Target Zero

by Jack Mars

  “And yet here you are, using their money and resources to enact your plan,” Reid countered.

  “A means to an end, Agent. That is all.”

  “Like convincing several of your followers that they were the Imam Mahdi, the Redeemer? You lied to them. You’re responsible for their deaths, as well as the researchers in Siberia and the hundreds in Barcelona.” Reid shook his head in disgust. “That’s not something a holy man would ever do.”

  Khalil licked his lips. “No? Do you not know your history, Agent Zero? Because the precedents for such things are plentiful.”

  Reid swallowed a lump in his throat. Khalil was, unfortunately, right; more death, war, and atrocities had been carried out in the name of religion than any other motivation in history.

  But that still didn’t make it right.

  “Then why?” Reid insisted. “If not for revenge, if not for your family, then why are you doing this?”

  “You know why,” the Imam replied. “This is the jihad. The great struggle. The battle against the enemies of Islam. I will succeed where so many others have failed.”

  Reid couldn’t believe what he was hearing. He had thought there must be a motivation, some missing link fueling Khalil’s plan, his rage, his desire to see so many dead. And there was, whether it could be called ideology or spirituality or religion.

  To Reid, it simply seemed like lunacy.

  “You won’t succeed. You’re done.”

  Khalil shook his head sadly. “No, Agent. I’m afraid the virus is already on its way to your shores.”

  Reid’s heart skipped a beat. The map they had found in Greece had suggested that targets were throughout the western world, throughout Europe and the Americas. “We found your map in Athens…”

  “A fake,” Khalil said. “A distraction. Barcelona wasn’t a target; it was a testing grounds to ensure the efficacy of the virus. When it spread into France, we drew that map to cause panic. Incite shutdowns. There are not twenty-five targets. There is only one. We will destroy the United States from the inside.”

  The barrel of the Glock trembled slightly. “No,” Reid said in disbelief. “You had no way to get it out of the port. It’s still here somewhere. You’re bluffing.”

  “I am not, Agent Zero. I promise you that. My people are in place. They know what to do and how to get it. I planned for years, and it is finally coming to fruition. And the only reason I am telling you any of this is because there’s nothing you can do to stop it. Once the virus is released, there will no longer even be an America.”

  Reid’s blood ran cold. And with international travel closed, the virus would be contained to one country. Borders to the United States will stay closed, just on the other sides. The entirety of America would become an isolation zone if the infection couldn’t be stopped…

  “Tell me where the virus is,” Reid threatened, “or I will shoot you on the spot.”

  Shoot him , he shouted at himself in his head. Shoot him now.

  Khalil chuckled bitterly. “I know I am going to die today. It’s part of my plan. The rest of it is already in motion.” His soft gaze met Reid’s. “But I wouldn’t be telling you any of this if you weren’t going to die with me.” He unbuttoned his beige suit jacket and opened it.

  Reid took an instinctive step back in alarm.

  It wasn’t the port that was wired to blow—it was Khalil. Several pounds of C-4 were strapped to a vest around his torso in long gray bricks.

  He tapped a black box on the vest, just above his navel. “All I have to do is make the call and send the signal to this transmitter, and we will both go up in flames, along with the entire building,” Khalil told him passively. “I have accepted my fate. I told you it was an honor, Agent Zero, and I meant it. It is my honor to take you to the afterlife with me.”

  Reid kept his aim on the man. He knew the rear exit of the building was no more than fifteen feet behind him, but he doubted he could get to it before Khalil pressed the button. He didn’t dare so much as glance over his shoulder.

  But he could have blown it at any time. This was his intention, to kill himself and whoever he could with him. Yet he waited. He told me his story, and it couldn’t have just been for catharsis.

  “You’ve been stalling,” Reid said. His rational mind screamed at him, fully realizing it was insane to call Khalil on it with his finger on the button. “You’re waiting for something.”

  Khalil narrowed his eyes. “You are keen, Agent Zero.”

