"Believe me. It was not intentional. One of my patients happened to be in all the wrong places at all the wrong times. My infiltration was actually a set of circumstances. I just had to keep moving forward."
Rivera interrupted. "It was divine intervention. You were the man for the season, Troy."
Stoker changed the subject. "We really need you here. Our IT guru, Z, has contracted Balamuthia amoebic encephalitis."
Bojangles's expression turned grim. "Z? You mean that techie guy who grew up in the Northwest and studied electrical engineering at Stanford?"
"He is currently being treated with a cocktail of miltefosine, fluconazole, albendazole, and clarithromycin," Stoker said.
"As I recall, that's the last effective mixture of medicines they used on a patient who survived. That miltefosine's the new drug recently granted orphan drug status."
"Okay Mister Encyclopedia," Rivera said, "As always, your recall is still at one hundred percent correct."
"Z's such a brilliant guy," Bojangles said. "I remember working with him in Maryland. My inner-ear tumor had just cost me my fighter pilot wings."
"Mister Bojangles had an acoustic neuroma. And he sure wasn’t dancing then," Rivera said.
"Wow, you've sure made a great recovery," Stoker said
"Thank you. I did indeed recover fully."
"Tell him about your treatments in China," Rivera said.
"After recovering from the ear tumor, I looked into some other health-enhancing treatments in China. Treatments the FDA won't let us do here in America—yet. Some of the Chinese medicine might be more effective than people think."
"Treatment isn't the only thing Bojangles pursued in China. He did a bunch of post-doctoral work in genetics and stem cells. Of course, genetics is so database driven. And with all the modeling on computers, it just naturally led him to start in on a second Ph.D. in computer science.
"At MIT?" Stoker asked.
"Yes. It's an incredible campus. Brilliance and creativity abound."
"How's your hearing now?" Stoker asked.
"Oh, by the time I got back from China, it was superb. Let's just say it was the excellent, um, food and nutrition over there. To make a long story short, I got my wings back. And I’m thrilled to fly with a reserve F-22 squadron out of Virginia.
"Hey Bojangles, are you hungry?" Rivera asked. "You've been traveling all morning."
"I'm not hungry yet. But, I sure am itching for some exercise. Could I talk either of you into going for a run? I assume you've got someplace to get out and train around here?"
Stoker was always up for a run, swim, bike ride, or any form of exertion. With all the stress of the bio attack crisis, it was time to blow off some steam before they got back to the intensity. "I would love to show you a great excursion. Get ready for a section of the Lakefront Trail."
"Give me five minutes, and I'll be laced up and ready to go. Come on Rivera. Let's see what you've got. You can wear your Army boots if it makes you feel any tougher."
"I'm always tougher than the task at hand, Bojangles. I don't care if I have to run in boots or ballet slippers. I have a pretty consistent record of cleaning your clock on these distance runs."
"Yes, you do. I cannot argue with history."
Moments later the three warriors were running through the streets of Chicago toward Lake Michigan. Quickly the city gave way to the vast body of water flanked by a broad sidewalk that ran along the lakeshore. As the commanding officer, Rivera took the lead. Stoker deferred to Bojangles allowing his new fellow-warrior to run in second place. The much younger man, Stoker, had no trouble keeping up with Rivera and Bojangles. The run had been smooth so far.
After a few miles, Rivera began to struggle. And he dropped back and allowed Bojangles the lead position. To Stoker's surprise, Bojangles accelerated considerably. Rivera faded even faster. But Stoker's still had plenty of strength. He welcomed the new challenge, and he elected to remain right behind Bojangles. Stoker decided there was no reason for passing the older Bojangles. He would just stay behind him and enjoy the rest of the run.
Two miles later, Rivera had fallen almost 300 yards behind Stoker and Bojangles. Stoker was stunned when Bojangles quickened his pace yet again. Stoker matched him. But, he wondered if he could run at this pace for more than a mile or two.
