know that or could they be trying to infect the horses?”

“Information about horses’ nonsusceptability to infection is easily obtained on the internet… and I would assume they’ve done their homework. Although horses can transmit the disease… but so can humans.”

“OK — thanks for that.”

“Take care, Matt… I saw what those men did to those policemen…”

“Just keep giving us info when you can, we’ll get them.”

“One more thing, Matt, the results came back from Plum Island. The cans from the cattle yard were positive for the virus, however we believe that at this stage no animals were infected as the cans appeared to have failed — no virus was found in the nozzles. We were lucky, extraordinarily lucky.”

Lilburn let his back rest on the green Ford Territory. Questions raced through his mind.
Why ditch the vehicle here? A race track full of horses… they must know what Evangeline has just told me about horses. The vehicle. Why here, why not out in the car…
The reason struck him. The shooter, the professional. He had something other than audacity and skill — he was cunning as well.

As Lilburn led his team through the doors to the kitchen, with weapons at the ready, he deployed a man to question the staff while he kept moving forward. In the function room he waited for the other agent to catch up. He could see the large room set out with tables and chairs, cutlery and glasses. At the bar area a small group of uniformed waiters sat on bar stools or leaned against the bar drinking soft drinks. One of the group spied the agents holding weapons.

“Holy shit. Whoa, um, they went that way,” the man pointed towards the far door.

“Who went that way?” Lilburn approached the group.

“Whoa! Whoever you want, they went that way. Just don’t point that thing at me!”

A joker. God help me…
Lilburn guessed correctly that the man knew nothing. “Did you see any strangers here?”

“I saw some people.” A petite girl spoke up.

“What did you see, ma’am?” Lilburn turned towards her. “We work with the local police, anything that may help would be appreciated.”

“I noticed about a half-hour ago. Three men, dark complexions, they were here about the same time Tinkerbell…” The girl stopped in her tracks, mouth open and giggled. “Oh my God, I can’t believe I said that, it just came out… I mean Timothy, the same time Timothy was here going on about his lilac table napkins.” The girl looked to her friends, hunched her shoulders up and whispered to them, “It just came out…”

“Hey, I remember them,” said a male waiter. “Yeah… three guys, like you said… kind of dark, Middle Eastern like Arabs or something, and kind of dressed casual, not like they’d come to the races. They left the same time as… Timothy… and followed him out the door.”

“This man Timothy, who is he and where was he going?”

Sharron answered. “He’s the head waiter and part owner of The Galloping Caterers. He had to go and pick up some items he wanted back in town, said he would be about three-quarters of an hour.”

“Which direction did he go?”

“He would have turned right at the gate and gone back to town.”

“OK, what’s your name, ma’am?”

“Sharron, Sharron Gates.” The waitress lifted her chin and gave Lilburn a seductive pout, making sure her breasts showed off to their best advantage. “What’s yours, handsome?”

Lilburn wasn’t in the mood to be even slightly amused. “We need to catch up with these men fast. How about you show me where your boss went; out that door?”

Sharron looked to where Lilburn was pointing. “Yeah, that’s the one. He would have gone out to where the van was kept. C’mon, I’ll show you.”

Opening the door to the private car park, Sharron confirmed the van had gone. Lilburn guessed what had happened. Timothy would have gone to his van and opened the door — it was a perfect place for the terrorists to overpower him. Mostly obscured from the public’s view by a tall brush fence, the cell would have overpowered the man and driven off in his van. Lilburn instructed his team to look for the man in the surrounding area.

“Hey, mister. Is our boss going to be all right? Are these men dangerous or something?”

“Sharron, has Timothy got a cellphone?”

“Yeah,” said Sharron, acutely aware her question hadn’t been answered.

Keying in the caterer’s phone number, Lilburn walked away from the girl.

One of Lilburn’s team raised an eyebrow. “You’d be a bit hopeful, boss.”

“I know, but hell, something has to go our way for a change.” Lilburn put the phone to his ear.