  “What are you waiting for?” Reid took a small step backward. “It’s the last part of your plan, isn’t it? You need to make sure that the virus gets to where it needs to be. Is that it?”

  Khalil licked his lips nervously. “My plan is flawless. The only reason you’ve gotten this far is because I let you get this far—”

  “No,” Reid interjected. “You didn’t think we would get any further than Minot, but you needed a contingency. You’re only still here because you need to be. Which means there’s still a chance we can stop this—”

  Suddenly the southwestern entrance to the building flew open with a booming thud. Maria and Agent Watson charged through, guns aloft and both aimed at Khalil.

  “Freeze!” Watson shouted. “Hands in the air!”

  The Imam’s head whipped around instinctively.

  Reid wanted to shout to them, to warn them of the bomb, but he had no time. He dropped to one knee and took careful aim. A silent prayer ran through his head.

  He took the shot.

  Khalil pressed the button.

  CHAPTER THIRTY TWO

  The single blast from Reid’s Glock 19 thundered in the empty storage facility, sounding three times louder. Its jarring report startled even him, every muscle tensed as he waited for the subsequent explosion—the bomb strapped to Assad ibn Khalil’s chest.

  Khalil’s face contorted into abject confusion. His thumb was firmly pressed against the green button. Then the phone slipped from his fingers and clattered to the floor. His other hand touched his stomach, just above the navel, as blood ran over his knuckles.

  Reid had aimed for the transmitter on the vest. His bullet had found its home and rendered it useless an instant before the Imam’s thumb found the button.

  Khalil fell to his knees, clutching his stomach.

  “Jesus, is that a bomb?” Watson asked incredulously, his aim still fixed on Khalil.

  Reid let out a long breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding. “It was.”

  Watson blinked at him in astonishment. Then he nodded. “Nice work, Zero.”

  “Not quite. The virus isn’t here. We still need to find…” He trailed off as the phone chimed from the floor.

  Khalil glanced down at it, his breath coming in gasps. His lips twitched as they pulled into a weak grin. “You’re still… too late.” He collapsed onto his side with a groan.

  Reid snatched up the device. The screen displayed a text message that said only one word: Received.

  “Confirmation,” Reid said quietly. He was right; Khalil had been waiting for a confirmation that the virus had gotten to where it needed to be. It can’t be far. He sprinted out of the storage facility, leaving Khalil dying slowly on the floor.

  “Kent, wait!” Maria and Watson followed as he tore the cell phone open and removed the battery. He wasn’t taking any chances that there weren’t other bombs around the port, as Khalil had claimed.

  “Where’s Barnard?” He looked around frantically. The doctor was trotting toward him from the waiting SUV.

  “Agent Steele, what happened?” he asked as he drew near.

  “The virus isn’t here. Khalil sent it somewhere,” Reid said quickly to his team. “He came here for a reason. How could he have gotten it out of France?”

  Barnard shook his head. “Agent, the port is closed. No one is allowed entry or exit.”

  “But you heard what Baraf said. Khalil knows this place. This facility belonged to his family. He must know something… the shipping routes…
”

  “Through the Mediterranean,” Barnard finished his thought for him. “You’re suggesting he doesn’t need a ship to come or go from here.”

  “He just needs one to pass by,” Maria said. “Dr. Barnard, what would the CDC’s plan dictate for the threat of a pandemic?”

  “In this particular case? Closure of airports, seaports, and land borders, of course,” Barnard recited quickly. “Uh, heightened security among TSA, emergency personnel, and law enforcement. Possible deployment of the National Guard—”

  “But what about industry?” Reid interrupted. “What about trade? Specifically, what’s the one thing that the United States would most likely not bar from a port of entry?”

  “Oil,” said Watson. “You’re talking about oil transport.”

  Barnard’s expression slackened as he came to the realization. “Good lord, I should have realized… In the emergency meeting with the president, fears were explicitly voiced about the potential cost of shutting down trade.”

