The Bug Hunter: A Novel Read online

  “So we’ve had three warnings now, and he thinks the next one is the big one? The one that kills the snake?” Witt said.

  “Yes, sir,” Gabriel said. “That’s the theory. And if that’s true, there is potentially another clue in the Sukkah about the next attack.”

  “Huh,” Witt said. “Are you buying this, Lee?”

  Jensen shrugged. “I talked to Gaddis, and he seems to think it makes sense. Besides, what else do we have got to go on?”

  “Unfortunately, nothing,” Witt replied. He then asked, “Why do you think Adnan uploaded this? Wouldn’t his coconspirators already have it or know what it said? Makes no sense.”

  “That gets us back to blockchain,” Gabriel said. “If there were others in the chain who needed the message, he’d need to upload the key”

  “So there are more attackers out there,” Jensen said.

  “Probably,” Gabriel said.

  “Well, it’s the FBI’s problem now,” Witt said.

  Gabriel’s heart sank. “So we’re out?”

  “Officially, yes. Unofficially, no. I’ve made arrangements with Ken Smythe at CDC to have you attached to their investigation out in California. That will allow you to go home for a bit and kiss your wife. And we can continue to monitor the investigation while working on whatever leads we still have.”

  Jensen looked at Gabriel and smiled. “There’s no place like home, Auntie Em,” he said. Then looking at Witt, he asked, “What about me?”

  “Don’t worry, Dorothy, you’re going too. You can work out of the Sacramento Field Office. Just be careful not to get in the way of the FBI. The SAIC out there is a guy named Sanderson. He’s a real prick.”

  Jensen nodded. “Got it.”

  “Good. Any questions?”

  “What do you want us to do with the Talmud info and analysis? Share it with the FBI?”

  “Yes. And write a short memo for the record. Let them know we think there’s some message in it. They won’t pay any attention, but at least we’ll have tried.”

  “OK,” Jensen said.

  “But, Gabriel, you should keep working on it. Maybe you can find the hidden clue about the next attack.”

  Gabriel, who had no intention of stopping work on it, said, “Roger that.”

  CHAPTER FORTY-TWO

  Outside Denver, Colorado

  The brown shag carpet inside room twenty-two of the roadside motel just outside of Denver stank of cigarettes and stale beer, and though Haniya Razavi tried mightily to focus on her prayers, with each kneel toward Mecca, her senses were assaulted. After a few minutes, she decided to revel in the smell; inhaling deeply through her nose, she used it help fuel her rage at the fat, dumb Americans who lived like pigs.

  Since almost decapitating her boyfriend, Haniya had been on the run. She had enacted the plan that she and Abdul-Azim had put in place, grabbing a prepacked suitcase that included several changes of clothing, $5,000 in cash, and a secret cargo disguised as a roll of toilet paper. Using the cash, she’d rented a car using a fake name and driver’s license and gotten on the road. By the time Gabriel Marx and Lee Jensen were knocking on Adnan’s door, she’d already been five hundred miles to the west.

  Once her prayers were complete, she got into her car and drove into the city of Lakewood, about six miles west of downtown Denver at the foot of the Rocky Mountains. She had removed her hijab so as not to attract attention; she wore a gray jacket over a simple blouse and jeans, with her hair pulled tightly into a bun. She’d spent the morning looking for an internet café, but they had officially gone the way of the dodo and the public pay phone. So she ended up at the Lakewood Public Library, a modern single-story building with a rock garden at the entrance. She had been told by Rahman never to access the web using her phone and to use a “burner” for calls.

  Walking into the library, Haniya found the bank of computers to the left of the check-out desk. The woman working at the front was busy with another customer and didn’t look up when Haniya entered. Sitting down, she quickly opened a browser and logged into an email account that had been specifically set up for this purpose. She was looking for an email from Abdul-Azim—or, rather, the absence of one. If she got no email communication, she would know their operation had been compromised and he had been either taken into custody or killed. In that event she was to quickly move forward with their next attack.

