Dead Love (7 page)

“Of course, you are right.” He began to process what she had said. “We have two boys in school. I will arrange for our sitter to pick them up and then get there as soon as I can. Please call me if there is any news of her condition.”

As he hung up, he got another call. It was Century crew scheduling, chief of operations, Dwight Hatfield, a familiar voice, since he would often call Maggie if there was a schedule change or if she was “on call” to fill in when another FA couldn’t make his or her flight.

“Mike, this is Hatfield.”

“Yes, Dwight. I just heard. What happened?” he asked.

“Maggie fainted, and John Wesley made the decision to land at BWI, just to make sure she’s okay. There was a pediatrician on board, who checked her over, but he felt she needed to get to a hospital quickly, in case her condition suddenly deteriorated,” he explained.

“Nothing else? Are you sure, Dwight?” asked Mike, his stomach tightening.

“That’s it, Mike. You know what I know. John made the decision, and you know him. He is cautious and won’t take chances, so it is probably nothing. He values his crew and felt it was in everyone’s best interest to get Maggie checked out.” Dwight was reassuring.

“Gotcha,” said Mike. “I am going to Baltimore now, so I will let you all know.”

“Thanks,” said Dwight, knowing that he and the crew would be following up on Maggie’s status anyway.

Thankfully, Mike reached the sitter, Annie, who lived in their building and frequently babysat for them.

She loved the boys, and they loved her. He called the school to notify the administration so the boys would be aware that Annie would be waiting to walk them home. He didn’t give any details so that Mike and Tim wouldn’t be upset. Until he knew what was going on, he was going to keep things calm, but he was anything but calm. His thoughts went to the terrorist threat of the NYC subway system, and Mike prayed to God that it had nothing to do with Maggie’s illness.

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20

G
eorgiana’s cell phone rang. She and Mark were sitting in his Mustang, parked by the curb, about twenty-five yards from the subway entrance. It was one of their agents, calling from inside the suspected contaminated area.

“Georgiana Reed here,” she answered.

“This is Al, George. We have a problem. Joey Caruso, the maintenance guy who found the canister. He’s down. Sick and vomiting. Unconscious. We need the medical team to come in and get him.”

The medevac helicopter was waiting on a nearby rooftop. George called for transport.

George said, “Crap, this is going to get bad.”

The squad went into action, biohazard gear in place, carrying the portable stretcher down the stairway to the subway office. All precautions had been taken as they brought Joey out, in an isolation hood, and loaded him carefully into the unmarked van, which would take him to the heliport.

Inside the office, Marty and the others had watched as Joey was put on an IV drip and oxygen, covered with a protective hood, and then carried out. They were silent, watching this scary scene, all aware that they could be next, wondering if they too had been exposed to a dangerous poison or God knows what.

After Joey was gone, the FBI forensics team took samples and placed them in secure evidence bags. Duplicate samples were secured for the CDC. The hazmat crew thoroughly cleaned the carpet and sofa where Joey had been sitting. The team leader spoke quietly to Marty, asking for Joey’s personal information and then left to follow up the transfer of Joey to the ambulance. Marty, the two police officers, and the other guys were still in shock.

Then Marty spoke, knowing his job was to rally his men and get everyone to shake this off and think rationally, especially since they had no idea what caused Joey to suddenly get so sick.

“Okay, guys, lighten up. Joey probably has the flu or something, and that’s all. We will find out soon enough what’s up, and then we can get back to business as usual. He is probably just hung over.”

Some of the guys laughed, which lowered the tension level a little.

Marty continued, “In the meantime, we should enjoy the peace and quiet, relax, and watch some TV or play cards, or something. Right?”

Marty appeared to be upbeat, and the guys began to relax a little. Deep inside, Marty wasn’t sure, but until they knew what was what, he saw no need to overreact. Marty had to call Donna, though. He would downplay what happened, saying Joey felt queasy, and they were taking him to the doctor, just to be sure. He didn’t know exactly where Joey was being treated, so he didn’t have to lie. Donna would have to stay home with the baby anyway. Marty didn’t want to think the worst but he was scared.

