by Mike Brogan
“Heads up people!” Jefferson shouted in a deep baritone. Someone turned off most machines and the room quieted. The workers turned and looked at him with concern.
“We’ve got a serious threat in our system!”
The room grew graveyard still.
“A deadly threat!” Burrell Jefferson gestured to Donovan. “This federal agent will explain.”
Donovan saw frightened faces turn and stare at him. He understood their fear. Anthrax-laced letters killed fellow postal workers and others just one week after 9/11. And deadly letter bombs were a constant threat. Each day workers worried if the letters and packages in their hands could kill them. They worked in a combat zone against cowardly, unseen enemies.
Donovan thought postal workers should get combat pay.
“Here’s what we’re talking about.”
Wearing gloves, Donovan opened a large baggie, took the IRS check from the bottling plant and held it up for them to see.
“This authentic-looking IRS check, and thousands like it, are now in the mail, we believe. Maybe even in this post office. They contain a deadly nerve agent – VX. It can kill people in a few minutes. The letters are in the typical 9-by-4 inch white IRS envelope. On the outside of the envelope you’ll see this logo - Department of the Treasury, Internal Revenue Service and a Philadelphia address. There’s a see-through window for the addressee’s name next to large print USA. Inside the window, you see - Pay to . . . and a recipient’s name . . . on a light green and yellowish brown IRS check . . . identical to the genuine IRS refund checks.”
More murmurs.
“We estimate around two hundred sixty thousand of these deadly checks are possibly already in the US postal system. Another two hundred twenty thousand may be put in the system later today.”
Several workers gasped.
“As you can see, the check looks genuine.”
All eyes riveted on the check.
“But here’s the bad news - just holding this fake IRS check, or holding the letter inside in your bare hands, can kill you!”
Many workers gasped and stepped back.
“Just holding?” someone shouted.
“Yes. Holding it in your bare fingers.”
Silence.
Several people put gloves on.
“What if we touch the outside of the envelope?” a young woman asked.
“We’ve found no trace of VX on the outside of the envelope. But the inside of the envelope has probably absorbed VX from the check and the letter . . . and therefore the inside of the envelope should be considered deadly! But to be safe - if you’ve touched any part of an IRS envelope, wash your hands immediately!”
“What proof do you have the outside of the envelope is safe?” a young worker said.
“Our lab test confirmed it’s safe.”
“Just one test?”
Donovan paused and stared at him. “Also . . . no postal workers have died from VX poisoning today.”
They stood in stunned silence.
“But wait,” a woman shouted, “we’ve been delivering IRS refund checks over the last seven weeks. I got mine and deposited it.”
“So did I,” someone said.
“Those checks were genuine. And the vast majority of IRS checks in the mail now are genuine. The terrorists timed their IRS checks . . . to coincide with the mailing of many genuine IRS refund checks.”
“I just saw a new batch of IRS checks over here!” a skinny young worker said, rushing to a shelf stacked with envelopes.
“Put your gloves on Lenny!” Postmaster Jefferson shouted.
Lenny snapped on a pair of gloves.
Donovan, Manning, and Jefferson hurried over as Lenny pointed to the envelope.
Wearing gloves, Donovan picked up the envelope. It looked identical to the bottling plant envelope. So did the IRS return address.
DEPARTMENT OF THE TREASURY
FINANCIAL MANAGEMENT SERVCE
REGIONAL FINANCIAL CENTER
P.O.BOX 51320
PHILIDELPHIA, PENNSYLVANIA 19118
Donovan adjusted his facemask and carefully opened the new IRS envelope. He looked at the color-gradient-green-to-yellowishto-beige treasury check inside for $3,760 to be paid to Mr. Neil M. McCall of Brooklyn, New York.
“Let’s talk to Mr. McCall,” Donovan said to Manning.
Manning got McCall’s number, phoned him, spoke a bit, and hung up.
“Neil M. McCall received his IRS refund check for $1,020 dollars two weeks ago and deposited it.”
Donovan nodded. “So . . . this IRS check is fake! It could have killed Mr. McCall.” Donovan placed the check and envelope in a large sealed baggie.
