“I do. I’m trying to get access to a software company’s beta test. It’s an image-reading search software.” Smith filled Marty in on the problem, using the same innocuous story that he was looking for a colleague. “Have you heard of this? Can Google images do this as well?”
“I’ve heard of it, and that company’s work is very exciting. And no, Google images won’t do that. Google searches the Internet for keywords in text and then shows you where that text is located. So if I put up a picture of us on a blog site and I caption the photo with our names, Google images will read the text under the photo, not the photo itself. But the software you mentioned will read the image’s actual pixels and then search the Internet for a pixel match. Great stuff.”
Smith felt a small surge of hope. “So it’s almost like reverse engineering. If I have a name but no photo I search Google images to obtain one, but with a photo and no name I use this software to locate the photo and then find the name.”
“Yes. Is that what you need?”
“That’s exactly what I need. Do you think you can do it? I’m sending you a jpeg of the photo that I need analyzed.”
“Let me work on it and get back to you.”
Smith crawled into the shower, loving the feel of the hot water cascading down his back. He closed his eyes and, unbidden, thought of the woman and her air of determination. She reminded him of another determined woman he knew. He turned and held his face up to the spray. A series of images ran through his mind’s eye. Russell grinning at him as they climbed into a vintage car that Peter Howell drove, Howell himself wearing a disguise as he chauffeured them around, Russell standing over him as she fired back at a double agent bent on killing him, Russell piloting a helicopter. The thought came to him, what if the woman in the photo was an agent herself? Perhaps MI6, or other? That would explain the Internet’s complete lack of information on her. He switched off the water and stepped out, grabbing at a nearby towel.
Ten minutes later he was back at the computer, keying in “Dattar” and the names of security agencies the world over when his cell phone rang. He picked it up to hear the excited voice of Marty.
“I’m in! I cracked their passwords.”
Smith felt a surge of excitement. “And? Did you find the photo?”
“The software is wonderful! A piece of art.”
Smith did his best to keep the frustration from his voice. “Okay, but I need to find the woman. Did you run the photo?”
“Yes, but it didn’t get a hit. The photo is too blurry. Worthless actually. And the software only scanned 450 million images, though, so only a tiny portion of the Internet. The lag is understandable. They’re working on inputting more, but it’s time consuming.”
Smith was surprised at the depth of his disappointment. The image-search software was his only hope. “Is that software looking for the entire photo?”
“Yes. I told you, it looks for a pixel match.” Marty sounded slightly frustrated himself at Smith’s ignorance.
“Can you focus it on her face and search for that section alone?”
Smith heard Marty’s raspy breathing through the phone. “The software does that already.”
“Can you make it search for her photo in areas that aren’t already included in their database?”
“Maybe.”
“Can you try?”
“Okay, but I’m going to have to alter the registry. That’s going to take some time.”
“I really need this. I’m afraid the woman is in danger. There must be a photo of her face on the Internet, just not this particular photo.”
“She looks like she runs a company or something,” Marty said. “I really like her face, but she looks angry.”
“Maybe ‘determined’ is a better word?”
“No. Angry. Like she’s mad about something. She’s not smiling. Women usually smile a lot.” Marty surprised him again. As long as Smith had known him he hadn’t commented on the social aspect of anyone else. Yet he still had it wrong. The woman did not look angry.
“Thanks for helping me.”
“I always help you,” Marty said, in a matter-of-fact way.
Smith hung up feeling a bit more optimistic than before. He abandoned his search, logged into his e-mail, and read a note from Russell informing him that the refrigerator swab had arrived at George Mason. He called her. “Care to join me? We can look at the swab together.”
“You’re on.”
“Can you pick me up at the Four Seasons? In an armored car? I’m surrounded by reporters all waiting to get my photo.”
“I’ll be happy to pick you up, but how about I leave the armored car parked and use my own. Last I heard no one needed bulletproof glass to ward off a camera.”
“I’d really appreciate it if you came in an armored car.”
Russell was silent a moment. “Want to tell me what’s going on?”
“I was entering the back door of the Four Seasons when someone shot at me. They missed. I feel the need for more protection.”
“If Covert-One’s involved, perhaps you should let me know as well. We can pool our resources.”
“I’ll bear it in mind. But for now, I’m feeling a bit like a target.”
“I’ll bring a car and an Uzi. Will that make you feel better?”
“You have no idea.”
Twenty minutes later Russell called from the lower-level parking lot.
“I’m in a black sedan parked directly in front of the parking garage elevator. The passenger door will be ajar. When the elevator doors open, just jump in.”
Smith changed from his uniform back to his black civilian clothes. The different attire might buy him a couple of seconds if the attacker was watching for a man in uniform. He wished that he had a hat and sunglasses to help disguise his face. He grabbed the car key and laptop, and took the elevator to the parking level, bypassing the lobby and emerging into a dank lower level that consisted of concrete and autos. It smelled like damp earth and exhaust fumes. A black sedan, its door open, idled in front of him. He ducked into the passenger seat and slammed the door behind him. The car started moving the second the door engaged.
