Another deep breath. “All right, forgotten,” Nirsch said. “For now. What do you need?”
“You need to make sure you and the sheriff get everything you need out of your trucks. You also need to have the sheriff call his dispatch and close the highway three miles either side of the entrance to that camp.”
“Do you have a team coming in?”
“No, we’re going to clean the area.”
Nirsch knew what that meant. The entire Clark ranch was going to be carpet bombed and burned to a crisp.
“That’s going to raise a lot of questions.”
“We already have a cover story in place. It seems that an Air Guard fuel tanker out of K-Falls is going to run into mechanical problems around 3:15 this afternoon. There will be no survivors. The FAA will investigate and the area will be closed until further notice.”
It always shocked Nirsch how easy the lies came to America’s intelligence officers. He had been one, and lied, all the time. That also was a big part of his decision to leave the company.
“What do I tell the sheriff? He has to be let in on what’s going on.”
“Tell him what we’re going to do. Just make sure he doesn’t know about the potential virus. Tell him it’s toxic chemicals or some other environmental threat. Try to keep his questions to a minimum.”
“He’s not an idiot. He’ll know there’s more to it than meets the eye, and I’m sure holding him on a military base for twenty-four hours will pretty much guarantee questions.”
Jerry sighed. “What do you suggest? You think he can be trusted?”
“I don’t think we have a choice. He seems like a straight shooter that truly cares about the citizens of Lake County. He has a military background. I think he’ll fall in line.”
“Okay. You have about twenty-five minutes till that chopper arrives. Be in the clearing, ready to go.”
Three hours had passed since Nirsch’s conversation with Jerry Petterson. Nirsch and Luke Palmer sat inside a large, clear-plastic oxygen tent in a Klamath Falls airport hangar. A doctor wearing a hazmat suit had just drawn blood from each of them.
Nirsch’s phone rang.
“Nirsch, Jerry. We have a major problem. We received your package and analyzed the contents of the syringe. It is a virus, one we’ve never seen before. Works faster than anything known. It attacks the immune system, then starts consuming red blood cells. Fever occurs and literally cooks the brain. We’ve already lost some government officials but aren’t sure where they contracted it. Tests on the lab animals indicate that symptoms appear within minutes of initial exposure: fever, convulsions, blindness. By our estimate, the victim is dead within twenty-four hours. We’re trying to develop an antivirus now.”
Nirsch gripped the phone so tightly that the plastic case started to crack under his fingertips. “It’s been several hours since we found the syringe,” he said. “Neither of us is showing any symptoms.”
“We’re not sure exactly how it reacts in humans, but if you’re still not showing any symptoms, you’re probably clean. You should be able to leave the base in a few hours.”
“What about the envelope I found referring to Ansari Mosque? That lead to anything?”
“We dispatched a team. Nothing found so far. We took the cleric into custody, but he was taken out of our hands by justice a short time later. Attorney General Schroeder got him a lawyer and a fresh copy of the Koran before we could interrogate.”
Nirsch swore under his breath. “That figures. Do we know anything?”
“Not much. We’ve checked names from the mosque against recent plane tickets purchased and have several matches. Homeland Security is canceling all domestic flights and locking down the airports. They estimate they’ll have everything shut down by 8 P.M. Eastern. We don’t know what time the people who died were infected or if anyone else has been. Right now it’s all speculation. Without information from the cleric, we don’t know anything.”
“What about the nukes that supposedly made it into the country?”
“So far, nothing. We don’t have any leads.”
“Let me know if anything turns up.”
Nirsch punched “end call” and considered what he’d just heard. The total impact of the viral attack wouldn’t be known for some time. Their best lead into the amount of virus released, and those targeted, lay with the cleric from the mosque. Thanks to Attorney General Schroeder, he was now untouchable. Nirsch had a sudden fantasy of holding Schroeder down and waterboarding him. The fantasy was interrupted when the phone rang again.
