Rain unto Death

by Alex Ryan

  Rex surveyed the sandy area for scorpions, and set up the tent. It wasn’t particularly needed for privacy, although certainly the protection from insects was welcome.

  “Hey!” Kirsten exclaimed; it was pitch black inside the tent.

  “Yeah?” Rex replied.

  “I didn’t bring any sleepwear.”

  “You’ve never camped in the wild before, have you?”

  “It’s always been at RV parks.”

  “In cold weather, you sleep naked, with your clothes inside the bag to keep them warm. In warm weather, you sleep naked, with your clothes outside the bag so they will dry.”

  “But we’re in here, together.”

  “It’s completely dark. I can’t see a thing.”

  He could hear the sound of jeans and a flannel top being pulled off her body. “What about my underwear?”

  “The longer it stays on your body, the less fresh it will be tomorrow. Your call.”

  “I can’t move around in this bag. It’s really uncomfortable. I feel claustrophobic.”

  Rex examined the bags with his hands. “Turn your bag upside down.”

  “Will it work upside down?”

  “It will work either way. They don’t have a top and a bottom.”

  She struggled to roll the bag over and set it back in to place. “Okay.”

  “Now unzip it, all the way down.”

  “Okay.”

  Rex joined the two zippers at the top and bottom, and zipped the two bags together. “There, now it’s one big bag. You can move around all you want.”

  “What’s that noise?” Kirsten asked.

  “What noise?”

  “Quiet. Listen.”

  “Just some coyotes in the distance.”

  “Are they dangerous?”

  “Nah.”

  She slipped into his arms. He could feel her warm skin against his. “Are you sure this is a good idea?”

  “I’m pretty sure it isn’t.”

  “Do you have a girlfriend?”

  “Obviously you don’t know that I’m living off the grid.”

  “Yeah, I know that. I know who you are.”

  “You do?”

  “Don’t worry. Nobody else knows, other than obviously Simon.”

  “The closest I ever got to having one is, for one brief night, I slept in a motel with a Korean girl who was on the run for an expired visa. Nothing happened in that motel room. She drove me to Los Angeles to meet Simon, and she was supposed to wait for me. But she didn’t. She left the country, and is now back in South Korea. She was supposed to marry some guy in an arranged marriage. I’m going to be honest with you, I think of her when I’m holding you, and it’s messing with me a little bit.”

  “Let me get this straight – you met a girl for one day, nothing happens, she splits on you, and you’re feeling guilty about being naked with me in a sleeping bag?” She sounded angry.

  “No! No, I don’t mean it like that. You have no idea how much I want to be with you right now.” She recoiled. He put his arms over hers. She turned over towards him, and their lips met.

  The wind picked up as some high clouds blocked the direct rays of the morning sun, causing a dark, diffuse blue shadow effect inside the tent. It was cooler that morning, even slightly chilly outside. Kirsten was sound asleep in his arms. He was thoroughly exhausted from the acrobatics of the night. She stirred.

  “My boyfriend from college wanted to marry me,” Kirsten said. “But I couldn’t. I was too focused on a career. Then the job with the Agency came up. I’ve maybe dated for or five times since then, but I could never think of being serious.”

  Rex just listened, and held her. It is strange how nature works. From a man’s perspective, you spend ungodly amounts of energy to get them in the sack, and when you are finally successful, it’s like buyer’s remorse. What have I gotten in to? It is so complicating. And then that passes, and the urge returns. Then you get addicted. It’s like a drug.

  “Come on. We better get dressed and going.” Rex said.

  “I don’t know how I should feel right now.”

  “Neither do I.”

  “I have to control everything. You know that.”

  “I can tell. And by the way, I wasn’t complaining about it last night.”

  “But I lost control.”

  “You lost control?”

  “I can’t have children. The doctors said it will never happen. But even if that weren’t so, I wouldn’t have stopped.”

  Rex had no comeback. Probably best to leave it as such. He did breathe a silent sigh of relief.

  The Jeep climbed up a steep, rutted grade to a ridgeline where there was a large wooded barn like structure. “This is site number two. The one that looks most promising.” Rex said. “But, I seriously doubt this is it. This road looks untraveled in months, if not years.” He parked the Jeep in front of the wooden structure and took a look. It was abandoned, and empty. The purpose defied explanation, other than maybe years ago there was some sort of agricultural activity nearby.

  As the Jeep headed down the trail, there was a crossing. He didn’t see it for what it was at first, but coming back he could see the switchbacks. He stopped the Jeep and looked at the map. “Look at that road we crossed. It’s been traveled on, by heavy stuff, and recently. But, there is nothing on the map. How old do you think the satellite imagery is?” Rex asked.

  “I’m sure it’s not real time. It could be anywhere from a couple days to a couple years old.”

  “Let’s check it out. This smacks of what we may be looking for.” The Jeep climbed the switchbacks. Rex noticed the spilled fruit on the sharp turns. “Grapes.” Ten minutes later, there it was. A large, tan colored metal building. It looked fairly new. And it blended in with the desert. There were a couple flatbed trailers loaded with empty fruit transport tubs. “Bingo.”

