by Mike Brogan
FIFTY FOUR
Manning walked into the conference room. “Two ex-NFL linemen drank bottles of ChocoYummy and dropped dead minutes later.”
Donovan swallowed a dry throat. “Where’d they buy the bottles?”
“A mom and pop store in the Bronx.”
Donovan’s phone rang. He punched the speaker button.
“A woman in Queens says thirteen kids at her daughter’s birthday party all drank ChocoYummy!”
Please God, no! Donovan closed his eyes, unsure how much more he could stomach. Everyone slumped in their chairs and waited . . .
“All thirteen kids are fine!”
“What . . .?” Donovan whispered.
“They’re all outside running around, playing tag. All thirteen kids are running and playing!”
No one spoke.
“When did they drink ChocoYummy?” Nell asked.
“About three hours ago.”
Everyone stared at the phone as though they’d misheard. “That’s simply not possible!” Nell stood and paced beside the table.
No one spoke.
“Is she positive it was ChocoYummy?” Nell asked.
“Yes. She’s looking at the empty bottles!”
“Test those bottles fast!” Nell said to Manning.
“Do some people have a delayed reaction to VX?” Donovan asked.
“No. VX’s reaction is immediate. For all!”
“Can some people tolerate VX better?”
“Maybe for a minute or so. It depends on the dosage they drank, and their individual health. Real healthy people might last minutes longer. But VX kills everyone. No exceptions.”
“What if they’ve taken antidotes?” Donovan asked.
“If anyone takes atropine sulfate and pralidoxime chloride before exposure, or within maybe thirty minutes after, they have a chance.”
“Did some of the bottles receive much less VX?”
Nell closed her eyes. “No. Not from what I saw. Each bottle received the exact same amount of ChocoYummy from the assembly line depositing funnels. And my tests proved that each steel container held the exact same VX consistency. Hasham insisted on it. His tests confirmed consistency.”
Agent Cage’s phone rang. He listened, hung up, then faced Donovan with a stunned expression.
“We just learned that a large number of kids drank ChocoYummy with no adverse reactions. Absolutely none! The kids are all fine.”
The room went silent.
“What the hell is going on?” Donovan said, looking at Nell Northam.
Everyone turned toward her.
Nell shook her head, looking more confused than anyone.
Agent Manning grabbed his ringing phone, answered, then hung up, looking confused.
“Just got the test results on the ChocoYummy bottle fragments at the plant.”
Everyone leaned forward.
“Seven bottle fragments had traces of VX on them. Forty-nine bottle fragments had no trace of VX.”
Nell Northam looked stunned. “Are you positive?”
“Yes.”
“What’s in the ChocoYummy with no VX?” Nell asked.
“Chocolate flavoring, milk, cream, sodium, sugar, and water.”
The facts just didn’t fit.
Donovan watched Nell’s face turn sheet-white. Like everyone, she looked bewildered and shocked by the contradictory test results.
“Could Hasham have made a batch of non-VX ChocoYummy without telling you?” Donovan asked.
Nell shook her head. “No. I would have known. But he must have had some kind of a VX cut-off switch on the assembly line.”
Donovan nodded. “But why? Why would he make some bottles of ChocoYummy with no VX?”
Nell shrugged. “It makes no sense.”
Donovan agreed. He stood and walked alongside the table, trying to make sense of what was happening.
Nell said, “Hasham was too organized, too compulsive about details. Far too precise to allow an inconsistency of this magnitude.”
Donovan stopped walking. “So, maybe . . . just maybe, his inconsistency was not a slip up. Maybe it was intentional.”
Nell frowned. “You’re saying he intended to put VX in only some bottles?”
“Yes.”
“But why would he do that?”
“I don’t know.” Donovan thought about that a while. Nothing made sense. And then . . . something sort of clicked . . . a crazy possibility occurred to him . . . and it terrified him.
“Maybe one thing does makes sense,” Donovan said.
Everyone stared at him.
