Scorched (28 page)

“Someone on my team did. As part of the anthrax investigation of 2001, we were called in to profile every researcher who may have sent those letters. We looked at several key factors to put together our suspect list: scientific ability, lab access, proximity to the mail sites, and suspicious behavior. Spurlock fit all of our criteria except proximity to the sites where the anthrax letters were mailed. He was high on our suspect list for months. But ultimately the FBI lab was able to genetically trace the strain used in those attacks to a particular flask in a particular refrigerator in a particular research laboratory on Fort Detrick, Maryland. Spurlock was crossed off our list, but he’d raised some red flags, so we continued to keep an eye on him. After a few years, he’d racked up a number of minor violations, so the lab let him go. Until we officially closed the anthrax investigation, he was still getting occasional media attention as a possible suspect, which is probably why he decided to change his name.”

“The anthrax doc and the jihadist,” Ben said, speaking up for the first time. “What a duo.”

“An extremely deadly duo.” Mia looked around the table. “I realize I’m the only microbiologist here, but do you all grasp the gravity of this situation?” She leaned forward. “Imagine a five-pound bag of sugar. If you spread that amount of weaponized anthrax over a city the size of Washington, D.C., you could wipe out half the population.”

A chill slithered down Kelsey’s spine. She looked at Gordon. “Don’t they keep track of the samples in the lab? Did he steal some before he left?”

“They keep very close track, and no, there’s no evidence that he stole any. There’s none missing.”

“So what do we think was going on?”

“We don’t know,” Gordon said. “And I, in particular, am not in a position to know because I’m not part of the FBI’s counterterrorism division. I investigate violent crimes.”

“I’m still not seeing it,” Kelsey said. “If there’s none missing, then where would Ramli get it? How could some twenty-four-year-old commando get hold of one of the most tightly controlled substances on the planet? That seems like a major stretch.”

“You might not think so if you’d been on the investigative side,” Mark said. “Literally hundreds of scientists have had access to the material at some point in their careers. If it didn’t come from Spurlock, it could have come from someone else.”

“And he might not have gotten it here,” Ben said. “Think about Iraq, Libya, Egypt—all the places that were probably developing this stuff whose governments have fallen apart post–Arab Spring. There’re all kinds of weapons on the black market now, from rocket-propelled grenade launchers to mustard gas.”

Kelsey’s chest tightened. She’d heard through the rumor mill that the missile that downed Joe’s helicopter had been traced to an arsenal in Libya.

She touched the phone in her pocket and wondered if Gage was still listening.

“Ben could be right,” Mia said. “Non-weaponized forms of the virus are much easier to obtain and transport.” She looked at Kelsey. “That means a liquid form, such as a slurry. The trick is to dry it out
successfully, which is a much more complicated task involving special expertise and equipment. When it’s deprived of liquid, the virus forms durable spores. And here’s the part that’s hard to pull off: It becomes weaponized when the spores are milled into extremely fine particles, small enough to enter the lungs. The disease itself is not contagious, but a mass release of
weaponized
spores could kill thousands and thousands of people.”

“Once it’s in a fine-powder form, it’s not difficult to disseminate,” Mark added. “All he’d have to do is put it in a fragile container—a bottle, a jar, a lightbulb—and drop it in a public place. Once the container shatters, the spores take to the air.”

Across the table, a phone chimed.

“Excuse me,” Mia said, standing up. She slipped out of the room.

“So, it’s possible Adam Ramli or someone provided the raw materials, and probably the funding,” Kelsey said, “and Dr. Spurlock provided the expertise.”

Mia slipped back into the room. “It’s for you.”

Kelsey took the phone, startled. “Hello?”

“Tell everyone to quit dicking around with the science lesson,” Gage said. “We’ve got a fucking weapon of mass destruction inside our borders. What is Moore doing to
locate
Ramli?”

Kelsey glanced around the table, and all eyes were on her. “Gage wants an update on the manhunt. Where is Adam Ramli?”