Bojangles broke off the Lakefront Trail, started to run back toward downtown, and opened up into a brief sprint. Stoker had to let Bojangles pull away from him. There was no doubt in his mind his awkward new acquaintance would soon discover this strenuous pace was going to burn Stoker out. Indeed, a minute later Bojangles started to slow. Stoker began to close the gap. When Stoker got within fifty yards of his fellow runner, Bojangles accelerated slightly. He chose a new pace that was uncomfortable for Stoker.
It had been more than an hour that they'd been running hard. Stoker slowed his run to a very relaxed pace, and he watched Bojangles disappear into Chicago. Stoker decelerated to a walk to give Rivera an opportunity to catch up.
As Rivera approached, he was panting and struggling for breath. "I suspect Bojangles is going to tell us his new stamina is also from the amazing nutrition he experienced in China."
"Well, I hope he doesn't get lost on his way back," Stoker said. "A couple wrong turns, and he might end up in the wrong part of town."
"You don't have to worry about Bojangles," Rivera said. "He's already studied a map of Chicago. He's got this place memorized. He knows right where he's going. It's a thing with him. He's a walking Google map. If the power grid ever crashes or the Internet goes down, we'll have Bojangles to get us around."
"Let's get some water," Stoker said. They entered a small mom-and-pop shop, the kind of establishment that was so common in Chicago. Stoker purchased three bottles of water and handed one to Rivera. They each took long drinks from their bottles. Then they poured some water from the third bottle over their heads to cool off. "What just happened back there?" Stoker asked. This Bojangles guy is in some unnatural physical condition for a man his age."
"I have no idea," Rivera responded. “Today, he cleaned my clock. Something's different about Bojangles. I guess he's been doing some mega training?"
Stoker took another sip from his bottled water. "It's more than his training regimen, Rivera. Bojangles must still be eating what he referred to as 'the amazing Chinese food.'"
Stoker expected Rivera to laugh at his comment and the insinuation something unnatural was enhancing Bojangles's performance. But, Rivera didn't even smile. He just looked down the road and off into the distance. "When a geneticist and physiologist goes to China—a place where there is little regulation of medical experimentation—there is no telling what exactly that could mean. Who knows what kind of science and supplementations he's tried? I don't think he's going to say much, and he seems to be enjoying this newfound vigor." Rivera pointed down the road that led to the center of Chicago and the FBI field office. "Let's get back. Something tells me Bojangles will now be hungry."
"I need to call and get an update on Allie. Then, we need to find out how the debriefings are going with Nikolas's family."
• • •
When Stoker and Rivera got back to the FBI field office, they met with Special Agent Ahmadi about Nikolas's family. "Our forensic psychologists have learned a few things from the family so far," she said.
"Who did the family think was holding them hostage?" Stoker asked.
"They had no idea. The family didn't know they were in Saudi Arabia. They suspected they were somewhere in the Middle East. They eventually figured out their captors were speaking Arabic."
"So, what's next for the Antoniou family?" Stoker asked.
"Mrs. Antoniou fears for their safety. We've sequestered them in a special safe house until we've figured out the extent and scope of this attack. They'll lay low there while they process everything that's happened. We'll continue to work with them to see if Mrs. Antoniou can remember any other key details. The two surviving children appear to
know nothing. They have no actionable intel."
"And what about Saudi Arabia?" Rivera asked. "Did their government know some Iranians were holding hostages in their country?"
Stoker knew the answer to this question. "No, our CIA boys have been poking around. Nobody in the Saudi Arabian government knew anything about it. I think the fact that we did not meet resistance entering or leaving the country confirms that. But, it was a brilliant place for the Iranians to hide their kidnaped victims. Nobody would expect them to hide them within an adversarial nation."
"In addition," Ahmadi interjected, "They were held in a pretty nondescript building owned by one of Nikolas's companies. We looked at the bank accounts of the two men Stoker and the special operators eliminated. The same company employed them as security guards and deposited regular pay into their bank accounts."
"Okay." Stoker's phone vibrated. "I think we're done here for now. Let's go put Nikolas through another little experiment."
