Independence Day Plague

by Carla Lee Suson

  “In the same week that the third case shows up, we have the military putting out an APB on a guy that can’t be found in any data base, not even in the military’s open records or through the IRS. There’s no explanation but hey, Uncle Sam wants this guy bad. We checked into it, ran several searches. The guy doesn’t appear to exist. My computer experts tell me that it’s impossible for someone to be alive in America and not be on the 'net. Yet, this ghost somehow existed all his life without bank records, credit cards, social security numbers, school records or welfare cards. Oddly enough, we have names of people who might be Mitchell's family. They too don't appear to have been recorded anywhere digitally.

  “Next, we’ve got a house that burned down yesterday.” Mitchell handed over the file with the arson photos. “Inside, the investigators found a lot of lab equipment but no bodies. In checking with the landlord, the perp looks suspiciously like the guy on the APB, even uses the same name. For a guy on the run, that’s awfully bold, don’t you think?”

  Colonel Anderson thumbed through the pictures, stopping occasionally to look closely at details. Dorado continued, “Turn to the last photo for the most interesting objects recovered from the fire. The Fire Chief found an apparatus hanging from a clothesline. It's clearly a sprayer with a timing device. The container on the sprayer looks like it will deliver about 100 milliliters of fluid. That gets my attention. Now, I’m beginning to think what the fuck is going on in the military?”

  “I still don’t see the connection between this man and the two officers.” Lawson replied stiffly, putting down the files.

  “Well sir, that’s the best part. Here’s the connection.” Dorado moved stacks around until he unearthed a sheet of paper, which he then pushed down the table. “We have a message this morning, the Fourth of July, a day where all the nuts come out to play. That message states that he‘ll use a bioweapon on the crowd. The weapon is called Marburg. This same guy takes credit for killing your two men.” The colonel looked up, eyes widening as Dorado finishes, “and that gets my attention. I now have a madman I have to neutralize. And the best part, Colonel is he signs his name James Mitchell. Now it looks like we have a military man with a burned microchip in his brain. Perhaps his previous employers want to cover his work up, but it’s too late for that.” Dorado leaned forward, staring the man directly in the eyes. “I’m telling you right now, I’m not shutting down this investigation. This guy is a serious threat that I have to neutralize. You either help out or you fuck off.”

  Anderson’s face flushed red and his jaws clenched tight. He looked through the messages again before speaking. “Why didn’t you notify the MPs earlier?”

  “We forwarded our information to the military. You showed up to shut us down. I'm telling you now that that's not going to happen. I’ve got stop this man, colonel. Now do you have anything that can help me do that?”

  Anderson looked away. “You must understand that this falls under the highest national security.”

  Dorado nodded. “I think I need to know it.”

  “General Talbot died this morning without revealing any more information on his attacker other than a name.”

  “I thought he had a disease.”

  “He did but there were bruising and contusions consistent with a physical attack.”

  “But Mitchell’s involved somehow?”

  Anderson’s jaw line tightened, “We don’t know. Our investigation of the name also came up with nothing. So we’ve been investigating the two officers. Some irregularities have come to light.”

  “You’re going to have to expound on that a little, Colonel.”

  “We started an investigation after the unusual circumstances of Colonel Forester’s death. At one time, Forester worked as one of General Talbot’s aides. He was assigned to Procurement on Talbot’s recommendation. That division deals with distribution of personnel, medical supplies and equipment. The investigation turned up some irregularities in funds and personnel placements for the Institute. The irregularities date back years. Then, someone higher up orders that the investigation into the irregularities be stopped. It’s clear that Forester didn't work alone but it’s nothing as simple as embezzlement.”

  “How does this tie back to Mitchell?”

  “The investigation into Forester’s death gave us Mitchell's fingerprints. Talbot himself told us the man’s name when he was admitted into the hospital. We searched our records naturally, specifically focusing on medical personnel and contractors. Again, we found irregularities, money being siphoned off, and records that had been altered, not one record but possibly hundreds. The signs of tampering go back over twenty years. We have no idea how many people are involved or how many records have disappeared.”