“And Trent Lohman,” Gage added.

She put the phone on the table and switched it to
speaker mode. “And Trent Lohman. Where is he while all this is going on?”

Gordon glanced uneasily at Mark. “We have reason to believe one of our agents is involved in this plot.”

“We know it for a
fact.
” Gage’s angry voice joined the conversation. “Kelsey and I saw him with our own eyes. He needs to be brought in. He can tell us where Ramli is.”

“Lohman is being protected by someone very high up in the organization,” Gordon said. “It’s not as simple as just asking him.”

“Oh, yeah? Give me ten minutes in a room alone with him, and I’ll ask him,” Gage said. “I bet I get some answers, too, before he murders a hundred thousand people.”

Mark leaned forward on his elbows and looked at Gordon. “How high up?”

“The assistant director for CT,” Gordon said.

No one spoke. Kelsey glanced at the phone, where even Gage had gone quiet.

“You see why my hands are tied. I’m investigating a potential terrorist attack without involving counterterrorism.”

“Who are you using?” Mark asked.

“Two trusted agents, people I’ve known for more than a decade. One of them is surveilling Ramli’s parents down in Atlanta, hoping he’ll make contact. The other was just in San Francisco, interviewing the sister, but she claims not to have had any contact with him in five years.”

“So, what’s Lohman’s role in this?” Mark asked.

“He was a brand-new agent in 2001 when we started the anthrax investigation,” Gordon said. “That was one of the most heavily staffed investigations in our history, and Lohman was part of it. He had access to the FBI’s suspect list, so I think his role in this was to connect Ramli with a scientist who had the expertise to help him make a biological weapon. I doubt Lohman would involve himself in an actual attack.”

“Where is Trent Lohman now?” Kelsey asked.

“I don’t know,” Gordon said. “But he’s supposed to be in some meetings in Washington tomorrow afternoon.”

“He might know where Ramli is,” Mia said. “And we obviously need to find him and get control of this material.”

“Talk to Ramli’s sister again,” Gage said. “She’s a better bet than the guy’s estranged parents.”

“We’re doing everything we can.”

“Using only three people, including yourself?” Kelsey asked. “You’re not taking this seriously!”

Gordon’s face hardened. “Do you have any children, Dr. Quinn?”

She drew back, affronted. He knew damn well she didn’t have children.

“Do you?”

“No.”

“Any nieces or nephews?”

“No.”

He leaned forward and looked her squarely in the eye. “I have two daughters, ten and twelve. They live in our nation’s capital. You’d better believe I take this seriously.”

“What can we do?” Mark asked, breaking the tension. “You obviously need as much help as you can get from outside the Bureau.”

Gordon looked around. “That’s why I’m here. Ben is investigating all digital activity related to Adam Ramli, his family, and also Trent Lohman. Your lab has helped expedite the physical evidence and provided a criminal profile.”

Kelsey turned to Mark. “Do you have any predictions about this guy? Anything that might help determine where he is now or what he’s planning?”

Mark nodded. “I can tell you about his Achilles’ heel. The man’s a narcissist, which is good and bad. Bad, because I can almost guarantee he’s planning something big, something that makes a splash and gets lots of media attention. The good part, though, is that he’ll want to survive the attack and bask in his achievement. This man isn’t suicidal. And despite all his rhetoric, he’s not even that religious, when it comes down to it. He’s egocentric. He thrives on attention. He doesn’t want to die for his cause, he wants to shine a spotlight on it, as well as himself. This means he has an exit strategy, and that involves planning—travel arrangements, documents, funding.”

“I’ll check it out,” Ben said.

“So, the main question now is, are we searching for the right person?” Gordon looked at Kelsey. “You’re one hundred percent sure the man you saw in Utah is Adam Ramli?”

Kelsey looked at the screen again. The video was paused on an image of Ramli standing in front of a
group of armed men, and he looked to be giving a speech. He stood taller than the others. She studied his face.