CHAPTER 28
Chihuahua, Mexico
FBI Agent Ahmadi left the handcuffs on Nikolas's wrists. After all, it was a relatively short flight on a private Citation jet from Chicago to Chihuahua, Mexico. Nikolas was also blindfolded. He had no idea where they were going. When they landed, they put him in an SUV with Stoker sitting to his left and Rivera to his right. Ahmadi sat in the row behind Nikolas on purpose. They drove toward a safe house operated by some of Stoker's new CIA friends. They were kind enough to lend Stoker their humble abode for a few hours.
Stoker took off Nikolas's blindfold once they left the airport. Nikolas surveyed the streets of Chihuahua as he tried to hide his anxiety about this place that was so foreign to him. But there was no denying he was indeed in Mexico, and it was not a touristy part.
"This is where this whole bioterrorism ordeal started for me," Stoker said to Nikolas in a menacing voice. They passed through the streets of Chihuahua and Nikolas occasionally rubbed his nose with one of his handcuffed hands.
Rivera chimed in. "Welcome to Mexico, amigo. I'm thinking of introducing you to a few of the people who got some of your first doses of Campylobacter jejuni. Their families, too. I'm sure you'd be extremely popular with these folks. Let's invite them over to our place for a little fiesta, in your honor, Nikolas. You can be the honorary piñata."
"Mexico?" Nikolas asked. "Why would you bring me here? I would've been willing to tell you everything in Chicago."
"Well, let's just say we know the information will flow even faster here," Ahmadi said. "This place adds an extra incentive."
"We've rescued your family," Stoker said. "They’re back safe on US soil."
"Thank you," Nikolas said softly, pretending to be deeply touched while glancing toward his feet.
"I'm sorry," Stoker continued. "Your oldest son was shot and killed as we were exiting the building and running toward the helicopter."
"Oh," Nikolas paused for a moment. "If it be God's will, God's will it shall be."
Stoker noticed how Nikolas showed little emotion, his lackluster response confirming his cold-hearted nature. While many people try to control their emotions when they learn devastating news, almost everyone had "tells." But, with Nikolas, Stoker noticed his tells were confusing. Subsequently, Stoker asked him a straightforward question. "So, Nikolas, how do you feel about your son being killed?
Nikolas didn't answer. He just looked down at his shoes.
"Listen," Stoker said. "I hate making this the hard way. But, I guess it's going to have to be that way. Let's find out what you think." Then he continued with his interrogation. "There are a lot of people suffering in the United States. Everyone's reeling right now. I'm sure you're gloating inside that hell hole of a mind of yours." Stoker pretended to think for a moment, and then he said in a facetious tone, "Hey, how about another quick flight. Let's go to Iraq, where they tend not to like you Iranians. We can get our good friends there to ask you some specific questions. The Iraqis will entice you toward free speech. An inalienable right."
Nikolas's eyes bulged, and the color drained from his face. "No, no, no! I don't need to go there. I'm telling you everything."
Ahmadi seized on Nikolas's fear. "Okay then. Right now, you're going to tell us everything—no games, from the beginning, nothing left out." She threw his Iranian passport onto his lap. "We located your boat in Athens. As you told us, your story began in Iran many years ago. We found the cargo hulls you used to bring over the bacteria and amoeba." Ahmadi scooted forward in her seat, scooted up behind him and spoke into his ear in Farsi. "You've not told us everything."
Ahmadi's dominant, aggressive behavior put the Iranian man in an awkward situation. Nikolas felt uncomfortable. He looked at Stoker and spoke. "Please remove this jendeh from my ear, or I will not say one word."
