The Visitor (7 page)

CHAPTER 6

By coincidence, and because of the difference in time zones, just hours before Doctors Dorogomilov and Volkova had their conference, an expert from the CIA, Dan Horn, was briefing Christine Rhyes-Walters of the State Department for her mission to that very facility. He had numerous pictures of the inside of the buildings, all of which had an address of only Postal Mailbox 2076. Additionally, he had a stack of documents and satellite photos, all of which were labeled top secret.

Rhyes-Walters had been with the State Department for two years, her appointment arranged by her father with his political contributions to the president. She kept her family name when she married and used it with the hyphen. Although never slender, she had gained weight since she’d taken the job, and her blue business suit, one of which she bought when appointed, was now too tight. She was headstrong, opinionated, and not too bright.

As Rhyes-Walters looked at pictures of huge vats used for making anthrax, Horn said, “As you can see, this Stepnogorsk facility is set up for big-time production of weapons-grade anthrax. Other chemicals can be made there as well. Here are pictures taken inside Building 221.”

The picture depicted row of enormous tanks that were so big they looked like something found at a shipyard.

Rhyes-Walters’ eyes opened wide in amazement. “These were used just to make anthrax? My God, they could kill the whole world with these!”

“Well, they could have killed a significant part of it. Check out these five thousand gallon vats. The solution of bacteria grown in the fermenters was transferred to seven centrifugal separators on the floor below, which spun at five-thousand revolutions per minute to separate the bacterial cells from the nutrient media and other waste products. When in operation, in a single three-day production cycle, one-and-a-half metric tons of concentrated bacterial slurry was produced. When in operation, it would have made Anheuser Busch jealous at the capacity.

“As you know, the Kazakhstan government is upside down due to lack of money, inflation, joblessness, and corruption,” he continued. “We don’t want this place turned into an anthrax producing facility again, and that is what we are hoping to continue to prevent.

“In case you are having thoughts that the place might be converted to some other use, you should know that you’re not the first. This was the only major Soviet germ installation that had been built outside the Soviet heartland. It was built in 1982, ten years
after
1972 when the US and the Soviets signed a treaty banning such bio-weapons, called the Biological and Toxin Weapons Convention. It was only in 1979, when there was an accidental release of anthrax at a place called Sverdlovsk, Russia, that killed sixty-four people as well as livestock thirty miles away, that it was confirmed the commies were making anthrax. They then moved the production to Stepnogorsk and funded this huge facility. It was built there, as opposed to inside the heartland of the Soviet Union, mostly because it was so remote and isolated, but also because the Soviets used those Muslim nations as dumping grounds. Russians did not care if there was an anthrax leak in a Muslim country.

“Soviets used other areas of Kazakhstan for military programs. As an example, only ninety-three miles from a town called Semey, there is a spot that was used for testing nuclear bombs. Get this--over four-hundred-seventy nuclear bombs were exploded there above ground from 1949 to 1989, causing inhabitants of Semey to suffer radiation poisoning that continues even today. And as for testing biological weapons, Soviets used Vozrozhdeniye Island, located in the middle of the Aral Sea, the northern third of which is in Kazakhstan, for open-air testing of such weapons.

“In its heyday, the very best bio-technologists and talented young scientists from the best universities in the Soviet Union worked at PO Box 2076. Specialized courses at leading Soviet research institutions were developed to train new personnel to come to this facility. In 1984, the facility had three hundred-fifty people. By 1991, it was eight hundred, with seventeen scientists who had doctoral degrees and one-hundred researchers. Building 221 had fermentation equipment and a genetics and microbiology research laboratory with a high containment system.

He handed her a picture. “This is a building, known as 600, which also has a high containment system and a specialized chamber for testing biological warfare munitions. Made of stainless steel, the chamber is two-hundred cubic meters in volume, with walls one-and-six-tenths centimeters thick--imagine the expense of that!

