BioKill (9 page)

“Come on — spray cans, how many?”

Lilburn’s determination hadn’t gone unnoticed. Gibbons was still trying to fathom a link between Homeland Security’s interest in the Muslim cleric and now these two Middle Eastern men and what was in their apartment. He didn’t know what to think, but terrorism was the most likely; the world was full of it and America was continually on high alert. Gibbons remained silent, for now. He would see what eventuated.

“Four… five, maybe a half-dozen.”

Lilburn was painting a picture: parcel from Syria, now empty of its contents, spray cans. His gut feeling was that the apartment held a link to the bioterrorism threat. Lilburn dialed Homeland and asked to be put through to Dr. Evangeline Crawston. Aware that the other four in the apartment room weren’t yet privy to a potential virus threat, Lilburn needed to keep the conversation generic.

“Matt — how may I help you?”

“Hi, I need to run over a few things. We have a lead which has taken us to an apartment in New York. No occupants present, but I have with me two NYPD officers who were called to the apartment the other day. There are a couple of points of interest that might mean something to you.”

“Go on.”

“We have an empty package, just the wrapping paper that came from Syria, according to the stamps and postmark.” With the phone to his ear he continued talking while looking at the other rubbish lying in the sink. “One of the officers recalled seeing some spray cans, which don’t appear to be here now, though we’re yet to do a detailed search.”

“How many cans, and what were they?” Evangeline picked up a pen and started making notes.

“He’s not sure, maybe half dozen. Hey, Maitland, what sort of spray was it again?”

“Like deodorant or something — stuff to make you smell good.”

“He thinks it was deodorant. I remember you saying something about aerosols?”

“Absolutely right, Matt… You were listening! Aerosol dispersal is an effective way of distributing a virus.” Evangeline paused for thought. “If that were the case… let me think… ask the officer if the cans were local. Could they have been bought here in the States?”

Lilburn looked to Maitland. “Those cans you saw, were they ones you could buy in a grocery store?”

Maitland shrugged his shoulders. “Yeah, I suppose, never paid that much attention.”

“So how did you know they were deodorant cans?”

“I read it on the label.”

Lilburn directed his attention back to the contents of the sink, “Yes, probably locally bought — the labeling was in English.”

“That would make sense. Importing a few cans of deodorant isn’t exactly what one would normally do. So if we surmise the virus was sent by mail then transferring it into an aerosol only requires a few basic steps. The virus would still need to be multiplied to a sufficient quantity… Excuse me a moment.” Lilburn could hear Evangeline talking to someone. “Matt, directors Hall and Lopez are with me, I’ll place the call on speaker phone.”

“Matt, Allan Hall. I hear you have some good news. Tell us what you’ve found.”

“Yes, sir. This morning we obtained information via two officers from NYPD of a possible lead. I’m on site now, with a team from NYPD at an apartment belonging to…” Lilburn clicked his fingers and gestured to the rookie. “What are the names of the two occupants?” Martinez quickly withdrew his notebook and scurried his fingers to find the right page.

“Yusuf al-Nasseri and Bashir Zuabi.”

“Yusuf al-Nasseri and Bashir Zuabi,” Lilburn repeated, then spelt out the names while looking at the notebook, and gave a description of what they were last seen wearing. “We also found wrapping paper, which I can confirm was sent from Syria.”

“Anything else?” Hall replied.

“We know there were also some spray cans, which at this point we have yet to find.”

Evangeline broke in. “Spray cans could be used as an effective way of transmitting the virus. Matt, what I need you to look for is a vessel used to grow the virus. Something like a petri dish.”

“Petri dish… petri dish, hang on.”

Officer Maitland could only hear one side of the phone conversation but he heard Lilburn say petri dish. “I saw those… petri dishes… sitting on the windowsill. Let’s have another look at that rubbish.” Casting an eye over the sink, Maitland cautiously shifted some of the waste until he found what he was looking for. Grabbing a round shallow plastic dish he pulled it clear and held it up.