  “People don’t just disappear.”

  “Yes sir, they can. All it takes is the highest level digital access and hiding the bodies.”

  “So you’re saying his story's legitimate.” Dorado sighed deeply.

  “No,” the Colonel leaned in, his voice dropped. “I’m saying that we don’t know—all our information points to a massive conspiracy that has lasted years and flows up the line into the Pentagon. Officially, I’ve been ordered to personally find Mitchell and shut down all other investigations. We needed Talbot to give us information but he’s dead now. Offline, I’m telling you we don’t know what the hell's happening. If this man’s group existed, then he potentially has some very dangerous items. We need to stop Mitchell but we need him alive to help uncover this conspiracy. The record cleansing was complete. We know nothing about him or where he is.”

  Chapter 16

  July 4, 2026, afternoon

  “Mike, I’m sending you the next message now via email. Look at it immediately.” Olsen’s voice sounded tight through the phone.

  “Okay, hang on.” He swiveled in his chair and reactivated the old monitor. The email came up immediately. He read it quickly.

  “I need to show you that I can and will set off a biological weapon when the crowds reach their highest point. It is 12:00 now. At 12:10, several small devices will explode and spray the nearby people in the Metro station of Navy/Archives. My intention is not to start a panic. The fluid is harmless, but you must believe that I am real and my message is real. James Mitchell, BL-4.”

  “Shit.”

  “I’ve called Metro Central to stop the trains but they can't reroute in time. They're working on stopping the trains. We've got the Station Master on the line and he's telling people to leave the station but more keep coming in."

  “Okay, I’ll get the manpower together. He switched the phone to Central Communications, demanding a priority channel to Taylor. Dorado stood up and charged out the door before the man’s deep voice came through. Dorado replied, “Taylor, we got a Code Red at Navy/Archives. Get as many men as you can down to the Metro station and clear it out. We've got a potential wet bomb in the station. Follow protocol on any possible contaminants. I’m on my way.”

  “Roger Boss.”

  A similar call went out to Cardell as he grabbed the last motorcycle from the La Enfant Police station, zigzagging through the snarled traffic of vehicles and people. He approached the first security fence, badge in hand and yelling. As he got through the security checkpoint tent and entered the streets around the Mall area, the crowd of humanity hit him like a wall, slowing his pace to a crawl. As he cut through people-invested car lanes with the siren wailing, he changed the phone to the Task Force channel. “Taylor, can you give me an update?” No one replied. He glanced at his watch as the second police checkpoint became visible in the distance, 12:08. “Taylor, are you there?”

  Mitchell sat on the low wall that formed the outer edge of the Navy Memorial waterfall watching the children play. Five minutes ago, the fifth message streamed out of his computer and into the electric ether. The message told them specifically when and where the demonstration would occur. He glanced at his watch frequently, watching the timer count down. Sirens echoed and grew louder. Across th
e street, three men, two uniformed officers and a tall black man pushed against the flowing crowd, shouting while trying to cross the busy avenue against traffic.

  He gritted his teeth. Time to cross that line into fear and pain. The men ran around the stopped cars and crossed the street. The tall man yelled and gestured at his officers as well as three others that arrived by car. People around the fountain area stopped and stared. As the men unholstered their guns, parents called their children away from the water-covered walls. One officer took off in a fast walk towards the station's elevator around the corner while the others lined up along the square, cavern-like entrance blocking those trying to exit.

  Throughout the plaza, people slowed their steps and became statues watching the activity. Some shifted back behind the walls to watch in safety, others continued their trip across the street towards the Mall. Another officer shouted into his radio as a second patrol car screamed to a stop at the intersection. The driver hopped out and began directing traffic away from the station. Other plainclothes men ran up.