*

Timothy knew he was lucky to be alive although the incredible pain he was feeling around his loins made him question that fact. He had heard the van’s doors shutting and the van taking off, the noise of the engine slowly fading away. He cried as he lay all alone, bound with his hands behind his back, feet tied together and the gag still in his mouth. Any movement he made magnified the pain, which spasmed through his penis. It was up to him now to fight back against the hurt and seek help. He thought of a plan and prepared himself for more pain. Taking a deep breath and holding it, Timothy shuffled his bound hands towards his bottom as far as they would go. Screwing his eyes shut he maneuvered onto his back, arched forward and slipped his arms up and over to rest on the underside of his thighs. He shrieked and panted, sucking in and expelling breath as best he could around the gag. Being of slight build and young enough to retain flexibility, he managed to get his hands to the front of his body. Quickly he rid himself of the gag and breathing was much easier. He swore, as a means of helping control the pain. He could see the bonds around his wrists, cord from his own van. Using his teeth, Timothy made progress in unwrapping his restraints. His mobile started ringing in his pants pocket. Sitting up, he reached down towards his ankles where his pants were crunched up. It was the first real view of his wounds.
Oh my God, oh my God, oh my God.
His crotch was blood red, congealed blood mixed with dirt. Feeling dizzy, he fought to keep control. Fumbling in the folds of his pants he found the phone.

“Help me, help me, it hurts… Please… help.”

Lilburn didn’t expect the caterer to answer the phone. It was a long shot but one he still needed to try. He certainly wasn’t expecting the exasperated cry for help that exploded out from the phone. Holding the mobile slightly away from his ear, one of the others also heard the voice. Both men looked at each other surprised.

“Is that Timothy?”

“Yes, yes… help me, I’m hurt.”

“Timothy, my name is Matt…”

“Help…”

“Timothy, listen. You have to stay calm for me to help you. Do you understand?”

“Yes.”

“Right. Are you alone?”

“Yes.”

“Where are you, Timothy? Tell me where you are.”

“I don’t know. I was taken in the back of my van. I don’t know. I feel sick, I…”

“Can you describe the area you are in, any distinguishable features?”

“No, just countryside.”

“Don’t worry — we’ll find you.” Lilburn placed his hand over the phone and spoke to the agent next to him. “Get HQ to trace this call.” He then carried on speaking to Timothy. “How bad are you hurt?”

Lilburn could hear the man sobbing. “They cut me, they cut me bad.”

“Where did they cut you? Can you stop the bleeding?”

“It’s not bleeding so bad now. Ow, ow, ow… oh shit, it’s sore! They cut Willie!”

“Who?”

“They cut my penis! They circumcised me!”

Lilburn again covered the phone and turned to his colleague. “How’s that trace going? Tell them to hurry.”

“Are the injuries life-threatening?”

Lilburn had to bite his lip and not look at the man. He had to be serious, but Christ, he could have laughed. “No.” He managed to keep it together.

It wasn’t long before Albany came back with the injured man’s position. Lilburn reassured the caterer help was on the way, then hung up. He informed Sharron she was now in charge — her boss was safe but would require urgent medical treatment and not to expect him back for some time.

The four agents left the race course with a description of the van and Timothy’s whereabouts. High above, and unseen, the drone started a new grid search pattern, starting at the location of the injured caterer.

Chapter Twenty-three

Bashir sat in
the middle seat. He looked at the driver. “How did you know the man was not circumcised already?”

“I didn’t,” said Bomani, who then turned his head and faced his questioner. “It was lucky for him.” Bomani glanced past Bashir and looked at his other passenger. Yusuf al-Nasseri was in a world of his own, his head lowered, chin nearly touching his chest, his hands stained with the caterer’s blood. Taking his focus off the dried blood he slowly raised his head and peered off into the distance. Everything seemed strangely silent except for a continuous background noise that was serenely peaceful. He could have closed his eyes and drifted off to another land.

“Yusuf, Yusuf!”

His name was being called, something pushed into his side. An elbow. “What?”

“What was it like, cutting that man’s skin?”

Yusuf knew he had to lie again — he couldn’t risk the truth in front of Bomani. He feared Bomani. “Good, it felt good.”

“Did you feel like you were teaching the infidel a lesson? Teaching him there is only room on this earth for us, for Allah. Teaching him the lesson that the United States should kneel before our faith, that our faith is the only faith. Teaching him that Allah spared his life because Allah can!”

