The Panic Zone Part 25

Nothing was found to be wrong.

All pa.s.sengers exhibiting any flu-like symptoms were swabbed and tested as were all members of the crew. Nothing of concern had emerged.

This was puzzling because if Tippert's death was the result of a virus, that virus should thrive in the s.h.i.+p's confined environment.

They'd expect to find some further evidence of it.

Perez noted that the pa.s.sengers in the adjoining cabin were tested and a female child did exhibit cold symptoms so mild as to be insignificant.

Early indications were that a quarantine of the s.h.i.+p was not necessary.

The cruise line intended to initiate a complete scrub down after the s.h.i.+p docked and all the pa.s.sengers disembarked.

Marcott paged through his notes.

This case made him uneasy because it was baffling.

The external hemorrhaging from orifices was characteristic of the Ebola virus. But there were no other symptoms. It was as if something were mimicking Ebola. And if that wasn't bad enough, there was the speed at which this thing moved.

Marcott shook his head and cursed to himself.

He punched an extension on his phone line.

Once the connection was made, he activated his speaker phone.

"Yes, Wayne?"

"Isabel, have you got the samples from 92787 ready to s.h.i.+p to Atlanta?"

"We're good to go. I called ahead. They're standing by."

"Thanks."

Marcott reviewed his notes again.

His office had followed procedure and alerted the U.S. Centers for Disease Control.

Those hotshots need to take a good hard look at this case fast, because as far-fetched as it sounds, it looks to me like we may have a new killer on our hands.

33.

Fairfax County, Virginia.

In an airy, secured section of a subterranean floor of the National Anti-Threat Center, intelligence a.n.a.lysts hunted for ex-CIA scientist Gretchen Sutsoff.

They focused on monitors and keyboards, processing data at a configuration of desks that suggested the bridge of a s.p.a.cecraft.

The Information Command Unit: what insiders called the ICU, where the nature of the work was top-secret cyber sleuthing.

ICU a.n.a.lysts had diverted some of their resources from other cla.s.sified a.s.signments to accommodate Robert Lancer's request for a "full-court press" to find Gretchen Sutsoff.

He needed to interview her about Project Crucible.

The room was taut with quiet pressure, underscored by the clicking of keys. In a process known as data mining, experts searched secure government archives, property records, court records, news articles, obituaries, Web sites, chat rooms, blogs and social networks--just about everything available online.

They also searched law enforcement databases, drivers' records, criminal records, death records, obits, tax records, corporate records and fee-based sources. And through international agreements, they were able to scour government holdings from foreign countries.

Sandra Deller, the chief a.n.a.lyst handling Lancer's request, had her eyes fixed to her monitor when Lancer arrived at her desk.

"Anything?" he asked.

"Nothing," she said. "In some smaller, developing island countries, they haven't transferred files to computerized databases. It's d.i.c.kensian. We have to request manual searches of paper files--it takes forever. There are cases where departments have lost records in hurricanes or earthquakes."

"What about our sources? Like the IRS? Does she receive a pension?"

"Nothing's been found."

"She may have changed her name."

"We're looking into that, too."

"Let me know if you get a hit."

Back at his desk, Lancer loosened his tie and resumed writing his latest report on the CIA file to his supervisor. He'd revisited his list of sources from around the world. No one had gotten back to him with anything on his requests for help. He needed to close the loop on Foster Winfield's concerns about Crucible.

Lancer also noted the separate case he was pursuing out of Dar es Salaam, the claim of an imminent attack. He looked at his calendar. Time was ticking down on the Human World Conference in New York.

Was it a target?

There were so many other events and potential soft targets: airports, malls, amus.e.m.e.nt parks. It was overwhelming, but Lancer knew he was not alone in a.s.sessing threats. Other agencies were doing similar work.

His phone rang.

It was Martin Weller at the East Africa section. Reaching for the handset, Lancer glanced at his watch. He had fifteen minutes to finish his report before the meeting.

"Lancer."

"Bob, we may have something coming to advance Said Salelee's information. We're picking it up from police sources in Africa."

"Can you give me a summary, Marty? I've got to finish reports before the E-3."

"Just some chatter. Something major in the works."

"Where? When? Who? What? I need more, Marty."

"Our a.n.a.lysts are still working on it. No details yet, I'll keep you posted."

The E-3 was a regular meeting within the U.S. intelligence community, held every three days, regardless of the day of the week. It included Homeland Security, the Central Intelligence Agency, the Federal Bureau of Investigation, and the U.S. State Department's Bureau of Intelligence, the Defense Intelligence Agency, the National Security Agency and other intelligence agencies.

Representatives provided updated a.n.a.lysis of threats arising from their areas of responsibility. Their reports were debated and ultimately distilled by the team representing the national intelligence director, who was the intelligence advisor to the president and presented the Oval Office with the president's daily brief.

