Independence Day Plague (33 page)

Suddenly all four officers had pistols out, trained on the frightened crowd. A few small screams filled the air. The fat tourist stopped. The black officer continued. “We can’t let you leave until we ascertain what's in that spray. For now, you must remain quarantined in the station. Anyone who attempts to leave will be shot.” He pointed the gun up, and raised one hand, palm up in supplication. “There’s no need to panic. We need all of you to go back down the stairs. Grab a seat somewhere and wait. We’ll let you know when it is safe to leave.

A few turned and began to slowly file back down the escalators and stairs. Finally, the leader lowered his gun, returned it to its holster and closed his eyes. Mitchell saw him clench his jaw and watched sweat beads form on his bald head. He barked at the four others. “No one in or out of the station until further notice!”

Tufts of people gathered on the edges of the opposite streets and along the back of the Archives Building. They stood swaying and talking while they watched the show on the plaza. Four other uniformed cops roughly pushed through the tight group at the stoplight and crossed the now empty street on the heels of another plainclothes officer. The newer group moved together towards the station entrance, the short man turned to the others and barked out orders. "Clear the place. Get everyone one hundred yards back."

Although the other bystanders began to shift across the street, Mitchell made slow movements of packing his food and com-unit away, listening to the tow commanders argue.

The smaller man quickly stomped up to the tall man, red from exertion. His shouts echoed off the white granite of the plaza. “Taylor, what the hell are you doing?” he jabbed a finger at the retreating backs. “Let those people go goddamn it so we can get in there and find out what happened.”

“
That’s not the procedure, Cardell. We've called HAZMAT in. They need to assess the situation before we can release anyone.” He turned away and called out to the slowly retreating fat man slowly retreating down the steps. “Hey, you! Guy in the red shirt.”

The fat man stopped, his scrawny wife still beside him. “What?”

“
What’s your name?”

“
Fred, Fred Patterson.”

The black officer smiled, voice calm. “Fred, I need your help controlling the situation down there man. Get the stationmaster to call the DC police and ask to be patched through to Joe Taylor. Can you do that, man?”

The fat man nodded, “Yeah, okay.”

The officer continued. “I also need you to help keep things calm. Everything’s going to be all right, Okay? The sooner you help us out, the sooner we can let everyone go.

“
Yeah, what can I do?” The man’s voice wavered and he took a deep breath.

“
Start making a list of names of the people down there. We’re going to need that later. When I need more, I’ll call you on the stationmaster’s phone.”

“
Yeah, right, okay.” He replied then turned back to the shadow depths.

Cardell pushed on Taylor’s shoulder shoving him back around. “Are you fucking nuts? Don’t tell me procedures. I read the damn email. The terrorist’s note said the fluid was harmless.” He turned to the uniformed men nearby. “You there, holster your weapon and let those people go.” The few stragglers waiting to go downstairs turned and watched the men. “Come on out, we’ve got to get down there to investigate.”

“
Ignore that order!” Taylor bellowed, the voice bouncing off the nearby white buildings. He drew himself upright, towering over Cardell. His voice came out in quiet but powerful. “No fucking person comes out of that subway until HAZMAT is here!”

Cardell bristled, “How dare you talk to me that way? By the terrorist’s own admission, there is nothing harmful down there.”

“
No sir, we follow protocol. The contaminated personnel stay put.”

“
I’ll have you up on charges for insubordination.”

Taylor grinned tightly, “You do that. Meantime, if you enter the damn station, you don’t come out again until HAZMAT has stripped and cleared you.”

Dorado arrived, jumping the bike up onto the plaza area as the first new crews rushed around the water wall memorial and moved towards the police line. The movement of the media encouraged the crowds who then began to flow across the street. The cameramen and reporters pushed at the police barricade along the street and in front of the water wall, cameras rolling and people shouting at the few stragglers returning to the station. Dorado moved towards Taylor and Cardell, “What’s the situation?”

