Independence Day Plague

by Carla Lee Suson

  Mitchell stood silent, breathing deeply despite the odor. The noises of others coming and going continued as he opened the backpack with shaking hands and pulled the com-unit out. Restarting the machine lead to a popup window stating “Missed Call” and the ID and phone number. He’d have to email Macon with the number and hope the wire-head felt generous enough to provide the information for free. He closed the machine and stowed it away. Ball cap on, he left the stall, washed his hands and then dumped the shopping bag of clothes into the trash, pushing hard to bury it among the used hand towels.

  Fifteen minutes passed since the Code Red call went out and Dorado still fought to move through the crowds to get to the site. He listened to the reports flowing through the earpiece as he elbowed his way through. The dogs found a suspect package near a garbage can outside of the American History Museum. The bomb squad had been called in. Meanwhile, no word came through about whether the 2:00 call back attempt was in custody. Central communications buzzed overload with the current crisis.

  He yelled into the mike unit. “Central, connect to me to the officer in charge at the Red Zone!”

  Seconds later, Cardell’s voice came on line. “Dorado! Where the hell are you?”

  Dorado gritted his teeth as he dodged around a line of three greenie-dressed kids, all holding hands. “Stuck in the goddamn traffic. Give me an update.”

  “We’ve secured the perimeter and bomb squad is on the way. I’ve got officers combing the crowds for Mitchell.”

  Looking up, Dorado saw the museum’s gray stone façade rising up over the treetops but the crowd came to a standstill. Shouting and aggressively pushing his way through, Dorado finally emerged at the Red Zone barrier demarked by police tape. Cardell stood off to one side, shouting into his mike. Nearby, McAfee squatted down by the garbage can. The edges of a white box container peaked out barely visible between the garbage cans and the bushes.

  “Hey partner, what do we have?”

  McAfee glanced up then stood. “Dog patrol found it and his owner saw the wiring sticking out here.” The two men bend down and McAfee pointed to the thin zinc wire running along the edge of the wrapping. “They notified Cardell who called in the bomb squad. We’ve sent visuals of the box to them. They've advised that we don't move the box. Meantime, it’s so packed in here that we can’t keep the people back.”

  Dorado’s mike chirped at him. He rose back to standing. “Go ahead Central.”

  “We have the name of officer 407 as you requested.”

  “Go ahead.”

  “Officer 407 is Jason Benedict, currently located in the Red Zone at Smithsonian Mall, near Museum of American History.”

  “Roger that, Central.” He looked around. There were around fifteen uniformed officers standing in a curving line trying to hold the crowd back. “Benedict!” he shouted.

  A younger, twenty-something man near the side of the building turned and walked over.

  Dorado wasted no time. “You called in a possible ID on Mitchell at 2:00, is that correct?”

  Benedict nodded. “Yes sir.”

  “Well?”

  “I didn’t get a chance to confirm his ID. We lost the suspect in the museum. I requested more officers and we started searching the place when the Code Red went out. I radioed in about the suspect but Lt. Cardell ordered us to respond to the Code Red situation. We never found him.”

  “Shit.”

  McAfee turned to look at the officer. “We’ve had over twenty false sightings today. How did you know your guy was Mitchell?”

  The young man shrugged, “The ring alert. Dispatch told us to check on any suspects matching the description receiving a phone call at exactly 2:00. The guy had some kind of computer unit that went off. From the look on his face, I thought he was going to crap.”

  “It was the guy.” Dorado swore.

  McAfee nodded, “Most likely.”

  The officer frowned, “do you want me to take men back to the museum, sir?’

  “No, the guy’s probably long gone.” Mitchell shook his head,

  Cardell stormed over. “Took you long enough to get here,” he snapped.

  Dorado swung around to face him. “It’ll take the bomb squad even longer since you haven’t cleared a fucking path.” He swung around towards the officers. “Benedict, take four others and open a path to the street. Kick people out of the way, if you have to. You others, get this damn crowd back.”

  Mitchell swung back around as he heard Cardell speaking into his own mike. “Central, requesting a HAZMAT team to the front of the Smithsonian Museum of American History.”

