by Mike Brogan
When Donovan told him the President asked for Donovan to head up this case, Manning laughed and said, “Great! They can fry your sorry ass if it goes wrong.”
Lindee leaned forward and asked, “What are my sister’s chances?”
Donovan nodded for Manning to answer since Manning had handled several abductions and kidnappings successfully. Donovan had handled two in Europe. Both victims died.
“If they want ransom money, our chances are probably better,” Manning said.
“What if they don’t want money?”
“We don’t think your sister’s abductors do,” Donovan said. “They want her expertise from Aberdeen Proving Ground.”
Lindee nodded.
“You saw them take her.”
“Yes. They stepped from the van. A big muscular man with a black beard, and a small thin man with glasses. Both wore dark business suits. They walked down the sidewalk, grabbed Nell from behind, pulled her into the van and drove off. It was over in like ten seconds.”
“Did you see the driver?”
“No. His black hoodie was pulled up.”
“What color van?”
“White. A long white van.”
“Like a plumber’s van?”
“Yes, but different.”
“How?”
“It had big side windows.”
“Like a van for a school or church group?”
“Yes, like that.”
“Remember anything else?”
“The last number of the license was a nine.”
Lindee’s eyes widened as though she just remembered something.
“What’s wrong?” Donovan asked.
“Nell’s husband. Jacob. I have to tell him.”
Donovan saw fear in her eyes. “You want me to notify him?”
“No . . . I should . . .”
Donovan knew about notification of next of kin. He’d been notified the night his wife, Emma, was murdered by an assassin in Brussels. Murdered because I wasn’t there to protect her. I’d been the target. Donovan eventually killed the assassin, Valek Stahl, in a bloody scene at a Dutch windmill. But revenge didn’t ease the pain. Time had eased the pain. A little at a time.
“I’ll call Jacob,” Lindee said.
She dialed with trembling fingers.
“Please hit the speaker button, Lindee,” Donovan said, “so we can assure him we’re doing everything to find her.”
She punched the button.
Donovan also wanted to hear the husband’s reaction. The husband is always a person of interest in the disappearance or murder of a wife. For good reason. He’s guilty sixty-six percent of the time.
Jacob picked up on the third ring.
“Hey Lindee, please don’t tell me Nell maxed out our credit cards!”
She paused. “Jacob . . . I . . .”
“What is it?”
“Ah . . .”
“ - is something wrong?”
“Yes . . .” As Lindee explained what happened, Donovan heard Jacob’s genuine shock and disbelief, and then his anger.
Donovan looked at a photo of Nell Northam. She was a tall, attractive woman with thick brown hair, light-brown eyes, and a friendly, professional demeanor enhanced by large horn-rimmed glasses. She wore a white lab coat and smiled up from a microscope. She looked like what she was - a skilled scientist. And her abductors wanted her skill.
Lindee hung up. “Jacob is taking the next flight from Baltimore.”
“Good,” Donovan said.
Manning asked, “Lindee . . . is everything all right in their marriage?”
Lindee seemed surprised by the question. “They have a wonderful marriage. Surely, you don’t suspect Jacob?”
“No. But we check all possibilities.”
“They love each other. And they have a beautiful young daughter, Mia.”
Drew Manning’s cell phone beeped. He looked at the text message, and frowned.
“State Motor Vehicles just gave me the approximate number of white vans just in Manhattan.”
“How many?”
“Over a thousand.”
FIVE
Nell tried to open her eyes, but couldn’t. Were they glued shut? Was she drugged? She moved her arms and legs a bit. They felt stiff, as though they hadn’t moved in hours.
She remembered the two men grabbing her and dragging her into the van, the big Bull-Neck man pushing her down on the steel floor, banging her head on it, smelling his vile sweat, then smelling the sweet scent of ether, seeing the scalpel, then blacking out.
She managed to open her eyes. She saw a small room. The bull-necked man sat a few feet away ripping greasy meat off a kebob.
She saw knotty pine walls, a stone fireplace and wood floors. A cabin maybe. Through a small window, the moonlight hit the swaying branches of some evergreens.
Where am I? Upstate New York? How far from Manhattan? How long was I unconscious?
What time is it? Her watch was gone. Why’d they take it? Obviously, to disorient her. The watch, embedded in a mother-ofpearl bracelet, was an anniversary gift from her husband, Jacob. She treasured it.
Then she saw the bandage on her right forearm. My God – they removed my microchip implant! The chip had been her one hope. Now Aberdeen could not track her. How had her abductors known about the chip?
She thought about Jacob. He must know by now. Lindee would have told him. He’d be flying to New York after dropping off Mia with his mom.
They would have told the police where I work. The police would tell Homeland Security, the FBI, NSA, and anti-terrorism groups. Her Aberdeen bosses would tell the military chain of command and all federal authorities.
A lot of people were searching for her. Smart, skilled people. She just had to remain patient. Not her best trait. Still, she’d try. But what if the police and government security people couldn’t track the white van?
She had to find a way to escape.
