When the Future Ended

by David Spell

  Chuck saved his work on the computer and checked his emails and then his text messages on his phone. Nothing new. He heard a conversation from down the hall. Probably their administrative assistant, Vanessa, coming back from lunch.

  Rebecca had left that morning for another intel meeting with the FBI and the DHS. He had to admit he was impressed with the way that information was flowing. As a local cop, McCain had had dealings with the feds from time-to-time and they had never been positive.

  The feds wanted everything the locals had but were reluctant to tell them anything in return. They took all the credit when the local police cracked a case open and blamed the locals if the feds screwed the case up. This bio-terror threat was causing federal law enforcement, and especially the FBI, to be much more liberal with the intelligence that they were disseminating to local agencies and among themselves.

  A face appeared in his doorway and he recognized one of the epidemiologists. She was wearing a white lab coat. He could not remember her name.

  “Hi,” he said. “You need some help?”

  “Yes, sorry to bother you. I was supposed to meet with Ms. Johnson,” Azar said. “Is she here or should I wait?”

  “She should be back in the next hour or so, I think. Is there anything I can help you with?”

  “No, I don’t think so. Ms. Johnson wanted to go over the toxicology reports from those recent incidents your teams were involved in.”

  She held up the manila folder, bulging with paper to illustrate her point. The folder slipped from her hand and all the papers spilled out onto the floor.

  “Oh, no,” Kasra said. “I'm so clumsy!”

  “Let me help you,” said Chuck.

  He got up and walked over to where the woman was kneeling down and trying to gather the papers. The name on her lab coat identified her as Azar Kasra. He knelt down and started picking up the pieces of paper from floor of his office.

  “Thanks for the help,” she said. “Sorry about this.”

  “No problem, it could happen to…”

  Chuck felt something sharp hit his right leg, just below the hip. He looked down and saw that Azar was holding a syringe in her right hand driving it into his leg. Her thumb was on the plunger of the syringe, pressing it. The look on her face was one of hatred and triumph.

  "This is for Fatemeh," she snarled.

  McCain fired a back fist with his right hand into her face. Even kneeling on the ground, Chuck’s punch had enough power to snap Kasra’s head back and knock her through the open doorway into the hall. He was pretty certain of what had just happened and he thought he knew what was in that syringe.

  Azar landed on her left side in the hallway. She was stunned by the punch but her training kicked in and she instinctively reached for the revolver tucked into the front of her pants. McCain was quickly on his feet and saw her reaching for her waistline. He dropped his big frame on top of her, pinning her to the floor.

  Chuck heard the air expel from her lungs. He grabbed her right hand just as she pulled the Smith and Wesson .38 Special snub-nose revolver out of her pants. Azar had managed to get her finger into the trigger guard and tried desperately to bring the gun up to shoot this man. He twisted her hand and the gun clockwise and then ripped it out of her grasp. There was a crack as her right index finger was broken. The woman screamed out in pain and began to curse him in Farsi.

  McCain slid the revolver against the far wall and quickly handcuffed her hands behind her back. He stayed on top of her and took a deep breath, trying to calm himself. He reached into his left cargo pocket and pulled out his kevlar gloves and put them on.

  The door opened down the hall and Vanessa, their administrative assistant, walked in. She was a fifty something year old black woman who treated all of the officers as if they were her children. She stopped and stared at the scene in front of her.

  “Chuck, what are you doing?”

  “Vanessa, I need you to call security and call Rebecca. This woman attacked me and is under arrest. We're also going to need a medical team.”

  Vanessa disappeared to make the calls. Chuck patted Kasra down. He found ten more syringes in her lab coat pocket. They still had the safety caps on. He also found a small speed loader containing five extra .38 Special rounds for her revolver.

  When security arrived, McCain gave them a quick synopsis of what had happened and asked them to secure the woman in their interview room. They didn't have a holding cell but the interview room would serve that purpose for a little while. The security officers’ eyes got big when they saw the revolver and the speed loader. Weapons were forbidden in the facility, except for security and the enforcement officers.