“Buildings 241 to 244 and 251 to 271 are underground bunkers with reinforced concrete walls two meters thick, designed to survive a nuclear attack. Buildings 241 to 244 contain weaponization lines where special machines filled bomblets with concentrated slurry or pathogenic microorganisms and then sealed them. Explosive bursters were attached, after which the bomblets were installed on aerial bombs or missile warheads. Buildings 251 to 271 contain refrigeration rooms for storage of the biological agents, capable of sustaining temperatures down to minus forty degrees Celsius with a volume of eight hundred cubic meters. Buildings 251 to 271 are connected by a railway spur with loading equipment and have a small helicopter landing site nearby. When operational, three hundred metric tons of anthrax could be made in weapons-ready form every ten months.

“Are you an animal lover?” He shot her a sinister smile and continued. “Monkeys, rabbits, and other animals had been kept in cages in the vivarium, used for tests in the aerosol chamber. But after a few years of operation, a better method of experimentation was found. Humans were actually brought in for testing! When someone was sentenced to death in the Soviet Union with little or no family for a funeral, the person might be sent to Stepnogorsk. They found that bringing in humans was actually cheaper and less trouble than bringing in monkeys from far away countries. As the prisoners were to die anyway, the testing of lethal agents on them worked out well for all concerned.”

Rhyes-Walters leaned forward, obviously upset at what she was hearing. “And we’re supporting this monster Dorogomilov who was in charge of such evil?”

“Well, you know how things work,” Horn said. “If we don’t continue to put money in there for research on the fungi to kill opium, the corrupt Kazakhstani government officials might very well let someone use the facility to produce anthrax or another bio-warfare agent for fanatic Muslims who will pay anything for them. So it is the lesser of two evils, or at least until money is raised to tear the facility down.

“Let me give you just a little more history. After the collapse of the Soviet Union, Kazakhstan inherited this facility, and it remains the world’s most impressive biochemical production facility. Funding was cut off. It was abandoned and left to Kazakhstan. Since the facility had been controlled by central Moscow agencies, local Kazakhstan authorities had little or no idea about the activities there.

“Kazakhstan, with the inducement of our money and a few others’, set a goal to convert the Soviet’s horrendously expensive investment to civilian use rather than let it go back to making bio-warfare or chemicals for oil rich Muslim nations. The Kazakhstan government, in 1993, formed an enterprise for civilian industrial development, called Biomedpreparat. Genetically engineered insulin, the antibiotic called roseofungin, and other pharmaceuticals were tried. But that all failed due to high costs. Next, with US money, a joint venture called Kamed Resources was founded with our support and the US firm of Allen & Associates who make pharmaceuticals. However, that closed down after Biomedpreparat failed to pay the utilities, initially funded by Kazakhstan. From 1993 to 1995, Kazakhstan maintained a life support regime for the buildings, but that was as far as it went.

“In 1995, Kazakhstan stopped providing funds, and measures were taken to mothball the place. The conversion to civilian use, therefore, never really happened, and that is the danger. By 1998, only a handful of activities were still carried on, making miscellaneous medical items, such as syringes, but that is all gone.

“The bottom line, from an economic sense, is simply that this facility, which cost millions just to keep going when making bio-warfare chemicals, cannot support itself when converted to civilian use. Too remote, too costly to heat, maintain, and power, it is a modern dinosaur. So we want to keep it minimally funded until it is torn down or converted so that it will not be used for chemical warfare production.”

“Why did this Dr. Dorogomilov not go with the Russians when the USSR broke up?” Rhyes-Walters asked.

“As far as we know, there are two reasons. One is that he married a Kazakh woman. Her family is from a nearby town in the steppes below Stepnogorsk. But soon thereafter, just before the collapse of the Soviet Union, she came down with cancer. It took her years to overcome it, as it went in and out of remission. With the cancer, she needed the help of her local family, and Dr. Dorogomilov refused to leave her. He refused to accept a low-level research position back in Russia, staying on until her passing recently, so she could be with her family and in her homeland. He lost his privileges with the collapse of the Soviet Union and lives on whatever we provide, plus a pittance from the Kazakhstan government. Our profile on him is that he is bitter with life.”

“Can’t he just leave now that his wife is dead?”

“I suppose so, but then there is the second reason. Russians have cut back enormously on military spending, and his specialty is chemical and bio-warfare agents. There is no longer a demand for a scientist with the specialty of killing millions with bio-warfare.