Yusuf dropped his hands to between his thighs, searching for the cover of the seating. Finding it he rubbed his hands surreptitiously, trying to rid himself of his victim’s blood. He couldn’t let the others see. “Yes, I did… I felt as if a lesson was being taught.” Inwardly Yusuf cried out, louder than he had ever cried out before.

His friend next to him turned his broad grin to the driver, nodding and holding his head high and proud. The man driving showed no emotion.

Forty minutes had passed since they had left the waiter, minus his foreskin, on the side of the road. Bomani hadn’t yet received a call that the drone had renewed contact. That, he knew, gave him time to add in a back-up, a fail-safe. The intention had always been to deploy the virus in a place where the infected animals would be transported far and wide, unknowingly distributing the disease throughout the States. The catalyst for that plan had been the livestock auction yards. But now the plan had to take a different approach. With their failure at Inox, Bomani knew the security forces would target similar sites. While it meant he had to work harder, it was merely a detail; for which a plan was already in place. The GPS unit indicated his next target was half an hour away. Time enough to execute an added fail-safe measure.

Yusuf and Bashir were surprised when the white catering van slowed down then came to a stop on the country road, then reversed about twenty yards to stop by a sign, next to a farm entrance. The large metal sign was suspended from a tall pole bent near the top to accommodate the advertising. The outline was that of a pig, and read
The Hog Pen
. A further sign attached to the timber rails indicated this was a commercial pig-breeding farm and visitors were by appointment only. Bomani had found what he was looking for — the added extra.

“Mommy, Mommy, come see! Mrs. Britches has got a mouse!”

“Wait, sweetheart, while Mommy helps Daddy unload the truck. Mrs. Britches will just be taking the mouse to show her kittens. What a nice mommy she is.”

“Mrs. Britches is a nice mommy. I love Mrs. Britches.”

Both adults were dressed in denim dungarees and kept a lookout over their precious daughter inside the barn. They unloaded bags of pig pellets for the sows ‘in pig’.

“How’s it going, Jess, these bags not too heavy for you?”

“You just go and mind your own back, old fella. You’re the one who just turned forty.”

“Ha! And guess what, sweetpea? Next birthday you’ll have caught up. Tell you what, you go sort out our daughter and I’ll finish here.”

Jess gave her husband a wink, took off her gloves and walked over to the large barn doors. “Come on, Bobbie-Jo, let’s go see what Mrs. Britches is up to.”

“She went out the door, Mommy.”

Jess led her daughter by the hand and walked at a four year old’s pace to the doors. As they got to the doorway Jess heard the rumble of tires on gravel. “Hey Tommy, looks like we got visitors.”

“Who is it?”

“Don’t know. It’s a white van. Know any white vans?”

“Nope.” Tommy wandered over where his wife and daughter were looking out the barn doors.

The van pulled up twenty-yards away next to a large grain silo. The occupants didn’t seem in a hurry to get out. Tommy walked out into the yard, where he saw the writing on the side of the van. “The Galloping Caterers? You know any caterers, Jess?”

Jess shook her head. Bobbie-Jo pulled away from her mother’s hand and went to pick up something inside the barn that caught her eye.

Inside the van Bomani was telling the others why they were here and what they were going to do. “Our weapon, our virus, will work on pigs just as well as cattle. Once I have taken out those two, take one can and spray any pigs you find. Then we leave, quick and easy.”

Bomani eased himself out his door then started walking over towards the barn raising a hand and waving it while softly calling out, “Hello, hello.”

Bashir was like a boy watching his favorite action hero. “He’s a real soldier of Takfir. Watch him, as he kills the infidels, watch how he does it. Yusuf, look…”

Yusuf wasn’t looking, his eyes were closed and his head tilted back. He had no wish to see the inevitable, no stomach for any more horrors. He felt only pity for the man and woman about to die.

Bashir’s friendship with Yusuf had lasted many years; it had been enduring through good times and bad. But now, for the first time, he felt cool towards him. Yusuf had turned into a coward. How could he not want to do Allah’s work, and do it with pride? He turned away in disgust from the person sitting beside him. Bashir watched as Bomani edged closer. As he had only a pistol he would need to be close. Suddenly a child emerged from the barn door and ran to the woman, grabbing her around her thigh. “There’s a kid!”

