by Mark Donovan
Based upon the preponderance number of right hand turns he was taking along the second story catwalk, Dave surmised that he was looping his way back to where he had started from. Consequently he became increasingly more alert for movement, his 9mm now extended far out in front of him, as he jogged along the elevated network of metal. Fenton had to be down, and Spencer had a weapon, he thought to himself.
Dave approached another right hand turn on the catwalk. It was a blind turn. The view to the right of it was blocked by a massive tank that stood three stories tall. Dave slowed his approach as he came to the turn. He didn’t want to blindly run around the corner and stumble head on into Spencer holding a gun to his chest. When he got to the turn, he stopped, crouched down, and slowly peered around the corner to see if it was clear. It wasn’t.
The second white FBI Fly Team SUV came screeching to a halt outside the main entrance security gate. Ron and the security guard had seen them coming down the road and had already ran from the guard shack to meet them.
“What’s the situation?” asked one of the FBI team members as the two men stayed in their vehicle with the engine running.
“Fenton and Dave entered the filtration building ten minutes ago and we have not heard from them since,” responded Ron. “Also, a security guard has been killed. His body was found just minutes ago on the west side of the building where he had been patrolling for a breach in the security fence. His throat had been slashed.”
“Alright, we will provide assistance. Stay here and continue to monitor for any movement outside the building,” said the FBI agent behind the wheel as he yanked the car into drive and sped off in the direction of the filtration building.
Ron turned to the guard and said, “I can’t sit here any longer and not help my friend. I’m going in to help.”
Ron shoved the tablet computer into the guard’s hands and stepped back into the guard shack. He found a pen sitting on the guard’s desk, scribbled down his phone number on a piece of scrap paper, stepped back out of the shack, handed over the piece of paper to the guard and said, “Call me if you start to see any red blinking lights on that screen.” Before the guard could object, Ron tore off in a full run across the parking lot in the direction of the filtration building.
Lying face down on the metal catwalk was Fenton. He was approximately fifteen meters from Dave’s position. There was no sign of Spencer. Dave stood up and ran to Fenton. As he approached him Dave could see blood splattered on the catwalk, dripping through to the floor below. He reached down and felt for a pulse on Fenton’s neck. It was slight, but there was one.
“Fenton, can you hear me?” whispered Dave as he slowly turned Fenton over.
Fenton’s eyes fluttered as he was rolled onto his back. Dave could see that Fenton had taken several rounds, two to the chest, one in the shoulder and one on the left hand. Fortunately the two to the chest were stopped by the Kevlar vest that Fenton had been wearing, though he would have a couple of huge bruises. The bullet to his left hand looked like it had broken a couple of bones as it passed through, but it wasn’t life threatening. The shoulder injury, however, was more severe. The bullet had entered Fenton’s right shoulder, up near his neck. A couple of inches higher and the bullet would have severed his carotid artery and he would have already bled out. Nevertheless, the wound was severe and blood was seeping from it quite heavily. Dave immediately applied pressure to it with his left hand while he ripped off a piece of his shirt to act as a temporary bandage to stem the bleeding.
“Fenton, can you hear me?” asked Dave again, as he placed the piece of his shirt over the shoulder injury and applied firm pressure to the wound.
Fenton’s eyes opened up as he became aware of Dave’s presence.
“Was it Spencer?”
Fenton ever so slightly nodded his head in the affirmative.
“Which way did he go?” asked Dave as he continued to hold his hand over Fenton’s shoulder wound.
“Further down,” responded Fenton in a weak voice as his eyes drifted beyond where Dave was kneeling in front of him.
“Can you hang in there for a little while longer?” asked Dave.
“Yes, I can make it,” whispered Fenton. “Help should be coming. Get the bastard.”
“Okay, let me get you into a better position so that you can apply pressure yourself to your shoulder wound,” said Dave as he dragged Fenton up to a sitting position and leaned him against a metal railing post.
After stabilizing Fenton, Dave continued to make his way down the metal catwalk, in the direction that Fenton had indicated Spencer had gone. He half walked and half crawled, his eyes continuously sweeping back and forth, left to right and then right to left, as he proceeded forward on the metal footbridge.
Just as he was passing the second branch of catwalk that shot off to his right, he heard above the continuous roar of the machinery a large clang sound. It had come from somewhere down the branch. Dave stiffened momentarily and strained to hear for any additional noises over the roar of the machines. There was none. However, Dave could sense Spencer was close by and doing something he shouldn’t. Damn, thought Dave to himself. I need to find Spencer soon if I am to prevent a catastrophe here in Dallas.
Dave turned and began to make his way cautiously down the branch, his Glock 9mm now held in both hands extended out in front of him.
Ron entered the filtration building looking for any sign of life. The two FBI Fly Team agents had gotten a few minutes head start on him and were not to be seen in the massive web of plumbing that stood before him. “Jesus,” he said to himself. “I’m never going to find Dave in this mess.”
Ron also realized he didn’t have a weapon on him. He swiveled his head one hundred and twenty degrees before his eyes fell upon a fireman’s axe fastened to a wall. Why the heck would you need a Fireman’s axe in a building filled with water, he thought to himself? But he’d take it.
