Independence Day Plague (17 page)

Mitchell frowned, “Do you mean killed?”

“
Not executed, but put into combat wherever the action was highest. Your average med tech isn’t trained for combat duty so you place him or her there and they last at most a month before coming home in a body bag. The security men had a better chance but we made sure no one ever came home from seeing action, even if we had to shoot them ourselves.”

Mitchell stared at him, mouth open in shock. “That adds up to hundreds eventually.”

“
Over the four remaining labs for fifteen years, yes. A few men here and there, dying in duty, aren’t noticed in a military that spans thousands. It’s easier than you think.”

“
Talbot wouldn’t get approval on this. The Pentagon doesn't go against the government.” Mitchell replied.

“
The Joint Chiefs had no idea the labs continued to exist. We kept three of the bio labs going for eight years after their shut down dates. The labs acted as Talbot’s personal arsenal. He knew we needed them someday. If we had taken your four hundred plus the others and tried to integrate them back into society, someone would have talked. This way the labs stayed secret and we kept the first strike option.”

“
First strike? Talbot wants war?”

Forester sounded breathy now as he spoke, “War with China is coming. There have been too many skirmishes; too many times, we’ve backed down from the fray. America lost the fear factor and China is gearing up. It may happen in Korea or some third world shit hole, but China and the U.S. will clash. The policy for the last ten years has been peace and appeasement. We’re losing the fear factor and they know it.” Forester’s face flushed red with the effort to talk. “Talbot knew we needed a show of strength for the Chinese mind and the President turned to pap. Even with conventional weapons, a shooting match would devastate both sides. We can't risk a prolonged war with hundreds of thousands of casualties.

“
Put the Chinese country in a health crisis and they won't be thinking about war. Give them a plague. It kills populations, creates enough internal strife to delay war but it also acts as an effective tool to isolate them from the rest of the world. News of an infectious disease gets out and commerce in and out of China ceases overnight. They’ll be vulnerable. They’d have to back down.”

Mitchell sat back. “He must be insane. No one can control biological weapons. Super-Marburg has a killing ability of 90%. He’ll wipe out a whole continent of people. If it spreads before containment, all of mankind will be at risk.”

Forester’s breathing sounded ragged and shallow. His lips looked lined in a thin blueness. “Give me the antidote. I’ll tell you more.”

Mitchell looked at the vial in his hand and tossed it to the gasping man. “Drink it.”

Forester fumbled the vial and then tore off the stopper. He gulped the blue liquid down and then collapsed back into the chair. “Thank you.”

Mitchell nodded and smiled, sipping his drink. “It amazes me how little you know about our reports. We wrote tons of them, each outlining the symptoms of the diseases, the side effects. We even added warnings at the end of each one, stating how very important it was that these diseases never be used. Yep, we agonized over those reports.”

Forester’s breathing now took on a choking sound, his eyes wide with panic. His lips were blue against the mottled red face, “Not…working…”

Mitchell stood and walked towards the colonel, “Sure buddy.” He leaned down and looked into Forester’s wide eyes. Forester tried to move and couldn’t. “You think I'd save a bastard like you? You think you’re going to get off easier than my wife and child? You should have spent time more reading our reports. There is no antidote to botulinum.”

Chapter 8

June 20, 2026

Dorado closed the file folder and rubbed his eyes. The stack of manila folders to his right had shrunk considerably in the last four hours. True to her reputation, Olsen filtered blogs, websites, manifestos, speeches and literature from over a hundred suspected hate groups, religious fringe, pro-Chinese extremists, anti-Chinese extremists, counter-culture groups, gangs and shut-ins. She cross-referenced files from other agencies and came up with about thirty-eight potential suspects so far. Each of those were tagged, placed in files and then routed to him.