"Well," responded Ahmadi. "Was calling me a bitch an emotional response? This is progress! Things got more interesting as we scoured Hotel Esatto. We found this Greek passport in your office there." She tossed the Greek passport in front of him. "This is just the tip of the iceberg. We've searched your office in the hotel for documentation. We've confiscated all your cultures and lab equipment from the basement. There's plenty of evidence of the Campylobacter bacteria and the Balamuthia amoeba." Ahmadi stuck her nose into his ear. Nikolas's discomfort was through the roof. As an Iranian, Ahmadi knew how insulting and disrespectful her behavior was; and she chose to amplify it. "This jendeh knows there's more to your story. You've spent years here in America. You found a wife and won the green card lottery. You started a family. That's all fine and well." Ahmadi changed her tone from ridicule to a whisper. With soft words in his ear, she said, "You're one sick bastard to allow your family's kidnapping and house arrest. There's got to be more in your depraved history. At least tell me the whole story, even if you would be talking to a woman."
Before Nikolas could speak, Stoker jumped in. "Let's save it for the Chihuahua safe house. We want to record what you say."
The rest of the drive continued in silence. When the SUV pulled up to a large metal gate, the driver used a garage door opener to open the gate. The SUV passed through and parked in a garage. Stoker and Rivera got out of the SUV, and they brought Nikolas along with them into the safe house. They lead him into a crude interrogation room, but they elected not to turn on the cameras or recording devices. After Rivera, Ahmadi, and Stoker sat down at a table with Nikolas, Stoker calmly asked, "Are you comfortable?"
"Yes, thank you," Nikolas said.
Suddenly, Stoker pounded his fist on the table. "A long, slow, and painful powwow with the electric chair is way too good for shit like you. Two people who mean the world to me are attached to ventilators because of you. Thousands of people suffer."
"Dr. Stoker," Nikolas said with calm in his voice. "I've done horrible things in your country. I have anguished about my mandate for years," he lied. "I even worked to slow the pace of development on these two diseases. I never wanted to harm America. The coercion from the ayatollahs was so overwhelming, I had to act. They would've killed my family, and more."
Stoker noticed how Nikolas's response felt pre-meditated, almost scripted. The psychiatrist chose to minimize his response. He just listened. He was surprised this terrorist had already disclosed a blanket statement about doing horrible things to America. Nikolas acted as if he felt some contrition. He appeared sincere—another psychiatric confirmation to Stoker. This is textbook psychopath 101, he thought. Remorse is not in his genetics, but good acting is.
After a bit of awkward silence, Nikolas continued. "The big picture here was to use two pathogens, the Balamuthia amoeba and the Campylobacter bacteria, to bring America to its knees. The next few months are going to be very rough for your country."
Alarm bells went off in Stoker's head. Because Nikolas admitted his fault so freely, Stoker knew there were holes in his storyline. To be a terrific psychopathic liar, Nikolas had to share large portions of the truth, Stoker thought. There must be more, he told himself. "Go on," he said.
"Did CoolSolar provide cooling services with your misters to Burning Man?"
"Yes."
"That's where you infected my friend," Stoker said," who now occupies a bed in an intensive care unit. So, you'll tell me everything, period. That's my friend. And, we've not even begun to talk about the other victim who’s close to me." Stoker knew if he started to talk about Allie, as she suffered from Guillain-Barre syndrome, he would not be able to control himself.
"I will tell you everything. Burning Man was the first time we ever used our solar-powered mist machine along with a pathogen. In this case, it was the Balamuthia amoeba. We've also spread Balamuthia at other events with our misters. But, the largest population is all the tourists in Las Vegas. We had many mist machines in place there, and we estimate we've infected more than a million people at numerous locations along the Strip."
Stoker considered the magnitude of the horrific bio attack. He fought a strong desire to give Nikolas a close elbow strike into his left temple. Then, Stoker reacted.
In the next moment, Stoker was leaping over the table. With a palm strike in the middle of Nikolas's chest, Stoker knocked him back off his chair and onto the floor. Then he jumped on top of Nikolas and pinned him down. "Tell it all! What about the Campylobacter jejuni? How did you make the bacteria so potent?" Neither Rivera nor Ahmadi tried to calm or restrain Stoker. They looked on with approval.
Silent Strike Page 31
