The Bug Hunter: A Novel Page 22

  “Dr. Smythe, who is that with you?” Cooperman asked.

  “Ma’am, this is Gabriel Marx. He was assigned by DHS to help us on the almond investigation. He has information that’s very pertinent to this . . . case.”

  Cooperman looked over at Witt. “Well, if Secretary Witt vouches for him here, then that’s good enough for me.”

  “I do, ma’am,” Witt said with a slight smile.

  “So what do you have for us, Ken?” Cooperman asked.

  “Ma’am, we’ve had a major development here. I’m going to ask Gabriel to explain what’s transpired over the past forty-eight hours.”

  Gabriel cleared his voice. “Madam President, several days ago I received a package that had been mailed to me. . . .” He went on to recount what he’d received, how it intersected with the case that they’d been working on in relation to Adnan Mishner and the BRL, and what he’d done with it.

  “That’s a lot to digest,” the president said. “What makes you think this came from one of the terrorists?”

  “Ma’am, I believe that Adnan Mishner was having second thoughts,” Gabriel said.

  “Do you have any proof to back that up?” asked the secretary of defense.

  “Sir, I was part of the team that searched Adnan’s lab at the BRL. One of the mosquitoes that he had there in abundance—in fact the only mosquito he had there—was called the black salt marsh. It’s the same species that was sent to me.”

  “And you think that’s some sort of message?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “That’s pretty thin, don’t you think?” President Cooperman asked.

  “Ma’am, I understand why you would say that. But there’s another element that we’ve just confirmed that makes it virtually certain that the mosquito came from Adnan.”

  “And what’s that?” Cooperman asked.

  Gabriel looked over at Smythe. Gabriel was about to drop the bombshell and wanted to make sure Smythe was OK with it. When Smythe nodded, Gabriel plunged ahead.

  “We had the mosquito I received tested by the CDC. And it’s come back positive for the presence of Ebola virus.

  “Oh my God!” Cooperman exclaimed. “Well, that doesn’t say much for our security, does it? We had a terrorist working at a government lab handling Ebola and other deadly diseases?”

  “Actually, we found that Adnan’s lab wasn’t working with Ebola,” Gabriel said.

  Cooperman looked confused. “You’ve lost me.”

  “When we searched the lab’s database, we found a large number of genetic sequences for a host of viruses and bacteria that we are certain came from GenomeX courtesy of Antonin Lebedev.”

  “Including Ebola?”

  “Yes.”

  “So you believe that Adnan sent you this salt marsh mosquito infected with Ebola as a clue. Is that about it?”

  “Yes. Only the mosquito is not technically infected with Ebola. Rather it’s been engineered to synthesize — and spread — particles of the virus to humans.”

  Cooperman again seemed confused. “I don’t understand,” she said simply.

  “Ma’am, this involves a lot of complex genetics, but basically the sequence for Ebola — the DNA code as well as key viral proteins — were inserted into a chromosome of mature mosquitoes so they became a part of their cell structure. They essentially became carriers of the virus, which propagates inside of them but doesn’t harm them. Then, when they lay their eggs, their offspring also carry the same DNA encoding. When the eggs hatch…”

  “You have new mosquitoes capable of infecting people.”

  “Correct.”

  “I remember when Ebola popped up in Africa back in 2014,” the chairman of the Joint Chiefs said. “I was CENTCOM commander then, and we looked closely at the risks to our troops on the continent. We also provided humanitarian support. I distinctly remember being briefed that mosquitoes didn’t transmit Ebola. Is that not correct?”

  “Sir, that’s correct in the wild. In other words, there are clear indications that mosquitoes are not good hosts for Ebola, and a mosquito biting an infected person won’t lead to the transmission of the virus to someone else. But that’s not what we are dealing with here. This genetic modification is designed so that Ebola becomes a part of the mosquito’s cell structure. That means it’s everywhere inside the insect. Including its spit.”

  “Spit?” Cooperman asked.

  “Yes, ma’am. Mosquitoes transmit viruses not through blood but through their saliva, which contains a natural anticoagulant. The mosquito actually injects its virus-filled saliva into you when it bites you. So this mosquito has been engineered to spread Ebola.”