“We have a petri dish.” Lilburn observed the round object Maitland held. “Just a thought, are these items contagious?”

The word
contagious
was enough for Maitland to instantly drop the petri dish back into the sink.

“There shouldn’t be a great concern. Foot-and-mouth disease is restricted to cloven-hoofed animals; only on very rare occasions has it been known to transfer to humans — but only as carriers. It would pay to wash your hands.”

“Wash hands, OK.” Lilburn had a quiet chuckle to himself as the big officer disappeared from the kitchen followed by the sound of a tap running in the bathroom. He could also hear the deep voice of Director Hall shouting orders to someone in the background.

Evangeline was hopeful that what had been found was indeed the makeshift laboratory for the distribution of the virus. “Matt, I believe you may well have found what we’re looking for, but there are a few other ingredients we need to know about, before we can confirm aerosols are the means of delivery. Have a look for any containers with
dissolving
,
buffer
or
pH
on them.”

“Will do.” There were some drawers under the bench as well as cupboards, but Lilburn had decided he needed a suitable piece of equipment to check the remaining rubbish in the sink. A large pair of metal tongs in the second drawer down provided the answer.

“I’m having a look now… nothing jumps up at me… hang on. There’s a plastic container, looks like it was cut up to reduce its size before being chucked. There’s a label and… yes, the label has the words
buffer
something…
buffer solution.
Does that help?”

“That just about establishes it beyond a doubt. What you have is the site of a probable importation of foot-and-mouth disease. I’ll need everything you’ve described to me flown immediately to Plum Island for confirmation.”

“OK, Doc, we’re on it. Matt, this is Allan Hall. Bag and tag that evidence and get to Plum Island quick as you can, use the chopper. Get the NYPD boys to make this a crime scene; I want their forensic team to get down to where you are ASAP, no questions asked. They drop everything and do it now. Any problems get back to me. Once you’ve dropped off the evidence I want you back here, we have teams ready to go. Damn good work.” The phone line went dead.

Lilburn switched off his phone and looked up. He was alone. Everyone else was back in the living area, looking slightly apprehensive.

Chapter Twelve

The helicopter lifted
gracefully from One Police Plaza, deftly avoiding the surrounding concrete and steel mega-structures that made up New York City. The plastic bags containing the evidence from the apartment were safely stowed in a sealed biohazards container behind Lilburn’s seat as the pilot set an easterly direction over Queens, before turning northwards to Long Island Sound and on to Plum Island, situated off the north fork of Long Island itself.

“There she is, always reminds me of a snake that’s been squished on a road. You staying long?”

Lilburn adjusted the mike on his headphones. “Just long enough to drop off some items, then we can head straight back to Albany.”

“Suits me fine, the place gives me the heebie-jeebies. Any time I have to go there I come away wondering if my little wrigglies are OK or if they’re going to produce a little one-eyed monster. You been there before?”

“Nah, first time.”

“It’s our site now, Homeland runs it. Used to be home of the Army Chemical Corps, Christ knows what was concocted down there, then later, of course, it became the Animal Disease Center… and that’s when all those two-headed things started washing up on the beaches.”

The pilot decreased altitude — individual trees and buildings on the island started to form shape and the white ring of the foreshore began to appear as either sand or rocks.

“That’s the landing pad on the grassed area by that group of buildings. What looks like a German Iron Cross — that’s where we touch down. Come on, Gracie old girl, gently does it.”

The helicopter landed without any discernible bump and the pilot let the engine move to idle, the three rotors gradually slowing down. Nearly thirty-three feet in diameter, they could now be seen, revolving in a clockwise direction above the cockpit. A black Jeep appeared and came to a stop within a safe distance to the left of the helicopter. The driver’s door opened and a man briskly approached the chopper.