Obviously, they’d kidnapped her for her scientific expertise. The thin man said “we want what’s between your ears.” Her lab experience.
But she saw no hint of a laboratory in the small cabin. So they’d have to drive her to a lab. The drive might offer her a chance to escape.
The small thin man, who seemed to be the boss, walked into the room and punched two digits on his phone. He whispered, “La moshkelah! La taqlaq!”
She had no idea what he’d said, but the language sounded like it might be Arabic.
He hung up, saw she was awake, and walked over to her.
“My name is Mr. Smith. My colleague is Mr. Brown.”
And I’m Queen Elizabeth!
“You will follow us now,” Mr. Smith said. He dabbed his nostril with a clean white handkerchief.
She hesitated and Bull Neck pulled her to her feet.
They led her down a hallway to a painting of a mountain. Mr. Smith moved the painting to the side and placed his left thumb on a wall panel.
She heard a motor click on.
Suddenly the floor she and the men stood on began vibrating. Then an eight-foot-square section of the floor descended with them down into a dark underground shaft with concrete walls.
Fifteen seconds later, the floor stopped, and they stepped off. She couldn’t believe her eyes. She was looking at a sprawling stateof-the-art laboratory brilliantly lit with LED lighting. She saw large centrifuges, vacuum ovens, three spectrophotometers, beakers, pipettes, round bottom flasks, Petri dishes, sterilizers. Other tables held Erlenmeyer flasks, gas burners, stands, and sophisticated, stateof-the-art microscopes.
Long windows overlooked an air-lock laboratory, a decontamination chamber and showers, a room with HazMat suits equipped with self-contained oxygen, plus a vacuum room and ultraviolet light chamber.
It looked as sophisticated as her lab at the US Military’s topsecret Aberdeen Proving Ground in Maryland.
In fact, the lab seemed to replicate much of the lab equipment she worked with every day.
But this
lab was not dedicated to better living through chemistry.
This lab was dedicated to better killing through chemistry.
SIX
“They did what to her?” Donovan asked.
“Sliced open her arm and dug out her microchip implant. Destroyed the chip so we can’t track her!” said Brigadier General Greg Fowl, Nell’s boss at Aberdeen Proving Grounds.
“Where’d you lose track of her?”
“Manhattan. Around 53rd and 9th. Minutes after they grabbed her.”
“How’d they know she had a chip?”
“Ultrasound, I’m betting.”
“Did she have a panic button?”
“Yes. Probably in her purse. But her abduction happened fast, she never had a chance to hit it.”
Donovan said, “We can’t track her phone either. Destroyed.”
“Nell Northam is a terrorist’s gold mine, Donovan. Highly skilled in biological and chemical weaponry. She was obviously betrayed by someone on the inside.”
“Sounds like it.”
“Money buys secrets. Threats do, too,“ General Fowl said. “I gotta go, Donovan. Keep me looped in.”
“I will.”
Donovan hung up and looked over his desk at Nell’s sister, Lindee. His heart went out to her. The attractive young brunette stared out the window, looking more desperate with each minute, as though her sister might not survive this.
Donovan feared the same thing.
FBI Special Agent Drew Manning walked in. “The police are looking at videos of white vans on Manhattan streets, tunnels, and bridges. We’re also looking statewide. The problem is - there are 40,000 vans in New York State, 90% of which are white.”
Donovan figured as much. “Lindee, you mentioned the kidnappers had dark complexions.”
“They looked Hispanic or Middle-Eastern. Black hair. The big muscular man had a black beard and most of his left ear was missing.”
“Can you describe what your sister was wearing?”
“I can show you.” Lindee opened her iPhone. “I took this photo minutes before the men . . .”
It showed Nell wearing a light-blue blouse, navy skirt, and black walking flats.
“May I have your phone a moment?” Manning said. “We’ll blast her photo to all police authorities.”
She handed him her phone.
“Your sister’s Aberdeen experience should work in her favor,” Donovan said.
“How?”
“Her abductors might be less likely to harm her until she helps them.”
“What if she refuses to help?”
“Will she refuse?”
Lindee paused. “Nell can be very stubborn.”
Donovan feared the possibility. On the other hand, maybe it would buy her time, enough time for us to find her.
Lindee checked her watch. “Nell’s husband’s flight should have landed at LaGuardia. Their daughter is at his mother’s home.”
Agent Drew Manning said, “Lindee, we have to be prepared for something.”
Donovan sensed what Manning was about to say.
“To make Nell cooperate, the kidnappers may threaten to harm those close to her.”
Lindee closed her eyes. “You mean Jacob and Mia . . .?”
“Yes. And possibly you.”
The color drained from Lindee’s face. She crossed her arms and sat back.
“Can you stay with a friend for the next few days?” Manning said.
Lindee nodded.
The office door opened and an agent escorted a tall, broad shouldered, dark-haired man in his mid-thirties into the office. The man’s frantic expression told Donovan it was Nell’s husband, Jacob Northam.
Lindee hurried over, hugged him for several seconds, then introduced him.
“Any news?” Jacob asked.
“Sorry, nothing yet,” Donovan said.
