“Well, let me guess,” Ferguson said as he took a seat behind his desk. “You found a SkitoMister.”
Camp and Finn were surprised.
“You knew about it?” Camp asked.
“Not in time, unfortunately. Special Agent Daniels from CIA called me while you two were hiking up the Hindu Kush. The Agency traced two of these units from Illinois, to Hamburg, to Jakarta and finally Islamabad. Had no idea you’d stumble across one in North Waziristan, not that that would be much of a surprise given the FATA. What did you see in there, Camp?”
“Basically a laboratory and a barbaric third world surgical suite.”
“I took 20-some pictures if you want to take a look?” Finn said as he handed the SD card from his camera to one of the coffee-pouring majors who put it in the general’s laptop and warmed up the projector.
“I found this in the trash,” Camp said as he handed Ferguson the Poly Prothese PIP packaging.
“What is it?”
“Industrial grade silicone breast implants, made by a French company. We suspect they abducted Major Banks probably because he was a female surgeon,” Camp said.
“You can’t be serious,” Ferguson responded.
“Boob jobs for burka babes, general. You can’t make this shit up,” Finn cracked with a sly grin on his face.
“Ready, sir,” the major said as the first of Finn’s photos appeared on the screen. The major handed Finn the remote clicker.
“There were two or three bottles of ether. Ether was used for anesthesiology way back in the day, maybe 40 years ago, but it still gets the job done. Here you see surgical sutures, scalpel, bandages, gauze and rubbing alcohol,” Camp said as he narrated the photos.
“What are those? Looks Russian?”
“No clue, sir. Finn found three of these bottles, but the labels were in Russian,” Camp said to Ferguson.
Ferguson waved his hand at Major Spann. “Get me an American or British Russian speaker right now.”
“Sir, many of the Afghans speak –“
Ferguson cut him short. “I don’t want a damn Afghan who kinda speaks Russian, then tries to translate what he’s thinking in Dari Persian or Pashtu and then over to the English he kinda speaks.”
Spann left the room before Ferguson could finish ranting.
“How’d they kill Banks?”
“Single shot to the temple. At least they didn’t make him suffer. Then again, not sure what he may have gone through before they shot him,” Finn said.
“Looks like he was performing some surgeries based on the PIPs and the ether,” Ferguson answered. “What about the Terp’s son? Did you find him?”
“Yes, sir, at least we were pretty sure that was her kid. We put him in a vacant house across the street, bound and gagged. I’m sure they found him within minutes. Any word on Miriam?”
“She’s here in Kabul. Recovered nicely, no infections, but I’m told some ugly scars on her face and arm. You certainly saved her life,” Ferguson said.
“Right, not every day that you can save a suicide bomber. What’s going to happen to her?”
“Well, the geniuses from the State Department are trying to find another country for her. She’s a dead woman walking in Afghanistan or Pakistan…literally. I’m guessing she’ll go into the SIV program and be resettled as a refugee in Virginia. She’s highly educated and speaks fluent English.”
“Not to mention she only tried to kill 40 Americans,” Camp said with sarcasm duly noted by Ferguson and Finn. “Sir, why don’t you just email the photo to the Russian desk at the Pentagon, State or CIA. I’m sure they could give you an answer in 60 seconds. I’d really like to get a hot shower.”
Ferguson nodded to the sole remaining major who took the SD card out of Ferguson’s laptop and sat down at the PC on his desk.
“Were you able to immobilize the SkitoMister? I had our intel guys hide a GPS beacon on it so the drone could lock in,” Camp said.
“It was the 18th beacon, Camp. We thought it was Banks until it headed in the other direction. Until I spoke with you, there was no way that I was going to authorize an airstrike.”
“Other direction?”
“It moved. First to Miran Shah, then Islamabad…then we lost it.”
“Do you think the Paki’s found the beacon?”
“No, they put the whole machine on an airplane and then we lost it…until it landed in Tehran. Now it’s in Damghan, 300 kilometers east of Tehran…close to the Caspian Sea and not far from the border with Turkmenistan.”
