Independence Day Plague

by Carla Lee Suson

  “And the other?”

  “Noonan has no record. If he’s a seller, he’s not been busted yet.”

  Dorado slouched back against the booth and frowned in thought. “How easy is it to cook this stuff?”

  McAfee took a drink then continued. “Sherrie followed up on the disease. She said that she sent you the report.”

  Dorado grimaced, “I probably haven’t gotten to it yet. Sum it up for me.”

  “The CDC says that a lab grows anthrax bacteria fairly easily. It needs special equipment like incubators and something called a water bath. Nothing you'd find in a department store. The chemist must buy most of the stuff from a company that makes that type of equipment. Except for the disease itself, there’s nothing unusual enough to be specifically traceable back to one company. About twenty or more companies supply the local research labs and medical schools. The doctor told me that the CDC is trying to figure out Thayor’s bug through its DNA. Once they know what the DNA looks like, they may be able to trace it back to a source. The source gives us an idea of which company supplied it.”

  “That’s something I guess.”

  McAfee nodded and took another bite before continuing, “The CDC says once someone has an original sample, they could grow it in an oversized kitchen and there isn’t a distinctive smell. The hardest part is drying it down to powder. They also say no one makes anthrax other than as a disease. People don't get side-products off of it. It's a weapon, that’s all.”

  “Shit, that’s just great. Somebody with a cause and a cauldron out there stews up a load of trouble.” Dorado shoved his plate away. “So we still don’t know anything.”

  McAfee chomped on a French fry. “Yeah, essentially.”

  Dorado nodded, “We don’t know enough but we have two names.” He pulled out his cell phone and dialed it quickly. “Hi, Sherrie. I hate to do this to you but we need your particular expertise. Can you come back in for about an hour?” He paused for a reply. “We’re trying to close on the anthrax case. Sure thing. Thanks.” He clipped the phone shut and looked at McAfee. “What the hell are you grinning about?”

  “A chance to see her pretty face again. She’s coming in?”

  “Yeah, in about twenty minutes. Best we head back too.”

  The expected hour of work turned into two. The gray walls of the data room loomed even darker and more dungeon-like at night. Two elderly women occupied the far end of the room and threw them frequent curious glances as the men pulled plastic rolling chairs up to Sherrie’s terminal.

  Dorado watched her as she put on the screen-shield. She had arrived in the most casual clothes he had ever seen on her. Jeans hugged her curves as she walked and the light green plain t-shirt accented her pale skin. Her long blond hair hung down and loose in gentle waves around her shoulders. He noticed Brian watching too. When they made eye contact, McAfee shrugged silently and grinned. Dorado didn’t blame him this time. Relaxed, she looked incredibly lovely.

  Her hands flew and dipped over the electronic tabletop as she whispered computer commands into the throat mike. Lloyd Thompson not only had a record, he was currently doing time in Virginia. Sherrie took the time to research his background as well.

  Still wearing the helmet, she gestured at the large flat screen embedded in the wall. “This guy’s not bright enough to grow plants much less anything else. Look, he didn’t finish high school, and only has a couple of tech courses to his name before he flunked out. If he’s a rec chemist, he’s getting help from someone else. I’d guess someone else cooks it and he’s the salesman.”

  McAfee handed her a piece of paper. “Try this one. He doesn't have a record.

  She typed in Arnold "Arnie" Noonan and the search immediately brought back birth records, school affiliations, and credit status. As the information scrolled by, she said, “I think we have something. He’s rated as intelligent but not overly so. He’s got a college background in life sciences. He posted a resume a year ago at a job placement website. He works at hospitals.”

  “Where?” Brian leaned forward, peering at the screen against the wall. “You can really see all that stuff?”

  Sherrie formed a tight smile, “I see it faster than you do. I can find out your life’s history, your work, how well you get along with coworkers, where you spent your last vacation, maybe your favorite color, and possibly your sexual fantasies given enough time and not too many questions about the privacy laws.”