  “Central, this is Lt. Dorado. I am taking over as OIC at the scene. Cancel HAZMAT request.”

  The little man vibrated with anger, “Are you crazy?” He jabbed a finger at the garbage can. “Clearly we have that madman’s bomb here. You said it yourself that the bomb’s biological. We’ve got to have HAZMAT here to take care of it.”

  “I don’t know whose work that is but it’s clearly not Mitchell’s.” Dorado replied in a cold voice. “If you had thought of it for a minute, you’d know that too.”

  “What the hell do you mean?”

  Dorado looked at McAfee, “Brian, what do you think?”

  The young man squatted again next to the white box. “It looks like a cake box. From the reports of the earlier incident, this doesn’t match Mitchell’s MO at all. He wants to spray a crowd. This box is between the garbage and the bushes. The only way it’s going to spray anyone effectively is if something blows the can into the air. Also, the dogs found it, which means the bomber didn’t mask the scent of the explosive. Dogs won’t pick up a strictly biological bomb unless they’re laced with some kind of explosive. Mitchell hid his scent earlier. Looks like someone else's work, probably an amateur.”

  “Bullshit!”

  “Maybe. I call them like I see them. All of Mitchell’s threats commented on one bomb containing biological spray. If that’s his intention, this isn’t a location I’d have chosen.” McAfee calmly replied

  Dorado nodded, “His two o’clock message talked about the contents of his bombs. Sherrie sent it over to me. It’s a particularly nasty disease with a close to 90% kill ratio. People die over days of agony. This guy's not going for the quick moment.”

  “And you believed him?” Cardell snarled.

  Dorado fought to keep his temper. “He’s given us no reason not to. Look Cardell, he’s done everything he said he’d do. Some of his information‘s checking out. I think this guy’s intelligent and determined to make a very specific point. He’s not going to switch MOs on us.”

  The two-man bomb squad arrived, toolbox in hand and full padding on. Dorado greeted them and then led them to the garbage can. After careful examination of the parcel, they carefully dragged the box out and opened it.

  Dorado turned towards Cardell and McAfee. “We’ll find out who’s right in a moment. Meanwhile, bombers like watching their event. Get men to scan the crowds. Detain anyone that looks questionable, of any description.” The last aimed at Cardell. “You take the north end. Brian, take the south. Process any suspects immediately for priors.”

  After five minutes, the elder of the two, Kendelson rose whistling lowly. His padding and armor creaked as he walked toward Dorado. Helmut faceplate up, Dorado could see the sweat pouring down the man’s face. “Pretty simple device you have here, Lieutenant. We've disarmed it.” He looked down at the small wire and electronic device in his hand.

  “Biohazard?”

  “Uh,” the man looked up, “nah. Shrapnel bomb. Pretty simple and old-fashioned really.” He turned and gestured to his younger partner. “Angie, bring that over real quick.”

  Dorado looked at the man with raised eyebrows. “A woman?” he said quietly.

  Kendelson smiled, “She doesn’t like anyone to notice but yeah. She’s good too. Smaller fingers allow her get into tight spaces easier.”

  Dorado watched as she approached. The padding and helmet thickened her
body so that he couldn’t tell that she was female except for her short stature. He turned his attention to the box in her hands. He was surprised at her rich contralto voice, “Not quite an amateur attempt but close. The package is a thin walled cardboard cake box. We've got this shrapnel tube and about five pounds of plastic explosive on a timer.” She pulled out a plastic tube filled with tiny steel balls.

  “When was the timer set for?”

  “Six at night. That’s when the museums start closing down. Most of the people will be in the walkways. The explosive looks homemade but we’ll know better once we analyze it. There’s just enough here to blow the can upward and make these all airborne.” She pulled out some four by six inch papers. “We also found a great deal of these.” She handed one to Dorado.

  The time is coming when the pure in blood and spirit will rise again. Deals with inferior countries and races are null and void to true Americans.