  “Jesus,” Cooperman said. “So how would they release these mosquitoes? Don’t they need airplanes or helicopters and other equipment?”

  “Unfortunately, they don’t need any of that, ma’am. The nature of mosquito eggs is that they are tremendously durable. They can stay viable in a dry state—like dehydrated grains of rice, only smaller. They can be carried easily on filter or parchment paper. A box of coffee filters can carry a million eggs or more. They only have to be rehydrated in water at the right temperature, and they will hatch into larvae and ultimately become mosquitoes.”

  “So all the next attacker needs is a roll of toilet paper filled with eggs and water to unleash the Ebola virus?” asked the secretary of defense.

  Gabriel looked at Smythe before replying. “Yes, that’s about it.”

  “Ken, let’s say they are successful at this,” Cooperman said. “Can you tell us what this means from a public health perspective?”

  “Yes, ma’am. Ebola is a virus that first appeared in the mid-1970s in Africa. There have been periodic outbreaks since then, most recently in 2017 and 2019 in the Democratic Republic of the Congo. Ebola virus causes a hemorrhagic fever that essentially breaks down the body’s connective tissues. People who are infected come down with a headache, backache, and high fever and eventually suffer from total organ failure and uncontrolled bleeding. They literally bleed out. Mortality rates will range from fifty to eighty percent.”

  “Meaning it’s a death sentence,” said Cooperman.

  “It’s often fatal for the infected individual,” Smythe said. “From a pandemic standpoint, it’s actually far worse that that.”

  “Worse than being fatal?” the SecDef asked.

  “Ebola is spread by blood and saliva and semen, either directly from person to person or on surfaces that are contaminated, and may be spread through the air. It’s highly infectious. So if mosquitoes can start the fire, people will keep it going. It will turn into a massive, widespread conflagration in a matter of weeks.”

  “Impressive,” said the chair of the JCS, more to himself than anyone else.

  Cooperman heard what he’d said. “How so, General?”

  “Just that it’s impressive as a weapon, ma’am. It starts a chain reaction that, if it gets up enough speed, can feed upon itself.”

  “I’d say it’s more diabolical than impressive. But I get your meaning. OK, Ken, what now?”

  “From a public health perspective, all we can do is warn the public about mosquitoes and proactively work to keep people aware of the risk. We’ve been doing that in Florida, Louisiana, and other places in relation to Zika for the past decade. We can build on that. But until we find the source of the threat, there isn’t much we can do to stop it.”

  “Director Timmons, what’s the update on the search for the terrorists?” the president asked.

  “Ma’am, we are continuing the search for the primary suspect in the case, a Haniya Razavi, and have issued a worldwide be-on-the-lookout notice. Our agents continue to work both the almond and citrus cases, and we are pursuing all leads associated with Adbul-Azim Rahman and ISIS.”

  “Jason, any update from DHS?” Cooperman asked.

  �
�We have secured all ports of entry and exit and have ICE on the lookout. So far, nothing.”

  Cooperman nodded. “Do we have any idea where they will strike next?”

  The room was silent. In for a penny, in for a pound, Gabriel thought. “Ma’am?”

  “Go ahead, Gabriel,” the president said.

  “I think there may have been another clue in the package that was sent to me. The vial that contained the mosquito was wrapped in a newspaper from several years ago. It was a picture of a scientist at GenomeX.”

  “The company in California?”

  “Yes, in Redwood City. We know Antonin Lebedev, who was the source of the type I botulinum toxin, worked at GenomeX. And we know that he studied under Professor Rahman at GMU, so there’s a link between GenomeX and the university. Which also means there’s a link to Adnan and the BRL.”

  “And?”

  “And I have a hunch that this clipping means they are going to target Silicon Valley.”

  That made some sense to Cooperman. Silicon Valley was home to the top technology companies in the world and two of the three most valuable companies on the planet. An outbreak of Ebola in the tech sector would quickly cripple the US economy. “Where exactly would they attack us?”