  “Shit!” He grinned at her. “I’m surprised you’re here. You’d make great money working as a hacker.”

  “I like my hair. Don’t want to do the implanting thing. The Internet is a blessing and a curse.” She replied coolly. “The bigger question is: why would I want to know that about you?”

  Dorado coughed to cover his laughter. “What do you see about this guy?”

  Her features smoothed over to blandness again through the shield as her fingers danced across the flat surface. The network printer behind them erupted into a muffled clatter. “I’m printing some stuff out now. He’s got a lot of independent laboratory and medical school work listed but no one job lasted beyond a year to a year and a half. He lists four jobs in six years."

  “Sounds like a possible winner to me,” Brian quipped.

  Dorado nodded, “Sherrie, get all you can on this guy. We need enough for a warrant. We’ll start pulling together the paperwork on a search warrant.”

  About a half hour later, Sherrie joined them in the conference room. “Mike, I think you should look at this.” She laid papers down in two rows, three pages on top and four pages below along the desk.

  As they stood beside her, she pointed to the top row. “I printed out Noonan’s resume. I figured that most people couldn’t buy many of the things needed for microbiology work. Noonan isn't any exception. He’s a small time lab technician that never stayed in any one lab long enough to be promoted. He only makes about five dollars over minimum wage. He lives in his mother’s house, or at least tax records have it in her name. Let’s theorize that he does designer drugs on the side. That nets him anywhere from a few hundred to a thousand a week, so now he can buy many of the instruments and chemicals needed. However, because of the disease scares in the 2000s, many types of biological-oriented equipment are purchase-tracked through companies. Individuals can’t buy them without preapproval from the company. All microbiological samples get tracked now too, no matter how harmless the bacteria. A nurse friend told me that any bacteria in a concentrated enough dose would kill.

  "When I talked to the CDC about needed equipment for a lab, they said the government tracks items like incubators. However, in the case of most lab-related busts, the equipment is either bought out of the country and brought in or stolen from area research centers and hospitals. So earlier today, I called around to the different hospitals and research areas to talk to them about stolen equipment. I got faxes from each of their security departments that detailed the type of equipment missing from each place for the last two years. One security officer told me that they knew when a new designer drug lab opened up in the area because the amount of glassware and equipment missing from the medical schools and hospitals shot up. So I started thinking, Noonan's at work, surrounded with the right chemicals, machines, glassware; everything he needs for his side businesses.” She pointed to the second row. “This is a list from each hospital Noonan worked for. Of course, the guy says a steady stream of material is always leaving the building but occasionally a strange or expensive thing gets reported. These lists represent only the big ticket items that have disappeared and the dates they were reported missing.”

  Brian whistled softly, “There’s a lot of stuff on this list: balances, whole cases of liquid media, freaking tons of glassware. What the hell is a hot water bath?”

  Dorado replied, “Some of this seems pretty big. You’d think someone would see folks carrying it out.”

  Brian shrugged, “Work on a Sunday when security is minimal and no one’s around. Open a window
and hand it to a buddy, maybe. Who knows?”

  Sherrie pulled out a highlighter. “It gets better. Compare the lists with the resumes. If you look at the time periods within four months of Noonan’s working each job,” she began drawing blue boxes around sections of each printout. “You find some interesting equipment not usually found in a chemistry lab.”

  Dorado moved the list around. “Is this the same stuff the CDC talked about?”

  “A lot of it, yes.”

  “It’s good.” Dorado grinned. “It’s good but nothing really ties Noonan to the thefts. It’s very circumstantial.”

  “What if I could give you the final missing key?”

  Dorado cocked an eyebrow at her. “Something irrefutable?”

  “No, but a very large smoking gun.” She pulled a pad of stapled papers out of the file. “A general search on Noonan’s name came up with some interesting things. Most of the medical journals are online now.” She placed the printout in front of the men. The heading read Journal of the American Medical Association with a two year ago date.

  Dorado asked, "The kid wrote a science paper?"