  As they led Kasra away, Chuck stepped into his office. He pulled his gun belt off and dropped his pants to his ankles. He was scared to look at his leg.

  “That's quite a sight, Chuck,” Rebecca said, walking into his office. “Are you ok?” Her voice was filled with concern.

  “She tried to infect me. She stuck me with a syringe.”

  “What? Let me see,” said Rebecca gasped, walking over to where he was.

  There was a red mark on his leg where Azar had stuck him but it hadn't broken the skin. The kevlar had stopped the needle from penetrating all the way. The kevlar pants had done their job for a second time. Rebecca touched the red mark. Her touch on his leg sent a charge through his whole body. She rubbed it and looked up at him.

  “Are you sure you're alright?”

  He took a deep breath and exhaled. “I am now. I thought I was going to have to eat my gun. There was no way I was going to let myself become one of those things.”

  Rebecca’s hand was still on his leg. She felt the muscles tighten in his thigh.

  “I need to get out of these pants,” he said. “I'm pretty sure that whatever was in that syringe is all over my pants leg.”

  “Ok,” she said, withdrawing her hand. “When you get changed, come and tell me the whole story.”

  She did not know what had happened. The dose of the virus that she had hit Chuck McCain with should have worked instantly or at least very quickly. Since Johnson had not been there, her plan was to flee after sticking McCain and get to the top floor, where the executives had their offices. She would try and infect all of them that she could with her syringes. After that, she would start shooting. Her orders were to create chaos. She had planned on saving one bullet for herself if security did not kill her first.

  Now, as she sat in the interview room, she realized that she had failed. She had been arrested by the man she was supposed to have killed. Her right eye was swollen and her entire face hurt. Kasra felt blood trickling down her right nostril. Her hands were handcuffed behind her and her broken finger was throbbing. Her spine was shooting pain into her back like electrical shocks from where that man had jumped on her and put his knees in her back.

  She was also humiliated. In her training in Iran, Azar had been told that American law enforcement was weak and would never hit a woman. They had also told her that the Americans were soft and would never search a woman. This police officer had done both of those things to her. The only consolation she had was that, surely, by now, the virus would have done its work on Chuck McCain.

  “So, what now?” Rebecca asked. “And how can you drink coffee at a time like this?”

  He had offered her a cup but she'd declined.

  Chuck was sitting in her office and sipping his coffee. He had changed into his non-kevlar BDU pants. The ones that had had the virus squirted on them had been bagged up to be burned. He had thoroughly washed all his exposed skin and even changed shirts, just to be safe.

  The syringe that Kasra had tried to use on him had been placed in an evidence bag. It was then entrusted to one of the security guards to carry to a lab upstairs for expedited testing. McCain needed to be positive about what had happened.

  “Coffee helps me relax. And it's too early for Scotch.” McCain’s mind was working quickly. “Why now?” he thought aloud.

/>   “What do you mean?”

  “Why today? Why now?” Chuck said. “Is she working by herself or this is the kickoff for something bigger? She said, 'This is for Fatemeh.' That tells me that they were somehow connected and Kasra is up to her neck in this bio-terror plot, as well.

  "Our guys on the stakeout said that al-Razi hasn't shown up yet but a bunch of other guys have. I was going to talk with you when you got back about trying to get a search warrant. Andy said it looks like something big is going on. Cars and people have been arriving all day."

  He felt his smart phone vibrate and he looked at the screen. It was a text from the security guard who took the syringe to the lab. It was confirmed for the zombie virus. The scientist told the guard it was the strongest version she had seen yet. Chuck handed the phone to Rebecca so that she could read it.

  “Oh, my God! What if it had penetrated?” She was visibly shaken.

  “Well, thank God it didn’t. His angels were working overtime for me today. And you would've had to find someone else to take you to dinner next week.”

  "That's not funny, Chuck," she said, but couldn't suppress a smile.

