Brand pointed at Smith. “That’s Lieutenant Colonel Jon Smith of USAMRIID. Get those cuffs off him. Now. We’re going to need his assistance in clearing the gas.”
“Alleged gas,” Manderi said. “And maybe you don’t get it. I’m with the NYPD. A special operations terrorism unit. The NYPD has jurisdiction over hazmat incidents in the subway. We decide what gets cleaned up, and the Fire Department does the rest. We got jurisdiction here.”
Brand stepped closer. “If you’re with NYPD terrorism, why aren’t you at the 215th Street station with the rest of the unit? They’re up there battling a possible terrorist incident.”
“Who do you think you are, questioning me?” Manderi said.
“I’m with the Department of Homeland Security. The DHS trumps you when it comes to a domestic terrorism incident. While NYPD should be handling hazmat incidents, it’s clear that you’re screwing up. If Colonel Smith says there’s mustard gas down there, then there is.” He turned to Carter.
“In addition to the gas, there’s a bacterial agent that’s been applied to the third rail. A man named Ohnara is on his way to assist. He’s an expert.”
Carter nodded, looked at Manderi, gave a slight shrug, and he and Rolly headed to the rear of the truck.
Brand pointed at Manderi. “I don’t know who or what this special operations unit is that you claim to be a part of, but you’d better get those cuffs off that man now or the only special operations you’ll be handling will be at a desk in a file room. Get it?”
“I’ll be checking on you, too. Then we’ll see who runs this operation,” Manderi said.
“You do that. But I want those cuffs off him.”
Manderi was breathing heavily. He looked down at Smith with loathing, but Smith was relieved to see him pull the cuff keys out of his pocket. Smith breathed a sigh as the tight metal bands fell from his wrists. He sat up, rubbing them, and looked at Brand.
“Thanks,” he said.
Brand nodded. “How bad is it?”
Smith stood up. For a moment his head began to swim and a slight chill ran through him. The chill felt like the beginning of a fever.
“The gassing?”
Brand shook his head. “The bacteria.”
“Bad. The subway lit up again for twenty minutes. Long enough to give the carrier bacteria a hefty boost. You’ll need to get a crew down on the rails. Have them bring brushes and start brushing every inch of the third rail. The biofilm colonizing activity needs to be disrupted.”
Brand frowned. “Wouldn’t a chemical wash be better?”
Smith shook his head. “Won’t work. Biofilms are like plaque on your teeth. When you brush or floss, you are really disrupting the activity. Some washes help, sure, but the plaque can survive it, and once it colonizes, it becomes impenetrable.”
“Tartar.”
Smith nodded. “Exactly. Tartar on your teeth is a hardened biofilm. Let’s not let it get to that stage. And if the rail is still surrounded by water after you’re done brushing, you can turn it on and heat it up. The bacteria that haven’t yet colonized will die in the heat. That’s a risky move, though, because the bacteria will start to feed off the rail.”
“I’ll get on it. Anything else we can do?”
“The FBI has a friend of mine in custody, Andreas Beckmann. Can you spring him?”
Brand nodded. “Yes, Klein’s already contacted me about that. Sorry, we were unaware that you were running an operation, or we wouldn’t have interfered. I’ll handle it.”
Smith waved at Manderi. “And can you make him get lost?”
Brand snorted. “That, my friend, is too much to ask. But you want to suit up and join?”
Smith shook his head. “I need to hook back up with Russell and find Dattar. For all we know, he could be placing more at another location. I sent her back in the tunnel. I’ll go to the previous stop. Can you take me there?”
Brand opened the driver’s side door of the sedan and waved Smith to the passenger side. “Get in.”
Smith hesitated. “I’ve been gassed. These pants are from one of the dead guys, but I’d feel a whole lot better with some fresh clothes. I put these on before I completed washing off the vapor.”
Brand nodded. “Get in. I’ll call ahead and have someone meet us there with some clothes.”
“And a gun,” Smith said.
“Definitely a gun,” Brand replied.