  Mitchell pulled the com-unit out of his jacket pocket, dialed BIOLAB4 and hit send. Immediately the sound of screams rose out of the cement rectangular opening to the stairway and people attempted to sprint out of the entrance. The police, hands out, shouted orders and forced them to stop against the tide of bodies that stampeded up the escalators and stairs. More came out, some with wet hair plastered to their faces, adding to the shouts and confusion.

  Mitchell listened to the exchange as the tall cop, dressed in black uniform and Kevlar vest, stepped forward, hands raised, “Everyone please turn around and go back down stairs. We can’t allow you to leave just yet.” His voice boomed over the shouts from the stairway crowd.

  One burly man stepped forward, anger radiating off him. “What’s going on?” he shouted.

  “Sir, please go down stairs.”

  “What’s happened, god dammit? Some shit sprayed all over us!”

  "We know about the spray, sir. All of you must return back to the station until we assess the situation."

  A woman's shrill voice cut through air. "What was in that stuff? Are we in danger?"

  The tall officer put up his hands in a placating gesture, "We don't know anything yet. If you just turn around and go back downstairs, we can finish this off as quickly as possible."

  The fat man’s anger rose. “We got a right to leave!”

  “No sir, you do not. No one can leave now.”

  The man moved forward, pulling on the arm of a pinched looking woman, whose pale brown hair stuck wetly against her face. The leader moved quickly in front of him, still maintaining a distance. The officer pulled his weapon out and pointed it forward at the shivering couple. “Don’t make me shoot you, man,” he shouted. The shouts died out as the crowd turned fearful. A few small children started crying.

  Suddenly all four officers had pistols out, trained on the frightened crowd. A few small screams filled the air. The fat tourist stopped. The black officer continued. “We can’t let you leave until we ascertain what's in that spray. For now, you must remain quarantined in the station. Anyone who attempts to leave will be shot.” He pointed the gun up, and raised one hand, palm up in supplication. “There’s no need to panic. We need all of you to go back down the stairs. Grab a seat somewhere and wait. We’ll let you know when it is safe to leave.

  A few turned and began to slowly file back down the escalators and stairs. Finally, the leader lowered his gun, returned it to its holster and closed his eyes. Mitchell saw him clench his jaw and watched sweat beads form on his bald head. He barked at the four others. “No one in or out of the station until further notice!”

  Tufts of people gathered on the edges of the opposite streets and along the back of the Archives Building. They stood swaying and talking while they watched the show on the plaza. Four other uniformed cops roughly pushed through the tight group at the stoplight and crossed the now empty street on the heels of another plainclothes officer. The newer group moved together towards the station entrance, the short man turned to the others and barked out orders. "Clear the place. Get everyone one hundred yards back."

  Although the other bystanders began to shift across the street, Mitchell made slow movements of packing his food and com-unit away, listening to the tow commanders argue.

  The smaller man quickly stomped up to the tall man, red from exertion. His shouts echoed off the white granite of the plaza. “Taylor, what the hell are you doing?” he jabbed a finger at the retreating backs. “Let those people go goddamn it so we can get in there and find out what happened.”

  “That’s not the procedure, Cardell. We've called HAZMAT in. They need to assess the situation before we can release anyone.” He turned away and called out to the slowly retreating fat man slowly retreating down the steps. “Hey, you! Guy in the red shirt.”

  The fat man stopped, his scrawny wife still beside him. “What?”

  “What’s your name?”

  “Fred, Fred Patterson.”

  The black officer smiled, voice calm. “Fred, I need your help controlling the situation down there man. Get the stationmaster to call the DC police and ask to be patched through to Joe Taylor. Can you do that, man?”

  The fat man nodded, “Yeah, okay.”

  The officer continued. “I also need you to help keep things calm. Everything’s going to be all right, Okay? The sooner you help us out, the sooner we can let everyone go.

  “Yeah, what can I do?” The man’s voice wavered and he took a deep breath.

  “Start making a list of names of the people down there. We’re going to need that later. When I need more, I’ll call you on the stationmaster’s phone.”