No one breathed.
“Here’s another big batch of IRS checks!” said an attractive young redhead, pointing down at a stack of envelopes beside her.
“Careful Deanna!” Postmaster Jefferson said. “Let’s keep away from all IRS checks, people! In fact, process no more IRS checks until further notice!”
“Hang on,” a tall, bearded man said. “I processed some of this batch of IRS letters yesterday!”
Donovan’s worst fear. Some IRS checks were delivered. They were now in homes. They were now being opened.
Postmaster Jefferson’s phone rang. He listened a moment and hung up.
“The US Postmaster General says the President is close to issuing an Executive Order stopping further delivery of all IRS checks today and tomorrow - nationally! We’ll run computer-tracking software to see if we can determine how many of these IRS letters have gone out from the Manhattan and surrounding post offices. And which zip codes are targeted. But it may be too late to stop delivery.”
“In the meantime, people wear your gloves and facemasks as you prepare to leave for the day. Check your email tonight to see if we’re open or closed tomorrow.”
Most workers grabbed masks and gloves and put them on.
Donovan heard a man coughing violently in the back of the room.
Everyone spun around and stared at him.
“LaMar . . . ?” the Postmaster asked, looking terrified.
“Sorry, Chief . . . the damn coffee.”
SIXTY
Two floors below the post office sorting room, Bodie T. Burlip, a mail processor, sat in the comfort of the air conditioning maintenance room, his private man cave. He scoffed at Postmaster Jefferson’s latest “Warning Meeting” and didn’t go. Another dumbass waste of time.
In his hideaway, Bodie T. was safe from pushy bosses and even pushier ex-wives filing bogus spousal abuse claims against him. Minor stuff.
Here, he could relax and enjoy the sweet new gift in his pocket. Minutes ago, while sorting envelopes, he saw an IRS envelope to Dottie Rae Smith.
In his well-practiced move, he curled the envelope in his palm, then slid it up his sleeve, unnoticed by fellow workers. Poor old Dottie Rae had been pushing up daisies for nine months and she sure as hell didn’t need the money. Bodie sure as hell did. Two nasty ex-wives were trying to skin him alive for child support.
He took out the envelope, opened it and removed the check. His eyes shot open when he saw the big beautiful $3,870 US Treasury Refund Check for Dottie Rae Smith.
“Holy shit! Dottie Rae – you are truly my Sugar Momma!”
And when he added this fat IRS check to Dottie Rae’s monthly social security checks that kept coming since no one ever reported the old gal had croaked, well, Dottie Rae was the gift that kept on giving. Bless her stone-cold heart!
Bodie gave her IRS check a big wet kiss, pulled out his pocket flask and chugged down some well-earned Jim Beam. Then he licked his lips.
He endorsed the check with Dottie’s signature and signed it over to himself. He’d deposit it later, then go have fun at the new strip club, Bottoms Up. He deserved to enjoy some bottoms for all the crap he put up with.
He wiped his runny nose on his sleeve. Allergy season’s starting early, he realized.
Then his lips felt started tingling, a
nd seconds later, stinging . . . stinging so much he started sweating. He chugged down more bourbon. He wiped his runny nose again and saw blood!
What the fuck. . .?
His entire body started perspiring heavily, drenching his new shirt, even though the air-conditioned room was cold enough to hang meat.
What’s going on ... with “Jesus - I’m sweatin’ like a nigger at a lynching.
He felt sharp pain squeeze his lungs. He tried to take a deep breath, but couldn’t. Something was shoving hot needles into his chest.
He couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t move. Couldn’t figure out what the fuck was happening. Couldn’t believe the pain!
Suddenly, it felt like a lead anvil landed on his chest.
He collapsed to the floor, his lungs exploding, his mind spinning, his body convulsing, his nose bleeding, his vision fading.
Bodie T. Burlip knew he wouldn’t be cashing in Dottie Rae’s IRS check . . .
. . . he knew he was cashing in.
SIXTY ONE
“Bad news,” Manning’s young blonde assistant said, running into the small alcove near the post office sorting room. She looked like she’d just watched a train wreck.