  Reid nodded. “You know how many of people in positions of power have their hands in those pockets. Hell, even our own president.” It was no secret that while President Pierson had officially stepped down from his business holdings when he took office, he still had plenty to do with the management thereof.

  “You think Khalil’s plan is to stow the virus on an oil tanker passing through the Mediterranean?” Barnard asked.

  “He’s proven himself smart enough already,” Reid said ruefully. “I wouldn’t doubt if he found a way.” He scanned the industrial seaport. “The question is, can we?”

  “We’re sure as hell not going to find any speedboats around here,” Watson said.

  “Call Cartwright. See if he can arrange a…” Reid was interrupted by a familiar sound, faint at first but approaching quickly. He looked skyward and shielded his eyes with a hand as the steady whump-whump of rotors grew louder.

  A black helicopter descended from the sky, landing about twenty-five yards from them in a clear span of asphalt on the port. Four suited Interpol agents leapt out, followed by a fifth man—Vicente Baraf.

  Reid grinned fiercely as he hurried over. His jacket flapped wildly around him from the still-spinning blades overhead. “We found Khalil,” he shouted over the noise. “In the warehouse. He’s been shot, and he has an explosive strapped to him. There might be others around the port. Have your people contact French authorities and get a bomb squad down here immediately.”

  Baraf quickly relayed the message, and his four agents sprinted off toward the warehouse. “And the virus?” he shouted to Reid.

  “We’re going to need to borrow your helicopter. We need to get out to sea, and fast.”

  At first Baraf frowned as if he had misheard. Then he nodded once. “Get in.”

  Reid paused a moment, expecting pushback or questions, but Baraf smirked. “I’m quickly learning not to doubt your instincts, Agent. Let’s go.” Baraf climbed back into the cockpit as Maria and Barnard scrambled into the rear-facing passenger seats behind him.

  Watson hesitated, glancing precariously at Reid. They didn’t have to exchange any words. Reid gestured with his head, and Watson climbed up into a seat. He still didn’t fully trust the other agent, not after what happened with Carver—but, he realized, he didn’t fully trust anyone other than Maria. Now wasn’t the time. He needed Watson with them.

  Baraf spun his finger in a circular motion to the pilot, and the helicopter immediately lifted off. Reid strapped himself in and fit on a headset, drowning out the wind whipping around his ears from the open door.

  “Head due south until we have a heading,” Reid said as the helicopter soared out from Marseille Fos and over the Mediterranean Sea. “Patch in Sawyer from Command at Barcelona.”

  Baraf nodded and punched in the number on a communications console between him and the pilot.

  “This is Sawyer.” The familiar and still-exhausted British voice came in through the radio headset.

  “It’s Baraf. I’m with Agent Steele and his team from the CIA. Stand by.” He flashed Reid a thumbs-up.

  “Sawyer, this is Steele,” Reid said. “We need to know if there are any oil tankers in the Mediterranean Sea, close to Port Marseille Fos.”

  “Begging your pardon, Agent, but you’ll need to define ‘close,’” Sawyer said. “There are likely a whole fleet of them at any given time in the—”

  “The closest tankers to Marseille,” Reid clarified with obvious irritation. “Any that might have passed by within the last hour or so.”

  “And quickly, Sawyer,” Baraf added.

  “Yes sir, tracking now. Give me just a minute.” Reid could hear the frantic clacking of keys in the background.

  “You can do that?” Dr. Barnard asked.

  “Satellites,” Watson said into his headset. “We can track anything that has GPS—phones, cars, even ships.”

  “I’ve got nothing,” Sawyer said. “No oil tankers have passed near Marseille recently. Besides, anyone that’s out there would be under orders from the EU to anchor offshore until the ports are open again.”

  Reid slammed his fist against the side of the chopper in frustration. He was certain that Khalil would have used a tanker—but no. That would be the obvious choice, given his background. Besides, a tanker could be easily stopped if they identified it as the carrier of the virus.

  We can track anything that has GPS . But whoever was carrying the virus wouldn’t want to be tracked, he reasoned. “Sawyer, what about something we can’t track?” Reid asked suddenly.