His group spent the last two weeks investigating each of the local suspect groups and passing the non-locals on to the FBI. McAfee, Charro, and Taylor checked names, updated addresses, asked around the usual places, and did everything short of illegal search in order to spook the suspects into action. A few reacted. Others had outstanding warrants, making it a convenient time to round them up. The methods seemed extreme but the results spoke for themselves. Although nothing more sinister than an arms deal had been revealed, many fringe group leaders were shunted through the legal system, shaking up any plans made by their groups.

Each shakedown or arrest led to the creation of a report. Finally, Dorado shifted through the reports, identifying the threats as being neutralized or still active. He hated administrative work.

He didn’t bother looking up from the file when the conference room’s glass door thumped open. McAfee spent the day out checking on the Church of the True Blood and he was expected back any minute. “Hey, Bri, how did it go?”

He heard the worn leather chair squeak before the answer came. “Mike, we need to talk.” Starker sat at the end of the small, eight-seat table the task force had taken over for their daily meetings.

Dorado closed the file, picked up his cold cup of coffee and moved to the adjoining seat. “What’s up?”

“
Cardell came to me this morning. He’s bitching about how he’s been apexed on the task force.”

“
We gave him a job.”

Starker raised an eyebrow, “Looking at all criminal reports that come in on a daily basis?”

Dorado shrugged. “Clues come in the most unlikely of places. NYPD caught a bank robbing ring based on parking tickets.”

“
Mike, it's busy work. You know it; I know it and unfortunately, Cardell recognizes it too. What in hell is going on?”

“
Captain, you gave me this task force and you said I could pick the members. I didn’t pick that asshole and my people don’t want to work with him. With all the overtime we’re putting in, my people blow off steam once in a while but they're being effective. I don’t need someone coming in and setting them off. They’ll quit if Cardell leans on them too much.”

Starker drummed his fingers for a moment. “I’m sympathetic but Cardell’s high profile. He’s stuck his face in front of the cameras so much you’d think he was a fucking actor. That gives him a surprising amount of pull around here.”

“
Then I’ll step aside and give him leadership of the damn task force.” Dorado snapped.

“
I’m not going to let you do that, Mike and you know why. You’re the better man here. But I got assholes to placate too. Surely he can take on a more active role somewhere.”

Dorado frowned. “He’d better start understanding I’m in charge here no matter what his rank. I’ve had two blow-ups with him already. He argues with me one more fucking time and he’s out or I am. I don’t care how much pull he has.”

Starker nodded. “Agreed. I’ll talk to him and remind him of the chain of command.”

Dorado returned to the stacks at the far end as Starker left and McAfee and Taylor came in. They both slumped into chairs, files plopped on the table before them.

“
You okay, chief?” McAfee asked.

“
Yeah,” Dorado sighed and then swiveled to face the two men. McAfee looked tired but he still displayed his usual bounce. Taylor slumped into a chair. Dorado noticed the grimness in his face and that the man kept unfolding and folding his fingers into fists. “How did it go?”

“
The Pure Blood kept us waiting an hour before we finally got to see the top priest, leader, or whatever.”

“
Grand dragon?” Taylor quipped but didn’t smile.

McAfee snorted, “Yeah. It’s run by a guy named Carl Mitter. We ran his name. He’s ex-skin head; got a record when he was young for vandalism and petty theft, but he’s been upstanding for the past fifteen years. You should see this guy, chief. Real bastard. He wouldn’t even look at Taylor or answer any of his questions. Kept making shitty remarks about inferior races and polluting bloodlines. Of course, he didn’t allow us to search the building. Said something about not disrupting the sanctity of the place.”

“
In retrospect, it probably wasn’t the wisest idea to send a black man to talk to them.” Taylor said.

Dorado snorted, “I’m not going to pander to their idiotic bigotry. You’re a cop, that’s all that matters.”

Taylor nodded. He eased back into his chair. “Still, it’s taking us too long to interview these cults. Most don’t want to talk to us and others try to convert us. Most of the time, it’s skin color or culture.”

“
You think a white guy alone would have an easier time?”