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21

O
utside, George was on her cell, talking to the three-man team that was transporting Joey. His symptoms were acute, and he needed prompt medical attention. They decided to take him to a secure specialized facility, not risking others if he was infected with some toxic strain or weaponized bio-agent. George agreed. They would take him to the Edgewood Medical Facility. The doctors there had the capability to diagnose and treat him, in case this was some biological infectious disease or toxin. If he had a previously undiagnosed medical problem, no harm done. The decision had been made. They could keep him stable in transit. They hoped.

George then called FBI Field Office Director Fran Jacobs, explaining the status, and Fran said, “Guess we have to wait on the lab report regarding the canister.”

Both agreed that no further press releases would be given until they knew more.

George said, “I have a call in to Homeland Security Regional Director Bennett, Fran.”

“Good job, George. Let me know immediately if you learn anything.”

“Will do.”

The New York City Regional Homeland Security Director Bennett called back right away, asking George, “What about the New York Metropolitan Transit Authority? Have you spoken with the department head, Hutchinson—I think his name is—regarding any other possible benign event, perhaps a contamination of some type, a spill, or something accidental that occurred on the platform? Was there an electrical fire, causing smoke, or any other pertinent finding?”

“I spoke to Hutchinson. He has been on the scene most of the morning. Nothing has been found of any causal nature occurring on any of NYC public transportation sites, including the subway system. We are ruling out as many scenarios as possible,” answered Reed. She paused.

“Sir, I have an idea. May I get back to you shortly?” she requested.

“Certainly, Ms. Reed. I’m on my way to the Mayor’s office. You can reach me on my cell. But I think you would agree that we must move quickly on this.”

“Yes, understood.”

“Agent Reed, as part of the Counterterrorism Task Force, we want you and your partner, Agent Strickland, to meet us at City Hall, in the Mayor’s office at noon. Various department heads will be present to coordinate all efforts.”

“Yes, sir, and I believe we will have some information at that time, which could be very helpful to this investigation.”

After hanging up, George turned to Mark and said, “Let’s try to reach Wally Weber.”

Mark looked puzzled momentarily and then smiled.

“Great idea, George.” She began to dial the FBI headquarters at Quantico. The operator answered, and George, after giving her special clearance code, asked to speak to Agent Walt Weber.

“One moment, please.” The operator returned and said, “I’ll patch you through.”

“Thanks, “said George, and hung on.

It took a few minutes, but then he picked up, “Weber here.” His voice was loud and gravelly. The sound of gunfire could be heard in the background.

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22

“G
eorgiana Reed here. Sounds like you’re at the range.”

“Yes, Agent Reed, getting in some practice,” he answered.

“What can I do for ya?” he asked.

George replied, “I need your help, and you probably know what we’re up against here in New York,” she answered.

“Yep, I think I do,” he said.

“When can we talk?” she asked.

He said, “Now?”

“Yes, that would be great. Thanks.”

“Fine, give me a few minutes. Let me get back to my office, and I’ll call you.”

“That would be great,” said George.”

Wally, with an elbow propped on his desk, patched through. He was about sixty, balding, of average height and a stocky build. He had on a rumpled white shirt, loosened collar and tie, dark slacks, and a Glock 22 in his shoulder holster. He didn’t know Georgiana Reed very well but had heard of her. She was considered highly competent and was quite a looker. He had seen her at some FBI functions.

She answered, “Did you get them all in the ten ring?” she asked, smiling.

“Mostly,” Wally answered, very low key.

After George introduced Mark on speaker phone, she said, “I would guess you know why I am calling.”

He knew what they wanted but would let them lead the way, remaining silent.

“You were in charge of the investigation in ’08 that resulted in finding the alleged anthrax perp,” George stated. “As I recall, twenty-two were infected, five died. Correct?”

“Yeah, as we were closing in, the bastard offed himself. Pissed me off, big time.”

George continued, “You deserved all the credit for tracking that guy down.”