Ferguson stood up and paced rapidly in his office.
“General?” Camp asked.
“Crap,” Ferguson grumbled as he rubbed his balding head. “Raines.”
“Leslie Raines?”
“Daniels and some other agent from Langley briefed her on some biologicals a few weeks ago at Detrick. Raines called me afterwards and told me the Agency was tracking a rail shipment of stockpiled biologicals from the Kirov Oblast west of the Ural Mountains along the Vyatka River on a 36-hour ride on the Trans-Siberian railway to Ashgabat, Turkmenistan.”
Ferguson walked over to a different classified map on his wall as the full picture started to emerge and dots were connecting themselves.
“Ashgabat is less than 700 kilometers from Damghan,” Ferguson said.
“What’s on the train?” Finn asked.
The major got a quick response from the Pentagon.
“Sir, we have a translation on the Russian labels. But it’s more like Latin than Russian. Francisella tularensis, or something like that.”
Ferguson looked Camp straight-on square in the eye.
“Tularemia. That’s what Major Banks reported from FOB Lightning. That’s what Colonel Raines is working on right now in the BSL-4 at Detrick. That’s what you found in Datta Khel Village. And that’s what’s on this damn Russian train.”
National Interagency Biodefense Center
BSL-4 Facility
Fort Detrick, Maryland
The slightly chubby technician got in the elevator without buttons, swiped her card, scanned her biometrics and rode the car down to the first floor. Running through the atrium, past the coffee bar, leather chairs and couches, she ran out into the parking lot as Lieutenant Colonel Raines was getting out of her Wrangler.
“Colonel…Colonel Raines,” she yelled as she got closer.
“Tina, are you okay?” Raines said as she picked up her pace.
Tina was out of breath and bent over in exhaustion.
“Ma’am…four…dead…monkeys!”
Raines looked up toward the secret floor in the NIBC.
“Oh my…Tina are you sure?”
“Positive…we suited up and verified.”
“We did it. A vaccine-resistant strain of tularemia. If we can do it, they can do it. Let’s go girl. Now we need a new vaccine and new antibiotics. Now we’re even. Gotta get one step up and ahead.”
“More dead monkeys?” Tina asked as the redness started to leave her swollen cheeks.
“I hope not, not anymore…Now I want them to live!”
Dr. Groenwald was standing in the Command Center looking at the BSL-4 TV monitors when Raines burst in.
“No skinny latte today, colonel?”
“Champagne if they’d serve it,” Raines responded as she looked at the four non-human primates dead in the bottom of their cages.
“What’s next?” Groenwald asked.
“Now we cook vaccines. The variations shouldn’t be that far off from our existing protocols. Get the recipe out to a pharmaceutical company and manufacture supply.”
“Who do you plan to work with?”
“Haven’t even thought that far, Dr. Groenwald.”
“Well, I know of both a French and German company who have done bio vaccines and antibiotics in the past. I can make some calls.”
“That would be great,” Raines said as Tina ran into the Command Center.
“Colonel Raines, you have a telephone call on the SIPR li
ne…Afghanistan…a U.S. Navy Captain Campbell.”
“On the SIPR? Okay…,” Raines said as a warm flush filled her face. She thought the news couldn’t be that bad if he was well enough to call her, though he always called on her personal cell phone.
“Camp? Are you okay?”
“Hello, Les…I’m doing great. Took a little backpacking expedition with Outward Bound through the Hindu Kush and finally got a hot shower and three bowls of chili in the DFAC. Feeling great.”
“Are you still at Lightning?”
“No, ISAF headquarters in Kabul. Here with Ferguson and my new best friend Billy Finn. Les, I just wanted to call and talk to you. I wanted to hear your voice. How are you doing?”
Raines lost her breath. I wanted to hear your voice?
“Crazy busy. I assume Ferguson has filled you in?”
“Roger that. Sounds like you’re cooking up some recipes for death. Ferguson told me about the Russian train and tularemia. Hey Les, I found one of your SkitoMisters in North Waziristan.”
