Silent Strike

by Francis Bandettini

  She quickly screwed a new canister into the dispenser and crawled down the ladder. She repeated this same bathroom cleaning ritual in nine other main-floor bathrooms on Hotel Esatto's main floor. Her canisters would soon infect hundreds of people on any given day when the time finally came. It would be weeks before anyone would figure out the source, these simple little bathroom canisters that kept America smelling like cherry, a tropical breeze, a lavender meadow, or a beautiful wooded forest.

  But that's what these Americans did. They covered up their filth, waste, and excess. They used public relations to label bloody battles as mere skirmishes, economic exploitation as sanctions, and devout Muslims who lived the pure religion as extremists. But soon the day would come. Only last week, the preacher at her mosque referred contemptuously to the Jewish prophet Isaiah who wrote:

  ". . . instead of sweet smell there shall be stink; and instead of a girdle a rent; and instead of well-set hair baldness; and instead of a stomacher a girding of sackcloth; and burning instead of beauty."

  "Baldness, sackcloth, and burning," she said aloud. Nobody was around to hear her words, to sense her zeal. "I shall pray to be a warrior for baldness, sackcloth, and burning."

  Roya wheeled her housekeeping cart down through some service doors, then down a ramp that led to the hotel's massive laundry facilities. She stopped next to a nondescript door and looked around to make sure she was still alone. When she saw nobody else nearby, she removed a key from her sock and used it to open the unlabeled door. Hastily she pushed the cart through the door and closed it behind her. She walked twenty more paces to get to yet another door. This one led to a pre-clean room adjacent to a laboratory. To get through this door, she had to press her index finger on a fingerprint reader. Then she placed her eye in front of a retinal scan. Only two other people had access to this work area, Roya's lab.

  When the door opened, she stepped into the pre-clean room. There she removed her housekeeping uniform and shoes. She stepped forward and put on a cleanroom suit. After punching in a long code on a keypad, she finally entered the clean room, Roya's lab. She had with her the empty canisters she had just removed from the bathrooms of Hotel Esatto.

  Today would be the last time she would refill the canisters. After today, the activity of filling metered aerosol spray canisters would occur on a much larger scale, in a factory. Nikolas had purchased the whole factory. For the last year, the factory had functioned much as it did before coming under Nikolas's control. But, Roya had been instrumental in learning the details of running the factory. She was also ready to scale up production on a new process for filling the canisters—a process that would allow them to introduce the bacteria Campylobacter jejuni into the canisters.

  Nikolas's scientists weaponized this particular strain of Campylobacter jejuni by manipulating the genes. It would affect the body different than the Balamuthia amoeba they released at Burning Man. But, there was a stroke of genius in this second biological attack wave. It would fool doctors and the Centers for Disease Control, at least for a few critical weeks. In these next vital weeks, when the timing was right, the doctors would be confused as to what they were treating.

  Roya questioned, in the world of the Great Satan, why the Christians and Jews put so much faith in physicians? Placing extreme trust in doctors was wrong. Allah would prove their fallibility in the months to come.

  Americans also unquestioningly believed the proclamations of this Centers for Disease Control in Atlanta, Georgia. Roya reflected on a strange phenomenon. Americans had turned their backs on their god—a god they claimed was infallible and almighty. Instead, they looked to the prophesies and prognoses of doctors, financial experts, attorneys, scientists, and executives. They even stooped low enough to revere the illusory and shameful behavior of actors, politicians, musicians, and journalists.

  Roya affixed two of the empty canisters to a machine. With the simple push of a button, the cartridges received an infusion of a liquid laced with high doses of Campylobacter jejuni bacteria. When the canisters were full, she stowed them away in a refrigerator. With today's additions, her inventory contained ninety canisters. She was ready to unleash a terrible disease on some of the world's most evil people, Westerners. Removing these movers and shakers from the planet would ensure that jihad would not only be a jihad of blood and terror, it would also bring banks, companies, and markets to a standstill and freeze the very lifeblood of western society. Roya and Nikolas were spending much their time and energy on weaponizing scented aerosol mist canisters at the newly acquired factory.

  Roya finished her tasks with the canisters. After she left the clean room, she removed her biohazard suit just in time to hear the shrill whistling of her encrypted fax machine. Every so often she would receive instructions from Nikolas or Tehran via this almost outdated means of communication. These transmissions always looked as if they were weather reports. Weather reports were the disguise. The real message usually appeared at the bottom of the page as a cryptic handwritten note. In today's fax, the unimportant weather report was from an agricultural weather station in Thorup, Washington. The message, scribbled in Farsi at the bottom of the fax, was momentous. Roya's heart leaped when she read the news. It referenced a significant verse from the Koran. And then, it gave an order.

  I will drive him to the chastisement of the fire.

  Go forth and chastise!

  The timing was perfect. In the next few days, the canister factory would ship the first truckloads of weaponized Campylobacter jejuni. Over the next few weeks, janitorial workers across America would install these. Soon businesses, hotels, factories, stores, and other buildings would dispense the Campylobacter bacterium—and the people would not know how they would become sick. But, here in her lab sat the canisters she would install in Hotel Esatto—a tactic for the later part of their plan. After a time, Nikolas would bid a permanent adieu to Hotel Esatto.