  “Ma’am, the Peninsula is full of water and has the San Francisco Bay on one side. Redwood City itself, where GenomeX is headquartered, is adjacent to marshes and deltas and plenty of water.”

  “Isn’t the San Francisco Bay salt water? I thought mosquitoes only breed in fresh water.”

  “Ma’am, that’s just it. I think they chose the black salt marsh because, as its name suggests, it thrives in salt water and can be found in tide pools, bays, and estuaries. I think they chose it because the San Francisco Bay is the target.”

  “With all due respect, you’re just guessing,” said Timmons. “It could just as easily be New Orleans, Miami, or Orlando.”

  “Yes, sir. It could be,” Gabriel admitted.

  “Do you have a better guess, Mark?” Cooperman asked the FBI director.

  “No, ma’am. I’m just saying that we can’t be sure of where they will strike. So we have to cover all our bases.”

  “True,” Cooperman said. “But I think there’s some logic in what Gabriel is saying. Make sure your men in Silicon Valley are monitoring the bay closely.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “We’ll reconvene tomorrow morning for an update. In the meantime, let’s hope we get a break on this,” Cooperman said. “Thank you, gentlemen,” she said. The screen went dark.

  Smythe looked at Gabriel. “Well, one thing’s for certain. Nobody will ever call you shy.”

  CHAPTER FORTY-Eight

  Livermore, California

  Haniya had calculated her fuel usage down to the gallon and had been certain she’d make her destination without having to stop. Her training told her that the chances of being caught increased dramatically every time she left her car, and that included at self-serve gas stations. Even not having to speak to an attendant was no protection against HD cameras that would catch her image. By that point she had to assume that her face was plastered all over every police station and patrol car from there to Mexico City.

  Even before she finished pumping the gas, Haniya instinctively knew that something was wrong. The attendant was staring at her from behind green-hued bulletproof glass; it was different from the usual male gawking. That she was accustomed to. This was more intent, more urgent. She made an effort not to look back at him, but she couldn’t help herself. Their eyes met, and the man reached down and picked up his phone. Coincidence? She thought it unlikely. As the pump hit three gallons, she quickly decided she had enough to reach her destination. She replaced the hose and screwed in the gas cap, making sure that it clicked in securely. Then as nonchalantly as she could, she got behind the wheel and drove off.

  Word of the sighting reached Lee Jensen almost immediately. He’d asked the Sacramento Sherriff’s Office to call him if the BOLO got a lead, and so far this was the twenty-second time he’d been alerted. The twenty-one others had been false alarms. Some had been close and actually looked like Haniya; others had been so inaccurate that he was reminded again how wildly unreliable eyewitnesses were. People saw what they wanted to see.

  So when this latest alert came in, Jensen was appropriately skeptical. “Is there video?”

  “Yeah, we’ve got video,” said the sheriff’s deputy. “Let me send it over.”

  “Great, thanks,” Jensen said. He waited the thirty seconds it took for the video to appear on his screen. He hit the Play button. As the video buffered, he said to himself, “Life is like a box of chocolates. You never know what you’re . . .” He stopped in midsentence. He quickly picked up the phone and dialed Gabriel’s number.

  Gabriel picked up on the second ring. “Jensen, you won’t believe who I just talked to.”

  “Never mind that. Where are you?”

  “I’m on the I-5 just outside of Sacramento.”

  “We found her.”

  “No shit? Where?”

  “Thirty minutes ago at a gas station in Livermore, California.”

  “Livermore? Fuck! I was right!”

  “Right about what?”

  “About GenomeX. Never mind. Let me bring up a map.” Gabriel switched on self-driving mode and brought up a map of the Bay Area on his heads-up display. He traced his finger along Route 84, which ran through Livermore and turned into the Dumbarton Bridge. On one side of the bridge was the Don Edwards San Francisco Bay National Wildlife Refuge, and on the other side sat Bair Island and the marshes that made up Redwood Shores—just a stone’s throw from Oracle, Facebook, and a dozen other high-tech behemoths.

  “I’ll pick you up in twenty minutes,” Gabriel said, looking at his watch.