“Camp, are you serious? Did you blow that sucker up?”
“Too close for comfort, couldn’t afford the fireworks. We put a GPS beacon on it, and the drones watched it move to Miran Shah, then Islamabad.”
“Guess they can’t bomb it in the capital, can they?”
“Nope, because it’s not there anymore. It was flown to Tehran and then driven to Damghan.”
“Damghan? Isn’t that where the Iranians do all of their biological and chemical weapons work?”
“One in the same.”
“These guys really freak me out, Camp. I just have a hard time believing that they’d be so stupid as to attack other countries with biologicals or even nukes.”
Camp paused and thought about the many conversations he had with Omid.
“You have no idea, Les…this regime doesn’t have a western logical bone in their collective body.”
“So, when are you coming home, sailor?”
“I’m not sure; just met with Ferguson after lunch. He’s heading back to the states to meet with the SECDEF, the SECSTATE and hopefully the US Ambassador to the United Nations. Billy Finn and I are heading to Turkmenistan to see what we can find out about the Russian freight train. After that…if I were a betting man…I’d say Tel Aviv.”
“Israel? Oh my gosh.”
“When will you be done with your work, Les?
“As soon as we can cook up a vaccine recipe. Just this morning we got four dead NHPs, so we know we have a strain that is now vaccine-resistant. Now we need the other side of the equation. Once we’ve got that, we hand it off for manufacturing and let the Pentagon, State and maybe the FDA take it from there.”
“Well, work fast…I may want you to join me in Tel Aviv.”
Raines smiled and lowered her voice.
“Another undercover assignment in a crowded double-sized bed like our escapade in Morocco last year?”
“I don’t know about all that…the last one didn’t end so well for you as I recall. You’re the expert on the biologicals. I’m just a trauma doc.”
“And a former SEAL…that’s the part that seems to bring trouble your way.”
Camp laughed out loud. He knew she was right.
“I’ll be in touch, Les…but get your suitcase out...just in case.”
“Hey, Camp? Call your parents, okay?”
There was a brief pause.
“Why? Is everything okay?”
“Yeah, sure…I mean I think so. You know, they just want to hear from you. Let ‘em know that you’re okay, that’s all.”
* * *
19
* * *
Tehran Imam Khomeini International Airport (IKA)
Tehran, Iran
Emirates flight 977 from Dubai pulled into the gate as the ground crew marshaled in the Boeing 777-300ER. Omid was exhausted from the two legs of the journey back home. After the 9:00am flight from Islamabad’s ISB airport into Dubai, Omid had a nearly seven-hour layover before the Tehran flight.
The seatbelt sign went off, but his traveling companion was still asleep.
“Hey, wake up…we’re at the gate,” Omid said as he gently tapped the man’s shoulder.
Omid grabbed his backpack out of the overhead bin, and the two of them shuffled down the aisle with the rest of the passengers, out the plane, over the jet bridge and into the terminal toward customs.
The customs agent looked at Omid’s passport and the military ID he presented with it.
“Colonel Farid Amir, welcome home. You weren’t gone as long this time,” the customs agent said to Omid as he quickly assumed his true identity. “How is your father doing?”
“All praise to Allah, he continues to live, but his days are numbered. I am thankful that he’s getting good care.”
The agent stamped his passport, and Omid proceeded to baggage claim.
Omid and his traveling companion waited as the carousel began to spin. Omid’s large bag came first.
“It was nice to see you again. Will you be in Tehran long this time?” Omid asked the man.
The man was lost in his thoughts as he waited for his luggage.
“No. Actually I’m heading to my lab in Damghan. Not sure when I’ll return to Islamabad.”
“Damghan? I haven’t been there in a long time. I was stationed there early in my career for a few years. I hope you enjoy your time.”
Omid and the man exchanged good-bye kisses on each cheek.
“May God be with you, Farid,” the man said. “I will pray for your father.”
“And with you as well, Kazi,” Omid said as he touched his heart, picked up his suitcase and hoisted his backpack over his shoulder before exiting the terminal.
