by Steven James
I gave it three minutes or so but still didn’t see Blake resurface. Frustrated, I smacked the water, swam to shore, and went to find Ralph.
++++
The person who’d worked with Dylan stood among the law enforcement personnel responding to the scene. No one suspected anything.
It was safe here. Here, in the open. Two weeks after Dylan had moved to Detroit, the two of them had connected. Now, even though he was gone, at least one of them could live on and continue their work.
++++
When I saw Ralph, his shirt was soot-covered and torn. His face was swollen on the left side, and he had a split lip. The knuckles of both hands were bloodied.
“What happened to you?” Ralph said, indicating my wet clothes.
“Detroit River. Long story. Blake got away. I need your phone, mine’s gone in the water.”
“I already made the call. Backup’s on the way.”
“We’re gonna need a HAZMAT team. Ali blew himself up. He was in the bomb shelter and who knows how contagious he was. I’ll give you the rundown in a sec. Let me call it in.”
While he was pulling out his cell, I asked, “How many of them were there?”
“Just one. But he was big enough to count as three.”
“Did you Hawkins him?”
“In this case, he kind of Hawkinsed me.” Ralph gave me his phone. “I’d say it was a draw, but he got away—so I guess that means he won. This time.”
“I’ve never known that to happen.”
“It won’t happen again.” He tapped his head. “That guy had one hard melon.”
________
I called for the response team to bring biosuits.
After I hung up, I took a minute to tell Ralph about Gaviola.
“So you think he’s dirty?”
“I think it’s worth having a conversation with him.”
“SWAT wears body cameras. I’ll have Torres check the footage, see what Gaviola’s reveals.”
“Good.”
Then I remembered what Ralph had said earlier about how Fayed Raabi’ah Bashir’s group didn’t like to carry out a single event, but liked to pile them on one another.
Just one martyr?
Unlikely.
Ali was supposed to be apprehended. That was part of their plan to infect us. But what else?
What—
Kennedy had said that Idris was the one responsible for getting the contract for Ferilex to provide medical supplies to the government in the case of an emergency.
Oh.
I quickly dialed Angela’s number at Cyber.
“Any word on the plates from the car at the restaurant?” I asked her.
“Narrowed it down to two hundred and fifty-two possibles.”
“Are any registered in the name of Idris Kourye?”
“Can you spell that?”
I did.
“No.”
“What about his company, Ferilex?”
“Did you say Ferilex?”
“Yes.”
“It doesn’t look like it, no. But I do recall that name. They also received shipments from Pack-a-derm Shipping.”
“What?”
My mind was spinning.
“Have we identified the original sender or receiver of Maria’s video?”
“No. What is this about?”
Russian women who don’t speak.
Detroit ports.
Dr. Kuznetsov’s shipping manifest.
Follow them. Listen to what the ladies say.
“Angela, see if Ferilex has received any supplies recently through Pack-a-derm Shipping from Russia or Kazakhstan.”
These guys go for multiple attacks, not a single one. No. It’s not about one martyr. It never was. It’s about what happens after he’s caught.
Vans of first responders were pulling up and they started to lay out their equipment to put on their biosuits and respirators.
“I’ve got it,” Angela said. “They shipped SCBAs.”
Self-contained breathing apparatus. It’s the same shipping company. Follow the women who don’t speak. That’s what Maria was trying to tell you.
Ferilex distributes medical supplies.
They recently got the contract.
Air tanks. Respirators.
A Tesla drove up.
Idris Kourye was here.
I ran toward him and called to Ralph, “Stop those guys. Don’t let them breathe through the respirators!”
93
It’s aerosol-based.
That’s the second attack.
Avoid assumptions, Pat.
Yeah, but don’t ignore the evidence.
Just hit the FBI, then when the first responders show up, infect them. They’ll unknowingly spread it to everyone they’re trying to rescue.
I wanted to call Kennedy and ask him how long the SCBAs in the Hazardous Materials Response Unit had been there to see if we could use those, but there was no time at the moment.
You want a fine-particle aerosol delivery system like an inhaler.
What could be better than a respirator and an air tank?
Idris stepped out of his car. As I rushed toward him he held his hand up. “Agent Bowers, keep back. No face-to-face contact. Two meters. You might have been exposed.”
“How’d you get here so fast, Idris?”
“Kennedy. I wanted to help the first responders with the units.”
“Do not put on those suits,” I shouted to the people nearby. “Do not touch the respirators!”
“What is it? What’s wrong?”
I faced Idris. “Do you know who Dr. Kuznetsov is?”
“Who? No.”
“You know what the terrorists say about rage?” I was still holding Ralph’s phone in my hand.
“Rage?”
“Yes.” I tapped the cell’s screen.
“Let them die in their rage, I think,” he said. “Something like that. I don’t know. I’m no terrorist. What’s going on?”
