Paul McKellips - Jericho 3

Ferguson walked over to a different classified map on his wall as the full picture started to emerge and dots were connecting themselves.

“Ashgabat is less than 700 kilometers from Damghan,” Ferguson said.

“What’s on the train?” Finn asked.

The major got a quick response from the Pentagon.

“Sir, we have a translation on the Russian labels. But it’s more like Latin than Russian. Francisella tularensis , or something like that.”

Ferguson looked Camp straight-on square in the eye.

“Tularemia. That’s what Major Banks reported from FOB Lightning. That’s what Colonel Raines is working on right now in the BSL-4 at Detrick. That’s what you found in Datta Khel Village. And that’s what’s on this damn Russian train.”

National Interagency Biodefense Center

BSL-4 Facility

Fort Detrick, Maryland

The slightly chubby technician got in the elevator without buttons, swiped her card, scanned her biometrics and rode the car down to the first floor. Running through the atrium, past the coffee bar, leather chairs and couches, she ran out into the parking lot as Lieutenant Colonel Raines was getting out of her Wrangler.

“Colonel… Colonel Raines,” she yelled as she got closer.

“Tina, are you okay?” Raines said as she picked up her pace.

Tina was out of breath and bent over in exhaustion.

“Ma’am… four… dead… monkeys!”

Raines looked up toward the secret floor in the NIBC.

“Oh my… Tina are you sure?”

“Positive… we suited up and verified.”

“We did it. A vaccine-resistant strain of tularemia. If we can do it, they can do it. Let’s go girl. Now we need a new vaccine and new antibiotics. Now we’re even. Gotta get one step up and ahead.”

“More dead monkeys?” Tina asked as the redness started to leave her swollen cheeks.

“I hope not, not anymore… Now I want them to live!”

Dr. Groenwald was standing in the Command Center looking at the BSL-4 TV monitors when Raines burst in.

“No skinny latte today, colonel?”

“Champagne if they’d serve it,” Raines responded as she looked at the four non-human primates dead in the bottom of their cages.

“What’s next?” Groenwald asked.

“Now we cook vaccines. The variations shouldn’t be that far off from our existing protocols. Get the recipe out to a pharmaceutical company and manufacture supply.”

“Who do you plan to work with?”

“Haven’t even thought that far, Dr. Groenwald.”

“Well, I know of both a French and German company who have done bio vaccines and antibiotics in the past. I can make some calls.”

“That would be great,” Raines said as Tina ran into the Command Center.

“Colonel Raines, you have a telephone call on the SIPR line… Afghanistan… a U.S. Navy Captain Campbell.”

“On the SIPR? Okay… ,” Raines said as a warm flush filled her face. She thought the news couldn’t be that bad if he was well enough to call her, though he always called on her personal cell phone.

“Camp? Are you okay?”

“Hello, Les… I’m doing great. Took a little backpacking expedition with Outward Bound through the Hindu Kush and finally got a hot shower and three bowls of chili in the DFAC. Feeling great.”

“Are you still at Lightning?”

“No, ISAF headquarters in Kabul. Here with Ferguson and my new best friend Billy Finn. Les, I just wanted to call and talk to you. I wanted to hear your voice. How are you doing?”

Raines lost her breath. I wanted to hear your voice?

“Crazy busy. I assume Ferguson has filled you in?”

“Roger that. Sounds like you’re cooking up some recipes for death. Ferguson told me about the Russian train and tularemia. Hey Les, I found one of your SkitoMisters in North Waziristan.”

“Camp, are you serious? Did you blow that sucker up?”

“Too close for comfort, couldn’t afford the fireworks. We put a GPS beacon on it, and the drones watched it move to Miran Shah, then Islamabad.”

“Guess they can’t bomb it in the capital, can they?”

“Nope, because it’s not there anymore. It was flown to Tehran and then driven to Damghan.”

“Damghan? Isn’t that where the Iranians do all of their biological and chemical weapons work?”

“One in the same.”

“These guys really freak me out, Camp. I just have a hard time believing that they’d be so stupid as to attack other countries with biologicals or even nukes.”

Camp paused and thought about the many conversations he had with Omid.

“You have no idea, Les… this regime doesn’t have a western logical bone in their collective body.”

“So, when are you coming home, sailor?”

“I’m not sure; just met with Ferguson after lunch. He’s heading back to the states to meet with the SECDEF, the SECSTATE and hopefully the US Ambassador to the United Nations. Billy Finn and I are heading to Turkmenistan to see what we can find out about the Russian freight train. After that… if I were a betting man… I’d say Tel Aviv.”

“Israel? Oh my gosh.”

“When will you be done with your work, Les?

“As soon as we can cook up a vaccine recipe. Just this morning we got four dead NHPs, so we know we have a strain that is now vaccine-resistant. Now we need the other side of the equation. Once we’ve got that, we hand it off for manufacturing and let the Pentagon, State and maybe the FDA take it from there.”

“Well, work fast… I may want you to join me in Tel Aviv.”

Raines smiled and lowered her voice.

“Another undercover assignment in a crowded double-sized bed like our escapade in Morocco last year?”

“I don’t know about all that… the last one didn’t end so well for you as I recall. You’re the expert on the biologicals. I’m just a trauma doc.”

“And a former SEAL… that’s the part that seems to bring trouble your way.”

Camp laughed out loud. He knew she was right.

“I’ll be in touch, Les… but get your suitcase out… just in case.”

“Hey, Camp? Call your parents, okay?”

There was a brief pause.

“Why? Is everything okay?”

“Yeah, sure… I mean I think so. You know, they just want to hear from you. Let ‘em know that you’re okay, that’s all.”

Tehran Imam Khomeini International Airport (IKA)

Tehran, Iran

Emirates flight 977 from Dubai pulled into the gate as the ground crew marshaled in the Boeing 777-300ER. Omid was exhausted from the two legs of the journey back home. After the 9:00am flight from Islamabad’s ISB airport into Dubai, Omid had a nearly seven-hour layover before the Tehran flight.

The seatbelt sign went off, but his traveling companion was still asleep.

“Hey, wake up… we’re at the gate,” Omid said as he gently tapped the man’s shoulder.

Omid grabbed his backpack out of the overhead bin, and the two of them shuffled down the aisle with the rest of the passengers, out the plane, over the jet bridge and into the terminal toward customs.

The customs agent looked at Omid’s passport and the military ID he presented with it.

“Colonel Farid Amir, welcome home. You weren’t gone as long this time,” the customs agent said to Omid as he quickly assumed his true identity. “How is your father doing?”

“All praise to Allah, he continues to live, but his days are numbered. I am thankful that he’s getting good care.”

The agent stamped his passport, and Omid proceeded to baggage claim.

Omid and his traveling companion waited as the carousel began to spin. Omid’s large bag came first.