What now? Donovan wondered. He sat with Manning, Cage, and Postmaster Jefferson.
“Hasham has disabled major Internet servers in his targeted zip codes,” she said.
“How the hell -?” Donovan said.
“ - explosive devices damaged server transmitters and transformers. Also a cyber-security breach is causing electrical power-grid problems. The companies are repairing them, but it will take time.”
Donovan felt his gut churn. “Which servers?”
“He’s partially disabled the majors, Comcast, AOL, and the Dish. And other servers are reporting problems. The pictures are pixelating in and out. No sound.”
Donovan was so angry he could barely breathe. “So what’s the bottom line?”
“No cable warnings are being telecast about the IRS VX checks!”
Donovan thumped the table with his fist. “Blast warnings on all radio and other media. Also have Verizon, AT&T, T-Mobile, Sprint, and others send out robo-call warnings to cellphones and landline phones in the targeted zip codes.”
“On it,” Agent Cage said.
Donovan stood and paced beside the table. “Drive loudspeaker vehicles blasting warnings through city streets. Ask newspapers to print special editions with 100-point headlines. Hell, get small aircraft flying around cities with long banners warning about IRS checks.”
Manning’s phone rang - Agent Kim calling from the bottling plant. What’s up, Kim?”
“He mailed IRS checks to more zip codes: upstate New York zips, Newark, East Elizabeth, Paramus, all over New Jersey and Connecticut.”
“Why just those areas?” Manning asked.
“He probably wants one-day delivery range,” Donovan said. “He gets checks into people’s hands before they hear media warnings.”
“Which they won’t now hear, thanks to the disabled servers,” Manning added.
Donovan nodded as his phone rang. It was Audie Millener in the CIA’s anti-terrorism unit. Donovan hit his speakerphone.
“Just learned that Hasham’s attacking nationwide.”
Donovan’s stomach twisted tighter. “Which states?”
“Michigan, Illinois, California, Ohio, Kentucky, Georgia, Maryland, also Florida. Still checking. Maybe all states.”
“At least we have an extra day to stop delivery in those states,” Donovan said.
“We don’t. The IRS checks are already in the postal systems in those states.”
“How the -?”
“ - Hasham chartered three jets. They flew the IRS checks to those cities from a small airport in Toms River, New Jersey. As we speak, post offices in Los Angeles, Detroit, Cleveland, Indianapolis, Louisville, Nashville, Baltimore, Atlanta, and many other cities report checks are in process of being delivered.”
“The bastard’s always a step ahead of us,” Donovan said. “Start the warnings in those states - before Hasham shuts down cable TV and Internet servers there. Blast all available media. Warn people on Facebook, YouTube, Twitter, Tweet, whatever! And all social media. Scare people!”
“Scare them?” Cage said.
“Scared beats dead.”
SIXTY TWO
After a warm, soothing shower, Nell dried off and looked at herself in the mirror. She counted sixteen cuts, nicks, and scratches. She was a stigmata. Phone the Pope! Sainthood within weeks!
Crawling over the jagged window glass had sliced and diced her back and legs. She cleaned the cuts with antibacterial ointment and bandaged some. Then she dried her hair, dressed, and walked into the kitchen where Lindee was loading her dishwasher.
“Jacob just called,” Lindee said. “He’s at LaGuardia waiting to pick up his mom and Mia. They’re flying in from Baltimore.”
“Which airline?”
“CIA plane. Better security.”
Nell couldn’t wait. She’d hug Mia and maybe never let go. Just hours ago, Nell had feared Hasham would give Mia to a pedophile sheik for life. Now her sweet beautiful daughter would soon be in her arms, safe.
But other children were not safe. Some were still dying from drinking Hasham’s ChocoYummy . . . and some might still die if ChocoYummy is still on some store shelves.
And his VX-laced IRS checks were in the mail, in homes, in hands being opened. Killing people. Hasham Habib was winning. And it sickened her that she’d been forced to help the monster.
The apartment landline phone rang.