Ron raced over to the wall on his right and lifted the axe out of its holding brackets. Then, with no idea of which way was best to search for Dave, he simply started running straight ahead, into the first floor bowels of the massive building, following the marked yellow and black hazard lines that outlined a trail through it.
He heard it again. There was a second loud clang that had just occurred. Dave stopped in his tracks to again listen intently, hoping to hear another clang over the racket of the machinery. He was rewarded with his patience this time, and then some. Three repeated loud clangs shot through the air up in front of him and slightly off to the right. Dave also noticed there was another branch in the catwalk, about ten meters ahead of him. It had to be Spencer, thought Dave. He could feel his twisted soul and contorted spirit nearby. Maybe it was due to the harshness of the repeated clanging sound. He could visualize Spencer violently striking at something, a combination of panic and hatred energy emanating from his body with each blow.
Dave advanced very slowly, again crouched low, as he approached the right branch in the catwalk. While carefully making his way forward in the final meter he heard another loud sound. However, this time the sound was hollower in tone, as if metal tin fell on metal tin.
Dave spied a look around the corner and saw a large steel circular hopper lid lying hinged open and back on itself. The lid and the corresponding hole in the hopper were nearly a meter in diameter. Dave noticed a sign that said Chlorine on the side of the massive hopper. However, it was the sight of Spencer that sent a chill down his spine, or more specifically, what he was doing.
Spencer’s back was to him, as he was bent over rummaging through a large duffle bag. There were two metal canisters positioned next to him. One was already opened and lying on its side. Empty. Fear immediately gripped Dave as he realized what Spencer had done. He had poured the contents of the metal canister into the Chlorine hopper. He had infected the water supply. He had succeeded in his and Aref Zarin’s terrorist plot thought Dave.
Spencer reached over to the second metal canister and began to unscrew
its lid. Dave noticed that Spencer was wearing protective latex gloves and goggles. The bastard, thought Dave. He has no issue killing millions of people with his deadly toxin, yet he has the audacity and cowardice to go out of his way to protect himself while doing so. Despicable. The worst of mankind, he said to himself.
Dave stood up and stepped into the center of the catwalk branch, holding the 9mm Glock out in front of him.
“Get up slowly, Spencer,” yelled Dave through gritting teeth.
Hearing Dave’s voice, Spencer initially flinched before his body froze where it was. Aref was supposed to have killed him and his bitch of a wife, he thought to himself.
“I said get up slowly and turn towards me,” repeated Dave.
Spencer slowly began to stand and turn to face Dave. As he did, he continued to hold onto the second metal canister.
“You’re too late,” hissed Spencer, a sneer on his face as he looked into Dave’s eyes. “I’ve already dumped a canister into the water supply,” said Spencer as his eyes glanced down to the empty canister by his feet. “Hundreds of thousands are now already doomed to die,” said Spencer.
“Wrong,” yelled Dave. “We’ve already shut down the supply of water from this facility into the Dallas network of water mains.”
“You lie,” seethed Spencer. “The machinery continues to run. Listen to it you fool.”
“Yes, the pumps may be running, but they’re just recirculating the water inside this filtration plant,” responded Dave, knowing full well that he was lying.
Spencer glanced back at the hopper for a brief second. Dave could see he was becoming severely agitated.
“Spencer, put the lid back on the canister that’s in your hands and place it on the floor.”
Spencer turned back towards him. However, as he did, he threw the canister at Dave. Dave attempted to duck from being hit by it and its contents, but was not so fortunate. The canister hit him square in the chest. When it did, the contents of it splashed upwards and out of it, dousing Dave in the face and chest.
Dave, panicked, attempted to wipe the deadly toxin from his face with his left hand while attempting to still keep the Glock trained on Spencer. However, Spencer took advantage of the moment and reached for the dead guard’s gun that he had placed next to the duffle bag. Dave fired his weapon twice before Spencer grabbed his own, ducked behind a steel I-beam and returned fire. One of the rounds that Spencer fired grazed Dave in the left triceps muscle.
Simultaneously, Dave also retreated a few steps and positioned himself behind a large holding tank. He glanced at his arm and saw that the wound was just a slight nick, the bleeding minimal.
“Spencer, you’re trapped. You are not going to get out of here,” yelled Dave over the roar of the machinery. “There are agents on their way. Lay down your weapon.”
Dave’s command was answered by two additional rounds of fire directed at him.
“The United States murdered my wife. The United States has murdered millions of other people from my homeland. Its people will pay, and I am going to make them pay.”
Dave heard movement from Spencer’s direction. He peered around the holding tank. Spencer had moved out from behind his cover and was attempting to quickly yank his duffle bag back in behind the cover of the I-beam. Dave did not hesitate. He fired two rapid shots at Spencer, one immediately after the other. Both rounds hit mid center in Spencer’s body. However, Spencer seemed only slightly fazed by the two bullets. Dave saw only a slight grimace from his face when the bullets ripped into his body. Spencer picked up the duffle bag and slipped back behind the I-beam. A second later Spencer had lifted himself up over the catwalk railing and was working his way down the metal scaffolding to the first floor.