  “Why the hell would anyone put a winery out here?” Kirsten asked, staring at the stark metal building in amazement.

  “I don’t know, but it looks abandoned. At least, nobody seems to be here.”

  They apparently didn’t expect company, because they didn’t bother to put locks on the doors. Inside the main bay were two rows of circular metal fermentation tanks. In back of the building was a water tank, probably stocked by tanker trucks. And a couple portable latrines under a shade stand.

  “This doesn’t make sense.” Rex said. “It’s like they make a batch, then left.” Usually you see stuff posted on the wall, paperwork, desks, there is a lab room with some equipment. There were some cots in an empty side room.

  “No it doesn’t.” Kirsten agreed.

  Rex opened another side room. “Oh shit.”

  “What?”

  “Take a look at that. See those barrels? That’s military grade super-tropical bleach. They use that stuff for decontaminating chemical and biological toxins. And look at those suits.”

  “Full containment hazmat suits.” Kirsten replied.

  “Let’s get the hell out of this building. You need to get a team out here to check this place out. I have a real bad feeling.”

  “This is now officially a credible threat. We need to get to a phone.”

  “I’ll mark the map, so you can relay the coordinates.”

  The Mexican Federales placed a perimeter tape around the grounds surrounding the tan metal building and staging lot, and guarded it as two UH 60 Blackhawk Helicopters landed in the far end of the cleared zone, stirring a violent dust storm. A team of analysts dressed in full containment gear approached the building and went to work collecting samples and taking photographs.

  Back at her hotel in San Diego, Kirsten spent hours on the secure phone connection briefing the deputy director on what they found so far. She hung up the phone and lay down on the bed. “I don’t know what to do next. I feel like I should be doing something, I just don’t know what.”

  “You can’t really do anything until we know what we’re looking at.” Rex rubbed her shoulders in a
reassuring manner.

  You can’t do anything until we know what we’re looking at. Operative word ‘we.’ “I’ve never been a team player.” Kirsten admitted.

  “But you want a team, don’t you?” Rex said.

  “I’m not saying I don’t like the idea. But I wish the team would call back. Like right now.”

  “There’s one way to get them to do that...” Rex trailed off suggestively.

  “What’s that?”

  Rex engaged her in a passionate kiss.

  “You’re bad. You’re really bad.”

  The call finally did come through. Rex was fast asleep. Kirsten slipped on a bathrobe and answered the buzz of the Navajo 1 secure telephone set.

  “Agent Maples?”

  “Yes?”

  “Ma’am, I’ve got some news.”

  “Good, I need some.”

  “It’s not good news, Ma’am. It turns out that the facility in question in the remote mountains of Sonora, Mexico is a production facility for biological weapons. Specifically, anthrax.”

  “Anthrax?”

  “Yes, those fermentation tanks you saw?”

  “Uh huh.”

  “Those aren’t fermentation tanks. Those are incubators. They appear to have engaged in the production of anthrax spores in a liquid substrate.”

  “Oh my god. You said engaged, you mean they already finished. Left. Split.”

  “How much?”

  “Our estimate is tens of thousands of pounds. A few thousand gallons.”

  “Oh Jesus, what could someone do with that?”

  “Ma’am, you don’t want to know.”

  “Inform the deputy director please, and let him know that I am taking the first flight back to McLean in the morning.”

  “Will do ma’am.”

  She crawled back under the covers. This may be the last opportunity to sleep in Rex’s strong, reassuring embrace.

  “What was that?” Rex asked, as she settled in.

  “I need to go back to Virginia in the morning. We have a real problem. It’s now an official Agency highest level priority.”

  “What are we talking about?”

  “Anthrax. In a liquid base. Thousands of gallons were produced, and now it’s gone.”

  “Oh my god. The plane.”

  “What about it?”

  “If it isn’t already equipped to be an aerial sprayer, it could easily be configured as such.”

  Kirsten sat bolt upright. “Remember that girl we picked up?”

  “Yeah.” Rex replied.

  “If you had thousand gallons of anthrax spores to spray, where would you do it?”

  Now Rex sat bolt upright. “Oh my god! The pilots. That song. ‘No sleep ‘til Brooklyn’! New York. And that aircraft has the range.”

  “Rex?”

  “Yes?”

  “I’m bad about complimenting people, but that was a first rate detective job you did.”

  “Thanks. I guess I’m not needed anymore?”

  “We’re putting all available resources on this. I suspect the director will brief the president when I get back, if he hasn’t already done so.”

  “Okay. Good luck.”

  “What about...”

  “Us?”

  “Never mind. It was never supposed to have been.”

  “There is no part of me that doesn’t want to explore a life with you, but forget about your personal issues with relationships, I’m a marked man. A persona non-grata. If the wrong people find out who and where I am, I’m going straight to a firing squad and they’ll shoot first and ask questions later.”

  “Why don’t you work on clearing yourself?”

  “Trust me, I want that more than anything, but it’s a little more difficult than that. They have me railroaded pretty thoroughly.”

  “Simon can’t help? He seems pretty smart and well connected.”

