Mirrors (28 page)

8:27 p.m.

On the drive from Capitol Hill back to the UNIT with Bird and Flagstaff, I inquired into a matter that had troubled me over the past few days.

“How many Congressmen constitute the Task Force overlooking the UNIT?” I asked.

“Seven, including Chairman Homer McCloskey,” Flagstaff replied.

“How evenly are they split by party affiliation?”

“Four are majority members, three minority. Why do you ask?”

“Because, I’m puzzled why only two Congressmen in addition to McCloskey were at the briefing Muñoz and I attended a few days ago and why McCloskey saw us alone tonight.”

“It’s a hectic time on the Hill,” Flagstaff said.

“Perhaps, but did I misinterpret things at that briefing with Muñoz or was Homer McCloskey perturbed with Congressmen Nick Kosta and Peter Shaker?”

“What makes you think he was perturbed with them?”

“You saw McCloskey: He glared at Kosta and Shaker whenever they said anything, turning nice only for Sigrid Bjornstad.”

“There’s some history between the men.”

“What do you mean?” I asked.

“McCloskey, Kosta, and Shaker go back a long way,” Flagstaff said.

“In what regard?”

“McCloskey nurtured both Kosta and Shaker through their early years in Congress.”

“Fine, but is there something setting them apart now?”

Flagstaff stared ahead in silence.

“Is there?” I asked, pressing Flagstaff.

“Yes,” he replied. “WAFTA.”

“McCloskey being against it while Shaker and Kosta support it?”

“Correct.”

“That’s enough,”Bird said, dashing a hand through the air. “Your job, Krispix, is to focus on the XK59 investigation, not on Congressional politics.”

8:41 p.m.

Each time I entered the Amygdala, I was reminded of scrub stations outside hospital operating rooms because, as in scrub areas, there were few esthetics in the Amygdala—no photos, paintings, or plants. Dominating the scene were computers, monitors, and screens. Day and night were artificial constructs, a place where circadian rhythms were muted. Without windows, one lost touch with sun and moon, horizon and sky, wind and rain. Data flows controlled the climate: When optic cables set lights aglow signaling new bio-terrorist events, the zone sizzled.

Flagstaff beckoned me to a counter where he handed me a headset. “Put it on and call Grainger.”

“Why?”

“We need to track him down. He just eluded a team we sent to capture him.”

“Where was he?”

“At his apartment. He leapt from a second-floor balcony to escape. He left behind layouts of water systems in Alexandria, Virginia and Dallas, Texas, although those could have been decoys to mask other sites he intends to poison.”

“Poisoning a municipal water system may prove to be difficult if he intends to use the model he deployed with shrimp.”

“Why?”

“Because
Aeromonas
and
Vibrio
will die in chlorinated water.”

“He could go with XK59 alone.”

“True, but to overcome the dilution effect, he would have to dump an enormous amount of XK59 into a water supply, and even if he did, chlorine would likely denature the protein.”

“Did you say ‘would
likely
denature’?”

“Yes, because no one knows for sure what would happen in a real-life experiment of this nature, especially if he used, as he threatened to do, de-chlorination techniques at the same time he dumped XK59 into the water.”

Flagstaff shook his head. “Don’t underestimate a guy who managed to poison shrimp with GPS-embedded microchips. From what we can tell, he may have a van full of the protein at his disposal.”

“Did your guys get his license plate?”

“Yes, and we’ve issued an all-points bulletin to snare him. In the meantime, you and I are going to track him down.” He pushed a keyboard closer to me. “Dial.”

“What if he blocks your tracking program?”

“We’ll override the block.”

“He could remove the battery from his phone which would make it impossible to track.”

“I don’t think he would do that because he expects to hear from you before midnight.” He donned a headset. “Call him.”

I pressed the numbers. The line rang three times before it was picked up but no one spoke.

“Grainger?” I asked.

“Who is this?” the voice replied.

“Jason Krispix.”

“Where are you calling from?”

Flagstaff shook his head, circling a hand to keep talking while he worked the keyboard.

“Doesn’t matter,” I said. “I called to tell you that I’ll have the answers shortly.”

“They better be correct.”

I glanced at Flagstaff. Another circling hand, only more energetic this time.

“I want you to reconsider your threat about poisoning a water system.”

“
A
system?
Multiple
systems.”

“You’re a madman!” I shouted. “Lives are at stake!”

Flagstaff flashed an angry look and swiped a finger across his neck.

I composed myself. “This doesn’t need to happen.”

“It won’t if you meet the deadline.”

“How much XK59 do you have?” I drew the words out to buy time.

On the monitor, a flashing “X” appeared on a map of Washington, D.C. and its suburbs. Every few seconds, the map refreshed to show an updated “X.” Flagstaff pointed to the mark and mouthed,
That’s him
.

“I have what I need,” Grainger replied.

“Let’s work this problem out together,” I said.