Dave raced over to the I-beam and looked down. Spencer had dropped onto the first floor. Just as he began to pick himself up off the floor, Dave saw an axe suddenly come flashing out from around a turn in the walkway below. The flat side of the axe silently slammed into the side of Spencer’s head, crushing it. Spencer’s body immediately collapsed onto the floor, and as it did, Ron’s figure walked into view and looked up at Dave.
“Jesus,” said Dave as he stared down at Ron.
“Hey, I wasn’t going to let the bastard get away, particularly after what he did to Dana,” yelled Ron as he lifted the axe off of Spencer’s body. “Are you okay Dave?”
“Yes and no. I got grazed on the arm by one of Spencer’s errant shots. However, I have a little bit bigger of an issue. I was doused in the cholera toxin.”
The two other agents who had been searching the building for Spencer suddenly came racing up around the catwalk where Dave was standing. He turned and yelled for them to stop. “Don’t come any closer. I’ve been contaminated and there is more of this stuff lying all around my feet.”
The two agents backed up a few feet as they saw Dave’s wet face and shirt, and the empty metal canister lying on the catwalk next to his feet. One of the agents spoke into his radio calling for an ambulance and an emergency hazmat team.
“Where’s Fenton?” asked Ron from below.
“He’s on the catwalk, just around the corner from here,” said Dave. “He’s been shot, with a severe wound to the shoulder and neck area.”
One of the agents ran to find Fenton while Ron made his way up a nearby staircase.
“Did you swallow any of that stuff?” asked Ron as he approached Dave and the agent while observing Dave’s wet face and clothing.
“I don’t think I swallowed any, but based on the amount that hit me I’d say I’m pretty screwed.”
“We’ll get you to a hospital ASAP,” said the agent. “Hopefully you won’t come down with the disease, but if you do, at least you’ll have the best care to fight it.”
Dave shook his head in resigned acknowledgement. “And I guess I’ll know in the next hour or so, but I’m not the only one with a problem.”
“What do you mean?” asked the agent.
Dave drew the agent and Ron’s eyes over at the open lid on the large metal hopper. “He did it. Spencer had already dumped a canister of the cholera toxin into that hopper by the time I got to him. Unfortunately, many other people are about to become very ill as well.”
“You can nix that thought,” said the agent.
Dave and Ron both turned to the agent with questioning looks.
“When Fenton found Spencer, and before he engaged him, he called in over his radio to shut down the outflow of water from the filtration facility. No water has exited this complex for the past fifteen minutes.”
Dave and Ron broke out in smiles. “So the cholera toxin has been isolated to just this building,” said Dave with relief in his voice.
“And we can deal with it,” replied Ron with a big smile growing on his face. “With Doctor Hayden and Doctor Gillian’s new water decontamination system we can scrub the water in this facility until it is safe to reintroduce into the Dallas water supply.”
“How soon do you think you can get the system installed?” asked Dave.
“Not long. I will call Doctor Hayden and have him fly down here immediately to help me install it. Unfortunately, Doctor Gillian won’t be able to help out, as he will be recuperating for some time to come.”
Ron looked back at Dave, his body still dripping in the toxin. “So all we need to do is make sure you can get through the cholera symptoms if you indeed come down with it.”
Looking a little grim, but resolute Dave said, “Well at least if I do come down with the symptoms I’ll be in a place where I can get the best treatment.”
Ten minutes later several EMTs and first responders arrived on the scene, all wearing hazmat suits. After a cursory review of their gunshot wounds, both Fenton and Dave were wheeled out of the filtration building on stretchers and transported to a local Dallas hospital. Ron stayed back at the facility so that he could contact Doctor Hayden and to begin working with the station’s staff on determining the best location for installing the water decontaminat
ion system. He also called Dana to let her know of Dave’s situation.
At the hospital, Fenton underwent surgery for his shoulder and hand injuries, while Dave’s triceps wound was simply cleaned and bandaged. However, Dave had begun to experience gastrointestinal discomfort and was placed into a biocontainment unit.
Chapter 50 (May 3, Tuesday 9:00am, Dallas, Texas)
She had lived at the hospital for the past two weeks providing him with moral support and praying for his recovery. To pass the time, she walked the hospital’s endless hallways during the day. At night, the hospital staff was gracious enough to let her sleep in an empty room and provided her with a cot and a blanket. It had been a long time of waiting and worrying, and she was exhausted, but today new life had been breathed into her. She was again full of hope and energy. The man she loved was finally coming home to her.
Dana looked in through the door’s glass window at him while she held the phone to her ear. She was all smiles as she spoke to Dave, who stood on the other side of the biocontainment unit door in a hospital smock. Though he was looking gaunt and pale, and his voice weakened, he had received exciting news from his doctor just an hour earlier. Dave’s doctor had reported that for the third day in a row his culture sample had come back negative for any signs of cholera bacteria in his system. As a result, the doctor had given him a clean bill of health and the green light to go home. He was just waiting for final medical paperwork to be signed off so that he could once again become a free man.