  McAfee read off the top, “Use of Polarized Static Filters in Air-Born Anthrax Spore Elimination” He shrugged. “Okay, Noonan’s not listed as a coauthor. Did he work for the guy that wrote this?”

  “Yes, but look at this,” She flipped to the back page and pointed to the Acknowledgements at the end of the paper. “He was thanked for his work in developing this experiment.”

  “Jesus Sherrie, you’re great.” Dorado gathered the papers up and handed the list to McAfee. “I think that certainly gives us enough for a warrant. Get it to Judge Hernandez when the courts open first thing in the morning.”

  “Sure thing, amigo." He glanced at the clock. “Damn, it’s coming up on eleven. Quitting time folks.” He stretched his back and then ambled towards the door. “See you in the morning.”

  Olsen took the chair opposite Dorado as he began organizing papers on the piled desk. He smiled at her. “You’re wasted in data analysis. You should be a detective.”

  She sighed, “I don’t like dealing with people. Computers are safer. I’ll leave the ‘catching the bad guys’ part to you big strong men.”

  Dorado stood. “Sorry about pulling you in. I’ll get a taxi for you to see that you get home safely.”

  “Thanks, that’s nice of you.” She stood up and moved next to him while he put his jacket on. She looked down and traced the fake wood grain of the desk with her fingers. “It’s a pretty long drive back to Rockville. You look tired. Why don’t you just stay with me tonight? You keep a fresh shirt here, don’t you?” A lot of the officers kept spare clothing in the locker room or in their desk. Dorado was no exception.

  He watched the way her hair flowed down across her cheeks as she avoided looking up. They had spent two dinners together, each ending in a quiet bit of kissing, nothing more. "I’m not much for sleeping on couches,” he said quietly.

  “I’m not offering a couch.” She met his gaze and smiled softly.

  Chapter 11

  June 25, 2026

  By ten o’clock the next morning, Dorado found himself pressed against the peeling wood frame of the back door of Noonan’s house. The drizzling rain became a personal irritant but a professional blessing. People avoided going out in the rain and it neutralized any area laser-motion sensors that were often set up by drug houses for early warning. McAfee waited, pressed on the opposite side of the doorway. Tiny two-way radios in their ears connected them with the other team members via a communications van parked three blocks away.

  Dorado declared himself OIC in the raid, while Taylor took the role of the face. Dressed in “Jesus is Your Savior Too” t-shirt and pressed jeans, Taylor waited at the front door to present the search and arrest warrants. This essential legal fine-point had become critical with increasing privacy laws. However, if anyone failed to answer the door and any one of the motion devices placed previously on the windows’ glass planes detected movement, then the rules changed. It used technology to skirt the illegal search-and-seizure issues and kept the suspects from destroying evidence. Technology occasionally was a blessing for the police rather than for the criminals.

  They heard Taylor murmur, “Bell’s rung. Movement towards the door.” Taylor was the least protected member. Dorado pictured him with slumped shoulders, trying hard to look like one of the common door-to-door evangelicals. Many religious groups wandered through suburban DC during the summers, both recruiting and fundraising. In the past, the face position of the raid drew first fire.

  The deep voice of the audio tech broke in, “We’ve still got consistent movement upstairs and down. Two suspects only. No increase in activity. Everything looks good.”

  Through the earpiece, Dorado heard the door swing open and Taylor’s opening remarks. An old woman answered. He thumbed off the safety on the rifle. Looking over, he shot McAfee a thumbs-up sign and saw him nod in return. He reached over and slowly, soundlessly checked the doorknob. It didn’t move.

  Taylor said clearly, “Warrants presented and rejected.” Dorado swung around and gave one mighty kick to the door, cracking the chipped wood frame and swinging it inward. The earpiece filled with shouting as others stormed through the front door. Taylor spoke again. “One female suspect in custody”

  “Roger,” Dorado murmured into the mike, “OIC now entering building.” Rifle forward, he moved quickly through the kitchen straight to the back of the stairway where the development office’s floor plans indicated a basement door. The small pressed wood door was painted in an identical pattern to the wall, almost invisible to the casual glance. Dorado followed the seam in the wall with his fingers, pressing and probing. With a hard push against a corner section, the door swung outward revealing a tube of stairs going downward, ending in a right angle into the room. With his rifle up and McAfee at his back, Dorado quickly descended the stairs. The fumes wafting up smelled vaguely chemical. A baldhead darted into view, looking up for a split second.

