Reprisal (34 page)

“No … no, it’s not that.”

“Okay.” She rearranged the scarf but left it around her neck. Pulling the visor down with the mirror, she turned her face left and right. Wearing the
hijab
was strictly up to each Muslim woman to decide. It wasn’t that big a deal for her.

They rode in silence for ten minutes while Mustafa eased through the jammed lines of cars.

“What’s the science fair about?” she asked.

“I have worked for months with the students. They will have all the projects displayed on the lab tables in various rooms.” He looked at her and his features squeezed together.

“Do you expect lots of people?”

“We always get hundreds. It’s very popular.”

In fifteen minutes, they entered the southern suburb and drove through a neighborhood of small, single-family homes. Zehra lowered her window. Rows of stately trees spread over the streets reaching out from both sides, shading them as they drove.

Cars stood in front driveways and some adventurous kids had turned on sprinklers to jump through. She heard the squeals and laughter of children let free for the afternoon. Windows and doors stood open to invite the warm weather and summer inside after a long Minnesota winter. Zehra heard the rumble of thunder far off to the west. She looked back and saw salmon-colored clouds streaked with gray heaviness, underneath.

As they turned a corner, a half dozen kids spread apart before the car like fish in a tank. They had been kicking a soccer ball around in the school parking lot.

“Here we are,” Mustafa said. He parked in the faculty lot next to the school. Already the rest of the lots were full of cars.

Zehra stepped out and walked across a small section of grass.

A sidewalk with broken concrete sections led to the door. The grass needed mowing. Two sets of tall bushes shrouded the parking lot on both sides. They were so thick Zehra couldn’t see anything beyond them. A red maple arched over the bushes on the right side, like a protective umbrella. Around them, the air cooled as night came on.

Mustafa led her inside and immediately took her down a long hallway to a classroom in the middle of the hall.

Zehra followed him inside. The room was small, with several tables in the middle, all covered with displays of various science projects. It smelled musty, as if the room and had been shut-up for a while.

Students in the classroom shouted when Mustafa entered. They were happy to see him, but he scowled at them and spoke sharply.

Zehra took a deep breath. Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea. He was so upset, she doubted they would have a good time. Hopefully around the kids, he’d chill out.

In fifteen minutes, more kids and people started to arrive. One by one, parents came through the room, stopping to admire all the projects and listen to the students explain them.

The FBI agent had followed them into the room. When he saw what the situation was, he told Zehra that he’d be in the hallway and left.

There were a variety of people. Many were Somali. Zehra didn’t know much about them except that Minnesota had accepted thousands of the refugees to create the largest community of Somalis in the United States. Although few women came, she admired the men. Tall, with dark shiny skin, they all smiled a lot with beautiful, white teeth.

They greeted her warmly.

The men surrounded Mustafa and thanked him for all he did for their children. One father in a white shirt, gray slacks, and pointed black shoes said, “We are thankful, Dr. Ammar. Of course, we love our children, but we work very hard. We try to keep the family and religious traditions together …”

Mustafa nodded and assured them it was okay. “Remember to be faithful, no matter what happens to you in this country. It is most important to be obedient to Allah.”

The men nodded but didn’t seem as fervent about their faith as Mustafa. They gave their children hugs. It was obvious to Zehra, they were close families.

After each group of people moved on, the boys jumped and pushed and laughed with each other. It reminded Zehra of a club. Carefree and excited, they crowded around the newest member of their club. They pelted Zehra with questions. What job did she have? Where was she from? Was she Muslim? Did she like men? Did she like pizza?

“Are you and Dr. Ammar going to get married?” a skinny boy asked. The others giggled.

Zehra felt her face blush. “We’re just friends … good friends.”

Mustafa came over and told the boys to get ready for more visitors.

Zehra had to chuckle to herself. He looked so serious in contrast to the disheveled exuberance of the kids.

Another group marched into the classroom. Mustafa nudged Zehra into the corner. He said, “I have to run out to the car. I will return soon. Would it be a burden for you to stay to watch the boys? The parents trust me and you are the only one who could fill my place.”

Zehra waved her hand before her. “Of course. These guys are sweethearts. Reminds me of when I was that age and I used to get together with my girlfriends for sleep-overs.”

“Thank you. You will do something of great favor for Allah.”

Zehra frowned. “Watching the kids?”

“I’ll be right back.” He looked at his big watch and gave her arm a squeeze. He hurried out the door and turned down the hall.

Zehra walked around the room and sat on a stool and watched the people come through. She thought of Mustafa. What was he doing? Her mind drifted back to him, and the old doubts and questions rose again. He was so smart, handsome, and dedicated to these young men. Why did BJ insist that Mustafa had lied?

Outside, Zehra heard thunder rumble closer. In ten minutes, she heard the spattering beats of rain on the windows of the classroom. Zehra glanced over her shoulder and noticed the long shadows creeping into the room through the windows.

Bored, she got off the stool and walked to the nearest exhibit. The boy next to it said his name was Sergio. He showed Zehra his project.

“It’s a model of the human heart where I show how open-heart surgery is done.” He pointed to the squishy looking model on the table. “See, here are the chambers. Here’s the instruments the surgeons use.” He held up a scalpel, sharp with a curved blade. “And I even got blood.”

He reached behind him for a jar of red liquid. “This is the same stuff they use in Hollywood. See … ? It’s so awesome. It’s like real.” He insisted Zehra put her finger inside the jar. When she finished, he set the open jar on the table.

Zehra wanted to wipe her hand. When she reached for a napkin, the strong breeze from the vent in the wall blew it off the table. She hadn’t noticed it before. Why would they have the air conditioning on at night? She looked at her watch. It read 8:05.