  He frowned. “Pure-Blood crap. That means we missed someone.” He clicked his mike on. “Central to Olson.” Once connected, Dorado explained the bomb situation. “Sherrie, we need to tell all the taskforce people look out for anyone showing Nazi, Aryan, or Pure Blood tats. It’s too crowded for the dogs now so we’re going to have to eyeball it. Tell all officers in the Museum and Memorial areas to check under garbage cans along the path. We’re looking for plastic explosives in white boxes.”

  Kendelson looked at him, one eyebrow raised. “Expecting more?”

  Dorado nodded, “Can you and your partner stick around for a while?”

  McAfee wandered up as the Bomb Squad with police escort carried the white package back to their truck. “We found three skinhead teenagers, carrying swastika tattoos and military clothing. One had this concealed on him.” He handed over a primitive looking knife. The whitish blade felt smooth almost plastic while the handle was made up of wood blocks held together by duck tape. The edge was mildly sharp but the point was perfect for a puncture wound.

  “Looks like some kind of bone or antler.” Dorado replied. “No wonder the metal detector failed to pick it up.” He glanced at his watch. The dial glowed 3:45. He jumped slightly at the buzzing sensation of his hip. He glared at McAfee as he tapped the earpiece. “Dorado.”

  “You called me.” The voice was male, cool and without emotion.

  “Who is this?”

  “Don’t you know, Lt. Michael Dorado of the DC Metropolitan Police Force? Don’t you know who you called at exactly 2:00 pm?”

  “Mitchell.” Dorado replied quietly.

  McAfee turned and stared at Dorado. He mouthed the name again and got a nod in return. Dorado covered the earpiece mike and mouthed, trace. “If you’re nearby, let’s meet and talk this out.” McAfee moved a few feet away and quickly spoke into his com-unit. A few of the officers put fingers to their ears, nodded and then moved off again through the crowds.

  The chuckle was dry. “I don’t think that's a very good idea. You’re tracing the call now. I know that. But you’ve already traced this machine so you know I’ll dispose of it as soon as I hang up.”

  “How did you know I was the caller?”

  “I traced the phone ID back to the police. After that, I simply had to ask who was in charge.”

  “Why did you wait so long to call back?”

  “You know the reason. I'm not stupid enough to stay at the museum. I had to get to a secure place. Your trap almost worked. I’m assuming it was your trap.”

  Dorado watched as McAfee mouthed at him the words Sherrie and trace then made a rolling gesture with his finger. “Why are you doing this? I get that you have a message. Why not just come forward to me and we’ll get your message out?”

  “That's not very wise or healthy for either of us. Don’t you see? Any government that’d kill four hundred people in the space of an hour will not hesitate a second to kill me. You arrest me, place me in a cell and within an hour I’ll be found dead of mysterious causes. And you, Lieutenant, they won’t risk exposing what little you know. You’d be dead within a day along with as many as it takes to secure their secret.”

  The voice turned sad now, quieter. “My lab, our work violated at least three international treaties. It was America's best kept secret. The weapons we created will make Earth a living hell, Armageddon in a tube of media soup. God help us. We didn’t think much about what we did. We were filled with the rightness of creating these weapons as a deterrent.”

  Dorado turned a questioning look to McAfee who held up a finger and thumb, an inch apart. “I hear what you’re saying but there’s no proof, Mitchell. Why set off this bomb if there’s no proof to back up your story? You’ll be just another nut in a history of crazies. Your Armageddon will be here, and it’ll be your entire fault.”

  “Proof‘s coming with the next message. General Talbot’s confession explains it all.”

  “You killed him?”

  “Yes, and Ashton Forester as well. These men and a few others that I don’t know about were directly responsible for the death of my family.”

  McAfee looked up sharply, one hand against his earpiece. He gestured thumbs up and then spoke back into his mike.

  Dorado nodded, “I understand your need for revenge but it won’t bring your family back, Mitchell. Neither will the death of hundreds of innocent people.”

  There was no reply. Dorado looked around at the crowd behind the police lines. “Mitchell?”

  Silence then another male voice, higher in tone and accented. “Hey, who’s this? I don’t care who you are man, this dude gave me this com-unit and I’m keeping it.”

  “Shit” Dorado disconnected his unit. “He’s gone.”