He thought about what he was about to suggest, then turned and looked at Nell and said, “Maybe he’s . . . misleading us.”
No one spoke. Confused faces stared at him.
“Maybe ChocoYummy is misdirection . . .” he said.
Nell stared hard at Donovan, blinked, seemed to sense what he was suggesting, and then she nodded.
“He intentionally directed us to concentrate on ChocoYummy!” Donovan said.
“But the man phoned and warned you about ChocoYummy,” Agent Cage said.
“More misdirection maybe,” Donovan said. “To make us concentrate everything we have on ChocoYummy. Hasham put VX in some bottles so we were forced to assign all police, all FBI, and all Homeland resources on ChocoYummy, while he – ”
“ – launches his primary VX attack!” Nell said.
“His real attack!” Manning said.
Donovan nodded.
FIFTY FIVE
“So what the hell’s his real VX attack?” Cage asked. All eyes locked on Nell.
“I have no idea,” she said.
“Did Hasham pay special attention to anything else in the bottling plant?” Donovan asked.
She closed her eyes for several moments. “Not really.”
“What’d he do most of the time?”
“Worked at his computer, scrolling through what looked like Arab newspapers and documents.”
“What kind of documents?”
“Text. But too far away for me to see.”
“Anything else?”
She looked out the window. “Well, his assistants spent time adjusting the bottling assembly line. And some time at the printing machines.”
“Did Hasham pay special attention to the printers?”
“Not special. But a few times he walked over and looked at what they were printing.”
Donovan wondered why Hasham bothered to check the printing.
“What were they printing?”
“I couldn’t see the printed material through the wall slit. I assumed it was promotional items for ChocoYummy. Maybe coupons, sales flyers, store signs, labels, stuff like that.”
Donovan nodded, stood and paced. “You said Hasham bragged about his super new unique delivery system.”
“Yes, he did.”
“What if he was lying to you? What if it isn’t new and unique?”
Nell said nothing.
“Maybe he said “new and unique” to mislead you? What if he’s using a known VX delivery system?”
She frowned and shook her head. “I saw no equipment for a known VX delivery system. And he seemed proud of his unique delivery. His eyes lit up when he talked about it. My instinct said he was telling the truth. And let’s face it - ChocoYummy is a totally unique way to deliver VX.”
“It is,” Donovan said, “But again, why would he put VX in only some of the bottles?”
She shrugged.
No one answered.
“Let’s assume,” Donovan said, “that he used ChocoYummy as his unique delivery system to divert us . . . waste our time and effort on it. So he can launch his real attack . . . maybe using a proven delivery system.”
Nell paused, then nodded. “It’s possible. And he has a range of proven delivery options.”
“What’s his most likely and dependable VX delivery system?” Donovan said.
“Air,” Nell said. “Dispersing VX in aerosol form.
”
“What’s that depend on?”
“Weather and wind mostly.”
“Would he use aircraft?” Donovan said.
“Probably. Just one ton of VX released in aerosol form from an aircraft could kill hundreds of thousands of people in a crowded urban area if the wind and weather conditions are right.”
“How much VX is needed to kill one person?”
Nell pointed to the tiny eraser on her pencil. “This much.”
No one spoke.
“What are Manhattan’s wind conditions now?” Donovan asked.
Agent Cage checked his laptop. “Clear skies. Three-mile-perhour winds. Today and tomorrow. Perfect for air dispersal.”
“But airspace over Manhattan is highly restricted,” Manning said.
“So’s White House airspace, but those asshole drones keep sneaking through,” Cage said.
“Could drones disperse VX?” Manning asked Nell.
“A fleet of coordinated VX droves could devastate a city.”
Donovan felt his stomach churn. “Maybe drone dispersal is his secret delivery system.”