“Hey Boss, we’re in Redmond.” It was Amanda. “We got the car and we’re headed toward Prineville.”
Hearing her voice brought a little joy back to Nirsch’s psyche. She always had a way of calming him down.
“Any problems?” he said.
“Not so far. The plane landed fifteen minutes early. We’re gonna grab something from a drive-up and head to John Day. Depending on what time we get there, we might get a motel room and go the rest of the way tomorrow.”
“Have any of the other secretaries at the Pentagon filled you in on what’s happening?”
“I haven’t talked to anyone today. I called in sick, remember?”
“All right. Call me when you get to the ranch. Hug Michelle and the kids for me.”
“Sure thing, Boss. Oh, Larry says hi. He’s waving at the phone.”
“Tell him hi back, and tell him not to get too comfortable in my house and my recliner chair. I’ll be comin’ for it one day soon.”
8
CINCINNATI INTERNATIONAL AIRPORT
1:30 P.M. EST
SAMIR MUSHARIFF EXITED A TAXICAB, PAID THE DRIVER, AND walked toward the airport on shaky legs. He’d been psyching himself up by focusing on the words of the cleric at the training camp.
Samir spit on his hand, reached for the door handle at the entrance, and hesitated. Why couldn’t Americans have embraced Islam? he thought. Why have they forced us to this point? Is this what you want, Allah?
A well-dressed businessman, talking on his cell phone, rushed passed Samir and knocked him into the door jam. The man never looked up or even broke stride as he hurried into the airport.
Samir straightened up. Stupid Americans. Always rushing around with such important things to do. Fools, soon you will feel the wrath of Allah. The Twelfth Imam will crush you under his mighty right hand. He reached out and took hold of the door handle. Somehow this act seemed to make his chills, fever, nausea, and headache retreat a bit. The fact that he felt better confirmed his belief that he was truly sent here by Allah.
Samir made his way to the row of kiosks and printed his boarding pass. He wiped his brow and pulled his identification out with slick, sweat-covered fingers. The girl behind the ticket counter didn’t look up when he approached.
“Can I help you?” she asked.
“Yes, I am checking a bag.”
“I will need your boarding pass and some identification.”
Samir tried to keep his hand steady as he handed her his identification.
“Is Dallas your final destination?” The ticket agent looked up at Samir for the first time and gasped. She dropped his identification on the counter, then picked it up without taking her eyes off his face.
“Yes, Dallas is my final stop.”
“Sir, are you all right? You don’t look well.”
“I am fine. I am just very tired. I ate some bad shrimp last night. I feel a lot better than I did this morning when I got up.”
The ticket agent seemed to relax a bit and let out a long sigh. “How will you be paying the bag fee?”
Samir removed a credit card and handed it to the agent.
“The fee is $35.”
“That is fine.”
After checking his bag, Samir made his way to the security checkpoint. He handed the Transportation Security Administration agent his ID and damp boarding pass. He made it through without any questions. At the food court, he purchased a sandwich and
drink, paying with one-dollar bills as he’d been instructed. “More people will be infected,” the cleric had said. Samir smiled to himself as he handed the cashier his germ-covered money.
He dropped his food into the nearest garbage can and made his way to each men’s room in the airport. He spit on his hands and touched the handles of every paper towel holder, as well as the start buttons on every hand dryer.
Samir glanced at his watch. He still had an hour before his flight boarded. He would spend his time wandering around the airport, bumping into as many people as he could and thumbing through as many books and magazines as he could get his hands on.
He hummed a little tune. I am like the Americans’ Santa Claus, he thought. I have plenty of gifts for everyone. I will give them to all of the good little infidels.
Samir passed a toddler clinging to his mother’s leg. He patted the little boy on the head, winked at him, and continued on. He really did hate Americans. His hatred for them was stronger than his sense of self-preservation or his compassion. They were responsible for most of the evil in the world. He would cleanse society of them. Allah had chosen him for this task and he was not going to let him down. When Samir was finished, he would surely taste the pleasures of the virgins that awaited his arrival in paradise.
