by Joe Nobody
“That’s wonderful news,” replied the ranger. “I will, however, need to speak with him immediately. A car registered to the doctor was used in a serious crime yesterday, and I need to investigate the circumstances.”
The dean was now clearly upset. “I’m afraid that’s not possible, sir. Dr. Dattatreya’s research is extremely sensitive, and established safety protocols require complete isolation.”
The ranger was now utterly confused. “I was told that the doctor was no longer employed by the university. Is that information incorrect?”
“Yes, that is accurate. He left A&M over two years ago to join the private sector.”
“Who is his employer?”
Dean Womack didn’t answer, his eyes darting right and left as if searching for a way out of his own office. He then started to reach for the telephone sitting on the desk’s corner but stopped. Finally he responded, “I’m afraid I’m not at liberty to divulge that information.”
In less than a second, Zach experienced a parade of emotions. First came a short eruption of anger, driven by the ranger’s lack of sleep, one very dead El Paso detective, and the number of bullets recently fired in his direction. It took a considerable amount of effort to check his rage.
Then came frustration. Not everyone had voted for the secession. It was common for those against independence to focus their disdain on any government official who crossed their path. Law enforcement encountered such attitudes often.
Finally, the ranger arrived at curiosity. The dean was sweating now, small beads of perspiration showing on the man’s nearly-bald head. Why? What was this guy’s issue?
De-escalate, Zach thought. Take down it down a notch. The man isn’t a criminal. He’s not stupid. Work with him.
“Sir, I’m not sure what’s going on, but I really, really need your cooperation in this matter,” Zach began in a calm, even tone. “We believe Dr. Dattatreya’s automobile was stolen by some extremely dangerous criminals. I only need a few moments of his time.”
The dean’s next move was completely unexpected. Reaching for the phone and staring hard into Zach’s eyes, he waited for his admin to answer. “Get me the university’s legal department, please. Tell them it’s urgent.”
For a moment, Zach thought that Womack was calling to get permission to answer his questions. The look on the professor’s face, however, told a different tale – one that was soon confirmed.
“I have a law enforcement officer in my office,” the academic stated into the mouthpiece. “I need legal representation immediately, please.”
Zach shook his head as Womack disconnected the call. “Why?” he asked, not really expecting any answer. “I don’t understand, sir? I just need to speak with the good doctor about his Jag.”
The man across the desk folded his arms, his expression now set in stone. “I invoke my Fifth Amendment right to remain silent, officer. I have been advised not to speak with the police until I have an attorney present.”
The ranger was now getting pissed. “That is your right, sir. Is your attorney on the way?” he growled.
The dean became smug, “I wish to remain silent, officer.”
There were several options available to Zach. He could detain Womack for questioning. He could haul the frumpy, old goat down to the station. He could dream up any number of half-assed charges in an attempt to leverage or intimidate the fool. Obstruction came to mind. Hindrance was another option.
The ranger, however, didn’t like operating that way. While a lot of hard-nosed cops would push the limits, Zach had always found such tactics distasteful. Long ago, he’d arrived at the conclusion that threatening to trump up charges was a method employed by lawmen of lesser skill and intellect. He was a ranger, a member of an elite organization, sworn to serve and protect. There was always a better way.
Again, the Texan pushed down his rage. Reaching to fish his new cell from a jacket pocket, it was the ranger’s turn to make a call. “Major Putnam, I’m at Texas A&M and have run into an obstacle,” Zach stated calmly. “For some unknown reason, the assistant dean that I’m interviewing has invoked his Fifth Amendment rights, and we are currently awaiting the arrival of his university-provided attorney. Would you be so kind, sir, as to call President Simmons’s office and let him know that our investigation has been stalled due to this development?”
Zach listened as his supervisor acknowledged the request, and then read off the dean’s full name and title. “Thank you, sir. I will inform you of my findings shortly.”
For 20 minutes, the two men sat in silence, staring at each other across the dean’s desk. The university’s legal counsel arrived first.
The polite but cold introductions had just finished when Herbert’s desk phone jingled.
Annoyed at the interruption, Womack picked up the headset and snapped, “Not now. No interruptions, please.”
“But sir,” came the admin’s voice. “It’s the chancellor on the line. He says it’s urgent.”
Zach couldn’t control himself, smirking as the dean’s expression turned sour.
“But, sir … but … the sensitive nature … but,” Dr. Womack tried to protest into the phone. Even through the tiny speaker, Zach could hear a little voice shouting some very big words.
In the end, the dean’s argument fell on deaf ears. After returning the headset to its cradle, the professor’s expression registered total defeat. Glancing at the newly arrived lawyer, he announced, “Your services are no longer required, counselor. Thank you for coming by, but the chancellor has made his wishes quite clear. I’m am to cooperate fully with the ranger.”
After they were alone, Zach asked again. “Who is Dr. Dattatreya’s employer?”
“The U.S. government,” the dean answered with a sigh. “More specifically, the Center for Disease Control and the Department of Defense.”
The answer wasn’t shocking. Texas had been a state for over 150 years, a republic for less than three. There were still entanglements at practically every level of business and government. Why should the world of higher education be any different?