“I’m looking at the pronounced cheekbones, the orbital ridge, the bump on the nose,” she said. “Disguises come and go, but without plastic surgery, those features stay the same.” She paused for a moment. “Push play again.”

The scene changed. He was leading a group of commandos now, walking over rocky terrain, his weapon slung casually across his body. Kelsey remembered the same face, the same posture, the same gait from the encounter in Utah.

“I’m sure,” she confirmed. “It’s definitely him.”

CHAPTER 18

Kelsey cast a worried look at Gage in the driver’s seat. She could practically feel the anger seeping from his pores.

“Three agents.” He pounded the steering wheel. “How can he conduct a manhunt with fucking
three
people?”

“He’s got us, too. And Ben and Mark.”

“Yeah, the Geek Squad. I’m sure they’ll scoop him right up. What he needs is some SEALs. We’d bag this guy in a minute.”

She rolled her eyes.

“You don’t believe me? We find people in mountain ranges the size of Texas. Jungles. Deserts. You don’t think we could locate some guy strolling through Times Square with a bomb strapped to his chest?”

“He’s not going to have a bomb strapped to his chest. Did you listen to Mark? He’s interested in self-preservation.”

Kelsey’s phone vibrated in her pocket and she pulled it out to look at the screen.

“What’s up, Ben?”

“Is Gage with you?”

“Yeah. Why?”

“We need to talk. Meet me at Randy’s in fifteen minutes.”

Gage shot her a questioning look and she muted the phone. “He wants to meet us at Randy’s Pool Hall. He’s got something on his mind.”

“That’s the bar where we went with Mia that time, right?”

“Yeah.”

“No dice. Never go—”

“—where the enemy expects you to be. I got it.” She un-muted the phone. “Not Randy’s. How about Smoky Joe’s?” she asked him.

“I thought you hated barbecue.”

“I do.”

“Okay, whatever. But don’t be late. I’ve got about a thousand things I have to follow up on today after we talk about this.”

“Talk about what?”

“I’ll tell you when we get there.”

•   •   •

The sedan whipped into a parking space in front of the motel. Elizabeth watched for a moment, then eased closer. As the driver reached for something in the backseat, she jerked open the passenger door and slid inside.

“Goddamn it, LeBlanc!” Gordon glared at her, and she noted his hand on his weapon. “What the hell’s wrong with you?”

“A little jumpy lately?”

He turned around in his seat and scanned their
surroundings. Then he looked at her. “I thought I told you to go home and stay there.”

“You also told me you’d call me.” She checked her watch. “It’s four o’clock. That was six hours ago.”

He looked out the window and once again surveyed the area. Clearly, he didn’t care to be sitting in this parking lot with her. On the other hand, he probably didn’t like the idea of asking her into his motel room, either.

“Why haven’t you arrested Lieutenant Brewer?” she asked.

His gaze hardened. “I don’t know where he is.”

“Not true. He’s at the La Quinta on I-35. He checked in using the same phony ID he used at the rental car counter in Bakersfield.”

He responded with a stony look.

“This isn’t a love triangle,” she said. “You’re investigating something else and I’d like to know what it is.”

“You’ve got an attitude, you know that?”

“I don’t like being lied to.”

He shook his head and looked out the window. The man had about fifteen years on her, but he knew he was trapped. He was going to have to tell her something, and although she doubted it would be the truth, she wanted to hear it.

She watched his profile, almost certain he was trying to come up with a plausible story.

Elizabeth reached into her purse. “Something came through our office that I thought might interest you.”

“I told you not to go by the office.”

She unfolded a piece of paper and handed it to
him. The color copy showed a head-and-shoulders photograph of a man lying on an autopsy table.

“Manuel Artigas. Killed last Tuesday night in San Antonio in a hit-and-run accident, just a day after Blake Reid was killed.” She watched his face, but he didn’t react to the name or the photo. “SAPD gave us a heads-up because Artigas had one of our agents’ cell numbers programmed into a mobile phone collected at his apartment.”