Forty-Two

Paul rocked to a halt in the parking lot of Tarryville church, five blocks from the mosque. He both clamored out quickly. A circle of Burnsville police cars occupied the corner of the lot. Several cops stood around, waiting to find out what to do.

“Paul Schmidt, FBI.” He stuck out his hand to the chief.

“Bob Rasmussen. We’re ready for your orders.”

He looked so young. Paul was surprised Rasmussen could be the chief of police. He wore a pressed uniform, burdened with a heavy belt that contained weapons, his night stick, radio, extra speed loaders, and cuffs. He had an athletic build and stood straight.

“You know where the mosque is?” Paul asked.

“Roger that.”

“Right now, I don’t want anyone to go in. The idea here is to contain the activity from the outside until we get support.”

“What’s the mission, sir?”

“Uh … for right now, containment. Get your men out on a quadrant, spaced at intervals to intercept anyone leaving or arriving. They are to be detained and brought to me immediately. In the meantime, I want you to maintain order.”

“Are we looking for a suspect?”

“Not right now. We have good reason to think he’s inside the mosque but containment is our objective.”

“Okay. I’ve gotten permission from the church to utilize the lot for as long as we need it.”

“That’s great, Chief.” Paul looked around at the expanse of asphalt. “This’ll make a good staging area.”

“Staging area?”

“For our support.”

“Should we prepare for any …” His face clouded over.

“Chief, we just need you and your men to form a net around the mosque. Hurry!”

Rasmussen squinted at Paul. “Okay. We’re all over it. What support are we waiting for?”

Paul started to move away. Too many questions. “I’ll explain when they arrive.”

The chief shook his head, squared his shoulders, and turned toward his men and women. He gave them orders and watched as the squad cars left the parking lot. The chief remained.

Paul flipped open his cell phone. In a few calls, he learned the CDC team would arrive in about five minutes. Conway and the team of ten more agents from downtown would get there right afterward. Paul noticed he had several messages but closed the phone.

When Dr. Kamur arrived, Paul asked him, “When CDC gets here, I’m out of my league. Tell me what to do.”

“Sure. The most important thing they’ll need is some space to set up the mobile lab. It’s a tent, really. The cops should keep the area free and clear so the experts can do their work.”

Paul looked toward the chief. He stood alone. Paul waved him over. “Can you get a squad back here to set up security for the support team?”

Rasmussen unhooked his phone from his belt and called in the orders.

Paul noticed a crowd gathering at the edges of the parking lot. Several people stood, their hips canted to one side, and watched silently. Some had kids in strollers with them. The police cars drew many out from their homes. Paul wanted to warn them to get the kids as far away as possible but of course, he couldn’t say anything.

The sky darkened, and he heard thunder.

A large group filed out from the side door of the church. Led by an older man with a halo of white hair and a deeply tanned face, they approached Paul. He held up his hand to stop them. They kept on walking toward him.

“Pastor Heinz,” the older man said as he reached Paul.

“Pastor, I need your help to keep this area clear of everyone. And I need it done now.” Paul shouted at the man.

He jerked back in surprise but followed the orders. The group joined the other people at the edge of the lot.

Suddenly, a large white van curved into the lot and stopped abruptly. People exploded from every door, including the back end. A black woman in a white coat and short dreadlocks came directly to Paul and Kumar. “I’m Dr. Johnson, CDC, who’s in charge?”

“I’m Agent Schmidt, FBI. Dr. Kumar’s from USAMRIID.”

See looked at him, then at the doctor. “I don’t mean to offend you, Jack, but is this all you got? From what I understand, we’ll need an army.”

Paul told her adequate back-up was on its way. Kumar spoke fast, telling her the latest information they knew. Chief Rasmussen came over and brought two cops with him. He stood beside Paul and propped his hand on his hip. “What’s going on?” he asked Paul.

Paul glanced at him. “National security. Chief … this is very big. You can’t let this information out, but these people are from the Center for Disease Control in Atlanta.”

Rasmussen’s eyes popped open. His mouth dropped. “Uh … what …”

“Not now, chief. We’re too busy. Just keep the crowd away.”

When Paul turned back, seven people scurried around the van. They had already erected a large tent and were wheeling equipment inside. Side flaps were lowered to conceal their work. They carried small suitcases and two laptop computers. One man lifted a heavy generator from the back of the van. He rolled it to the side of the tent, ran cables underneath the flap, and pushed his finger on the electric starter. The generator roared to life until it settled down to a steady hum.

Kumar spoke to Dr. Johnson. “What can I do?”

The doctor stopped working. When she lifted her head, dreadlocks danced over her face. “Let’s get a map of the area. We’re about to measure wind speed and direction. I need to know where the source is exactly. The first patient you have, we want to see, of course. We’ll take a swab and put it on the helicopter to Atlanta. If it tests positive, we’ll make a decision to release the vaccine. Anyone who’s come within six feet of the infected parties will receive it. Plus, of course, all law enforcement on the scene.”

Kumar scratched his back and nodded.

Two marked FBI vans and three cars shot into the parking lot. Conway was out and charging toward the tent before his car stopped. Agents poured out of the other vehicles. Another car, marked with USAMRIID on the side pulled up, and Dr. Samson stepped out. As Paul watched, he wondered why Joan Cortez and the ICE agents weren’t with them.

Conway demanded, “Where’s Agent Schmidt?”

Paul came from around the back side of the tent. He told Conway the cops were deployed around the mosque.

Valentini and Dr. Samson gathered beside them. “Should we storm the mosque right now?” Valentini asked.