“Where can I find Dr. Dattatreya?”
Despite the dean’s boss’s boss and the president of the republic being involved, the man across from Zach still hesitated. “He’s working at a secure research facility, about 30 miles north of Bryan.”
“An A&M site?”
“No … well … he’s working on a co-op project started over 10 years ago. The facility is owned by a trust formed by the Department of Defense, the CDC, and two pharmaceutical corporations. The University is also involved, but I’m not sure of the actual contractual arrangements or legal formalities.”
The ranger still couldn’t grasp the reason behind all of the secrecy and vacillation. “In layman’s terms, what is the nature of the doctor’s research project?”
The dean grew pale, his upper lip quivering in fear. “Biological weapons research. More specifically, anti-biological weapons research.”
Zach’s color soon joined the dean’s, all of the pieces of the puzzle falling into place. For the first time during the entire encounter, the ranger stood, his tall frame towering over the dean’s desk in a clear sign of intimidation. “Call that facility. Right now!”
Nodding in terror, the academic fumbled inside of his desk drawer until he found a sheet of laminated paper containing columns of names and numbers. There was no answer.
“Try again!”
After the second attempt, the dean was now perspiring profusely, his hands trembling. “That’s very odd. Normally, there are two or three lab assistants on duty at any time. Someone always answers the phone,” he stammered.
Pivoting abruptly, the ranger nearly dropped his cell phone in his rush to dial.
“Major, we need a CBRN (Chemical, Biological, Radiation, and Nuclear) response team immediately. I think I know what the cartels are after, sir. In fact, they may already have it.”
Five minutes later, Zach and the dean were scrambling for
the ranger’s truck.
As they sped through the campus and then the town of Bryan, the ranger continued to pump his passenger for information.
“What kind of biological agents are we talking about?”
“All of the common varieties,” Womack responded with a matter of fact tone. “Variola, Yersinia pestis tularemia, Clostridium botulinum, Magnaporthe grisea – the usual cast of characters.”
Zach frowned, “In layman’s terms, please.”
“Smallpox, plague, yellow fever.…”
The ranger interrupted, “What the hell is that shit doing at A&M?”
“The university was one of the primary research centers in the U.S. government’s efforts to combat agroterrorism,” Womack explained calmly. “Dr. Dattatreya is one of the world’s foremost experts in the field.”
Zach had heard the term agroterrorism during one of the many briefings conducted by the Department of Homeland Security after 9-11. Biological agents, it was understood, didn’t have to kill humans to be effective. Destroying crops, livestock herds, and other food sources would get the job done.
According to some, creating, packaging, and delivering this category of weapon would be much easier than attacking cities full of people.
Womack took Zach’s silence as a signal to continue, “The university has been working with the CDC for decades in an effort to develop a series of vaccines, contamination procedures, and other proactive strategies to combat a potential terrorist attack against our food sources.”
The ranger relaxed for a moment, wondering if he’d been a little fast on the trigger and the call to Major Putnam. “So Dr. Dattatreya’s project didn’t have anything to do with infecting people?”
“On the contrary,” Womack countered. “It had very much to do with people. In the last few years, the advancements in DNA splicing led Myer to predict altered strains of various agents would be easy for terrorist organizations to manufacture. He believed it would be possible to infect humans, animals, and crops with the same weaponized substance. He also theorized that such an attack would quickly overwhelm any potential response by any government.”
“Shit. Wipe out the crops, animals, and people? Isn’t that a bit of overkill?”
Womack became the teacher, lecturing the student. “Even the worst of these compounds has some survivability rate, be it in animals, vegetation, or humans. If you strike at all three simultaneously, the results would be far more horrific.”
The ranger didn’t mind being schooled at the moment. “Is such a weapon possible?”
“Over the past few years, Myer’s research indicated that it was not within the realm of current technology and knowledge. They did uncover, however, that two of the three potential targets were possible. More specifically, humans and livestock could be infected with the same genetically modified compound.”
After maneuvering through a slight traffic jam, Zach continued, “And the results of that revelation were?”
“Myer was working on a way to manufacture a cheap, easily distributable vaccine. In that effort, he also uncovered a very economical method of producing the weaponized agents. That’s when the university wanted out of the entire program. The Board of Regents wanted nothing to do with development, only prevention. The DOD and CDC were still engaged, however, and arranged for funding and an off-site lab.”
Two military helicopters appeared at that moment, both of the birds zooming off in the same direction Zach was driving. “Those would be the CBRN teams from Fort Hood.”
“Yes,” the dean confirmed, watching the aircraft shrink into small black dots against the morning blue sky. “We’re getting close now.”
Following the professor’s directions, Zach came to a gravel lane blocked by a high, stout-looking fence. The only signage warned of private property, electronic security, and the prosecution of trespassers. There were already four troopers parked and waiting at the entrance.
The two Blackhawks were circling overhead.
“I don’t have a keycard,” Womack announced.
“How close can we get without being infected - if there has been some sort of breach?” Zach asked, eyeing the gate with suspicion.