“It’s
your
problem, not mine;
you
stole the bark.”

“And you stole my identity to open a bank account in my name in Bethesda.”

“Congratulations, you’re rich.”

Flagstaff removed his headset and stood, motioning for me to follow suit.

“Gotta go,” I said. “I’ll have the answers by midnight.”

We removed our headsets.

“Did you recognize his location?” Flagstaff asked.

“Yes, he was just across the Potomac River near Reagan National Airport,” I replied.

“Yup, heading straight toward a water treatment plant near Alexandria, Virginia.”

9:12 p.m.

It might as well have been raining given the humidity outside. As Flagstaff and I left the UNIT, our headlights pierced the night like lighthouse beams. Beside me, Flagstaff pored over a layout of a water treatment plant located just south of the town of Alexandria, Virginia. Before leaving, he nabbed the document from the UNIT library that housed similar constructs for sites deemed to be vulnerable to attack—dams, refineries, chemical depots, and the like. Groaning, he twisted in his seat to hold the plan under the lamp, an awkward position for a man his size. He abruptly set it down to attend his phone.

In the silence, I saw him wince at the device.

“Something wrong?” I asked.

“Text from Glenn Bird. Nick Kosta was hospitalized in critical condition.”

“But I saw him on the water just hours ago.”

“Perhaps, but Kosta’s chief of staff received a call from the Congressman’s ex-wife stating Kosta was hospitalized early this evening.”

“For what?”

“Terminal brain cancer. It’s creeping through his midbrain like a fast-growing vine—vicious and inoperable. He kept the diagnosis secret from all but his ex.”

“When was the cancer discovered?”

“About three months ago.”

“So that explains it …” I said.

“What?”

“The shifting eyes, the unsteadiness and difficulty climbing stairs; the gauntness; and the sloppy handwritten entries in the log book on his boat.”

Flagstaff tucked the phone away and extracted a tiny box of the sort that might hold a ring.

“We found Grainger’s weapon of choice,” he said, raising the lid. Inside was a transparent sphere the size of a small marble.

“What is that?” I asked.

“XK59.”

I grimaced. “Where’d you find it?”

“In Grainger’s apartment. It has a starch exterior designed to dissolve in water. We think he has a van full of them.” He handed me the sphere. “Be gentle.”

I rolled it between my fingers as I drove. Its rubbery exterior reminded me of miniature balls I played with at bath time as a child. I slowed for a moment and held the bead to the control panel. It transmitted light from the speedometer.

“For all we know,” Flagstaff said, reclaiming the sphere, “he may have seeded various water plants already.”

We passed the Lincoln Memorial and crossed the Potomac River before merging onto a parkway heading south along the waterfront. Above, airplanes in their final descent into Reagan National Airport roared by with landing gear ready to meet the earth.

“How big is this plant we’re going to visit?” I asked.

“Big; supplies hundreds of thousands on this side of the river.”

“How could he gain access to it? It’s gotta be secure.”

“Security is relative.”

“What part do you think he’s going to target?”

“Somewhere near the end of the treatment process where the water leaves the plant.” He looked at me. “You can’t
taste
XK59, can you?”

“If you’re asking whether the public would detect it in the water, the answer is most likely, no, since it’s colorless and odorless, and even if it did have a flavor, its concentration would be too low to taste.”

“Which raises a question: What would happen to people with wounds that contacted XK59 while bathing or to those with abrasions from shaving?”

“All depends on the concentration of XK59 in the water. If it’s high enough, we’d see mass bleeding.”

He shook his head. “And hospital overflows.”

“You’ve alerted water plants around the country, I trust?”

“All of them.”

After passing the airport, traffic thinned considerably, and I pressed the accelerator. We saw a sailing marina on our left and then a stretch of green with picnic benches along the waterfront. Beyond them, in the river, boat lights bobbed easily in the calm currents of the tranquil night.

We continued through the town of Alexandria before passing the southern loop of the capital beltway. Rather abruptly, the landscape shifted from city to country as the parkway coursed through sylvan lots. After passing signs for
Dyke Marsh Wildlife Preserve
and
Hog Island
, we turned onto a narrow paved road that wound through the woods toward the river. After rounding several bends, I stopped the car suddenly.

“What are you doing?” Flagstaff asked. “We’re not there yet.”

“I saw a bright light through the woods.” I looked over my shoulder. “Down there, by that gravel service road.”

Flagstaff leaned across the seat until his face almost touched my shoulder. “Probably moonlight.”

I opened my door. “Don’t think so. Let’s check it out.”

We began walking toward the gravel road but stopped short at the sound of a branch breaking. The sound was close enough to make me think someone might jump out at any time.

10:04 p.m.

The light cut through the woods like a blade, forcing us to drop to the ground. Lying in a gully beside the gravel road, we watched the beam probe the space above us. It diced the darkness before melding with the headlights of an oncoming truck. As the vehicle roared past, the ground shook.