  “Sorry?” said the British tech in the radio.

  “Something smaller, maybe…” Reid worked out his logic aloud. “Or… or something invisible, at least to us…”

  Baraf frowned. “Agent Steele, I’m afraid that doesn’t make sense.”

  Reid snapped his fingers. “What about something that was there before but isn’t there now? Something unaccounted for?”

  “Give me a moment.” Sawyer fell silent for nearly a full minute. Then he said quietly, barely audible over the helicopter’s whirring rotors, “Well, I’ll be…”

  “Sawyer,” Baraf snapped.

  “A Norwegian cruise ship bound for Italy went off the radar only twenty-five minutes ago,” Sawyer announced quickly. “Seems they had already left port when the virus was released in Barcelona; their orders are to remain in the Mediterranean just off of Corsica until further notice.”

  “Has the crew reported in since they went dark?” Maria asked.

  “Yes… the captain reported the failure as a malfunction in their positioning system.”

  “How far from here were they last seen?” Reid demanded.

  “About forty-five miles,” Sawyer replied instantly. “Sending the coordinates now.”

  Forty-five miles , Reid thought. It sounded far, but this was an NH-90, a twin-engine multi-role helicopter built through a partnership between France and German aeronautics. Likely decommissioned from the military, judging by the lack of guns and obvious alterations. But it’s still got ballistic tolerance and high crashworthiness. And with a top speed of 188 miles per hour we’ll be there in twelve minutes, tops.

  Reid turned his attention to the chopper’s pilot. “Once you reach the coordinates, continue west.”

  “West? The opposite direction?” Baraf said.

  Reid nodded. “If I’m right, that ship has been hijacked. I’d bet Khalil’s people were already on board before it ever left port, and…” He trailed off. Suddenly he understood the Barcelona attack. It wasn’t just a testing ground for the virus. It was to stall the cruise ship from reaching port. “And his people will turn it around, head towards the United States.”

  “So why don’t we let it?” Maria asked. “The US can stop them at port. They’d have nowhere to go.”

  “Think about it,” Reid said. “Khalil might be out of the picture, but he’s had a contingency every step of the way so far. We need to be prepared for anything.”

  “What
might anything include?” Dr. Barnard asked nervously.

  Reid didn’t want to say it aloud. “Sawyer, how many people are on that ship?”

  “Let me check the manifest.” A moment later the tech answered. “The ship is called the Jade Star , and it’s carrying a passenger load just shy of twelve hundred.”

  Reid held his breath. Twelve hundred people. That must be Khalil’s failsafe , he thought—if the virus itself couldn’t reach the shore, carriers of it could.

  “ETA to coordinates, eleven minutes,” the pilot said into the radio.

  If they had been in any other situation, and not en route to find a virus that was intended to destroy the entire United States of America, Reid might have laughed aloud. He knew how to fly this machine. As he watched the pilot’s hands move deftly over switches and levers, he knew each precise movement before it was made.

  He glanced upward, over the sliding door to his left. The rappelling system had been removed; the chopper would have to land on the cruise ship.

  “Sawyer can patch us in to the ship,” Baraf said. “We could order them to slow, it might make our approach faster…”

  Reid shook his head. “We don’t want them to know they’re coming. That will only give them time to prepare for us.” He turned to his team. “Trust no one on that ship. Some of the crew could be Khalil’s people. Expect them to be armed. Based on what we’ve seen, some of the ship might be wired with explosives.” Khalil’s words from just minutes ago ran through his head. The only reason I am telling you any of this is because there’s nothing you can do to stop it . This was a man who had planned for seemingly every scenario. “And possibly infection,” he added.

  The color drained from Barnard’s face. “You think they would risk releasing the virus prematurely?”

  “If the alternative would be having it taken from them? Yes. I do.”

  “But… they would be dead long before they ever reached the United States,” the doctor argued.

  “And so would we,” Maria said quietly into the radio. “Would the virus?”