“We’re okay for now; it is still over a half mile till we get to the lab.”
Zach pulled his pickup so that the front bumper was pushing against the gate. “Forgive me, Major,” he whispered, giving the powerful V8 a bit more fuel.
The back wheels spun, throwing up a small cloud of gravel and dust just as the hinges popped. Two of the troopers ran forward, lifting the remainder of the linkage away from Zach’s paint job.
The ranger was then leading a small parade of official vehicles down the crushed rock path, just as the copters were landing in a nearby pasture. “Stop me before we get within infection … or contamination … or whatever you call it, range,” he informed the dean.
“We’re fine as long as we stay outside,” the doctor promised. Regardless of his passenger’s confidence, Zach found himself wanting to hold his breath.
They approached a small series of buildings, the largest a solid-looking structure about the size of an average barn. In bold, red lettering, the only sign indicated they had arrived at the TexStar AgroResearch Facility. The two vehicles in the gravel lot were soon joined by numerous law-enforcement units and would soon be surrounded by a sea of flashing blue and red lights.
“Don’t go inside the large building,” Womack warned.
“Oh, don’t worry about that,” Zach replied, eyeing the structure as if it were some sort of monster about to consume them all.
The troopers spread out, soon joined by a SWAT team from the local county. Zach was glad the extra manpower had been summoned by his boss.
Movement drew the ranger’s eye, several men tramping across the countryside in what appeared to be spacesuits. The leader, and Army captain, carried a spare Haz-Mat unit under his arm. “I think it’s a good idea if someone from law enforcement goes inside with us.”
All eyes fixed on the ranger, given he was the senior man at the location. For one of the few times in his career, Zach wished he hadn’t been on top of the authority food chain.
It took two of the military specialists 10 minutes to hook the ranger up. Zach found the outfit sizzling, suffocating, and restrictive. Despite the respirator humming in his ear, it was difficult for the lawman to breathe.
Zach couldn’t remember ever being so scared. He’d faced countless criminals, evil men and women with no regard for human life and a special dose of vile when it came to the Texas Rangers. Most of them had possessed deadly weapons of one form or another.
He’d fought ISIS in the desert, survived riots in Istanbul, and arrested dozens and dozens of felons. Bombs, ambushes, assassins, mafia hit men, and rustlers were all on his resume. Some of those sons-ah-bitches had been big mothers, too, he thought. Most had been armed, and more than a few had been skilled in the arts of combat.
Now, facing a menace he couldn’t see, smell, hear, or feel, the ranger was having trouble forcing his legs to move. The smallest foe he could imagine was filling Zach’s core with the ice of fear.
In they went, six men in thick, one-piece spacesuits that smelled like cleaning fluid. The plastic shield in front of Zach’s face provided little comfort.
The team’s commander ventured first. Zach saw the officer hesitate one step inside the door, and it quickly became obvious why.
There was a body behind the receptionist’s desk. At first glance, the young man appeared to be taking a siesta, his head bent backward, eyes pointing at the ceiling.
It was the small, black hole just above the bridge of his nose and the splatter of purplish blood and brain matter on the wall that froze the Army officer.
As Zach moved around the stalled trooper to examine the deceased, some minor flush of relief crossed through the ranger’s mind. Until that moment, he hadn’t been sure any crime had been committed here. Since calling the major, he’d worried that they would find Dr.
Dattatreya hard at work over a table of bubbling test tubes, completely unaware that his Jag had been stolen from the parking lot.
In fact, they found Dattatreya next.
The door behind the dead receptionist was where the heavy-duty, caution signs began, all of them in bright, bold text and displaying somber language. Zach didn’t have time to read them all but did take special note of the nuclear materials advisory as well as the skull and crossbones emblem which seemed to be a common theme with the lab’s interior decorator.
The team progressed into what appeared to be a combination airlock and gym’s locker room. There were benches along both sides, each wall lined with metal doors. Several spacesuits, similar to the one Zach was wearing, were hanging nearby.
After opening the heavy, sealed exit door, the team entered a room with tile floors and walls, a half-dozen water nozzles pointing from each side.
Another airtight door, and then they were in a large room that came closer to fulfilling Zach’s image of a high-tech laboratory.
While there wasn’t any forest of tubes and glass bottles, the ranger did spot several microscopes and other machines on the large, black working surfaces.
Dr. Dattatreya, or what was left of the poor fellow, was there, his legs and arms duct-taped to a heavy, metal chair. He had suffered badly before death’s final mercy, the signs of brutal torture evident on the victim’s limbs and bare chest.
Zach shivered when he saw the small propane torch lying next to the gruesome corpse, the tool most likely used to burn away large swaths of the doctor’s skin. No doubt, he’d told his captors anything they wanted to know.
There was, however, a survivor. One of the soldiers discovered a young woman locked deep in a storage closet. She was hysterical, thinking the Army team members were the invaders who had come back to ensure her demise.
It took them a while to coax her out. Even then, her constant stream of babbling provided little to no useful information. The captain, after an approving nod from Zach, ordered his men to decontaminate the woman and get her outside to the waiting medical professionals.