“Here comes your courier now.” A man approached his door, and the pilot gestured to him to go to the passenger side. “Go around the front, not the damn back. Yes, you. That’s it. You have no idea the number of people who think they can whip around behind the chopper to get to the other side, scares me shitless when they disappear from sight.”

Lilburn gathered the plastic bags of evidence together. The courier knocked on his door and waited. Lilburn opened the door. Instantly he felt the downdraft from the turning rotors.

“Are you Special Agent Lilburn?”

“Yes.”

“If you’d like to give me the items, I’ll take them directly to the lab.”

Lilburn handed the container over then pulled the door shut.

The pilot chuckled to himself, “You know, I’ve been here maybe two dozen times and never once have the pricks invited me in for coffee.”

“Would you want them to?”

“Hell no, that’s why I don’t shut Grace down. Let’s vamoose — this place gives me a chill up my spine.”

Lilburn didn’t disagree as the helicopter took off for Homeland Security, Albany.

*

“Heads up, listen in.” Director Hall commanded complete attention. “We now have confirmation from Plum Island that the package from Syria is foot-and-mouth. We know who it was delivered to and they’re being investigated by Director Lopez, who will brief you shortly. We can assume the terrorists will be making their way out of New York City to a location where they’ll try to infect livestock. We know they’ll primarily be transmitting the virus using aerosol cans, spraying some poor animal in the face. Now, I know most of you have been at your stations for a hell of a long time. Because of that we’ve made good progress, some through good management and a good dose of luck. Don’t ease off on the throttle — it’s not over yet. Director Lopez.”

“Thank you, Director Hall. We have two main persons of interest, Yusuf al-Nasseri and Bashir Zuabi, both American citizens, both born here, both now members of Takfir wal-Hijra. We have an eyewitness who saw them leave their apartment this morning and a detailed description of what they were wearing. One of my teams is working on their background, friends, family, acquaintances, another team is working on records, phone, banking, internet history and another on the likely scenario of an actual outbreak.”

“And that last team’s being led by Dr. Evangeline Crawston.” Hall interrupted, reluctant to let Lopez have too much floor time. “Some of you will have already seen her around. Her background is in bio-pharmaceutics and her contribution as an expert in bioterrorism is invaluable. Now, before we put our heads back down and push on, just let me remind you I don’t want any silos here — after all, we have two directorates working together in the same room. Don’t keep info to yourself — we aren’t competing against each other, we need to work as a team.”

The buzz within the room started up again as soon as the situation report ended.

“Ma’am.”

“Yes, what is it?”

An officer approached Lopez. “Ma’am, we have their banking details.”

“Let me see.” The director was handed Yusuf and Bashir’s latest bank statements. Her eyes scrolled down the pages until they settled on the last withdrawals. Within a minute of each other, both men had made withdrawals of fifty-seven dollars at the Port Authority Bus Terminal. There was no indication of the destination but she now had an exact time the tickets were purchased.

The skinny ex-hacker from Manhattan pushed the bridge of his glasses back with one finger and sat upright from a slouch as Lopez asked him a question.

“The Port Authority Bus Terminal has security cameras everywhere. Can you get me to the images taken at the ticketing machines and kiosks?”

“No problemo.” The young man, having been given an ultimatum by a Youth Court judge to buck his ideas up regarding his pathological hacking into computer systems of the top ten companies in downtown New York, had been enticed into the Homeland Security umbrella by those who recognized his unique talents. Nicco liked nothing better than to beat the system — so getting paid to do it was a bonus. “Just a little bit of this, a little bit of that.” His fingers worked the keyboard like a concert pianist’s. Nicco looked up to see a scowling Director Lopez with her arms folded. A few more key strokes and he was in. “There you go — the Port Bus Terminal cams.” A wide grin broke out.

Lopez certainly wasn’t grinning as she looked over Nicco’s shoulder at his computer screen. “Christ, there must be dozens.”

“Yep, all live streaming.”

“I have a specific time, ten fifty-three this morning for the first ticket purchase and less than a minute later for the second.”