He knew that his brothers were also performing Allah’s duty in airports across the United States, as well as in train stations, bus terminals, and sports venues, anywhere there was a big crowd. Virus-laden envelopes and packages, mailed four days earlier, were making their way through the system. Every member of Congress had an envelope coming, as well as all Supreme Court justices and all fifty state governors and their lieutenants. All state houses and senators were also covered. When phase two was launched, there would be no structure left to govern. Chaos would ensue, the infidels would grovel at the feet of the brotherhood, and the Twelfth Imam would make slaves of them all.
Samir checked his watch and made his way to his flight. He boarded, leaned into the corner of his seat, and fell asleep. Nightmares flooded his unconscious mind.. Demons dressed in American flags chased him, pigs chewed on his flesh, and firelight flickered across the faces of filthy Jews as they laughed at him and burned Allah’s Holy Book while dancing around the flames.
Samir awoke as his plane touched down in Dallas. His fever had elevated, and he’d left a sweat stain on his seat. He had a hard time focusing his eyes as he exited the plane. For a moment, he forgot where he was. He had to lean against the wall of the jetway to keep from collapsing. After a few moments, his head cleared slightly, and he headed for his final destination. He exited the airport and hailed a taxi.
The day’s shadows were growing long when the cab pulled in front of an old warehouse. He paid the cab driver in ones and entered the warehouse. He made his way to the top floor, took a silver key out of his pocket, and unlocked a large metal cabinet in the center of the room. His excitement and fear grew as he gazed upon the missile and the launch controls inside. It was glorious and terrifying.
“Before the sun sets on this day, Allah will have his victory!” His words echoed off empty walls and steel beams.
Samir grabbed a hand truck from the corner of the room and wheeled the four-foot-long, 350-pound missile to the freight elevator. He pushed the button for the roof and prayed to Allah for strength. Exiting the freight elevator, he made his way to the center of the roof. A green tarp weighted with bricks covered something large and bulky. He removed the tarp, exposing a homemade launch pad anchored to the roof with bolts and cables running down through the roof. To the untrained eye, it looked like a device for holding a large antenna or satellite dish.
Samir secured the missile to the launch pad and removed a metal cover, exposing wires. He hardwired the launch controls to the missile, then set them down. He made his way to the corner of the roof and removed another green tarp, revealing a control pad and a large bomb with a digital display. Samir took another key from his pocket and placed it in a keyhole on top of the control pad. When he turned the key, green LED lights began to glow. He punched in the sequence of numbers he’d memorized. A red button displayed the word “Ready.”
He checked his watch: 6:28 Central Standard Time.
“In two minutes,” he said, “I will be in paradise.”
On rooftops in ten other U.S cities, Samir knew, his fellow martyrs were poised over similar launch pads, awaiting the hour of victory.
Samir counted the seconds. He checked his watch again: 6:29.
“It is time.”
He walked over to the launch pad and held his finger over the button. He gazed at his watch intently, anticipation filling every part of him. He could hear the blood pounding in his ears as his watch changed to 6:30. He pressed the button. The rocket ignited and shot toward the heavens. He watched it for a moment as it disappeared into a white puffy cloud. The cloud reminded him of a dolphin.
A single tear rolled down his cheek as he remembered his childhood. The memories played in his mind. He’d spent hours lying on his back on the riverbank with Aamirah. They’d watched clouds float overhead and imagined each was a different animal. Samir blinked back a second tear and swallowed. Those days were no more.
He clenched his teeth, turned, and walked to the bomb. He shouted toward the heavens, “Allahu Akbar!” He reached for the control panel, and the image of the little boy in the airport flashed in his mind. So young, so innocent. He had not been alive long enough to be corrupted by the Satan that his parents surely served.
A wave of sobs racked Samir’s body. He closed his eyes tightly, trying to crush the image as he pushed the button.