Cardell turned towards Dorado, jabbing his finger towards Taylor. “That officer almost shot innocent civilians!”

Taylor turned towards Dorado, “Some people tried to leave. We used minimal force to get the situation under control.”

“
For Christ’s sake! You should have let those people go.”

Dorado swung towards the smaller man, fighting to keep his temper. “Taylor followed protocol for a hazardous situation. No one in or out of the contaminated area until we identify the problem.” Dorado snarled back. “I suggest you get back to the Monument area and take care of that gang problem. Taylor’s in charge here.”

“
This isn’t the last of this.” Cardell snapped as he stalked off.

Dorado turned towards Taylor, ignoring the retreating man. “Olsen called HAZMAT as soon as we got the notice. They’re on their way.”

Taylor nodded, eyes watching the crowd. One cameraman stepped around the sawhorse and ribbon barrier, moving towards the officers at the entrance. “Get that man back behind the line!” he shouted as one officer pushed the newsman back. The first of the red HAZMAT trucks rolled around the corner and the media flocked over to them, cameras whirling.

Dorado grimaced. “Spread the word without using the com-units. No one talks to the media. They say nothing. Otherwise we’ll have a panic on our hands.” He looked around the large plaza at the white gleaming buildings. “The bank's got cameras over the entrance. Olsen can see if she can access their feed. I’m willing to bet the bastard’s here somewhere, watching the show.”

“
Something you should know, boss.” Taylor spoke quietly. He leaned in. “Are you sending the email threats out over the police units?”

Dorado looked at him, stunned for a moment, “No, why?”

“
Cardell told me the terrorist said the fluid was harmless. As OIC, I wasn’t given that information. How did he know it?”

“
That’s a very good question.” Dorado grimaced. “The bastard’s got a spy in Computer Control feeding him information.”

“
Thought you should know.”

“
Yeah thanks. Nothing we can do about it now but I’ll sure as hell follow up on it later.”

Dorado walked over to the HAZMAT vehicle as the men donned their red suits. The leader, Frank Ortega wriggled halfway into his suit as Dorado approached. The two men shook hands then Ortega pulled on the overcoat, pressing the Velcro seals shut. "You boys are keeping us pretty busy lately.”

Dorado replied. “Frank, the terrorist’s email said the substance was harmless so let’s test it first before putting anyone through decontamination. If we can handle this quietly as someone's idea of a joke, the media won't give it too much air time and start a panic.”

“
Any idea what we’re looking for?”

“
A biological, possibly a virus.”

His face was grim when he nodded. “We can run a quick spectrum analysis for biological material in the truck. We get a hit on the presence of some biological material on any dirty areas but once we get a sample of the fluid, we can test it for large numbers of just one type of bug. All it will say is that we have large amounts of protein and DNA. A quick microscope check will tell us if the bug is bacteria. If it is a virus, we can't identify it in the field. We’ll have to quarantine everyone then and do a complete site cleanup. Do you know how many people are down there?”

“
Station Master’s working up a list but I’m guessing about 350 or so.”

“
Shit. DC General Hospital is on alert for a quarantine situation but they can’t handle that many folks. We’ll have to bring in Johns Hopkins as well. If the contamination’s that high then we’re almost fucked already.”

“
Let’s hope we don’t need to quarantine them then.”

The trip back to the Mall area included thirty-five minutes of standing in line at the security checkpoint. As he waited for his bag inspection, one of the brown-uniformed Park Police officers repeatedly glared at him, frowning. He pushed the cap farther down over his head, hunched his shoulders and turned his head downward. Once past the metal detectors, the inspector poked through the backpack without glancing up. The inspector spoke, “Move on” and shoved the bag aside. Picking it up, Mitchell quickly left the white tent area. He turned sideways a few steps beyond the tent pole and leaned down to tie his shoe while watching the frowning officer. The man opened his personal com unit while glancing in his direction. Mitchell stood up quickly, adjusting the backpack on his shoulder and then took off into the crowd in a quick pace. Once inside the Mall, the sea of humanity swept him up and pushed him further down the gravel and dirt lane. Stopping proved impossible unless he sidestepped close to one of the fences delineating the different areas.