“He could have, and probably still can, get a low-paying and lackluster job teaching biology or chemistry in a Russian university, but nothing with any of the importance that he used to have. What we are concerned about is that he has the complete ability to make anthrax and other deadly chemicals in quantity, and if a rogue nation or one of the lunatic Muslim leaders wants to make an order, it could be done there.

“The Kazakh government officials could easily be bribed not to notice. If such an order were allowed to be filled, even a small order of enough for a terrorist attack, he could make a relative fortune--imagine what a million would look like to someone who can no longer afford a car! So we want to spend money there for anything we can that will help prevent that from happening.

“The fungi research to kill the opium poppy, of course, does little good as it has not come to anything yet, but it makes good press and also gives us the right to go in and inspect the facility to make sure it is not being converted to anthrax or bio-warfare production.”

“So I’m supposed to go check up on him and report back with recommendations on whether or not to continue funding for the fungi experiments and conclude that we should after this inspection?” she said.

“Yes.”

***

Ralls peered out of the helicopter window as it repeatedly circled the exact landing spot of the menacing craft as shown by the recorded GPS.

He communicated with the pilot over the headsets. “Anything at all?”

“Zip. Whatever grass that is growing there does not look to be flattened by something landing. But there was just a rain here, so that might have brought back up any grass that might have been pushed down. I think this is a dead end. We had better go back now. We’ve been here an hour, and we have to get started back or we’ll run out of fuel.”

“Okay. I’ll arrange a car and take it from here on by ground,” Ralls said.

He called Hauser, later on from his room in Lodz, on the secure satellite phone. “Nothing found. It’s as though someone picked up the craft and took it away. There was no runway, no hanger, no nothing. Perhaps the pilot had some accomplices ready to cart the craft off? But there were no vehicle tracks in the vegetation in that area.”

“With no explanation, the more that I think about this, the more concerned I’m becoming,” Houser said. “Someone could propel a nuclear bomb, even a small, dirty bomb, at us in the US at seventeen-thousand miles per hour from almost anywhere on Earth and we would not be able to stop it. We have to find out who is behind this. Chase any leads you can find, and find something. Contact the CIA. This is too large of a potential threat to ignore.”

CHAPTER 7

“Good morning, Andrew!” Shanta said exuberantly, announcing it practically to the entire hotel lobby.

Exciting the elevator like a fashion model on a ramp, she wore faded blue jeans, a matching faded denim shirt with the bottom shortened by tying the shirt tails together in a knot in the front, matching high-heeled shoes of light blue leather with several crisscrossing straps across the front of the foot. Her jewelry was a three-inch wide bracelet of real elephant tusk with semi-precious stones and gold, circular earrings. Her olive skin made her look like a movie star. Dark, as if from tanning, it was accentuated by the faded denim. Others stared at her beauty, as well.

Unsure of himself, and taken aback by her new look, he did not respond immediately. Instead, he just stared at her as he had done when he met her the evening before.

To ease his tension, and to give him reason to continue to stare, she stopped and posed, turning around to make it more comfortable for him to be gawking at her. “You said to dress casually. Will this do?”

“You’re beautiful!” Andrew blurted out clumsily.

“I’m glad you like it. I haven’t too many things, as I like to travel light. And now too, the airlines charge you extra for bags.” Shanta held out her hand to take his. “Shall we?”

“Yes.”

He let her lead him the first few steps toward the glass door entrance to the hotel.

Outside, the black Mercedes was waiting patiently with Roger standing by at attention, not altogether unlike a Swiss Guard at the Vatican.

Inside the car, Andrew looked at her. “What sort of food would you like?”

“It’s such a nice day. Why don’t we go to someplace where we can sit outside?”

Since Andrew seemed to have trouble selecting a spot, Roger volunteered, “It is a little brisk for the ocean, ma’am, but I know of several places that have outdoor seating, where it would not be uncomfortably cold.”

Shanta looked at Andrew, who was silent, and then said, “Roger, why don’t you pick one?”