  “No new mail.”

  Quickly logging off, Haniya walked through the library and out the front door. She got into her car and immediately fired up the GPS. Locating I-70 West, she made her way to the interstate and plugged in her destination.

  CHAPTER FORTY-THREE

  Russian River Valley, California

  Claire Marx lay beside her sleeping husband and lightly traced the curve of his shoulder with her fingers. His hair was tousled and too long, but his beard was neatly trimmed. Hanging around the federal government tended to smooth over rough edges, which was why most government workers were clean-shaven. Gabriel called it the “slow erosion of the self.” It was one of the reasons he’d left the service.

  But Claire knew there was another side to the story, and the moment Gabriel had walked in the door, she had recognized it in his eyes. An excitement she’d not seen before; as he recounted the frenetic pace of the past ten days, he’d grown more and more animated. He was wired on the adrenaline of the hunt and the chase for clues in the puzzle he was working on, and for an hour straight, he talked. And then, just as abruptly, he crashed onto the bed and fell deeply asleep.

  Light was starting to filter through the windows, and Claire slipped out of bed and went toward the kitchen, trailed dutifully by Frankie. Any move toward the kitchen was reason for Frankie to wag his tail, hoping that food would miraculously appear in his bowl or something edible would fall to the floor. “C’mon, Frank,” she said, as she opened up the back door to let him out to do his business.

  Claire was something of a coffee aficionado, so the morning brew was a ritual. She carefully took out the beans, sourced from individual farms in Guatemala and delivered to her doorstep by an Amazon drone twice a week. She put the beans to her nose and savored the aroma of cherry and chocolate. She then placed the beans into a burr grinder that produced just the right amount and consistency for a perfect cup. Carefully scooping out the dark brown grounds into a copper filter, she filled the tank with cold water and hit Brew.

  Out of habit she then fired up her tablet; she’d tried to break the habit of turning to an electronic device immediately upon getting up, but it was a battle she’d been losing. Everyday when Gabriel was away, she’d been scouring the news for information, first on the orange juice investigation and later on the almond scare. The news media had at first downplayed the significance of both events, but as the death toll had begun to mount, the reporting had become more and more dire. The headlines this morning were no exception: “CDC Reports 250th Death from Almond Toxin,” “Recall Expected to Cost Industry More Than $2 Billion,” “FBI Investigating Terror Links to Almond and OJ Poisonings.”

  When the coffeemaker finished brewing, Claire put the tablet down and poured her first cup. Returning then to the news, she made a mental note to ask Gabriel more about the FBI. From his rapid-fire delivery of events from the night before, she’d figured out that he was going to support the CDC on the almond investigation. But he hadn’t said much about the FBI.

  Just then she heard Frankie at the back door. Looking out the window, she also saw Gabriel’s boss, Ed Collier, at the door. He had a small package in his hand.

  “Claire, sorry to bother you so early,” Ed said. “Is Gabriel up? I heard he was back.”

  “That’s OK, Ed. How’d you hear he was back?”

  “Charlie Thomas called to tell me about the Gulfstream V with ‘United States of America’ written on it that landed last night. Don’t see that often at Sonoma County Airport.” Thoma
s was the airport manager. “I figured it had to be your husband.”

  “Good guess,” Claire said.

  “This,” Ed said, holding up the package, “arrived in the mail at the vineyard offices yesterday.”

  Claire took the package. It was addressed to Gabriel c/o Landmark Estates. There was no return address. “It’s so light. Probably bugs,” she said, smiling.

  “Is he up?”

  “Not yet. I’ll have him come up to the big house when he’s up and around.”

  “Great, thanks. Glad to have him back.”

  She closed the back door and put the package on the table.

  CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR

  Sacramento, California

  Lee Jensen had just sat down in a small café across the street from the California State Capitol building when his lunch “date” appeared at his table.

