Before Nate could respond, the drone of engines drew his attention. He lifted his hand to his brow and scanned the low bank of clouds above.
Despite the ever-increasing sounds of the unidentified aircraft, the nearby helicopter preparing for takeoff, and the soldiers yelling orders to clear the site, the high-pitched cry of a calf cut through the din.
Squinting through the brown dust kicked up by the chopper, Nate’s heart thudded heavily as he looked across the field, searching for the source. He spotted it: one of the dead cows had the head of a calf sticking out of her birth canal. The calf was squirming, trying to free itself.
He wasn’t the only one who’d seen it. A nearby soldier began yelling into a transceiver held tightly to his face. “Roger that, Desert Eagle, Bio Mitigation Plan Alpha is underway. We’ve marked the target and are evac’ing.”
A C-130 broke through the clouds, its propellers whining as it changed its pitch and dropped low at the far edge of the herd.
“Get back!” someone yelled as white smoke billowed from the back of the plane. The thick mist settled across the herd as the plane angled upward again.
Suddenly, a flash erupted within the cloud.
With a loud whump, the cloud burst into an orange blanket of impenetrable flame.
The heat washed over Nate, singeing his eyebrows. He grabbed Alex’s arm and pulled her back toward the nearest chopper. The whine of the Blackhawk became deafening as he practically tossed her into the cabin and climbed up after her. The helicopter lifted and banked away from the hellish devastation.
Nate held tightly to a nylon strap and watched as the C-130 strafed the herd again with the combustive cloud of chemicals. The wind brought the smell of charred flesh to his nostrils, and his throat tightened with emotion.
It’s begun. Today it was only a thousand head of cattle and a dozen people. But could this be the beginning of something much much worse? What about when it’s an entire city full of people? Where does this end?
Chapter Nineteen
The scent of manure and freshly cut timber wafted through the barn where the ranchers had been gathered, many of them with bloodshot eyes and stunned expressions.
Nate looked to Carlos, the translator. “Is everyone ready?”
The translator addressed the ranchers sitting on wooden benches. “¿Estan listos?”
The men nodded.
“Okay, let’s begin.” As Nate spoke, Carlos translated for the Spanish speakers among them. “Men, I realize today is probably one of the most difficult days of your life. You have lost coworkers, friends, maybe even family. None of this should have happened, and none of it is your fault.”
He paused for effect. “I’m going to share with you a secret.
“This isn’t the first time an event like this has occurred. One thing we do know… someone has created a poison.”
The men stiffened with expressions of shock.
“I’m going to need your help to understand what exactly happened today, so we can prevent it from happening again. Any little detail may be the key to solving this mystery. So I’m going to ask you some questions, and I want you to tell me everything you can. Okay?”
Carlos finished translating, and the men nodded. “Si.”
“Good. Let’s start from the beginning: how early in the morning did work begin today?”
The translator finished talking seconds after Nate did and the men in the semicircle began talking amongst themselves. They all began pointing to two men sitting next to each other.
Nate’s gaze pored over them: they had walnut complexions and leathery skin. They were clearly related, and just as clearly, they’d spent most of their forty or so years outdoors. Together, they spoke to Carlos.
The two men looked very much alike and began speaking in Spanish, both using similar gesticulations as they tried to express themselves both verbally and visually.
Carlos summarized for Nate. “These two brothers are the eldest sons of the man who owned the ranch. They were the first to arrive this morning—at about five. They did the usual chores: putting out bales of hay, clearing the drains in the water troughs, checking on the overall state of the herd. They claim no calves had been born during the night.”
“Were there any births yesterday or maybe earlier in the week?” Nate asked.
Several men nodded affirmatively.
“Was there anything different about the cows that gave birth today?” Nate asked.
The men all began talking loudly at once, and Carlos did his best to capture the essence of the discussions.
“The first cow was brown with a black tail. The second one was a white-spotted cow. She had been sick after getting pregnant, and needed Señor Garcia’s treatments.”
“Treatments?” Nate asked.
Carlos relayed the question, then again summarized the men’s response.
“Señor Garcia, the owner, had a traditional remedy for sick cows. It helps prevent miscarriage and gives heifers more health for their first birth.”
“Gives heifers more health?” Nate muttered. “The cows that gave birth today, did they all have this treatment?”
Some of the ranch hands nodded while others shook their heads.
Carlos shrugged. “Most of the men say yes but others aren’t sure.”
Nate shook his head and admitted, “I have no idea how these men can remember one cow from another.”
Alex had been quietly monitoring all this from one side of the barn, but now chimed in. “Where is Señor Garcia? I’d like to talk to him about this treatment.”
The men’s expressions turned somber. One of them spoke directly to Alex. “Señor Garcia es muerto. He is dead.”
“I’m sorry to hear that,” Alex said quietly. “Carlos, can you ask them what they know about the treatment? Anything at all? Was it a food? Some kind of shot?”
The men spoke, and Carlos said, “Señor Garcia had a special barrel that the cows drank from.”
“Can we see it?”