  “Don’t get me wrong, I like the man and I trust him, but he has the most to lose by clearing my name. Right now, he’s got me right where he wants. No, I have to do that on my own, and on my own time, which there is little of left.”

  Rex finished a grueling workout in the seedy Torrance gym. The owner of the gym gave him a discount membership. They were training fighters. Rex started to make a name for himself from the first day. He was winning sparring kick box matches. He was coaching when he wasn’t hitting the weights or pounding the speedballs.

  He sat in the hot sauna and poured water over the heated rocks and sat in a sweat. He had to clear his mind. He couldn’t get close to a woman. He couldn’t go soft. He had to remain tough. He was enjoying her comforts too much. Way too much. It was starting to get emotional. He could not allow himself to go emotional. He had made that mistake before, and paid for it.

  Simon would surely assign him to another case. He had made the promise that he would see So-Young, and return her stuff. Actually, the only promise he made was to return her stuff to her. He looked through the box again. The horses. The essays. Her clothes. The black, silky underwear that still held her scent. Then he remembered the passion. The desire. The craving.

  Simon gave him one week. There were a few things he could do with that one week. He could talk to Captain Tyrell Lewis’ mother in Georgia. What good would that do? She believes he’s his killer, just like everyone else. He could go and look for the real killers. He had an idea of who they might, be but no idea on how to go about going after them. Killing them would be easy but killing them wouldn’t be good enough. He needed solid, irrefutable proof. Then there was So-Young. But now he was conflicted. A week ago, a trip to visit So-Young would have been a given. She represented the same unachievable destination for his future that Kirsten represented. And then came along Kirsten. Life sucks. It isn’t fair. But it isn’t about fairness. It’s about survival.

  There are meth addicts. They get a hit of meth, they are hooked. Alcoholics? They get a taste of booze, and a taste isn’t good enough. Chain smokers? Smoke one then you need another. The scent on a pair of black silky underwear?

  “Mr. Muse?” The woman asked as she typed on a computer terminal.

  “Yes?”

  “How many will be traveling in your party?”

  “Just myself.”

  “How many days will you be staying?”

  “Five.”

  “Okay... Yes, I can book you a round trip. Economy is okay?”

  Do I look like a first class traveler? Rex thought in irritation. “That would be fine, thank you.”

  “How many checked bags will you have?”

  “Just one, a cardboard box.”

  “Enjoy your stay in Seoul.”

  “Thanks.”

  Chapter 8 – Okay where is it?

  There was a hush in the Pentagon briefing room as the Marine guards escorted the President. All military personnel stood at attention. All present stood. “Sit down please. As you were.” He looked at the CIA deputy director squarely in the eye. “Director, I believe you have the floor.”

  The deputy director cleared his throat. To his right was Agent Kirsten Maples. To his left was Ernest Carver, a resident expert on bioterrorism. “Thank you Mr. President. In opening, I wish to tell you that the agency spends a lot of time and effort identifying and preparing responses to various threats to the country, both in terms of military actions by other counties, and in terms of terrorist actions on our homeland. We prepare for scenarios ranging from the mundane, to the worst possible terrorist event that could possibly be inflicted on the American people.”

  “Well,” the president said. “What does the CIA consider to be the worst possible terrorist event that could be inflicted on the American people?”

  “Mr. President, for years, we have considered the possibility of a nuclear device detonated over a major populated area to be the worst possible event. However, what we are facing could potentially be worse.”

  “Could potentially be worse? Continue please.”

  “Timeline. Four months ago, we wer
e alerted to credible threat of a weapons trade deal arming Sandinista forces in Central America, possibly brokered by an internal military or...” The deputy director drank a glass of water. “Or possibly within one of the intelligence agencies itself.”

  Several murmurs broke the silence around the room. “Gentlemen,” The president spoke. “Let the director continue please.”

  “The investigation was focused around a Mexican national, a Mr. Ceasar Castillo. He is a known criminal figure with high level ties even within the Mexican government itself. He goes by the name of ‘El Rey.’ We found he owns what has been reported to be a winery, but was, in fact, determined to be a production facility for biological weapons capable being delivered via airborne means. Specifically, anthrax in a substrate capable of being sprayed using a conventional aerial fire tanker. This is the facility.” The deputy director projected photographs of the facility on a large screen in the briefing room. “It has furthermore been determined that the production of such material has already occurred, and it has been transported away to a unknown location.”

  “Aerial fire tanker?” The president interjected. “Do you mean an aerial crop sprayer?”

  “No Mr. President, not on this scale, I literally mean an aerial fire tanker. We’re talking a couple thousand gallons, not a couple hundred. This man, Castillo, also has purchased an ATR 42, used for freight service. This is a photograph of the aircraft.” The deputy director displayed a photograph on the screen. “This aircraft is capable of reaching a major populated area anywhere in the United States and dispersing its cargo.”

  “Do you have any idea where this attack might be planned to happen?”

  “We have credible evidence that New York may be the possible destination.”

  “What would be the result of an aerial application of this anthrax over New York City?”

  “Widespread sickness affecting millions. Deaths in the hundreds of thousands. A swath of territory five miles wide and several miles long that could be rendered uninhabitable for years.”