ISAF Headquarters
Kabul, Afghanistan
Camp had an hour to spend before the 30-minute Suburban ride with Billy Finn over to Kabul International Airport. The nameplate on the door said Major John O’Brien, so he knew he had found the right place. He was only slightly embarrassed that he didn’t know how to find the chaplain’s office given that he had no clue where the chapel was even located.
Camp was not a publicly religious man. But faith was an important part of his life as a child, growing up on a farm in rural Lancaster County, Pennsylvania. He hadn’t forgotten his roots.
According to the bio on the DOD website, O’Brien was born and raised in Texas, did his undergraduate studies in religion at Texas Christian University and earned his Masters of Divinity at the Southern Baptist Theological Seminary in Louisville, Kentucky.
Camp tapped lightly on the door, perhaps secretly hoping that the chaplain might have stepped out or was running late from a previous appointment.
“Come in,” came the warm but soft voice from the other side of the door.
Camp opened and walked in.
“Camp? I’m so glad you stopped by. I’m John. Have a seat.”
O’Brien was in his early 30s and seemed quite affable and approachable. He had a welcoming smile with none of the formalities or honorifics that other military officers were accustomed to using.
Camp sat down on the edge of his chair. He didn’t want to appear too comfortable.
“Chaplain, I have to head to the airport for a flight at 1800 hours, so I can’t take much of your time.”
“Please call me John. I prefer to keep my counseling sessions informal.”
Counseling session? Camp wasn’t really looking for a counseling session or even pastoral advice as much as he wanted some theological insight.
“John, I really just have a question or two that I thought maybe someone like you could answer.”
“Try me.”
“Well, my mother used to haul my ass, um, me out to church every Sunday – usually against my will I might add – and I remember my Sunday school teacher talking about the end times and Armageddon, and all that stuff. Do you believe in that, John?”
Chaplain O’Brien sat back in his chair across from the coffee table t
hat separated him from Camp. With interlocked fingers in a praying position, he looked quite pastoral.
“It’s a perfectly natural fear. We face war and death every day. Certainly within the Southern Baptist tradition we believe in the end times, a final battle of Armageddon and ultimately the second coming of Christ. But we could spend hours debating all of the timing, whether or not we believe in the rapture, or if the second coming would be pre- or post-tribulation.”
Camp was sure his mouth fell open with all of the unfamiliar words the chaplain spoke with matter-of-fact ease.
“I don’t have a clue what you just said, John.”
Chaplain O’Brien laughed and leaned forward.
“What part are you specifically interested in Camp?”
“Armageddon. Do you believe there will be a final battle?”
The interlocked fingers danced with renewed fervor. Chaplain O’Brien lowered his brow and spoke with implied theological authority.
“Personally? Yes, I do. The scriptures say that there will be a final battle between the nations of the world. Some Christians take that battle figuratively, others take it literally.”
“And you?”
“Well, I’m sure the folks living during World War II thought it was Armageddon back then. Based on what I read in the newspapers today, I’d say mutual annihilation and destruction is possible, perhaps even literal.”
“The entire world would be destroyed?”
“Not as far as Baptist theology is concerned. The battle of Armageddon would include armies of the world trying to conquer Jerusalem.”
“What armies?”
“Well now, we’re getting down into detailed speculation. No one but the Lord really knows that.”
“What do the Baptists say?”
“Depends which Baptist you talk to, I guess, but the leading candidates have always been Russia, Syria, parts of Lebanon and, of course, Iran.”
“Iran?”
“What other government in the world today is calling for the absolute annihilation of Israel?”
“So Armageddon is the name given to this final battle?”
“More than that really. In the Book of Revelation, chapter sixteen, verse sixteen, the Apostle John writes that the battle will take place in an area called har megiddo, or mountain of Megiddo. It’s in the Valley of Jezreel where many historic battles have already taken place, even one with British Field Marshal Edmund Allenby in World War I when he took control of the Holy Land from the Turks in 1918. Jezreel is where Gideon fought his famous battle with armies from the east.”
Jericho 3 Page 17