Yusuf’s eyes snapped open. A child, a child in the killing zone! It was something he couldn’t explain. Something took him over, a force so strong he couldn’t stop it — even if he had wanted to — and he did not. What was playing out before his eyes was wrong on all counts, wrong in every religion, every cause, every possible principle in life, moral or otherwise. He opened his door. His feet touched the ground and his feet walked. They kept walking, right towards Bomani.

Bashir couldn’t believe his eyes. What could he do? What should he do? “Yusuf — you infidel!”

Bomani spun around. He saw Bashir leaning out the cab of the van yelling at Yusuf, who was fast approaching him. Yusuf had broken, he had seen it coming but had left it too late to rectify the problem. Now the problem was nearly on him. Yusuf must die as well. Bomani reached for the pistol in his belt and brought the weapon up to fire. Yusuf rushed forward committing himself to attack, his arms and legs pumped, there would be no turning back, no return. His day was now and it was going to be his day!

When a shot erupted as if from nowhere, Tommy pushed his startled family back into the barn, his daughter falling over in the chaos. He scooped her up in his arms. Inside he placed her on her feet and yelled out for his wife to take Bobbie-Jo to the back of the barn. He scrambled to the doorway and looked out.

Two men were rolling on the ground grabbing, tussling, punching. The younger of the men, back on top, looked up towards him and yelled out for him to run and hide. Tommy’s gut reaction told him the younger man was protecting him and his family.
But why?
Tommy had almost decided he couldn’t stand back and let the young man be hurt when the older man on the ground twisted and swung around and he heard the weapon fire again. Tommy rushed forward.

Bomani was too experienced to lose against the likes of his opponent; he was instantly on top of the now bleeding Yusuf, wielding the pistol like a club, pounding Yusuf’s face. He didn’t notice the stranger rushing down on him until it was too late. Tommy’s work boot drove into Bomani’s stomach like a runaway train, sending him flying. Winded by the kick, he momentarily lost himself in pain but quickly regained his composure. He felt for the pistol in his hand; but it wasn’t there. Tommy had seen it and flew through the air like an all-star player, landing heavily on the gravel yard. Bomani tried to reach the fallen weapon — but he came second. Tommy pointed the barrel in Bomani’s face while the Takfir scrambled to his feet. Bomani spat his anger. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and slowly stood up, never taking his eyes off the farmer.

“Get off my land. Get away from my family.” The voice was low. Bomani had no choice: he backed off, watching, waiting to see if the man with the gun would make a mistake; he didn’t. He reached the van and got in. The engine started and the van turned away, back the way it had come into the farm. Back out onto the road.

Tommy’s hand holding the pistol started to shake; it shook the whole time he had the weapon pointed towards the van disappearing out his road gate. He turned towards the other fighter, the younger man. He was still on the ground lying on his side, his legs tucked up. Tommy approached him cautiously; he hoped his gut reaction was correct and they had nothing to fear from him. He studied the fallen man: darkish olive skin, he looked Middle Eastern. The clothes he wore were what city people wore. The man looked up at him, he wasn’t old, early twenties. Their eyes met. Tommy felt as if the young man’s eyes were trying to say something… but he couldn’t make out what. The man didn’t say anything, he blinked quickly a few times, then lifted a hand from around his stomach and brought it up to his eyes. The hand was dripping bright red blood. Tommy’s mouth fell open, the man was gut shot.

“JESS! JESS! I need help.”

The woman appeared at the barn door, brandishing a pitchfork. “Jess, where’s Bobbie-Joe?”

“She’s safe at the back of the barn. I put her in the cab of the old truck.”

“The man’s been shot, Jess. He’s been shot!”

Jess ran over and stood beside her husband. The pair looked down at the stranger lying on his side. “He’s trying to say something… Oh my God… What do we do?”

Tommy leaned down. Yusuf made a guttural sound, but no actual words came out. The frustration could be seen on his face; in his eyes.

“What are you trying to say?”

Yusuf mustered every ounce of energy he had left. The words came out weak, but this time they were audible. “I’m sorry.” A smile enveloped his grimy face, a smile that would last forever in the minds of the two people whose lives he’d just saved. Yusuf gave a small cough; blood oozed from his open mouth and trickled down his cheek. His head rolled back. Allah had reclaimed a lost soul.