Russell turned to look at him. Her blond hair was longer than he remembered and streaked with bleached strands among the golden ones, as if she’d been out in the sun. Her brown eyes were arresting on someone with such light-colored hair, and when she smiled at him, she seemed genuinely happy to see him. His heart clutched a bit at that. Perhaps General Randolph was right. He did have people who cared about him.
“It’s good to see you. I‘m glad you’re all right,” Russell said, as if she’d read his thoughts.
“It’s good to see you too.”
She nodded and directed her attention to driving, pulling up to a gated exit and honking. The gate went up and they drove out of the lot into the late afternoon light. Smith scanned the area, looking for possible snipers, but he doubted he’d actually spot anything. Good snipers wouldn’t set up in a place where they could be located.
“Did you bring the Uzi?” Smith said, keeping his voice light. Russell pointed a thumb to the backseat. Smith twisted to look. An Uzi lay there. “I thought you were joking.”
Russell shook her head. “I never joke about guns.”
“Is this a company car?”
“Yes. One of the fleet we have at our disposal.” She gave him a sideways glance. “You want to tell me what’s up? The Grand Royal is a long, long way from here and yet you’re targeted as you walk into the hotel.” He told her about the photos and Covert-One’s ongoing attempts to find both the woman and Howell.
“Have you seen or heard from Howell?” he asked. Russell shook her head.
“Not at all, but that isn’t unusual. We’re not in casual contact.”
“I’m not thrilled that Dattar is out there somewhere. Feels dangerous and feels like he’s targeting me, both there and here, but to arrange a second hit so far from the first and so quickly would imply that he’s a bigger pla
yer than I think. ”
Russell sighed. “I agree. His sphere of influence never seemed to reach this far, but it’s dangerous to have him running free. Half the agencies in Europe are looking for him, but they’ve found nothing. He’s vanished.” Smith gazed out the passenger window and thought about the woman, the coolers, and Dattar.
Fifty minutes later they turned into George Mason University’s laboratory. Stepping out of the car left Smith feeling too exposed, so he jogged to the modern entrance. Russell caught up behind him.
His friend, Professor Jinchu Ohnara, met them at the entrance to the biochemical lab. In his sixties, slight, with a full head of gray hair, and bright brown eyes, Ohnara was the leading genetic researcher on the East Coast. His research into DNA parsing was praised the world over. Smith had worked with him on a short-term project while a student at UCLA and still relied on him when he needed a fresh perspective on established science.
“Very happy to see you made it out of the hotel alive,” Ohnara said as he shook Smith’s hand.
“Did everyone see me hanging from the ledge?”
Ohnara nodded. “Everyone.”
“My fifteen minutes of fame. May I introduce Randi Russell? She works in the public health sector of the government.” Smith delivered the cover identity Russell had suggested.
“A pleasure. I can see why a public health official would be interested in this particular bacteria.”
Russell frowned. “That sounds ominous. You found something disturbing?”
Ohnara nodded. “Well, it’s something that can be detrimental to the public’s health in certain parts of the world.” He looked at Smith. “When the specimen arrived, I took a look at it. I think you should too.” He waved Smith into the lab. A slight scent of isopropyl alcohol hung in the air, the smell growing stronger as they stepped inside.
“You didn’t open it in the containment lab?” Smith had specifically requested that Ohnara alone handle the specimen and that he do it in a controlled setting.
“I did. When I was done I transferred the sample to a biosafety box, much like a glove box. It has its own airflow system. You won’t be handling it, merely looking at it.” Ohnara gave him a glance filled with speculation. “I handled it at the appropriate level for the avian virus. Is there a reason to take even higher precautions?”
“I’m not sure what it is. In this day and age…” Smith let his voice trail off.
Ohnara sighed. “You don’t have to tell me. Virulent, antibiotic-resistant bacteria will someday be the death of us all, I’m afraid, but I saw nothing that rose to the level of, say, the Ebola virus. You will, though, have to suit up.”
All three suited up in disposable suits, gloves, and shoe covers. Ohnara handed them respirators as well. When they were done, Ohnara used a key card to open a locked door into another, sealed area of the lab and waved Smith to the right. Near the far wall was a square island with stools arranged around it. A large see-through cube on the island encased a microscope. Rubber gloves extended into the box through sealed holes and provided access to it, while built-in viewers, one on each side of the cube, allowed several people to view the slide at once. A long tube extended into the box where a scientist could insert a sample, move it into position, and reseal the entrance. Smith could see that a slide was already loaded.
“Tell me what you think,” Ohnara said. “Ms. Russell, feel free to look through one of the other viewers.”
Smith put his eyes to the viewer and the slide immediately sprang into focus. Several rod-shaped bacteria presented, intermingled with another form that he didn’t recognize. He focused on the rod-shaped creatures.
“Vibrio cholerae,” he said. “It’s the bacteria that causes cholera. This other bacterium, the one that’s not moving, is floating around with an attached strain of H5N1 virus.” Smith directed his last statement at Russell before returning his attention to Ohnara. “Is the bird flu virus mutated in any way?”
“You asked me to check and from what I can see, it’s not.”