  They sat in silence for a few minutes.

  “She had ten other loaded syringes and a gun,” McCain said. “I wonder if I was on her list because I shot Fatemeh? She clearly went out of her way to come to our offices. She said she was looking for you. It's a good thing you were gone.

  "If she'd managed to use all those syringes to infect eleven people throughout the building, it would be devastating. Then, how many other people would have gotten infected? And, she was armed, so she wasn't going to get arrested quietly.”

  They both were thinking furiously. Rebecca had had Human Resources send her Azar Kasra’s file. She was Iranian and had been in the US for almost two years. Plenty of time to build a cover story. She was hired under the former President’s push to give legal immigrants government jobs. As an epidemiologist, Kasra was right in the middle of the research and testing on the zombie virus and the vaccine that they were trying to develop.

  “We're going to need to go back and review her work," Johnson noted. "She's been on the team working on a vaccine. What if she sabotaged that work? With an unprovoked attack on you, we have to believe that she'd do anything she could to at least slow down the research.”

  “I think you're probably a better judge of this than me,” said Chuck, “but this has the feel of a very sophisticated intelligence operation that's about to culminate in an attack.”

  Rebecca didn't say anything right away. “And why would you think that I'm an expert on intelligence operations?” She wondered what he knew or what he suspected.

  “Just a thought. I wonder sometimes if this whole thing, CDC Enforcement especially, is connected to some type of intelligence agency. This bio-threat seems to be pretty organized and bigger than just a couple of crazy Iranian guys trying to strike a blow for Allah. They seem to be very methodical and now it looks like they even managed to slip someone inside the CDC.

  "This girl isn't just a disgruntled employee. The Iranian factor looks to me like a link to something much bigger. She said, 'This is for Fatemeh.' So, there's definitely a connection."

  “I think you're onto something with Kasra,” Rebecca deflected, “and I think we need to go have a talk with her and see what she can tell us."

  CDC HQ, Friday, 1425 hours

  They let Kasra sit in the interview room for over an hour. The medical team was nearby but Rebecca did not want them to treat the woman yet. One of the paramedics was allowed to watch her on a video monitor in the next room. Her injuries were not life-threatening and a little pain might go a long way to loosening her tongue.

  The door opened and Rebecca Johnson and Chuck McCain walked into the interview room. Rebecca sat down at the table opposite of Azar and laid a manila folder on the table. She also placed a small recorder on the table near Kasra. McCain closed the door and then leaned against the wall with his arms crossed.

  Rebecca had asked the paramedic to leave the next room and wait in the small lobby down the hall. She would call them in eventually to check Kasra’s injuries, but she didn't want this first session video taped or observed by anyone.

  The Iranian's eyes were full of fear and uncertainty. She kept staring at Chuck like he was a ghost. As she stared at the big man he winked at her. She quickly turned away. Rebecca still had not said anything.

  Azar found her voice. “I demand medical treatment. Take these handcuffs off of me right now. I want to press charges against this officer who assaulted me,” nodding at McCain. “I want access to my lawyer immediately.”

  Rebecca simply stared at Azar. Chuck was impressed. It was a good stare. Azar could not hold her gaze and looked away.

  “Number one,” said Rebecca, her voice like ice, “You'll get medical treatment when I decide to give it to you. Number two, the handcuffs will stay on because you're a dangerous terrorist. Number three, there will be no charges against anyone except you. If Officer McCain had killed you, he would have been totally justified. No, Azar Kasra, if that's your real name, the only one who's going to be charged with crimes is you. Attempted murder of a police officer and violation of the Bio-Terror Act. And as for a lawyer, you'll eventually have access to one. When I say so.”

  Yeah, she's done this a few times, Chuck thought.

  “Now, this story has two possible endings, Azar. First of all, you start talking and give me everything you know about the zombie virus, Amir al-Razi, and anything else that will help us.”

  Rebecca noticed that Kasra flinched at the mention of al-Razi’s name. That was a shot in the dark, she thought, but it hit flesh.