He turned to Agent Cage. “Denny, have Homeland try to somehow ground or curfew all drones in the Tri-State metropolitan area - all boroughs - until further notice. Also have all airports in New England and the mid-Atlantic states start inspecting all commercial and private aircraft cargo before takeoff. Especially those with flight plans in or out of LaGuardia, Kennedy, and Newark. Have rural airports check crop dusters before they fly today and tomorrow. And check Goodyear or any other blimps flying over stadiums filled with fans.”
Agent Cage repeated the orders into his phone.
“What other air dispersal options does Hasham have?” Donovan asked Nell.
“His trucks driving through crowded city streets.”
“How’s that work?”
“Simple. The VX canisters are connected to the truck’s exhaust systems. The driver flips a switch and the VX is released out through the truck’s tailpipes. The exhaust looks like normal truck exhaust. Cars draw it in, people on streets breathe it in . . .”
“But wouldn’t the truck driver breathe it and die?” Donovan said.
“Not if his driver compartment is sealed air-tight.”
“They might be suicide drivers,” Manning said. “Three of Hasham’s guys have already wasted themselves for his jihad.”
“What about city trucks spraying for Zika and whatever?” Cage said.
“Examine them before they go out!” Donovan said.
“What other options does Hasham have?”
“Water,” Nell said. “VX could be placed in the city water system. People wake up tomorrow, brush their teeth, make coffee, drink it . . . game over.”
“But our water treatment plants are well protected against terrorist attack,” Cage said.
“Maybe not from inside attack,” Donovan said. “Remember - jihadists lied to get jobs in airports. They can lie their way into jobs at water plants. Or into nuclear plants for that matter.”
The word “nuclear” caused some nervous coughs.
“Anything is possible,” Nell said.
Donovan watched a nearby printer kick out some pages. It reminded him that Hasham kept checking the printed materials at the plant. Why?
“How many printing machines did you see?”
“I saw four. Could have been more.”
“Four seems like a lot.”
She nodded.
“What type?” Manning asked.
“The four were large commercial-size printing machines. I also remember a couple of smaller desktop printers.”
“Why so many big commercial printers? Donovan asked.
Nell shrugged. “I saw Hasham walk over and check the big printers a few times. Maybe more. Also, one man brought paper samples to Hasham to look at from time to time. They spoke Arabic, so I don’t know what was said. But now that I think about it, Hasham seemed very interested in the texture of the paper. He kept rubbing the paper between his fingers.”
“Why would Hasham be so concerned about the texture of a ChocoYummy coupon or sales flyer?” Donovan asked.
No one answered.
Donovan asked, “Was he wearing gloves at the printing machines?”
Nell closed her eyes. “Yes. So were all the others, but - ”
“ - but what?”
“I assumed they wore gloves to keep the printer ink off their hands.”
Suddenly, Donovan had a thought. “Or maybe, just maybe, they wanted to keep something else off their hands – like VX!
Everyone stared at him like he misspoke. He looked at Nell and saw something ignite in her eyes.
Agent Manning said, “Wait a minute - are you suggesting VX is in the paper?”
“Is that possible?” Donovan asked Nell.
All eyes locked on her.
She picked up a piece of paper, rubbed it between her fingers and stared at it a moment. “Yes, it is possible!”
Nell spun around to Manning. “Ask Agent Kim to test scraps of the printer paper near the printers for VX immediately!”
Manning speed-dialed Kim on speakerphone.
“Kim – check all printer paper scraps for VX!”
“What paper? she said. “It looks like the explosion and fire burned it all up!”
FIFTY SIX
“Good work, Pepe,” Kadar Khoury said to the muscular, tattooed Hispanic lifting the last heavy case onto the new Learjet 31-A at the small airport near Toms River, New Jersey.
Kadar was relieved to work with Pepe, instead of Waazi the Whiner. Waazi would have whined how his poor two-fingered hand couldn’t lift the cases.
Pepe lifted them with ease and had jumped at the chance to earn some extra cash. And he never complained. This was the third Learjet he loaded, each with five identical cases. The first two jets took off at five this morning.
“Cargo is secure,” Pepe said, as he locked the cargo door and faced Kadar.