  CHAPTER 13

  Galveston, Texas

  Tropical Solace had the perfect name for a cruise ship—way back in 1991. Back then, she had been one of the most popular boats on the sea, proudly sailing to the larger ports and destinations in the Caribbean and Mexico. But eventually, grander and more luxurious ships came on the scene. Tropical Solace couldn't compete with vessels featuring waterparks, ice skating rinks, and surfing simulators.

  In 2012 a relatively new cruise line, owned by one of Nikolas Antoniou's shell companies, purchased Tropical Solace and updated her with a zip line and climbing wall. But, by now Tropical Solace could only compete on price and party. Nikolas's marketing gurus promoted "booze cruise" itineraries to target audiences who wanted the full Margaritaville experience. Now, she had reached the end of her useful life. Today, she would set sail on one of her final excursions shuttling people for a six-night getaway to ports in Cancun, Mexico, Belize City, Belize, and Roatan, Honduras.

  Four Iranian engineers were along for the excursion. Two carried forged passports that appeared to be from Jordan, while the other two had illegitimate Turkish passports. Their small, secretive mechanical engineering firm had worked on dozens of highly sensitive projects for the Iranian government. Like most assignments, this was a military contract with ties to Nikolas. But, the engineers knew nothing of Nikolas; and they took orders from a general they had never before worked with. The general had given them strict instructions to spend seventy to ninety percent of their time doing things tourists did on the ship. "If you can send me all the information I want by the second day, then you are free to take part in the debauchery. Eat what you would like, drink what you would like. But, I must warn you. Sex with loose western women is likely to come at a cost." The engineers had occasionally traveled outside of Iran. They did not need the general to explain the sexually transmitted diseases so common amongst the infidels.

  The men with the Turkish passports made friends with one of the ship's officers, the staff captain of the engine department, who was thrilled they were engineers. He gave them a tour of as many of t
he ship's systems as he could show off in two hours. The Iranian engineers recorded it all through small microphones. They had studied in-depth schematics of the boat before they departed on the cruise. Their job was to understand if there were any significant changes not represented in the original schematics. The most important task was to assess the status of the doors that opened from a large ballroom out onto the main deck of the boat. In a few weeks, they would be working on a secretive project aboard this very boat. They knew no additional details at this point. And, they were threatened with a torturous death if they revealed any plans or created any suspicions.

  By the second night of the cruise, the engineers sent an encrypted email updating the general on the condition of Tropical Solace. The ballroom doors had been welded shut. But a cutting torch would let them disassemble the doors. They also recommended bringing a backup electrical system aboard. The electrical system on the ship had many potential fail points.

  As soon as they hit the send button, the four men hastily exited the cabin. Two hours later, they had managed to neglect their daily prayers and commit a string of unlawful deeds. They had already consumed several shots of whiskey—a new experience for them. After gambling away a few thousand dollars on games, they barely understood, one of them withstood a sharp slap from a western woman the likes of which he would never understand. By midnight, the first engineer had thrown up, mostly over the railing into the sea. The second figured out blackjack and naively started counting cards. His winning streak got him ejected from the casino. Another of the men was back in his room watching erotic movies. He had no idea the cruise line was charging his credit card thirty dollars per video. The fourth man was on the bow of the ship charming a corpulent woman from New York who prided herself on being open-minded. For the rest of the trip, the Iranian men did a splendid job participating in all of the activities and entertainment tourists pursue on cruise ships.

  The last night, during a drunken conversation in Farsi, they did call some attention to themselves as they swore they would defect from Iran when the ship landed back at the home port.

  The next morning, all four had forgotten their oath. The men packed their suitcases and waited. The engineer who had spent much of the cruise with the muscular New York woman snuck away from the group. When the other three engineers finally found him, he was begging the woman to let him run away with her.

  "Like two ships in the night, Honey," she responded. "It was fun, but now the trip is over. And, so is our little tryst."

  "Tryst?" He was not familiar with the English word. "What is a tryst?"

  "You know. A short little love affair where you both do a little giving—and a whole lot of taking."

  When the man failed to understand, the New Yorker rolled her eyes, held up a hand, and backed away two steps. "Look, you're starting to creep me out here. Do I need to call the police when I get off the ship?"

  "Come with us" his friends told him. "We will explain along the way. For now, it is enough to know she never cared for you. She used you." They disembarked and got into a taxi together. The other three men understood what their friend was feeling. They would not report the event to the general, and none of them would ever talk of the incident again. Nor would they ever experience anything like this. But, they had the memories. A few weeks later the fourth engineer would pick up his broken heart, visit a doctor under a fake name, and receive an antibiotic injection and oral medication to combat a raging case of gonorrhea.

  CHAPTER 14

  San Antonio, Texas

  The Russian gunship descended out of the night sky and landed on the illuminated helipad at the Brooke Army Medical Center at Fort Sam Houston. Stoker and Rivera climbed out of the helicopter and walked briskly toward the building entrance with the blood samples from Mexico in tow. They stepped through an automatic sliding door and into a corridor that started snaking through the hospital. "Which way to the lab?" Stoker asked a nurse. Before the nurse could answer, a familiar voice spoke up behind them.