53
HARCOURT KICKED NOLAN in the shoulder. “Get up,” he said. Nolan moaned and rolled over. Russell shook from head to toe but did her best to keep focused and stay conscious.
“She’s bleeding,” she said.
“That’s her fault.” Harcourt kept his gun pointed at Russell. “Get up.”
Russell rose and stumbled.
“Bacteria get to you?” He smirked.
“Call the NYPD. I’ll go in with them,” she said.
“Maybe you don’t get it. You’re not going to get out of this one.”
At that moment Russell’s mind settled. She needed to get away from Harcourt, and she needed to be strong to do it. She settled her shaking limbs, but only succeeded for a second. They started up again the moment she turned her attention back to Harcourt. She moved until her back was against a wall and bent her knees. The knife that she kept in a holder was at her ankle, but it was of no use while her hands were cuffed behind her back.
Nolan moved and Harcourt kicked her again.
“Get up. Time to move some money around.”
Nolan sat. Her left eye was blackened and dried blood stained her upper lip and chin where her nose had bled.
“It will be traced to you,” she said.
“Gold bullion won’t. You’re going to get some more.”
Nolan glanced at Russell. “Is he alive?”
Russell nodded.
Relief washed over Nolan’s face. She put a hand on the wall and rose unsteadily. When she was upright, Harcourt waved to the stairs with the gun.
“Move,” he said. He turned his weapon on Russell. He was going to kill her.
Her heart began racing, and the chills that were racking her body actually stopped for a moment as the adrenaline in her system overrode everything else. She looked up and spotted a security camera high above his head and behind him.
“There’s a camera. You shoot me here and the whole world will see it.”
He glanced back at it. “Dream on. That camera’s not working. MTA’s security team is way behind schedule and overbudget. I should know. As special liaison to the NYPD, it’s my job to know where the security weaknesses are. I know a lot.”
He smirked at her and aimed at her heart. She scrambled for another excuse to stop him from shooting.
“Smith knows that I wasn’t shot. They find a bullet in me, they’ll trace it to you,” Russell said.
“Say goodnight,” he said. She heard the noise of a siren, coming fast. Or maybe it was the roaring of her own ears as the blood rushed to her head. The light dimmed and she battled against passing out. The blackness deepened, and she thought with relief that at least she wouldn’t see the bullet coming.
Harcourt shot her, point blank.
It was the second hit the vest had taken, and she could feel the punch but also heard the vest shred with the impact. She flew back and her head hit the ground. A wet liquid started at her shoulder and spread across her chest. Blood, she thought. The vest must have allowed the bullet through. She lay on the cold stone. Harcourt was hauling Nolan up the stairs when he looked back and aimed again at Russell. He’s going to finish me off, she thought.
She heard a noise on the platform behind her and looked over to see Howell, his face covered in oozing blisters and the skin around his eyes bulging. He swayed a bit as he aimed a weapon at Harcourt. He fired. Harcourt winced as bits of the wall near his face broke off and sprayed him. He turned and hustled up the stairs, dragging Nolan with him. Howell fired again, but the only visible part of Harcourt was the back of his legs. The shot didn
’t land.
“Russell, are you alive? I can’t see,” Howell said. Russell nodded and then realized that Howell probably couldn’t see the motion. She tried to formulate a thank-you, but she couldn’t get her lips to move. Howell took a step nearer to her and then dropped to his knees. “Smith said it would be bad, but I’m afraid he underestimated it.”
Howell slowly slumped to the ground.
The rushing noise filled her ears and she floated in the space between full awareness and unconsciousness. She wasn’t sure how long she hovered in that state before she felt a warm, live human arm wrap itself around her shoulders and pull her to her feet. She opened her eyes again, expecting to see black, but was rewarded with a view of Smith’s face as he lifted her off the cement. He looked like hell and she wanted to tell him that and about Harcourt and Nolan, but her voice failed to function. Or maybe it did function and she just didn’t hear it, because he said, “You don’t look so good yourself.”