He swallowed down the panic rising in his throat. Glancing at his watch, he gritted his teeth. The next message needed to go in seven minutes. He looked around for relatively quiet place to pull the next com unit out. The stake and wire half fence at his back separated the walkway from the craft area while in front; the huge white food tent loomed with ten lines of waiting customers. He pushed through to the back of the food tent, near the garbage cans. Despite the flies and stench of food and beer, a few people lingered in the open spaces around the back. He ignored them and turned towards the tent, quickly unzipping the backpack. A force bumped into him and he fell into the side of the tent before he could regain his footing.

“
Sorry guy” the blond teenager grinned and ran back to three other kids waiting.

Teeth clenched in frustration. Mitchell pulled the mini-com out and zipped the pack up. The false bottom lid flapped open on its hinge but he only pushed the wrapped food over the top. He'd fix the bottom later. He scanned the area, barely seeing the crafts area tucked into the tree line that separated the street area from the central open grassy Mall. Twenty small demonstration booths dotted the long area, corded off from the main gravel path.

He forced his way through the crowd flow on the sidewalk to enter the craft area. Once inside, the crowds lessened to a slightly more spacious cluster. He followed the flow of foot traffic deeper among the booths, making frequent nervous glances at his watch. Finally, as four families gathered around a weaver, watching the craftsman shift and thread the string on the six-foot loom, Mitchell opened the com-unit, checking the signal strength that was small but adequate. He pulled the email up for a final check and then pushed send.

As with the other com-units, Mitchell looked around for a way to dispose of it immediately. An overflowing garbage can sat in one corner lodged between a doll seller and an exhibit of native instruments. Yet the machine had a value as collateral evidence if found. He walked over to the doll seller, standing at the edge of the table already crowded by visitors. Silently he set the com-unit down on the corner then shifted his bag. He picked one cloth doll up to examine then placed it back on top of the com-unit, then turned and walked away.

A child’s voice rose, “Hey mister, you forgot your phone. Hey mister!”

Ignoring the voice, he quickened his pace as he slipped out of the corded area and back into the main flow of the Folklife traffic.

Dorado finally ordered the release of the surly subway passengers from Navy/Archives station by 2:00 after each had signed their name and address to a list. The HAZMAT workers confirmed that the fluid contained only harmless saline water. Upon entering the station, he looked over the large, curving honeycombed design of the place. Taylor walked with him over to where Ortega stood on the train platform near the three-foot wall. Metal framed plastic advertisement signs broke up the wall area. The fractured plastic on this sign was in four different pieces with the light bulbs inside blown out. Four other signs had similar cracked plastic facades and broken glass around their base.

Ortega pointed at the palm size box and long tubular attachment hanging inside the frame at the top of the five-foot sign. "It's a simple device. A small explosive blew a hole in the plastic, allowing the spray a full 180-degree path. Anyone nearby was going to get hit with the spray."

The men looked closer. Dorado sighed and touched the phone piece in his ear. "Com Control, this is Dorado, get me in touch with Henderson at Metro Central Police Command."

He paused for a few moments before continuing. His voice reverberated across the train tracks as he spoke into the headpiece. “Yes, you can start the trains through Navy/Archives but I want all the stations swept again. Use the dogs. That includes this station, Arlington Cemetery, L’Enfant, Federal Triangle and Gallery Place/Chinatown stations.” He paused, listening to the response. “I don’t give a damn how stretched you are. Get men in there and search the places again. Terrorists stay very loyal to one method. Check the damn advertisement signs. Rip them apart if you have to.”

Taylor stood nearby, examining the hole. “I’m surprised the dogs didn’t pick up on the C-4. I know it was a small amount but they’re trained to be incredibly sensitive.”