“Now that there’s a teensy-weensy bit harder.”

“Can you do it or not?” Patience was not one of Lopez’s virtues.

“Yep!” It would take more than Homeland Security to take the boy out of the hacker. Nicco’s fingers and mind worked magic.

Director Hall, known for having eyes in the back of his head and an uncanny ability to read people’s minds, didn’t miss his fellow director leaning over Nicco. His inquisitiveness barreled him over in her direction.

“What’s up, Suzanna?” Hall noticed her slight look of surprise. His mention of ‘silos’ had been directed at her, and she knew it.

“Bank statements came in, our two suspects purchased tickets at around ten fifty-three this morning at the Port Terminal.”

“Where to?”

“We’re just getting to that now.”

“What have you got, son?” Hall’s attention turned to Nicco, who wasn’t the slightest overwhelmed by two directors looking over his shoulder.

“Gimme a minute.” Nicco, totally engrossed in his computer, replied without looking up from his screen. Lopez unfolded her arms and was about to discipline him when Hall stopped her.

“Just take your time, son.”

“You betcha, sir… I’ll just wind the clock back a bit on the tapes, got it, there you go, now let me just grab the pics we have of our two and do a… bit… of… facial recognition. That’s my girl, come on, sweetheart, come to Nicco… Yes! Ta-da!”

Hall had to put on his reading glasses. In front of him on the screen, two men were standing in front of an automated ticket machine.

“Take it forward frame by frame; see if we can get a close-up on the tickets.”

“Okey-dokey.”

“There — stop! That’s Yusuf, he’s turning, take it forward. Good, keep going, stop. Zoom in on that ticket.”

Nicco obliged but the picture was now grainy and nothing could be read. “Let me do a bit of enhancing, just a bit here and a bit there. Now — howzat?”

Both Hall and Lopez struggled to read the ticket and leaned forward over each of Nicco’s shoulders. Nicco now started to feel a touch too close to his bosses and the perfume Lopez was wearing was just a bit much. “Hey, man, lemme breathe here!” The directors backed off. Nicco studied the screen hard, thankful he now had his personal space back. “I see a capitol B followed by an i… n… g… Bing… Binghamton.”

Director Hall brought both his hands down on Nicco’s shoulders. “Good on you, son. Now can you see what time the bus leaves?”

Nicco squinted. “Nope… but if I go in here and scroll down… here. And hello, baby, there’s the bus timetable for Binghamton. Two bus services travel to Binghamton — Greyhound and Short Line. But which one? Eeny meeny miny moe…”

“Hurry up and find out.” Lopez was impatient.

Nicco pondered the situation. “You have the banking details, right? So how much did the tickets cost?”

Lopez looked at the statements. “Fifty-seven dollars.”

“Bingo!” A split screen displayed on the monitor in front of Nicco. “Two different bus companies, two different prices and fifty-seven dollars belongs to… Greyhound buses.”

Matt Lilburn entered the operations room. None of the intensity had gone — if anything, it had increased. Out of the corner of his eye he caught sight of Evangeline’s shapely silhouette, bent over talking intently to a group at the other side of the room. But before he could make his way over, his name rang out.

“Matt, over here.” Director Hall had spotted him.

“Sir, Ma’am.”

“Stay here.” Hall turned his attention to Lopez. “What was the time the tickets were bought?”

“The first ticket was bought at ten fifty-three.”

“Nicco, when is that bus scheduled to leave the terminal?”

“Eleven-thirty, sir, and the next one at one-twenty.”

“How long is the trip?”

“That would be… Three hours and twenty-five minutes with zero stops.”

Hall did some quick mental calculations. “Arrives fourteen fifty-five at Binghampton. Time now thirteen-ten, half-hour chopper flight from here. We could have a team at Binghampton about an hour before the bus arrives.”

Suzanna interrupted. “Or we intercept the bus.”

“Even better… so that’s the way we’ll play it. Matt, here’s what I want you to do.”