I held up the phone and replayed the recording of what he’d just said. “Yeah, that’s a match.”
“What are you talking about? What are you doing?” He was backing up toward his trunk. “Did you just record me?”
“You were the one in the video with Maria,” I said. “You were the one with the scimitar. Were you at the restaurant as well? Wearing a ski mask, maybe?”
“You’re not making any sense.”
“You cut off Maria’s hands with a sword.”
He pressed the trunk release button on his key fob and was going for something in it when I tackled him.
We slammed hard onto the pavement and he wrestled to get free, but then Ralph was beside me, helping to cuff Idris, who just whispered, “The appeals will last for years. I’ll have the best lawyers in the country, and I’ll play the court of public opinion. No evidence, just you targeting, stereotyping, profiling Muslims.”
“I wouldn’t bet on that.” I was patting him down, making sure he wasn’t wearing a suicide vest.
The first responders stood nearby frozen, aghast.
“I’ll get free,” Idris told us. “Killing me is the only way to stop us.”
“No. That’s the only way to keep your ideology alive,” Ralph said. “Sorry to disappoint you, but you don’t get to be a martyr and be remembered, you get to die forgotten in prison.”
“How many have there been?” I asked Idris.
“How many?”
“Surrogates. Body doubles. Whatever term you want to use.” It was like what Kennedy said regarding the Dread Pirate Roberts from The Princess Bride: Fayed Raabi’ah Bashir was a role, not necessarily a specific individual.
“More than you’ll ever know.”
“But why?” I said. “Why do this?
Any of this?”
“Obedience is its own justification.”
“Obedience? Obedience to what?”
“What my religion requires of me.”
“I thought Islam was more about faith, prayer, and charity? Aren’t those the first three Pillars? And the last two don’t mention anything about maiming and killing innocent people either. Or do I have that wrong?”
He spit at me.
Ralph hauled him to his feet.
Idris began to speak in Arabic and I couldn’t understand any of it.
But the guy did not seem happy.
Oh well.
It looked like we would need to postpone our tête-à-tête on the art of coffee roasting.
________
“How did you know to record him saying that?” Ralph asked me after backup had taken Idris in.
“I didn’t.”
“What do you mean?”
“I didn’t have access to Maria’s video, so I had to, well . . .”
“You bluffed.”
“Maybe.”
“Based on what?”
“Call it a whim.”
“You don’t follow whims.”
“Okay, how about an ‘as-of-yet-unproven hypothesis.’”
“Works for me.”
I got through to Christie, and she quickly gave me the rundown of what’d happened at St. Gerard’s Church. She sounded rattled but assured me that she was fine, and so were Sharyn, Olivia, and Sharyn’s ex-husband.
“Remember how you said you wanted us to stay us?” she said.
“Yes.”
“And I asked you what that meant?”
“Yes.”
“And how we were talking about being ships passing in the night?”
“Uh-huh.”
“Well, I think for us to stay us we need to make sure we take the time to keep aiming for the same shore.”
“I’m up for that.”
“So am I.”
“I’ll get there as soon as I can,” I told her, “but it might be a little while.”
“Why is that?”
“I might need to be quarantined.”
PART 6
Under My
Umbrella
PARAMOUR
Endless wind
clutching at promises
unspoken and woven with
the subtext of hearts on fire.
A tryst, subtly dancing
across my face,
fingering my hair,
and either tangling
or untangling my life
depending on your perspective.
UNTITLED 1
When I walk in the ways of the night
I breathe in gasps of ragged
darkness that throw lethal tendrils
down deep into my soul.
But when I walk in the footsteps of light,
I start to glow. And the shadows
inside of me begin to recede
at last.
—FROM DOLLHOUSE IN MY HEART: POEMS OF FRAGILE GLASS
BY ALEXI MARËNCHIVEK (TRANS. BY BRIANNA SAULE), 1999,
PAGES 61 AND 143.
94
Three weeks later
New York City
Dusk
The rain came soft at first, gentle and calming, and the damp scent of the evening reminded me of growing up in Wisconsin—that touch of spring that came as the snow melted in March. Tonight seemed a lot more like a spring evening in the Midwest than a summer one in the city.
I pointed to the stuffed alligator that Tessa had set on the couch right before joining Christie and me at the table in their apartment. I’d never seen it before. “Who’s that?”
“Toothy.”
“Toothy the alligator?”
She rolled her eyes. “She’s a crocodile.”
“Oh. Well, where’s Francesca?”
“On a sleepover. Hannah and I traded for now. I’m gonna get Francesca the next time I go over to babysit.”
“I’m glad you’ve connected with her and Aja,” Christie said. “Rachel says they love having you there.”
“I still can’t stand the stupid diapers, though. Did you know that babies poop out their own body weight every sixty hours? I’m just glad I don’t.”