  FBI Agent Joe Spiro looked around the small restaurant and sat down as well. “Could you have picked a more conspicuous place?”

  “Hey, I just made the invite. You didn’t have to come.”

  “You knew I was gonna come. And I know what you’re doing too.”

  “Keep your friends close and your enemies closer.”

  “Exactly, only this ain’t The Godfather, Lee. This is real life, and I don’t want to get my ass in a sling. My boss is a piece of—”

  “Shit?”

  “I was gonna say ‘work.’ But that fits.”

  They both laughed in spite of themselves. “Look, can’t a couple of old army buddies get together for a meal?”

  “Normally, yes. But my boss’s boss apparently hates your boss. So in this case our trip back to auld lang syne won’t be much of a defense.”

  Just then their waitress came over for their order. “What can I get you gentlemen?”

  “We’ll both have the BLT and a Coke,” Jensen said.

  “Thanks, Dad,” Spiro said.

  “So what can you tell me about the almond investigation?”

  “Whoa, no foreplay? That’s it? Wham, bam, thank you, ma’am?”

  “This is a quickie. We can do foreplay postcoitus,” Jensen said, laughing at his own humor.

  “God, you are so lucky that I like you. We’re pretty much all hands on deck now. We’ve got teams scouring surveillance logs and footage from Sanger to Mount Shasta and everywhere in between. We’re also working with the CDC and Ag to quarantine every almond tree—do you have any idea how many acres that amounts to? I had no freaking idea how big the almond business is.”

  “Any movement on the girl?”

  “Not yet. We put out a BOLO to all law enforcement. That bitch is going to be famous inside of twenty-four hours. Unless she grows whiskers, she’ll have a hard time hiding from us.”

  Jensen grunted. He knew that despite the modern tech the government now used, finding a single person in a country of 330 million people was a long shot. They’d have to get lucky to find her. “Have they been looking at the Samarra reference and Talmud info we gave you guys?”

  “Beats me. Sanderson kicked it over to research in the Counterintelligence Division as soon as he got it. He’s a cops and robbers guy. Not the intellectual type.”

  “Hard to believe the FBI could have an SAC who is that old school. The world operates on data and analysis now.”

  “Apparently Sanderson and the director have a bromance going. Not sure what that’s about, but that’s what I hear.”

  “Jesus,” Jensen said. “You guys are missing the key to the whole thing. The clue is in all that stuff we gave you.”

  The waitress came over with their food and placed it down on the table. “Need anything else?”

  “Extra mayo?” Spiro asked.

  The waitress nodded and went away. “That stuff’ll kill you,” Jensen said.

  “This lunch is gonna kill me. I might as well enjoy it.”

  Jensen and Spiro shook hands at the table and left the restaurant separately. When Jensen got to his car, he dialed Gabriel’s cell phone. A voice, groggy with sleep, answered after the fourth ring.

  “Hello?”

  Jensen looked at his watch. “This is your wake up call, pal.”

  “If that’s a movie reference, skip it. I’m too tired.”

  “OK, I won’t go all Gordon Gekko on you. I just had lunch—it is lunchtime, by the way—with a buddy of mine at the FBI. Got some good intel.”

  Gabriel yawned and poured himself some coffee from the pot Claire had made him before she left for work. “Like what?”

  “Like they kicked up the Samarra parable stuff to research. God knows where that is now. It doesn’t seem like Sanderson the G-man was too impressed with the analysis we did.”

  “We did?”

  “OK, fine, Rabbi Marx. You did.”

  “What else did he say?”

  “They are hot on this case as we knew they would be. Put out an all-points be on the lookout on our girl Haniya. But she could be long gone by now. So not sure what that’s going to do for us.”

  Gabriel took a sip of coffee. “She’s not gone. She’s the snake killer.”

  Jensen didn’t necessarily agree with that conclusion but didn’t press it. “When are you going to start working with the CDC?”