Today's meeting began with a summary of threats and reports.

Lancer, who was with the National Anti-Threat Center team, did his homework and was aware of most of the threats. A few new ones, like the updated report from the State Department, got his attention.

"Foreign government intelligence and press reports indicate the recent bombing of a cafe in Rio de Janeiro, Brazil, was not a result of narco gang wars, as first reported. The attack is suspected to be tied to another criminal network."

There was another one from his old section, the Joint Terrorism Task Force.

"East African sources report chatter of operatives preparing to mount a 'large action.' Target and method of attack unknown."

Lancer reflected on that one as the meeting continued with other reports, including an intriguing one from the FBI.

"A forty-one-year-old male U.S. national died mysteriously aboard a Spanish pa.s.senger s.h.i.+p returning to Fort Lauderdale, FL, from a Caribbean cruise. Cause and manner unknown. The Broward County medical examiner conducted an autopsy then alerted the CDC. CDC now investigating and accelerating testing. No other signs of illness among other pa.s.sengers, nor any indication of foul play at this time. Cruise liner scrubbing entire vessel as a precaution."

Near the meeting's end, the U.S. Secret Service reiterated that there was a fifty-fifty chance that the president and first lady would be attending the Human World Conference in New York City. All advance work was continuing. It was processing some sixty individuals on its watch list and a.n.a.lyzing ninety-four threats, everything from a letter to the White House stating the president will die if he comes to NYC, to boasts by fringe extremists groups that they will have "martyrs" in Central Park "for the day of reckoning." The Secret Service had the security lead and was working with federal, state and local agencies.

As the meeting finished, Lancer stayed to make notes when he was approached by two CIA officials he knew: Raymond Roth and Nick Webb.

They were not smiling.

"Isn't Canada nice this time of year, Bob?" Webb asked.

Lancer knew that they were aware he'd been poking around in the CIA's backyard and had expected this.

"I'm curious," Lancer said. "Why didn't you raise Crucible at the meeting?"

"We're still working on it. There's nothing to report."

"Did you find Gretchen?"

"Stay out of the way, Bob," Roth said. "We've got this."

"I'll take that as a no."

"All we have is a few dedicated aging scientists expressing some concerns. We're looking into it," Webb said.

"I can understand why the CIA wouldn't want this little embarra.s.sment getting out of hand--rogue former scientist, lethal top-secret experiments. It's the stuff of thrillers, movies, congressional hearings and the death of many careers."

Roth stepped into Lancer's s.p.a.ce.

"We're on this, Bob. I think we know what const.i.tutes a threat."

Lancer's jaw line pulsed. Roth had hit a nerve in sacred territory.

"You know, Ray, the last time I heard talk like that my wife and daughter came home to me in coffins."

"Bob, you'd be wise to stay out of our way."

He stared at Roth and Webb, the tension rising, then his cell phone vibrated and flashed with a call, cuing Roth and Webb's departure.

Lancer had a security-encrypted text. He entered his pa.s.sword to read the message from one of his new sources overseas.

Got new data linked to SS in D es S. Need to meet U in North Africa. Advise.

Lancer responded.

When & where?

34.

Benghazi, Libya.

Time was ticking down on Dr. Gretchen Sutsoff.

After launching her experiment against the cruise s.h.i.+p pa.s.senger, she flew to Libya to confront the angry leaders of her inner group.

The secret meeting was at the new National General People's University. Drake Stinson had arranged it with the help of Professor Ibrahim Jehaimi, one of her inner circle. Jehaimi had worked with Sutsoff on some sensitive projects while he'd studied in the United States. Since then, he'd remained a believer in her cause.

The university's campus featured a vast palm-lined water mall that was deserted today, for Jehaimi had scheduled the meeting on Sat.u.r.day evening when few students were present. Stinson's private security teams were positioned throughout the building. The meeting took place in a room within the engineering department where Sutsoff sat patiently at a boardroom table.

As Stinson and Jehaimi ushered the members of her inner circle to their seats, Sutsoff surveyed their faces: General Dimitri, who once led the corrupt intelligence agency of a former Soviet Republic; then Goran, the unshaven man in torn jeans, who operated a global human trafficking network out of Istanbul. There was Reich, the man in the tailored suit who headed a web of criminal corporations out of Zurich; and Downey, the well-built man who was an international arms dealer from Newark.

"You know, Doctor--" Goran, the trafficker, scratched his whiskers then studied his fingertips "--there are people who want you dead for failing to deliver on your promises."

"Such a shortsighted view," Sutsoff said. "It will guarantee our failure when all I require is a little more time to ensure our success."

She put up with this unholy alliance because each member provided resources she needed for her work.

"How much time before we see results?" Reich asked.

"Soon."

"You've been saying that for weeks," Downey said.

"We've been pouring money into your secret tests that we know nothing about. When are we going to see a return?" Reich asked.