  “I also want to know about your relationship with Fatemeh Alamouti. If you give us good, verifiable intelligence, you'll receive medical treatment and then you'll be transported to jail. I'll let the Federal District Attorney know that you cooperated with us and you'll probably get a reduced sentence of ten to twenty years.”

  “If I help you, I go to jail for ten to twenty years?” Azar spat. “Is that your idea of a deal? Let me tell you what you can do with your deal.”

  Chuck walked over and sat next to Rebecca at the table. He stared at Kasra. The power of his stare made her uncomfortable, which was what he was shooting for.

  Johnson, unfazed by Kasra’a outburst, continued. “If you don't help us, I'll make a phone call and a black van with no windows will come and pick you up. You'll be given a shot to knock you out and you'll be placed on a jet and flown to a very remote location. There you'll meet some people who, let’s just say, they have ways of making people talk. I might even let Officer McCain come and help.”

  Chuck flashed his most evil grin at Azar.

  Azar was trying to be tough but McCain’s stare, grin, and Rebecca’s threats made her shudder.

  “After you break and tell us everything, you'll be locked away forever. You'll cease to exist and you'll die there in twenty or thirty years. It's your choice. I don’t have time to play games with you, and frankly, after your attempted murder of one of our officers, I hope you try and resist and show how tough you are. I hope you decide to tell me nothing. You deserve to suffer and I promise you, you will suffer.”

  Two hours later, Chuck and Rebecca left the interview room. They both went into their offices to make phone calls. A security guard escorted the medical team in and let them treat Azar’s injuries.

  Rebecca’s first calls were to her chain of command, both at the CDC and the CIA. Her boss at the CIA said they would be sending a team to pick up Kasra for further interrogation. That made things a lot easier for Rebecca and Chuck. It did not bother her a bit that she had lied to Azar. Part of the art of interrogation is using any means short of violence to get a suspect to talk.

  McCain had a voice mail from Eddie on the stakeout. Two more vans and a few more cars had arrived at their location. He estimated that at least fifteen to twenty Middle Eastern men had arrived throughout the day. They stil
l had not seen al-Razi.

  Chuck tried to call Eddie back but it went straight to voice mail. He then called Andy Fleming. He answered on the second ring and sounded like he'd been sleeping.

  “Hey, boss.”

  “Hey Andy. How're you and Scotty doing? Did you get some sleep?”

  “Yeah, kind of. This stakeout thing is really looking like something big. We didn’t want to get too far away so we parked at a warehouse about a quarter of a mile from the target location. The house sits off the road in some trees. There's no way to get our Suburbans anywhere close. Team Two is in the woods watching to see what happens. Me and Scotty were napping in the truck until you called.”

  “Sorry, buddy. Let me give you the latest from this end. Put your phone on speaker so Scotty can listen, too.”

  McCain recounted the encounter with Kasra and summed up what she had told them.

  “Dang, boss,” Scotty quipped, “you can’t even stay out of trouble in your office!”

  Chuck laughed. “I'm just glad we got those kevlar pants or Andy would be getting a promotion to team leader. So, I need you guys to hook back up with Team Two. Brief them on what I told you. I tried to call Eddie but he's trying to be quiet in the woods. We need to stop those vans from leaving or stop them if they get going. Talk to Eddie and see what he thinks is the best way.

  “We still want al-Razi but we can’t have twenty or thirty terrorists and potential zombies getting turned loose on the city. I'm about to start your way but with traffic, it's going to take awhile. I'm also going to see about getting some local police to help you guys. You're a little outnumbered.”

  “Outnumbered?” Scotty asked. “Hey, Andy, did Chuck just say we were outnumbered?”

  “Yeah, I think he did,” said Andy.

  “Doesn’t he know that an Army Ranger and a Marine Spec Ops guy are force multipliers?”

  “I know, I know. You guys are badasses. But more guns are always better if there's going to be a firefight,” said Chuck.