“Any particular choice of cuisine, ma’am?” Roger asked, as she was Indian, and he knew enough to know some Indians didn’t partake of pork, such as Pakistani Muslims. Some were vegetarian and didn’t partake of eggs. The majority did not partake of beef. And others might have strange diets he did not know about.

“I eat nearly everything,” she answered. Then she corrected, “Well, not like the Chinese, who eat everything that walks, flies, swims, or crawls underground.” She turned to Andrew and smiled. “I’d like to try something local, as this will probably be my one and only trip to America. Is there a local sort of food?”

“We are close to the Mexican border, and there is much Mexican influence,” Roger answered. “I’ve been told of a place that serves an Americanized version of Machaca, fixed as an omelet with Spanish tomato sauce, marinated beef, onions, and lots of peppers. How does that sound?”

Shanta looked at Andrew but he left the decision up to her. It being apparent that she was to decide, she said to them, “Let’s do Machaca. I love peppers.”

***

“Oh Andrew, this is wonderful!” Shanta said, savoring the Machaca as they sat outdoors.

“Nice,” Andrew agreed, being inexperienced with foreign foods. He then addressed what was foremost on his mind. “Do you believe that the Dalai Lama is the reincarnate of Buddha?”

“Yes. Don’t you?”

“It’s all new to me. Last night was the first time that I saw Him in person. I had a very strange feeling come over me at the session. Have you seen Him in person before?”

“Oh yes. Last night was the fifth time. Except for once in London, all the others were in Asia. I went to Tibet but, of course, He was not there, as He is not allowed. I saw Him in Dharamsala, India, where I stayed for several weeks. That is the seat of the semi-official Tibetan Government In Exile and is known as ‘Little Lhasa.’ The original Lhasa is a city in Tibet.”

“Tell me some of the things you have learned.”

“Sure. Well, let’s see...where to start. Mental poisons. He teaches of mental poisons. There are negative states of mind, which He calls Kleshas, afflicting emotions. These are attachment, aversion, and ignorance. One can be cured of these once one achieves liberation. Without achieving liberation, there is illness, which includes mental illness.

“There are the positive emotions. These are such things as kindness, love, and compassion. The Buddhists have these qualities present in their minds but, while having these present, they have also a direct comprehension of emptiness.”

“I’m not sure I comprehend emptiness, but the rest I think I understand,” Andrew said.

“It takes some time, Andrew. At the heart of Buddhist philosophy is the notion of compassion for others. This is not the usual love for family. It’s love one can have even for another who has done one harm. He believes in universal compassion, based on spiritual democracy. Selfishness is destructive to the individual, and to society.

“There are ten virtuous acts spoken of in Buddhism. Three concern the body: one must not kill, steal, or engage in sexual misconduct. Four others are verbal: lying, defaming others, offensive words, and engaging in frivolous conversation. The last three virtuous acts are mental in nature: do not develop covetousness, do not practice malice, and do not hold false or perverted views, which denies spiritual perfection.”

“Do you practice these?”

“I try. I believe that you Christians have similar goals, do you not? The ten commandments?”

“Yes. I know of those.” His answer was hardly that of an Oxford scholar on religion.

“He speaks of clear light as the Primordial Buddha,” she went on.

“Have you seen the light?” Andrew asked,

“No, not yet,” Shanta admitted.

“What does the Dalai Lama intend to do about His exile from Tibet?”

“He wants, most of all, to have Tibet returned to Tibetans. You heard the speakers last night. In a sentence, you might say that He says that the freedom struggle of the Tibetan people is at a crucial stage, and that the sinicization of Tibet is cultural genocide.”

“You’ve been to Tibet,” Andrew said. “Do you think there is any chance of the Chinese reversing what they have done to Tibet?”

“Not even a faint chance.”

“Something must be done! What?”

“The only thing that can save the Tibetan culture and the home of the Dalai Lama is for the Chinese to leave.”

“How on earth would you rid Tibet of seven and a half million Chinese?”

“Well, the government of China has no intention of requiring them to move--just the opposite,” she said. “China continues to place Chinese there, deliberately, to dilute the Tibetans and their culture”

“You’ve traveled so much and know so much.”