“He just called me,” Jacob said.
“Who?”
“The man who took Nell. He said if I involved the police, Nell would die . . . right after she watched the video of our daughter being abducted.”
SEVEN
Nell felt her hope sink as she studied the depth of sophisticated lab equipment – the kind that could create and weaponize a range of chemical and biological weapons capable of annihilating the population of a major US city.
She was trapped in her worst nightmare: held captive by terrorists with weapons of mass destruction.
The small, thin man walked in, sat at his desktop computer, and faced her. He stifled a yawn, revealing nubby, coffee-stained teeth. He dabbed his wet nostril with a fresh white handkerchief and gestured for her to sit on a lab stool facing him.
She sat down.
Obviously, he wanted her assistance with a weapon. She hoped it was one she might somehow disable or weaken without his realizing it. But doing that would be difficult since he seemed suspicious, intelligent, and vigilant.
And what if she refused to help? Obviously, they would torture her until she did what they wanted. But if she pretended to help, she might find a way to sabotage or weaken the weapon.
Something occurred to her. What if she did not know how to do what they wanted? What if she was not the right person for what they needed? Would they believe her? Would they pump her full of sodium pentothal to force information from her?
“Why am I here?”
“To help me enlighten America.”
“About . . .?”
“Injustice against Allah’s people.”
“Caused by whom –?”
“Who else - America’s people, especially your government . . . and Israel, and your pathetic European lackeys.”
She said nothing.
“You’ve desecrated our lands by occupying them for decades. Millions of my fellow Muslims have suffered. Hundreds of thousands have died, including my wife, my daughter, and a brother.”
“I’m sorry for your loss.”
“Your apology is sixteen years too late! So, until Americans leave our land, Americans will die in your land. Quid quo pro, Doctor. Americans need a wake-up call.”
“But American citizens did not slaughter Muslims.”
“They elected presidents who did. And besides, your citizens are genetic DNA cousins of your soldiers who killed Muslims.”
“We’re guilty by genetics?”
“Of course you are.”
She decided to turn genetics against him. “Then we – you and Americans, including me, are guilty.”
He said nothing.
“As a scientist, you know that maternal DNA, mitochondrial DNA, never changes through the centuries and because of that, you and Americans like me are DNA-linked back to one common grandmother-ancestor somewhere in time. DNA can prove it. We are all linked by DNA genetics. So if you kill Americans, you’re killing your own DNA cousins.”
He blinked, but seemed to understand the genetic truth.
“DNA rubbish! Even if you were my sister, I would demand that you help us.”
“And if I refused?”
“You would die!”
There it is! Help or die. She believed him.
She also believed she’d probably die even if she did help him.
He dabbed his nostril again.
“What do you want help with?” she asked.
“This!” He shoved a document across the table toward her.
She read the first page and slumped down in her chair.
She was looking at a weapon that could kill hundreds of thousands of people in excruciating pain in minutes. A weapon that could wipe out maybe ninety percent of the people in a large American city. A weapon that could cause a full-blown, no-holds-barred retaliatory war against certain middle-eastern countries.
A weapon that could ignite Armageddon.
He pointed to a page. “You will combine this weapon . . . with another substance.”
“Which substance?”
“All in good time, Doctor.”
“Why combine it? Your weapon ki
lls in a few minutes.”
His thin lips bent in a smile. “Yes, it certainly does.”
“But I’m not experienced in combining - ”
“ - or in lying it seems.”
She said nothing.
“Do not lie to me again, Doctor. I know your experience and resume intimately.”
How could he know that years ago she’d assisted briefly with some combination experiments?
Her anger flashed. “What if I sacrifice myself to save thousands of innocent Americans?”
“They’ll die anyway - even without the secret substance blended in. Even without your help.”
He was right. They would die without blending the substance in and without her help.
“There are other reasons you will not refuse.” He pushed a button and an enormous screen lit up the back wall.
She saw her daughter, Mia, playing with her Star Wars toys in front of Jacob’s mother’s home in Maryland. Nell stopped breathing.
“Mia’s a beautiful little girl. Like my daughter was. To keep Mia safe, we’ll soon take her into protective custody. If you do what I say, then Mia will be fine. If you don’t, trust me, you don’t want to know.”
Nell’s eyes welled up as she stared at Mia. She felt a sharp, physical pain in her heart.
The video cut to a tall man getting into a car. The man turned around.
“Jacob!“ she whispered.
Hasham smiled. “Handsome husband, beautiful daughter. The perfect American family. You know my description of the perfect American family?”
She said nothing.
“A dead one.”
Which my family might soon become. Because of my job.
“Nothing will happen to them if you do as I say.”
She did not believe him.
His phone buzzed and he read a text message, answered, then turned back to her. “So, you will do as I say, understood?”
Nell paused, then nodded. She remembered an Aberdeen biochemist who did not do as her terrorist abductor demanded. They tortured her for days to reveal a new bioweapon formula. Finally, she gave them one. When they discovered it was false, they left her body floating in a ditch. Her head was never found.