“You’re right. Harcourt’s the mole,” she said.
“Can you walk?”
She was too tired to respond. She started walking. Each step required her entire concentration. She leaned on Smith’s arm and kept moving.
“I’m going to get you into a car, and Agent Brand is going to get you to a hospital.”
She shook her head but couldn’t tell if he noticed, so she stopped to get his attention.
“Howell.”
Smith nodded. “I saw him. Klein’s arranging to quietly remove him from the platform and get him to a hospital. Which is where you’re going as well.”
“No hospitals. I could have contracted the mutant virus and this illness could be the flu starting all over again. I could be contagious. Take me someplace where I can be alone.”
He frowned. “You need a hospital. They can quarantine you.”
“No,” she said. “Did that already. It’s not safe.”
“Yes,” he replied. “I’ll get someone to guard you.”
“Take me where I can be alone. Or let this Brand person take me. But go after Harcourt. Now. He’s the mole and he has Nolan.” Smith’s face took on a vicious look, which was not a word she would normally have applied to him. Russell stumbled against his side and spotted a gun stuck in his waistband. “Do you have another weapon I can use? I hate being unarmed.”
“Brand may have one in the car.”
They were at the stairs, and Russell directed her attention to climbing them. As she rose, the air became fresher and she inhaled. At the top of the exit, Smith pulled her toward a large, unmarked sedan. Brand stepped out.
“This is Agent Brand of the FBI,” Smith said.
“The guitar man,” Russell said.
Brand smiled. “Yes.”
“I could be contagious,” Russell said.
Brand nodded. “I know.”
She looked at Smith. “You could be too.”
“If I find Harcourt, I’ll be sure to spit on him,” Smith said.
“He said he’s going to force her to get some gold bullion. I don’t know where or how.” Smith lowered her to the sidewalk, then turned to Brand.
“If they’re getting gold bullion, then I know where they’re headed. I’ll need a car to get there.”
Brand waved at the sedan. “Take it. I’ll help Ms. Russell.”
Russell fought the waves of nausea as she waited for the ambulance. Then the blinking lights returned and she passed out.
54
SMITH KEPT THE LIGHTS and sirens going as he barreled uptown. He used the car radio and asked for backup for a possible kidnapping at the pawn shop. The response he received heartened him.
“We already have officers at the scene.”
“You do?” Smith said. Perhaps Bilal’s security system had clocked Dattar and Harcourt, and Bilal had called for help.
“Thank you for your report,” the dispatcher said. She clicked off.
Sweat poured into his eyes and he wiped it away. His lids started to itch and he rubbed them lightly. Then his arms followed suit and he ran his nails up and down his bare skin. The gas was starting to do its work.
Ten minutes later he shut down the siren, removed the strobe from the dash and switched off the headlights. He coasted into a spot at the curb and killed the engine. Smith watched a bum stagger down the sidewalk, and cars drove by, but little else moved on the street. The lights in the predominately business block were dark and the stores’ doors were barred and locked. The pawn shop’s neon signs, though, still flashed, and a light glowed through the one window that was still glass, though it was glass block rather than a pane. Bilal’s solar panels were still working, pumping electricity, Smith thought. Bilal was taking no risks with his gold stash.
All of the other windows in the building had been replaced with metal sheets and overlaid with metal. The glass block corresponded to where Smith thought Bilal’s office had been. Smith crawled out of the car, holding his gun down where it wouldn’t be seen. He hitched up his collar and did his best to move slowly. Brand had given him some standard uniform pants and a man’s white undershirt with a dark uniform shirt to wear over it. Smith did up the buttons, hoping to blend better into the darkness. He moved closer to the building, approaching with as little noise as possible.
One lone police cruiser was parked in front, confirming what the dispatcher had said, but Smith thought it was a pathetic response in light of the potential capture of an international terrorist. He stepped into an empty doorway and called Klein.