“Well, thank you, Andrew, but I’ve traveled mostly in Asia. This is my first time to America. Travel is very expensive. And my parents are supporting me still. I’ll probably take a job sometime soon, most likely in Singapore. I could never get a work permit to come here.”

He looked at a schedule he’d picked up at the door of the meeting hall. “I saw in the schedule that He is going to speak in London next. Will you be following to hear Him there?”

“Oh my, no! I can’t afford that!”

“Would you go to London if you could?”

“Of course.”

“I’ve decided to go. Would you like to come with me? My treat.”

Utterly surprised, Shanta blinked. “Oh, I couldn’t accept such a generous invitation, but thank you.”

“It really won’t cost anything. I’ll be taking the company jet if I go, so you would just be riding along. And, on the trip, you could tell me more--there is so much that I don’t understand.”

“Company jet?”

“Yes. I’m the sole beneficiary of a trust that my father left me. The company has its own jet. As one of my benefits, I can call for it whenever I want.”

“Is your father dead?”

“Yes. Actually both of my parents are gone. Mom died of cancer seven years ago, and Dad died a year ago. I’m an only child.”

“I’m sorry for you that you are left alone with no family.”

Andrew did not respond, but just stared blankly out into space. It was apparent that he was genuinely lonely without family, and perhaps without direction in life. Now he seemed to have found it.

To change the subject she said, “I’ve never ridden in a private plane before. If I could ride along, I guess it wouldn’t cost any more. But then there would be the hotel which would be very expensive in a place like London. I must decline.”

“Not to worry,” he said, nonchalantly. “I’ll get you a room in my hotel of your own as my treat.”

She was without words, as nothing like this had ever been offered her. From her jilted marriage, after which she fled to an Ashram in India, all operating on a budget like that of a student, here she was offered more than she could imagine.

But she must not accept such an offer. If accepted, would she have to offer bedding with this man, not her husband, to pay in kind for the favor? Would she be impetuously sacrificing her virtue preserved for her one and true husband, yet to come? As the first husband never consummated the marriage, at least before God, she hoped, she was still available.

It was the most difficult decision she’d had ever to make. But also one that had to be made in an instant. It would dramatically alter her life, either sending her back to Singapore, or in a direction she knew not where.

Shanta’s resistance faded to temptation. “Okay,” was all she could muster in the face of such power from wealth. She felt as though she had just been raped, or maybe that she would be. Maybe it was time?

***

Roger drove through the gate of the private jet parking ramp at the Long Beach Airport. The steps to the Gulfstream were down and ready. The steward inside, Sheldon, stuck his head out, keeping a constant vigil for them while trying at the same time to put things in better order for the wealthy young master. He saw them coming and hurried down the steps, well ahead of the arriving car. He wore black pants and vest, white shirt, and a black tie tucked neatly into the vest.

“It is very good to see you, sir,” Sheldon said as the door opened.

“Hello, Sheldon. How’ve you been?”

“Very good, sir. It is so kind of you to ask. And good morning to you, Ms. Laxshimi.”

Sheldon, advised as to who was coming, tried to find out how to pronounce her name by calling the Indian consulate. When he was put on hold indefinitely, he then phoned an Indian spice store and found out how to say it. He found out the pronunciation and that her name is that of an Indian Goddess, and pronounced
lek-shmee.

Roger got their bags from the rear of the vehicle as the two pilots in the cockpit made the jet ready, one calling in to confirm the flight plan to New York and the other obtaining the latest weather briefing.

Shanta walked slowly into the Gulfstream, amazed by the luxury. There were only eight seats, four on each side in a club arrangement, with two seats each facing one another with fold down tables in between.

“Show her around, Sheldon,” Andrew said, then he went forward to talk to the pilots.

“In the back, there is a bathroom, dressing area, and bedroom,” Sheldon said. “There is a forward bathroom, and my station. We’ll be about five hours to New York and a little longer to London. There is a stock of classic and current DVD movies and a large screen. There is also an active Internet connection. You will not hear the jet noise as the interior has ambient noise cancellation.”