  “As soon as I get a shower and a change of clothes. I’ll be in the town of Hooker tonight—about ten miles outside of Red Bluff.”

  “OK. I’ll finish up a few things and then meet you there. We can grab a beer at The Hooker.”

  “Is there a bar there called The Hooker?” asked Gabriel.

  “Hell if I know. But if there isn’t, there should be.”

  Gabriel laughed and hung up. He’d slept so deeply that he didn’t remember Claire getting out of bed, which was unusual for him. In fact he couldn’t remember the last time he’d slept as well. Perhaps there was something to Claire’s theory that he needed a mission in life.

  Just as he was about to get up to refill his coffee cup, he noticed a note from Claire and a small brown package on the table. He picked up the note and read it:

  Hun —

  Ed brought this by early this a.m. Came a couple of days ago to the winery. He misses you and I told him you’d visit him in the big house today.

  L— Claire

  Gabriel picked up the package and felt how light it was. It had been sealed with Scotch tape and looked as if a five-year-old had wrapped it. Turning it over, he noticed no return address. He carefully slipped his finger under the cardboard’s edge and pulled it open.

  Inside was a small bundle wrapped in newspaper. When he unspooled it, a small glass vial fell out and onto the table. It had a black cap and looked just like the containers you would find in any lab.

  Picking the vial carefully up from the table, he moved it into the light. Inside, slightly distorted by the thickness of the glass, was a lone insect lying dead at the bottom.

  He was suddenly completely awake.

  CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE

  Hooker, California

  Gabriel wasn’t surprised that there was no bar called The Hooker in Hooker. In fact the only bar in town was a dive called Dynamite, and that’s where Gabriel found Lee Jensen. He was sitting at the bar drinking a Budweiser from the bottle. Bob Seger’s “Turn the Page” was playing, and a group of roughnecks were playing pool at the back of the room. Though Gabriel was too young to swear by it, he figured this was probably a very authentic 1970s flashback. All that was missing was a haze of cigarette smoke.

  Gabriel pulled up a stool and put the package he’d received in front of Jensen.

  “What’s that?” Jensen asked.

  “Open it.”

  Jensen pulled out the newspaper and unspooled it from the vial. Holding it up to the light, he said, “God, you and your bugs.”

  “That’s not just a bug, Lee. That’s a mes
sage.”

  Lee peered again at the vial and then immediately looked over at the bartender, a fifty-something woman with too-blond hair and a leather vest that showed more than anyone likely wanted to see. When the bartender came over, she looked Gabriel up and down and said, “What can I get you, handsome?”

  Gabriel smiled and said, “I bet you say that to all your customers.”

  She laughed and looked around the bar. “Not all of them, honey.”

  “Beer. But not what he’s drinking. Something more substantial.”

  “Fat Tire on draft?”

  “Perfect,” Gabriel said.

  When the bartender left, Jensen said, “What message is that?”

  “This vial came to the vineyard, addressed to me, several days ago, in a plain box with no return address.”

  Jensen looked at Gabriel and waited for the punch line. When it didn’t come, Jensen asked, “And?”

  “And it came from Adnan.”

  “How the fuck do you know that?”

  “Because when we searched Adnan’s lab, this was the only insect in the entire place. Besides, who else would it be from?”

  “I don’t have any idea. Don’t all you bug guys send stuff to each other?”

  Gabriel sighed. “Yes, but not like this. There’s a protocol that we follow. It includes specific containers and background data and notes. And it’s never sent anonymously.”

  “Huh,” Jensen said, taking another swig of his beer.

  “I think it’s part of the message he was trying to tell us with the parable. I think it fits into one of the clues he’s given us.”

  “Which one?”

  “I don’t know. Yet.”

  Just then the bartender returned with Gabriel’s beer. “There you go, honey,” she said.

  “What is it?” Jensen asked, pointing to the vial.

  “It’s a black salt marsh mosquito,” Gabriel said.