Samir was gone instantly, vaporized along with everyone else in Dallas, Texas.
9
KLAMATH FALLS (OREGON) AIRPORT
4:10 P.M. PST
NIRSCH SAT AT A SMALL TABLE WITH SHERIFF PALMER, PLAYing Texas Hold ‘Em to pass the time. They’d been in isolation inside the hangar on the Klamath Falls air base for over four hours.
Luke looked down at his hand. An ace, king, and three lay face up on the table after the flop. “I’ll call your fifty cents,” he said, “and raise you one dollar.”
Nirsch laid his cards down and feigned offense. “Too rich for me,” he said. “I’m going to have to fold.”
“Chicken.”
After a few more hands, Nirsch got up from the table and walked to the fully stocked refrigerator. “They must pay sheriffs a lot in your county. Uncle Sam doesn’t pay me that well. You want another soda?”
“No, but you could grab me some chips out of the cabinet.”
Nirsch was reaching for the chips when the room went dark.
“Who turned out the lights?” Luke asked.
“Not sure,” Nirsch said. “They’ll probably come back on in a minute.”
A deafening roar rocked the hangar. They heard the crunch of twisting metal. An instant later, a three-foot-long chunk of burning debris tore through the outer wall, missing Luke by inches. From somewhere in the hangar came what sounded like cars crashing, shouts, and screams. More explosions could be heard in the distance, echoing across the valley.
Nirsch ran across the hanger and reached for his go bag.
“We need to move,” he shouted. “Now!”
“What is it? What are those explosions?”
“Airplanes, falling out of the sky! It’s started, now move!”
“What’s started?”
“Move now!”
Nirsch grabbed his bag and dumped its contents on the bed. He put on a tac vest and stuffed its pockets with full magazines and ammunition. He checked his pistol and tried the holographic sight on his SCAR rifle—didn’t work. He removed the sight and magnifier, and flipped up the front and rear iron sights.
Luke was checking the cylinder on his revolver. “Here,” Nirsch said, and tossed him a 12-gauge and a box of buckshot. Nirsch unsheathed his K-Bar knife, and sliced a large hole in the isolation tent.
“We gotta move!”
“What about the virus?”
“We haven’t had symptoms. That’s the least of our worries now. Keep your eyes open and be ready for anything.”
Cautiously, they made their way outside the hangar. Burning debris from an aircraft littered the field next to the runway. The smell of ozone and burnt plastic hung heavy in the air. The glow of several fires could be seen on the hills in the distance. Nirsch realized they were burning aircraft. Air National Guardsmen ran everywhere.
People also streamed out of the public section of the airport. Several had cell phones in their hands and puzzled looks on their faces. Cars and taxi cabs were parked in random fashion in the road. Many had crashed into each other. Some people were bruised and bloodied, walking around in a daze.
One lady cried and screamed hysterically. “Help!” she shouted. “My husband’s having a heart attack. Please. His pacemaker, I don’t think it’s working. Please, somebody!”
An older man sobbed in front of his Mercedes. Lying on the ground, half under the front of his car, was a baby stroller. A pair of woman’s legs also stuck out from beneath the vehicle.
“The motor, it just quit,” he said to no one. “There was nothing I could do. I couldn’t stop in time.”
Nirsch and Palmer hurried past and ran at a steady pace toward the main base offices. “I’ve got to see if they have any communication capabilities,” Nirsch said. “All bases are supposed to be prepared for this and have secured communications stored in EMP-proof cabinets. I want to know how many regions are affected by this. If it’s the whole nation, my decision on what to do next will be easier.”
They passed several broken-down military vehicles. An F-22 fighter jet was parked sideways in the middle of the runway.
“It won’t take them long to reestablish some order and the chain of command,” Nirsch said as he jogged. “I want to be gone by then and headed for home.”
“What is this?” Palmer said. “I don’t understand.”
“EMP!”
“What?”
Collective Retribution Page 5