“Can you grab that?” Lindee said from the kitchen.
“Sure . . . hello?”
“Hi, Nell,” Donovan Rourke said. “Feeling better?”
“Much better, Donovan. Thanks to a shower and some Advil.”
“Need stronger pain meds?”
“No. Advil’s working.”
“Good. Just got word that Mia’s flight from Baltimore is weather-delayed. She should land in another hour or so. Jacob will wait at LaGuardia for her and his mother.”
“Good. Any luck with the flash drives?”
“One drive gave us more mailing zip codes. The other flash drive is more difficult. But NSA thinks they can crack it eventually.”
“Let’s hope.” She felt frustrated that she hadn’t found a way to stop the attack. But at least the flash drives might reveal something that prevents Hasham’s future attacks.
“One more thing, Nell.”
“What’s that?”
“We believe Hasham is very worried that you took his flash drives. He’s also very worried about what you saw and read in his lab files.”
“He should be. I glanced into some files that appeared to involve deadly weapons and horrific attacks.”
“We need to debrief you on those files.”
“Okay. I’ll start writing down some notes.”
“Good idea. But we’re worried he may try to stop you from telling us more.”
“How can he?”
Donovan paused. “His men may be searching for you now.”
She froze at the thought that Hasham might be coming after her again.
“So, as an extra precaution, Agent Manning is sending over two FBI agents. They’ll take you and Lindee to a safe location until this is over. They’ll arrive shortly.”
“All right . . .” she said, wondering if they were being overly cautious. A guard was already posted outside Lindee’s door. On the other hand, she remembered how enraged Hasham was because he thought she stole the two flash drives. Rage drove the man. Rage might drive him to come after her again.
Donovan said, “We’ll drive Jacob, his mom, and Mia from LaGuardia to the safe location where you and Lindee will be.”
“I can’t wait.”
They hung up.
Nell told Lindee what Donovan said.
Lindee nodded, then brought over two glasses of chilled Chardonnay.
“To my older, wiser sist
er!” Lindee said, handing her a glass.
Nell paused, closed her eyes. “Un-wiser . . .”
Lindee stared at her. “What? Why?”
“My career . . .”
Lindee continued staring at her.
“My career led us all to this, Lindee. It’s led my family, you, me, and thousands of innocent Americans to this horrifying deadly situation.”
“That’s not true! Hasham did! You said he would attack whether he’d abducted you or not.”
“Yes, but I helped make his weapon more effective.”
“Because he threatened Mia’s life!”
Nell shrugged. She’d done what seemed right at the time. Helped him so she could maybe find a way to stop him. But she didn’t find a way. Still, she would always wonder if she could have done something more to block his attack. And even if she had refused to help him, Hasham’s VX weapon would still kill thousands.
“Anyway, when this is over, I’ve decided to change things.”
“How?”
“Find safer work outside Aberdeen.”
“Will you be happy doing that?”
Nell thought about that. She wasn’t sure. “Probably not to start. But maybe I’ll grow happy with time.”
“I know what’ll make you happy now,” Lindee said, smiling.
“What?”
“What we were doing before you were so rudely interrupted.” “What’s that?”
“Our Broadway Shop-Till-We-Drop-Athon!” Lindee said.
Nell smiled. “That beautiful brown Michael Kors purse still calls out to me. But by now someone snatched it up.”
“Someone did!”
Lindee reached behind the couch, lifted out a LEATHER TRENDS bag, took out the purse and handed it to her.
Nell grinned like a lottery winner.
“I was looking at this when . . .” Nell ran her fingers over the soft leather, smelled its sweet scent. “Lindee. This is the most awesomeest welcome home gift in the entire history of the universe.”
“Actually sis, you are . . .”
Nell hugged her sister and it felt wonderful.
She sipped more wine, then began to tell Lindee everything that happened in the cabin, Hasham’s threats to sell Mia into slavery, Aarif’s attempt to rape her. As they talked, they packed small suitcases to take to the safe house. When they finished, they sipped more wine and Nell felt herself begin to relax. Mia was safe. Jacob was safe. She was safe.