“Excellent,” Kadar said. He peeled off five crisp one hundred dollar bills and handed them to Pepe.
“Thanks, amigo.” Pepe stuffed the hundreds into the pocket of his royal blue airport maintenance uniform. “This money means new bowling shirts for our Tom’s River Tomcats.”
“Glad to help.”
“You mind if I ask you something?” Pepe said.
“Ask away?”
“Why you wearin’ that fake beard? Too many girlfriends chasin’ ya, right?” Pepe chuckled.
“Yeah!” Kadar smiled but grew uneasy, his disguise blown. “How’d you know it was fake?”
“Your beard moves kinda sideways when you turn.”
“Oh. The beard hides my burn scars. Don’t want to scare all those pretty women and little kids.”
“I hear ya.”
Kadar signaled the pilot to depart. He and Pepe watched the sleek white jet race down the runway and soar up into thick gray clouds, like the two earlier jets.
“Your cases are very heavy, man. What’s in ‘em?”
“Just company stuff.”
“The same company stuff we shipped on the two jets flying to Chicago, Detroit, Los Angeles, Miami, Atlanta, and San Francisco?”
“Exact same stuff.”
Kadar didn’t like that Pepe remembered all the cities and that he noticed his fake beard, and that he asked a lot of questions.
“You know, I coulda fitted all them boxes in one of your jets. Woulda saved your company a buncha money.”
“True. But management said it was very important that the contents reach all cities on the same day.”
“How’s come?”
Kadar shrugged. “Who knows? Probably a legal thing. Management doesn’t tell me anything.”
“Mine don’t tell me jack shit neither!”
Kadar grew more concerned with Pepe’s inquisition. Kadar’s phone rang and he saw Hasham on caller ID. He walked over behind some large crates, making sure Pepe couldn’t hear, and took the call.
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“All boxes left yet?” Hasham asked.
“Yes. The third Learjet just took off. Ahead of time.”
“Good. Any problems?”
Kadar switched to Arabic. “No, but the maintenance guy is asking too many questions.”
“You wore a disguise, right?”
“Yeah, but he noticed my beard was fake. He’s nosy. I could give him a few more hundred to keep him quiet.”
“Do it. Then . . . keep him quiet for good.”
Kadar paused, not comfortable with eliminating Pepe. He kind of liked the guy.
But not eliminating Pepe could result in getting himself eliminated . . .
“Then take back the money,” Hasham said. “I’ll give you another five thousand for handling him. You can keep it all.”
“Okay.” Kadar hung up and looked around. He and Pepe were still alone in the hanger. Lucky break.
He took out a syringe from his briefcase and concealed it in the palm of his hand. He walked up behind Pepe who sat reading the newspaper sports section.”
“Who’s pitching against the Yankees tomorrow?” Kadar asked him, looking over his shoulder.
“New guy for the Tigers. Emmett Vincent,” Pepe said, leaning down to read the small print. “Guy’s an ace! 100-mile-per-hour fastball! Curve ball that looks like it drops off a table.”
“Sounds terrific!” Kadar said, as he plunged the syringe into the back of Pepe’s neck. The young man jerked, then froze as though he’d been stung by a bee. He struggled a moment, then stiffened and slowly slumped to the floor.
Potassium cyanide was already shutting down his brain and heart . . . and, of course, his life.
“Nothing personal, Pepe.”
FIFTY SEVEN
The door banged open.
Donovan watched an FBI agent rush into the room and hand Manning a note.
Manning read it and his fingers began to shake. “Aww . . . Jesus!”
Everyone stared at him.
“All paper scraps near the printers are highly saturated with VX!”
Donovan stopped breathing.
So that was it.
“Paper! That’s Hasham’s secret VX delivery system!” Nell Northam said, clearly stunned.
No one spoke.
Nell asked, “Did the lab identify the secret substance he blended into the VX?”
Manning ran his finger down the note.
“Yes! It’s something called . . . D M S O.”