“So am I.”
“I think we’re all on the same page there,” I said.
Christie snabbed another piece of the vegan chocolate torte that Tessa had helped her make. I didn’t exactly know how they’d pulled it off, making it vegan enough for Tessa to eat and tasty enough for me, but they had.
As a group, we’d agreed to eat dessert first tonight.
And, just for good measure, we were already moving on to seconds.
Christie had the window slightly open rather than putting the air conditioner on. Outside, night was settling over the city and the rain was washing the grime of the day away.
Tessa had pressured her mom to let her have some of the wine we were sipping with the torte, but Christie had stood firm and Tessa grumbled, but settled for root beer.
“So, is she awake yet?” Christie asked her.
“No, she’s still sleeping in the other room. It was a long day. A lot to take in.”
“You’re not being too hard on her, are you?”
“No. Just trying to teach her to walk in my footsteps.”
“That is slightly frightening.”
“Thank you.”
I asked Tessa what they were up to tomorrow.
“The two of us are gonna go see Dr. Flossguilt.”
“Dr. Flossguilt?”
“Yeah, that’s my name for him. Mr. Oh-you-haven’t-been-flossing-enough-have-you? Seriously? Who flosses enough? You go to the dentist and it’s like going to confession, only he isn’t there to absolve you but only make you feel guiltier. No matter how much you floss, it’ll never be enough for Dr. Flossguilt and his ilk. And yes, I did just say ‘ilk.’ I’ll bet you a hundred bucks not even he flosses enough.”
“I hope it goes well,” I said. “No cavities.”
“Course this torte’s probably not helping anything.” She took another bite. “Screw it. And I am not gonna floss tonight. Let’s see how he likes that.” Then she said, “Let’s eat the tempeh before it gets cold.”
A voice came from the hallway, thick with a Russian accent, “I do not know what is that. Tempeh.”
Azaliya’s English was surprisingly good, but word order can be an issue for people who don’t learn English as their first language.
We would work on it.
Tessa did her best to explain the meat substitute to her, but by the look on Azaliya’s face, she wasn’t too excited about the idea of dining on deep-fried fermented soybeans.
It’d taken some arm-pulling, but the social services department here in the city had far more foster children that needed homes than they had families willing to take them in—especially when it came to teenagers—so they’d expedited things so that Ali’s sister could have a place to stay.
Azaliya Saleem was fourteen, Tessa fifteen.
Christie hadn’t applied to adopt her, but had simply offered to provide foster care until a more permanent arrangement could be made. So, until then, Azaliya was staying here in Tessa’s room on the top bunk of the bed I’d built for them.
Tessa was doing her best to introduce her to screamer bands, tofu, and Edgar Allan Poe. They talked boys and clothes and complained about having too many rules and played the video game “Exo-Skel IV” until three in the morning and I was glad that Tessa, even though she didn’t have many friends, at least had this one. And that she could help her navigate through mourning the loss of her brother.
++++
Five years ago.
; British Columbia, Canada
The woman let him take her hand and help her over the log. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.”
“So where are we going?”
“It’s a surprise.”
“I like surprises,” she said.
“I know.”
“When I asked if you’d go on a hike with me this afternoon, I didn’t know we would be coming out this far.”
“You can see the gorge a lot better from the overlook.”
“We were there once.”
“Yes,” he said. “I remember. It was our second date.”
Actually, she’d suspected that he might be leading her there, but she didn’t tell him that. Better to please him by acting surprised.
And, truthfully, she’d been hoping they would go back to that overlook. It would be perfect. She fingered the ring in her pocket. “You’re not a girl who likes to do things the traditional way,” he’d told her a few months ago. “That’s one of the things I like about you.”
He didn’t know she had the ring.
It would be better this way.
++++
For the last few weeks Dr. Ferrier and her team at the CDC had been busy.
They instituted their most stringent protocols, closed down the Detroit Metropolitan Airport, brought in the National Guard, vaccinated everyone they could in the city, and then isolated and sealed off the building where Ali had blown himself up. According to what he’d told us, he hadn’t been contagious yet, but they didn’t want to take any chances.
However, that bomb shelter did present a problem. As far as I knew, they still didn’t know how they were going to deal with it long-term.
The CIA’s code breakers were finally able to decipher Dr. Kuznetsov’s notes well enough to discover that he had come up with a treatment strategy for dealing with this strain of smallpox. He and his people had lied to Ali Saleem. There was a way to help people survive it.
It wasn’t perfect, it wasn’t a hundred percent effective, but in the end, seven first responders ended up infected and, although the virus hit them hard, and two of them nearly died, they managed to pull through.
________
We didn’t find Blake’s body.
Although part of me wanted to believe that he wouldn’t have survived that long underwater, I couldn’t afford to make assumptions like that.