Wally said, dismissively, “It was a team effort.” He spoke modestly, but they knew he was responsible for finding the killer.

“We could use your expertise on the case we’re working now.” Wally let her continue, but he had heard plenty about the case from others in the agency.

“It’s the possible terrorist attack, in the subway, a potential poison or biological agent,” said George.

They briefed him on what they knew, including the telephoned threat, the number of possible victims, and the suspected object in question that had been found on the platform. He asked further questions, and they filled him in.

“Where is the canister now?” he asked.

Mark spoke this time, “Quantico.”

Wally said, “You need to know the source of the canister. Then identify the agent and motive, simple as that.” He was matter of fact.

“Right,” said Georgiana with a chuckle. “What else?”

“The working profile would be this,” Wally said. “Look for a scientist, someone inside, with access to toxins, biologic or otherwise, possible ties to a jihadist group. Maybe an ax to grind or psycho. Maybe a combo.” Wally leaned back in his squeaky wooden desk chair.

“Other thoughts?”

“Places like Detrick or other centers for chemical and biological warfare are locations to investigate. To jump to a conclusion, take a shot at Edgewood, the ECBC in Maryland. There are other military CBW centers that need to be checked out, as well. You could send investigative teams to the other centers, and you guys can start at Edgewood. They store a lot of bad shit there.”

“I think you sized it up for us, Wally. Can you be in on this thing? We could use your help.”

“Glad to, Agent Reed.”

She said, “Call me George. How about we call you after we check some things out at Edgewood?”

“Sounds good,” said Wally. “That will give me time to get some things in place.”

“Wally, you know some agents that are experienced in this type of investigation. Can you call them and get the investigative process going at several other locations?”

“Can do, but you know the protocol.”

“Yes, I’ll call Jacobs, fill her in, then we’ll leave for Edgewood.”

George called Fran Jacobs and explained how she was going to proceed. Jacobs said to use all agents necessary to look into the various CBW centers. George was advised to contact Director Bennett to arrange security clearance at the APG lab.

George called Bennett to let him know the plan, explaining that Director Jacobs had given full approval, and they would need security clearance at Edgewood.

Bennett said, “You are going there now? What about the meeting?”

George said, “We need to act on some information critical to the investigation. Can you conference us in, sir? We will be in the car for the next two hours.”

“Are you sure this is absolutely necessary right now? We want all members of the task force present,” he demanded.

“Sir, we would not ask this if it were not crucial to the investigation. One of the Quantico-based agents, Wally Weber, has given us some leads that we must follow up on now. Weber will be checking with you for clearance at other CBW centers, as well. Can that be arranged? We will contact you with any additional information, sir.”

“Yes, I’ll get whatever clearance you need, but I expect a full report. We should have the meeting pulled together around noon. We will call you.” He hung up.

“Fucking bureaucrat,” she muttered under her breath.

Then to Mark, she said, “What does the GPS say about the drive time to Edgewood?”

He said, “Not long. It is ninety-five miles, but we have to factor in traffic.” He had the red bubble on top, flashing, as he began the route. He grabbed his cell phone, spoke briefly, and then said, “Thanks.”

After the call, Mark said, “Our state police escort is going to meet us on I-95.”

George knew this was going to be a fun ride and smiled, as she tightened her seat belt.

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23

“W
hat is it, Frank?” Dave asked.

Dr. Edwards proceeded, saying, “Within the last half hour, we’ve had three patients brought in, all with flu-like symptoms, most unconscious or nearly so. Standard treatment has been administered, blood drawn, IV fluids, and each seems to have one thing in common. They all used the Express Subway Station this morning. I have moved them to isolation, in case they have been exposed to some type of chemical or biological agent that could put us all in an at-risk emergency situation.”

Dave asked, “Have you notified the hospital administrator about this?”

Frank responded, “Yes, and Jim Lucas is informing the FBI, the CDC, Homeland Security, and the NYPD. We are under disaster response conditions, and extra staff have been called in, including three ER physicians. The isolation unit is capable of handling thirty patients, so we are prepared, for the moment.”