The two brothers nodded and stood.
“These men say they will show you,” Carlos said.
###
Nate’s mind was racing with questions as the men led them across a large field. The smell of burnt grass and death still lingered over everything, even though the incident had occurred almost three miles away. One of the brothers lifted a wooden beam off of metal hooks, swung open a barn door, and said something in Spanish.
Carlos translated. “This is where the sick cows came to get treated.” He pointed at the two men who’d led them to the barn and said, “Señor Garcia only let Ramon and Francisco in here, because he didn’t want his secrets stolen.”
“Makes sense,” Nate said as he entered the large odd-smelling barn and wrinkled his nose. “It almost smells like spilled beer in here.”
One of the brothers smiled and put a finger to his lips. The translator relayed, “A secret ingredient. Makes the cow hungry. The Japanese do similar things.”
Scanning the vast, nearly empty barn, he spotted a large wooden barrel and pointed in its direction. “Is this what you give the sick cows?”
The brothers led them to the barrel. Its lid was locked in place with a heavy padlock. They removed the lock, then opened the lid.
The musty stench of old beer and urine wafted upward. The brothers chuckled when Alex made a gagging sound, handed Nate the evidence collection bag, and backed away with a look of disgust.
Opening the duffel, Nate gave her a sideways glance and muttered, “I’m guessing you want me to do this?”
Alex fled to the far end of the barn without even answering.
Inside the barrel was a brown sludge. One of the men handed Nate a ladle, and he used it to scoop up some of the wretched goop.
“Do you know any of what’s in this?” Nate asked.
Carlos went back and forth with the brothers for a minute. “It contains beer, water, and ‘traditional herbs’—th
ough they claim they don’t know what those herbs were.”
Nate sealed up a sample of the “medicine,” and the brothers locked up the barrel.
“What’s this?” Alex said from across the barn. She was standing beside a small metal box with a spout on one side.
The brothers began talking, and Carlos said, “It was left over from when Señor Garcia had cancer. It had his medicine.”
Nate walked over and studied the thing. It was roughly the size of a desktop computer, painted black, with a chrome spout that had a twist handle. A hose extended from the back and attached to a water tap.
Alex leaned in and whispered, “I saw something like this on the O’Reillys’ kitchen counter.”
Nate’s pulse quickened.
He turned to the two brothers. “We’re taking this in for evidence.”
###
“Good to see you, Juan,” said Nate Carrington as he walked into the FBI lab with a large cardboard box.
“It would be better if it could have waited until morning,” Juan said, bleary-eyed. He had been sound asleep when Nate called and asked to meet him at the lab right away.
“Sorry about that. I literally just flew in from Buenos Aires. We had another incident like the one in Nevada. Once again, it started when calves were born—several of them this time. Basically, as soon as they were born, anything nearby, including the calf’s mother, perished. All in all, over a thousand cattle and thirteen ranchers died.”
“Oh my God.”
With his mind fully engaged, Juan stared intently as Nate leaned forward and patted the large cardboard box.
“Yeah. We collected over five hundred pounds of evidence, and it’s being delivered here from Joint Base Andrews. It’s slated for the biocontainment lab. But before that arrives…”
He opened the box, which smelled of barnyard, and removed two items: a box with a spout, and a clear plastic bag that held several containers of soupy brown sludge.
“What is this?” Juan asked, scrunching his face. “It looks like a watery bowel movement.”
Nate chuckled. “Trust me, it smells like something that came straight out of hell, but evidently it’s a concoction that the rancher had fed several of the cows—a secret ‘medicine.’ We have no particular reason to think it’s related to the incident, but as a forensic analyst, I know not to dismiss things out of hand.”
In Juan’s mind, he was already thinking about what kind of experiments he might employ to see if this was the cause of the disaster or not. “Did the Nevada rancher have goop like this?”
Nate shook his head. “No, he didn’t. But…” He patted the box with the spout. “We did see this at both places.”
“What is it?”
Nate twisted the box around so that Juan could see the profile of both the spigot coming out the front and a rubberized hose coming out the back. “I was kind of hoping you’d be able to tell me. The Argentinian ranchers didn’t know, and the guy who owned it was among the dead.” Nate patted at the hose in the back. “This was attached to a water tap.”
“Well, if this thing was at both disaster locations, that makes it potentially interesting. Did you guys look inside?”
“We didn’t want to even breathe on it until we got it back to the lab, just in case.”
“Is it okay if I open it up now?”
Nate smiled. “That’s the idea.” He pulled out a Swiss Army knife, extended the Phillips-head screwdriver, and handed it over.
Juan removed some screws from the back of the box, then flipped up the top, which was on a hinge. The first thing his eyes were drawn to was a stencil on the inside of the lid.
Property of AgriMed Global.
Chapter Twenty
In Winslow’s private conference room, Juan spread out the pictures of the device he’d received from Special Agent Carrington and pushed them across the table toward Winslow and Hutchison, the chief of security.