“I’m in front of a pawn shop in Inwood. Harcourt is the mole and he’s in there with Nolan, moving around Dattar’s money. I called the police, but got one car. Can you get them to send more?”
“The report I’m getting is that the NYPD can’t find anything wrong at the 215th Street station and are heading down to 72nd Street, where a new report claims a sighting of Dattar and two others. They’ve got thirty cruisers and FBI on the scene.”
“Why would Dattar head into the subway? He’d get infected.”
“It’s an anonymous report, but it sounds promising. There’s a dead man name of Manhar who appears to be of Pakistani origin at the top of the stairs, and they received an eyewitness report that someone matching Dattar’s description and two others hustled down the stairs. Dattar was carrying a cooler.”
Smith hesitated. It all sounded correct, yet he still doubted that Dattar would be anywhere near a subway station after the bacteria were placed.
“You’re aware that we think Harcourt is a mole and he’s got a connection to the NYPD? The report could be a plant.”
“We’re aware, but it’s clear that they’ve been pumping water into the 72nd Street station for a while, and it shut down first. Add a dead man’s body and they’re duty bound to investigate.”
“I see your point. It sounds like there’s not much I can do to help down there, but the situation here is bizarre. Only one car when a possible kidnapping is called in? Once Harcourt strong-arms Nolan into handing over the money, he’s going to kill her. He needs to be stopped.”
“I agree, but who called in the report? Perhaps you should confirm that before you go in there with guns blazing.”
“I have no idea who called it in. Where’s Howell?”
“Off to a place where he can recuperate. He’s in bad shape, but the dispatcher told me that he should be dead. Seems the measures you took helped him.”
“Here’s hoping he’s okay. And I agree that going in with guns blazing isn’t the way here. Harcourt will only hold her hostage. Let me reconnoiter. She told me this Bilal has an entire arsenal in there. Maybe he’s already disposed of the Harcourt problem.”
“Fine. Proceed with caution. And remember, they’re going to need you to assist with the decontamination once Dattar is contained.” When Klein rang off, Smith called Marty.
“Can you track Nolan’s computer?” he said.
“It’s off. I’m sorry, Jon.”
Smith’s right wrist began to burn, and he grit
ted his teeth to stop groaning with the pain. His right eye itched, but he resisted the urge to rub it, since it might increase the swelling that was already occurring.
“What about her accounts? Can you see if there’s any activity?”
“I’ve been only able to access one main offshore account. I’ll pull it up. Hang tight.”
Smith remained silent, listening while Marty typed on his keyboard. The burning in his wrist progressed to his elbow and he felt the nerves on his arm begin to react. Then the vision in his right eye began to blur. The blindness was setting in. He felt the beginnings of panic, both at the idea of the pain that he knew was coming and at the thought that he might be completely blind before he could assist Nolan.
“Hurry. I’m in bad shape and getting worse. Dattar used mustard gas on me.” He heard Marty gasp.
“Where are you?”
“At the northern tip of Manhattan. Outside a building that I think has Nolan in it.”
“I’ve got it. Yes, the payments and transfer page is being accessed. Someone’s filling in an online wire transfer form.”
For a moment Smith was distracted from his injuries. “Can you access the source computer?”
“I’m tracking back the cookies now. Hold tight.”
Smith held his breath. In contrast he heard Marty’s heavy breathing through the phone.
“It’s coming from a PC located in the Inwood area of Manhattan.”
“The minute she finishes that transaction, they’ll kill her. Call this in. Get me police backup. Tell them silent approach—there’s a hostage and I don’t want Harcourt to know we’re on the way and possibly kill her, but also warn them that a member of the military is inside so they don’t shoot me.”
“I’ll…”
Smith didn’t wait for the rest. He started running toward the building, shoving the phone into his pocket. His arms burned and his eyes were blurring. He felt the skin of his lids puffing and saw the edge of the blister that was forming at the corner of his right eye. Through all the scorching heat in his arms he still shivered as a chill passed through his body. He was ten feet from the entrance when the staccato sound of gunfire came from within the building.