  Dorado shouted “Freeze!” but the head withdrew followed by the sound of crashing glass. Dorado swore and ran down the rest of the stairs. The thin bald man stood in front of a large metal sink with his back to the doorway, two beakers of fluid in each hand. Grinding noise filled the air. The computer’s monitor flashed violently as the hard drive light blinked repeatedly.

  “I said, freeze, asshole! Put the bottles down slowly and put your hands on your head.” Dorado snarled.

  McAfee and two others fanned out behind him, rifles up and aimed. The bald man’s head snapped up. He slowly expanded his plastic-gloved hands away from his sides. The translucent pale yellow/brown fluid in each hand reflected the fluorescent lighting back at them. The man turned slowly and grinned with wide perfect teeth pressed against pale thin lips. His eyes glittered, red rimmed with drugs.

  “There is enough disease here to kill everyone in the house within days. It will start a plague that you won’t be able to stop. Let me walk out or I’ll drop them.” He tilted his head and took one slow step forward.

  Dorado brought his gun up against his shoulder. “Put them down.”

  “I’m not kidding!” he shouted as he took another step.

  “Careful chief, he’s stoned.” Brian’s voice murmured through the headset.

  Dorado raised his head off the rifle. The faded jeans and dirty white t-shirt hung on the thin frame. The boy’s arms twitched with small muscle spasms, making the liquid slosh in the bottles. “I’m too tired for this bravado shit,” he said. Clenching his teeth, he slowly lowered his head and looked through the aiming reticle, never breaking eye contact.

  Noonan’s smile slipped. His wide eyes lost some sparkle and he swung the flasks forward and tilted them. The thick golden fluid flowed within an inch of the flask’s lip. “This shit gets into your lungs or on your skin, and you’re good as dead.”

  Dorado cocked the gun and spoke. “I have enough bullets in this gun to kill you in a he
artbeat. I can get treated for the anthrax. There is no way in hell you’re carrying that poison out of here.” He lowered his head and looked through the sight. “You got three seconds, one…two…”

  The eyes dimmed and the smile faded quickly, “Okay, okay.” Noonan stretched forward and clunked the glassware down on the table.

  “Down on your knees and put your hands behind your head.” Dorado lowered the gun slightly and let out the breath he didn’t realize he was holding. McAfee behind him slung his rifle up and walked forward with handcuffs. Dorado slung his rifle as McAfee cuffed Noonan and recited his rights in a bored voice.

  “How did you know?” Noonan looked at Dorado. “How could you possibly know it was anthrax?”

  “Thayor Cabbot let us know before he died.”

  Handcuffed and dragged to his feet, Noonan jerked away from the officer. Dorado faced him. “You working alone?” he asked quietly.

  “I’m not telling you anything. I see the shows. I got rights.”

  “Fortunately, Homeland Security laws circumvent most citizen rights. Under the anti-terrorism laws, you’re looking at a possible death sentence.” Dorado replied levelly.

  Noonan’s eyes widen. “Maybe. If you want names, I want a deal.”

  “You murdered a kid.” Dorado pursed his lips into a hard thin line. “What kind of deal do you think I can give you for manufacturing, possession with intent to distribute, terrorism, and murder? That is a whole different matter, isn’t it Brian?”

  Noonan’s thin body rocked as McAfee lightly punched boy’s shoulder, “Sure is chief. Let me think. Ever since the New York radiation case, terrorism involving loss of life equals an automatic death sentence. I think our boy here qualifies for the needle. That is if he lasts any time in prison. I hear they don’t like terrorists very much. The big guys take special interest in them.”