Taylor replied, “Yeah, with some of them. People automatically assume a higher authority with whites. It's shitty but true. Take the Church of the Pure Blood. Do they have plans specifically for the Fourth? I don’t know. Would a search warrant reveal some dirty laundry? Yeah, no doubt. Would they cooperate more with a white man over a black or Latino? Undeniably yes, particularly if that white guy implies he is sympathetic to their cause.”

McAfee nodded. “Yeah, Charro told me he wasn’t getting anywhere with the Jesus freak fundamentals because they were too scared of him.” He chuckled. “He said some of the girls flirted with him so he had a better chance of getting laid than getting feedback.”

Dorado smiled a little. “Don’t think we need him to go undercover just yet.”

Taylor smiled too. “My amigo will be so disappointed. No, Charro’s good for the gang work though. We need someone with an Asian background to work with the Chinese group. It would help if they also spoke the language.”

Dorado nodded, “Yeah, I think we’re getting good data from that sector but someone’s got to check out these other threats.”

“
I can go back to regular work. Let you get another guy in here that’ll be more effective.” Taylor swiveled to face him.

“
Do you want to quit?”

Taylor relaxed, “Not especially man, but the job comes first.”

“
You’re the best one for the job then. However, I agree that if we’re not getting anywhere with some of the groups due to skin color then we need to rethink our tactics. Cardell wants to be more involved. We can have him take over the Pure Blood investigation.”

Taylor looked up, “I’m not working with him.”

“
No, I’ll move you to the Free China group. Let’s pull in Chou from Homicide. We’ve also got a lot of activity through a shut-in up in the Tyson’s area—been making a lot of noise about the Fourth in the chat rooms. Taylor, you can follow up on that. We’ll let Cardell go talk to the Church folks again, this time as a sympathetic ear. I’m sure he’s good at that bullshit. In the meantime Brian, get a search warrant. When it comes time, we’ll pull the group in and raid them.”

The afternoon wore on into evening. Most of the day shift had left and the evening crew came in, throwing him curious glances through the glass walls. Using emails and phone calls, Dorado reshuffled assignments and then turned to the group's case reports. His eyes burned with tiredness by the time he got to the last folder. He flipped through it quickly, perusing more than reading about the roundup of some fake ID producers. Nothing indicated any relation to their task force. The yellow post-it note taped high near the fold line of the folder read,
“The Thai Restaurant, Pentagon Row, Wed. night, 8:30. O.”

Dorado studied the note for a moment. He couldn't be sure it was meant for him yet all of the task force knew he looked over the final reports. He glanced at his watch, seven-thirty. He'd make it if he left soon.

Still crowded, hot, humid air filled the subway station long after rush hours along the gray narrow walkways as the white train doors opened at Pentagon City Station. The summer nights brought out the locals and the tourists to celebrate the long daylight hours. Like most of the old stations, the dirty cave-like pedestrian tunnels and stairways functioned but clearly needed renovation to allow for better crowd flow and air handling. Dorado couldn’t remember the last time the escalators worked as everyone trudged up the iron steps to the exit level, itself a subbasement of the aging Pentagon City Mall.

The investigator part of him noticed the flow patterns and choke points around two-man wide stairways, lit plastic signs and dirt-blackened escalators. The air seemed stale despite the presence of several air scrubbers near the two stairways and in the upper floor. God help us if a bomb ever went off in here, he thought. The late 1990s through 2015 saw several bombings and attempted bombings in train and subway stations in Europe, Russia, and Japan and in some of the U.S. cities but so far not in DC. Metro Police beefed up patrols but the stations’ own antiquated, soaring architecture and wide exit areas was the biggest security nightmare.

It only took a few minutes to exit the station into the lower section of the shopping mall. He dodged tourists, children’s groups and commuters through the white and chrome food court area. The lines to each of the food chains were ten deep or more. Pentagon City had lost some of its upscale image to the malls in Fairfax and Tyson, but was still a frequent stop on most tour groups. He heard five different languages from the crowd as he maneuvered around the edges of the court, past the hair salon and banking area, down the long featureless white corridor and out to the half empty parking garage.