Thank God for that, Smith thought. But even regular bird flu was so virulent that the presence of it in the swab was cause for worry. He watched the sample for a moment. The bacteria moved.
“Still alive,” Smith said. While he watched, one bacterium split in two. “They seem to be multiplying.”
“They didn’t at first, but now they are, and faster than I’ve ever seen before. Where did this come from?” Ohnara asked.
“A refrigerator light in an outlying suburb.” Russell supplied the information.
“Odd place to find cholera bacteria and bird flu. Did they just wash it? Wipe the light down with a wet rag? Cholera needs water to grow.”
Russell shook her head. “No, nothing like that. We believe it was placed there deliberately. I’ve only heard of cholera in hot weather climates. Will it survive in the cold?”
“Oh yes. It can survive several days in freezing temperatures. But warmth really sets it off. When I first loaded a small portion of the swab onto the dish the cholera was dormant, probably from the cool refrigerated air, but since warming up it has really started to multiply.”
“And the bird flu virus?”
“It died as readily as the cholera strain. Bird flu isn’t readily transmissible through the air, either, though we’ve confirmed a couple of cases that may have been human to human transmission. They were caretakers and family members all exposed to the same birds that carried the disease in the first place. Avian flu’s nasty, to be sure, but encased in the gel as it is, in such minute amounts, and the fragility that I’m seeing makes it not likely to be transmitted to people.”
“But it is possible, isn’t it?” Russell said.
“Possible, yes. Probable, no. The cholera is the more worrisome factor here. I don’t like it.”
Smith didn’t either. The bacteria became more active even as he watched them. In contrast, the strange species sat unmoving.
“What’s the other species that I see? The one with the H5N1 attached to it?” he asked.
“Shewanella MR-1. It’s fascinating and quite common in the DC area. A large source is right here in the silt at the bottom of the Potomac River, and we’ve been analyzing it in our labs for a year now. Let me switch up to the atomic force microscope.” While Smith watched, the image changed and the strange bacteria sprang into finer focus. Long, hair-like strands extended from the sides of the creature.
“Ahh, thank you. I see the pili growing from it.”
“Are those a type of cilia?” Russell asked.
“Yes, but these are only three to five nanometers in width. Ten thousand times finer than a human hair. The atomic microscope is necessary to see them. We know that these pili are electrically conductive microbial nanowires. Almost like fine wire filament. We’ve determined that they can conduct electricity even underwater and in anaerobic environments.”
“Is it another microbial fuel cell? Like Geobacter?” Smith said.
Ohnara peered into a second viewer. “Have you worked with MFCs?”
Smith had, but only on a superficial level. “Not much. I’ve heard that there have been some recent breakthroughs in our understanding of how they function.”
“Very exciting breakthroughs. We now know that electrons are moving down those wires, but what the bacteria do with the electrons and what their purpose is still remains a mystery. Nevertheless, they’re a potential power source and we’re extremely excited about the possibility that they can create enough energy on their own to charge batteries. Very beneficial bacteria.”
Smith refocused on the cholera. “Will freezing temperatures slow the cholera’s multiplication? Can you freeze this sample? Buy me some time to investigate this further?”
Ohnara stepped away from the viewer. “Let’s take it to zero centigrade and see.”
“Is there a possibility that this came from the kitchen faucet? That someone dumped this into the water supply?” Russell asked the question.
Ohnara p
ulled over a stool on rollers and sat down. He leveled a serious stare at her. “Cholera is dangerous, no doubt, but it would take a tremendously strong strain to overcome our Western methods of disinfection. Chlorine kills it, and boiling does too.”
“What good does it do to wipe cholera in a refrigerator, then?” Russell said.
Ohnara looked perplexed. “I suppose it would spread to a person if the bacteria were placed on the mouth of something one drank. Like a water bottle, for instance, but it’s a fairly weak way to injure someone and it’s not a way to injure a large number of people. For that you need a contaminated water source that manages to avoid treatment, as we’ve seen in areas like Haiti. Even then, while thousands can die from lack of treatment, they most often initially contract it through the water source. It’s not normally transferred from person to person.”
Smith stepped back. “But the rapid multiplication and the viral strain attached are worrisome and unusual. Perhaps this is a form of super cholera?”
Ohnara tilted his hand back and forth. “Perhaps, perhaps not. Some of the sample succumbed as I transferred it to the dish, so it’s far from robust. If you like, I can subject it to the standard chemicals that it would encounter during our current water treatment protocols. See if it manages to survive.”
Smith nodded. “I’d appreciate that.”
Russell looked back into the viewer. “Dr. Ohnara, is it possible to type the strain? Determine where these bacteria originated?”
Ohnara nodded. “I already did that. They match that found in sections of India and Pakistan.”
Russell’s head shot up and Smith saw the color drain from her face. “Did you say Pakistan?”
“I did. Is that significant?”
“That’s a known area of concern for terrorism,” Smith said, deliberately keeping his voice neutral. He trusted Ohnara to retain a confidence, but saw no need to draw the lines between Pakistan, the escaped Dattar, and a virulent strain of cholera. He’d ask Klein to get him some more information on the stolen biomaterial. Perhaps this particular strain was in one of the coolers.