  "As always, the lab's in the basement."

  Stoker and Rivera turned around while Rivera chimed in. "There he is. The bohemian Burning Man beast."

  "How was your existential miniature golfing in the dust bowl?" Stoker chided.

  "You think you're funny, Stoker. But you're not too far off," Z responded. "This way to the lab," Z said with a gesture. He led them toward some elevators, which took them down to the basement.

  "Welcome back, buddy," Rivera said.

  When they arrived at the lab, the lab director greeted them. He was not a physician. But, he was accompanied by one—the hospital's chief of infectious disease. The doctor's body language and mannerisms projected hostility toward Stoker, Rivera, and Z.

  "Well, my commanding officer informs me you have some blood samples that may test positive for Campylobacter jejuni," the lab director said.

  "Yes," Stoker replied. "From some patients battling Guillain-Barre in a cluster in —."

  The infectious disease doctor rudely interrupted. "I don't understand what all this hubbub's about. Campylobacter is one of the most common germs in the world. I'm certain Mexico is crawling with the stuff, as is the United States. I'm sure people get infected south of the border even more than we do here in the U.S. This is as ridiculous as being fascinated by the existence of water at a yacht race. And, I for one, do not appreciate being pulled away from pressing matters just because someone with rank and reputation—I'm referring to you Dr. Rivera—has a far-flung hunch about a wild epidemic in another country."

  "Listen," Stoker said, raising his voice with a fusion of authority and indignation that surprised and impressed Rivera. "This is urgent. Are you willing to take a chance with this issue that could cost hundreds or thousands of American lives? Because if you’re not, we'll take our results, and your apathy, up your chain of command."

  The infectious disease doctor squirmed and said, "My work is constantly interrupted by military doctors showing up here, insisting I take a look at germs they consider unique and dangerous. It's almost always the same old germs behaving in the same old ways."

  "Unique and dangerous," Rivera responded, "Your work doctor, is to listen to as many doctors from the field as you can. Because among the many false alarms, you'll find an occasional outlier. There's too much at stake for you to fail. Americans need you at your post, Soldier. You’re a military physician, charged with detecting biological threats. If you don't help us, I will call the right generals, and they will remind you of your duty."

  "I think we'd better look at these samples," the lab director said to the infectious disease doctor.

  "Go right ahead," replied the doctor. "Knock yourselves out. Call me if you find an apocalypse under the microscope." The doctor turned and started to walk away. Then he yelled over his shoulder. "You won't call me."

  "Right this way," the lab director said to his three visitors.

  "To hell with this guy," Stoker said. "Let's make sure he gets stationed at the South Pole for the rest of his career."

  "I can make it happen," Rivera said. "But, after we conclude our business with the reasonable people around here. Let's focus on getting these samples analyzed for now."

  The lab director said nothing. He was not fond of the stubborn chief of infectious disease. And, he could not stop a broad smile from appearing on his face as Stoker and Rivera expressed their disapproval.

  Rivera turned his head toward Stoker as the men walked quickly down the hall. "I'm not used to you making offensive threats like that. You usually use one of your Jedi mind tricks."

  "One psychiatric technique is exaggerating and bluffing," Stoker responded. "And, don't call my behavioral interventions Jedi mind tricks. I practice interpersonal excellence with a bold streak. Sometimes doctors need intervention, too."

  Stoker, Rivera, and Z walked into the lab with the lab director. The lab director handed the box of specimens to a technician. "Let's start culturing these samples and see what grows." Then he spoke
to his guests. "Why don't you come back in four days, and we'll look under the microscope to see what grows."

  "We'll do it," Rivera replied. "But, my intuition is telling me this is big. An epidemic of Guillain-Barre syndrome is coming to the United States."

  "We don't have four days to wait before we start notifying people," Stoker said. "I'm going to call the CDC right now and let people know what the test results are going to say. I'm also going to get some investigators from their Outbreak Response Team down to Chihuahua."

  • • •

  "There go the first ten thousand units," Roya Elfar Shahin said to Nikolas. A delivery truck pulled away from their factory. It was loaded with canisters to be installed into timed aerosol meters. These had large, active, and lethal colonies of Balamuthia mandrillaris amoebas living inside. Bathrooms across America in office buildings, malls, and hotels would become toxic over the next few weeks. Nobody would figure it out until it was too late for thousands of Americans.

  "This shipment goes to Saint Louis," Nikolas said. "We also have shipments to Los Angeles, Houston, and Atlanta today. Tomorrow we have twenty orders to fill. It's amazing how orders shoot up when you reduce the price by forty percent." Nikolas was selling the canisters at break even. But, he was not in this venture to make money. He was using his MBA skills to bring down the capitalists. It was terror by merger and acquisition.

  Roya felt the thrill of this next silent battle she was spearheading. She had barely slept during the last two days. Eating had been an inconvenience that interrupted the zeal she felt as she used that American phenomenon, the factory, to manufacture blood and horror.