  “Where’re we going?”

  “We’re gonna say hello to our little friend,” Gabriel said in his best Al Pacino impression.

  CHAPTER FORTY-Nine

  San Francisco Bay Area, California

  Lee Jensen spent the first hour of their drive from Sacramento getting an update from Gabriel on what he’d told the president. The second hour he spent working his phone. His first call was to Jason Witt.

  “Boss, we’ve got a BOLO hit on Haniya Razavi. She’s still on the run, but we think we know where she’s going. We could use some help. Can you authorize ICE to direct the Drone Unit to put eyes over the Bay Area?”

  “Absolutely. Can you narrow down a search area?”

  “Yes, hold on. Calculating it now. I’ll email it to you as soon as I have it,” Jensen said, disconnecting the call.

  “What’s the Drone Unit?” Gabriel asked.

  “Our eyes in the sky. Over the past decade the government invested beaucoup bucks on surveillance technology in tracking illegals. ICE has its own drone air force. Most people don’t know this, but ICE is pretty much overhead in California, Texas, and Arizona 24-7.”

  “That’s a pretty well-kept secret.”

  “You know what? The politicians in Sacramento know about it. They don’t talk about it, because it’s not part of their politically correct shtick. But they know about it.”

  “Doesn’t surprise me,” Gabriel said under his breath.

  Jensen used his phone to send Witt the general coordinates of the area Gabriel had identified. Jensen also sent Witt the location of a Starbucks on Ralston Avenue just outside Redwood Shores, one of the prime potential targets for Haniya. The mobile drone team would meet them there.

  “So what exactly are we looking for?” Jensen asked Gabriel. “I mean, the girl, yes. But how is she delivering her payload?”

  “Vector vessels. Normally that’s how insects are carried and delivered. The vessels can also be connected to projectiles that allow the canister to be delivered to more distant targets, like a mortar. That’s what we us
ed in Afghanistan. But she won’t be using a vector vessel.”

  “Why not?”

  “It’s the brilliance of their plan,” Gabriel said. He then explained what he’d told the president about how you can carry dehydrated mosquito eggs on rolls of paper.

  “Death by toilet paper. Now I’ve heard it all,” Jensen said. “It’s going to be pretty hard to find her. She can slip that into the water pretty easily,” Jensen said.

  “Yep. But my guess is that she’ll wait for dark and then spread it around to multiple locations to widen the impact. That movement is how we’re gonna nail her.”

  “You know, I once went sailing on the San Francisco Bay, and the water was freezing. Isn’t it too cold for mosquitoes?”

  “It was for many years. But the summers are so warm here now that the shallow areas of the bay around inlets and marshes heat up to the point that they are well suited for mosquitoes like the black salt marsh.”

  “Huh. And do you think that Adnan would have known that?”

  “Absolutely. Global warming has moved the range of many mosquito species to the north, and entomologists and health experts are tracking that trend closely. He would have known that it’s made areas like San Francisco, Seattle, and Chicago more vulnerable to mosquito-borne diseases.”

  Fifteen minutes later they pulled into the parking lot of the Starbucks. There were three plain black panel vans at the back of the lot, each with multiple antennae sticking into the air. “That’s them,” Jensen said.

  Gabriel pulled into a spot next to one of the vans and looked over. A bearded man with a black ball cap was sitting in the front seat; his window was closed, and Gabriel could hear their engine running. The Bay Area had been in the grip of a heat wave for the past several weeks, and they needed to keep the air conditioning on. Jensen looked past Gabriel and said, “I know that guy,” and got out of the truck.

  “Jensen, I should’ve known it’d be you,” the man said, shaking Jensen’s hand.

  “Who else would it be? Everyone else is at the spa,” he said, slapping the man on the back in a friendly embrace. “Chuck, this is Gabriel Marx. He’s working with us on this. Gabriel, this is Chuck Knox. Chuck is, among many other things, the great-grandson and namesake of the guy who coached the Los Angeles Rams in the 1970s. I know that because my dad was a huge Rams fan when I was a kid.”