  “We’ve got him located out of the secure zone, down by 14th and Constitution.” McAfee said.

  “Call patrolmen in the area and give them a vicinity alert. Keep tracking the unit and have a patrolman confiscate it. There might be something on the hard drive we can use.”

  Mitchell stood across Constitution Avenue against the fence that lined the Ellipse, com-unit in hand. He sent the 4:00 message. Talbot’s recording was long. Talbot confessed for two hours and now the news networks all over the country could investigate it. Mitchell knew he needed to keep moving now but couldn’t resist the chance to stop and watch for a moment.

  The White House itself sat obscured through the usual screen of grand old trees and the tall, black wrought iron fence. Just inside and out of reach stood a line of men, facing the crowd pressed against the fence, shouting and gesturing at them. The anti-Chinese crowd was polyglot mix of races, colors and dresses while inside the police stood still as statues, dressed in combat black and armor, complete with balaclava and face shield. High-powered rifles rested easily in their hands, ready for action. Brown-clad park police lined the outer edge of the angry group along the closed-off street, sticks at the ready.

  The angry crowd was typical these days, Mitchell thought. Americans hated each other and hated their leaders. The world the lab workers left behind was fractured and destructive. They watched the violence and the protests from a distance when they entered the BL-4 seventeen years ago. Perhaps being isolated was a bad thing he mused. When the world changed, we failed to change with it.

  The glimpse of movement in brown caught his attention. Park police began moving through the crowds, hands on their ears, listening intently or looking at their com-units. Mitchell knew they tracked the com-unit while the message played, but this was the final critical evidence that had to get out. Moving out of the Wi-Fi zone into another might disrupt the sending. The reporters would investigate, particularly after the noon demonstration. The general died under unusual circumstances. When the media investigated it, the truth about them would come out.

  “Wait just a little longer, Caroline.” He whispered as he began threading his way through the crowd, com-unit still partially open in his hand. The three officers moved too, pincher style, removing hats off the tourists and checking only white men. They took a few aside and fingerprinted them. He l
ooked nervously around. The way west and north looked more open as the anti-Chinese crowds thinned out.

  The com-unit finished its last transmission. As before, the machine buzzed and vibrated in his hand. He quickly silenced it and tapped the earpiece. “Yes.”

  “Are you responsible for the six shrapnel bombs we found outside of the Museums?”

  Approaching the edge of the group, Mitchell stopped suddenly. The people moving around him shot him irritated glances. “No.” he replied.

  The cop’s cool voice continued down the line, “Yeah, I didn’t think so. Not really your style. You want to kill more than just a few dozen.”

  “Then why mention it to me?”

  “To make a point to you. You see, I know you want to make a statement. We’ve started investigating some of your claims and there’s some evidence you’re for real. However, on a day like today, you’re just another broken chip in the machine. No one will listen to you. Lots of other groups want to make their statement today too. If you want to stop these guys, then let me bring you in. We’ll keep you safe. I’ve even got an Army colonel here who needs to know what the hell’s going on. He's investigating Forester's records and noted some problems. He seems like a good guy and he’s itching to talk to you. You tell us all the facts and we’ll investigate it. If what you say’s true, we’ll find the vials and put an end to this.”

  Mitchell smiled slightly and began walking again. “We’ve had this conversation already, Lt. Dorado. I’m not a fool. And you’re wrong; I don’t want to kill hundreds. I don’t want to kill anyone.”

  “Then tell us where the next bomb is. We’ll disarm it.”

  Mitchell sighed and continued. His voice turned soft. “It doesn’t work that way. I’m a graduate of University of Virginia. Did my Ph.D. work at Johns Hopkins. It was in virology with an emphasis on emerging diseases. Search for me and I won’t exist. My wife, Caroline Mitchell was a brilliant vet. Under her maiden name of Sealy, she earned a Masters degree in animal science with a focus on primates. She studied the ability of diseases to jump from animal to man. The lab consisted of about a hundred and fifty of us, some of the best minds in medicine at that one lab alone. We’re gone now along with our families. Don’t you get it? We’re all dead and erased.”