  “Yeah, right, okay.” He replied then turned back to the shadow depths.

  Cardell pushed on Taylor’s shoulder shoving him back around. “Are you fucking nuts? Don’t tell me procedures. I read the damn email. The terrorist’s note said the fluid was harmless.” He turned to the uniformed men nearby. “You there, holster your weapon and let those people go.” The few stragglers waiting to go downstairs turned and watched the men. “Come on out, we’ve got to get down there to investigate.”

  “Ignore that order!” Taylor bellowed, the voice bouncing off the nearby white buildings. He drew himself upright, towering over Cardell. His voice came out in quiet but powerful. “No fucking person comes out of that subway until HAZMAT is here!”

  Cardell bristled, “How dare you talk to me that way? By the terrorist’s own admission, there is nothing harmful down there.”

  “No sir, we follow protocol. The contaminated personnel stay put.”

  “I’ll have you up on charges for insubordination.”

  Taylor grinned tightly, “You do that. Meantime, if you enter the damn station, you don’t come out again until HAZMAT has stripped and cleared you.”

  Dorado arrived, jumping the bike up onto the plaza area as the first new crews rushed around the water wall memorial and moved towards the police line. The movement of the media encouraged the crowds who then began to flow across the street. The cameramen and reporters pushed at the police barricade along the street and in front of the water wall, cameras rolling and people shouting at the few stragglers returning to the station. Dorado moved towards Taylor and Cardell, “What’s the situation?”

  Cardell turned towards Dorado, jabbing his finger towards Taylor. “That officer almost shot innocent civilians!”

  Taylor turned towards Dorado, “Some people tried to leave. We used minimal force to get the situation under control.”

  “For Christ’s sake! You should have let those people go.”

  Dorado swung towards the smaller man, fighting to keep his temper. “Taylor followed protocol for a hazardous situation. No one in or out of the contaminated area until we identify the problem.” Dorado snarled back. “I suggest you get back to the Monument area and take care of that gang problem. Taylor’s in charge here.”

  “This isn’t the last of th
is.” Cardell snapped as he stalked off.

  Dorado turned towards Taylor, ignoring the retreating man. “Olsen called HAZMAT as soon as we got the notice. They’re on their way.”

  Taylor nodded, eyes watching the crowd. One cameraman stepped around the sawhorse and ribbon barrier, moving towards the officers at the entrance. “Get that man back behind the line!” he shouted as one officer pushed the newsman back. The first of the red HAZMAT trucks rolled around the corner and the media flocked over to them, cameras whirling.

  Dorado grimaced. “Spread the word without using the com-units. No one talks to the media. They say nothing. Otherwise we’ll have a panic on our hands.” He looked around the large plaza at the white gleaming buildings. “The bank's got cameras over the entrance. Olsen can see if she can access their feed. I’m willing to bet the bastard’s here somewhere, watching the show.”

  “Something you should know, boss.” Taylor spoke quietly. He leaned in. “Are you sending the email threats out over the police units?”

  Dorado looked at him, stunned for a moment, “No, why?”

  “Cardell told me the terrorist said the fluid was harmless. As OIC, I wasn’t given that information. How did he know it?”

  “That’s a very good question.” Dorado grimaced. “The bastard’s got a spy in Computer Control feeding him information.”

  “Thought you should know.”

  “Yeah thanks. Nothing we can do about it now but I’ll sure as hell follow up on it later.”

  Dorado walked over to the HAZMAT vehicle as the men donned their red suits. The leader, Frank Ortega wriggled halfway into his suit as Dorado approached. The two men shook hands then Ortega pulled on the overcoat, pressing the Velcro seals shut. "You boys are keeping us pretty busy lately.”

  Dorado replied. “Frank, the terrorist’s email said the substance was harmless so let’s test it first before putting anyone through decontamination. If we can handle this quietly as someone's idea of a joke, the media won't give it too much air time and start a panic.”