“I received this device earlier today, from the FBI,” he said. “As you can see, it has AgriMed Global markings on the inside. All I can say is that this was found in a cancer patient’s home. Do you have any idea if this is a legit AgriMed device, and if so, what is it?”
Winslow studied the photos, then nodded. “Metal box, looks like a water hose running through a sealed compartment, attached to it is an opaque plastic bag, and out the other end is another hose that attaches to the spigot on the front of the box. Is that a correct description?”
“Yes.” Juan nodded. “I couldn’t exactly tell without taking it apart what was in the bag and what purpose that inner chamber was for. Is this something you’ve seen before, Dr. Winslow?”
“Yes, it looks familiar,” Winslow said matter-of-factly, putting the pictures back down. “But, the AgriMed Global stencil on the plastic bag was the only identifying mark? No serial numbers? No identifying tags on the hose or the interior chamber itself?”
“No, nothing like that. Just the stencil.”
Pressing his lips together tightly, Winslow stared at the collection of photos and hummed. “I’ve seen something like this before, but we used it to dose certain medicines through it. Almost like how an infusion pump doses very exact amounts of medication through an IV. This device does the same thing, but it’s driven by a little paddle wheel within the mixing chamber.” He pointed to one of the photos. “As the water flows through, small amounts of whatever’s in that bag gets dripped into the stream of water.”
Juan’s interest was piqued. “So it wouldn’t be unreasonable to think that if there was some oral medication in that bag, someone would just turn the spigot and the water coming out would automatically be dosed appropriately?”
“Yes, but I’ve only seen this used on lab animals,” Winslow said as he drummed his fingers on the table with a troubled expression. “We never did it on people, because I suppose we never needed to. Generally speaking, people take pills or shots pretty readily.”
A nefarious possibility immediately sprang to Juan’s mind. “What if you didn’t want someone to know you were dosing them, or maybe you didn’t want them to have any idea what they were taking? Something like this could be used.”
Winslow frowned. “I suppose if the medicine is tasteless… Is that what the FBI think it was used for?”
“No, nothing like that. At least, not that I know of.” Juan had to admit that Agent Carrington wasn’t always entirely forthcoming about everything he knew.
“Did the FBI agents dust the interior for prints?” Hutchison asked, the gray-haired man staring at him with that penetrating glare of his.
“Oh, crap. I didn’t even think about that. I don’t think so.” Juan leaned back against the leather chair, the fatigue of having been up through the night hitting him like a brick. “Sorry, I think the agent who brought it to me had also been up for a very long time and neither of us considered checking for prints. I’m running on thirty-six hours without sleep. I’ll call the agent about that—”
“No need,” Hutchison said. “I’ll call my contacts. No need to discuss it further. I need to talk to them anyway about other things.”
Juan turned to Winslow and asked, “So, is there any chance that this box is a legit AgriMed product?”
“No chance,” Winslow replied with an angry expression. “We only use items like that on animals. Any controlled trials we participate in are highly monitored and we’d never let an auto-dose unit like this out in someone’s home on a clinical trial. It’s too easy to accidentally dose non-patients, or for the person to drink too much or too little of the water, thus affecting their dosage.”
As Juan wondered about the seemingly innocuous black box sitting in the lab, a sense of foreboding washed over him. “What the hell is being dosed out of that thing?” he wondered aloud as he stifled a yawn.
Winslow hitched a thumb toward the coffee machine behind him. “Want me to pour you a cup?”
“No, I just need to get to bed. Speaking of whi
ch, I appreciate the hotel room, but when can I go back to my apartment?”
Winslow turned to Hutchison, who remained silent for several long seconds before saying, “I’ve talked with some of the folks you’re working with at the Bureau. We agree that it’s best that you stay put for now. The hotel is safer.”
The ex-Army investigator was clearly not telling him everything he knew. But while that bugged Juan, he also thought it might be for the best. He’d had nightmares about German-speaking people breaking into his apartment. Maybe he’d rather not know just how much danger he was in.
“Well, I guess I should shred these,” Juan said, standing up and nodding toward the photos. “I’m pretty sure I’m skating on the edge by having printed those out in the first place.”
Hutchison quickly scooped them up. “I’ll take care of it.”
Winslow came around the conference room table and patted Juan on the shoulder. “You really do look exhausted. Why don’t I get Carl to take you to the hotel?”
Juan pictured the large former Navy SEAL and shook his head. “Thank you, but I don’t need you to bother Carl. I’ll get there just fine.”
But as he left the room, he thought he heard Winslow whisper something that sounded very much like, “Have him followed.”
###
Though it was only three p.m., Juan lay in his bed with the air conditioning cranked to high and the comforter pulled up to his chin.
Well, it wasn’t really his bed, nor his apartment. Life had become surreal ever since the break-in. He still wasn’t used to the idea that there were people out there who were a threat to him. And worse, that they were potentially abusing what he’d worked on.
Despite being exhausted, he couldn’t get his mind to settle down. He had too many questions. Like—were Winslow and Hutchison being straight with him? Had he imagined what Winslow had said as he left?
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