Brian O'Grady - Hybrid

He picked up his phone and dialed the director of the FBI. It took him two minutes to get him on a secure line.

“Good morning, Bill,” said Kyle Stanley.

“Well, it certainly is a morning,” General McDaniels growled. “I want to run an idea by you. Yesterday, we found a spy working in the CDC, and I’m guessing she works for Jeser.”

“That’s fantastic! We have to interrogate her as soon as possible.”

“We’re on our way to pick her up now. Listen, I have this nagging thought that these eleven infiltrators may also be responsible for some of the computer chaos we’ve experienced over the last couple of years? This woman assumed the identity of a college coed who had gone missing six months earlier and then turned up working at one of the sites that got hit. Maybe some of them are still on Uncle Sam’s payroll using the identity of a missing person, just as she did. I was hoping that you had a way of cross-referencing the local police files with the federal employment files.”

“It’s an idea, but the federal background checks should have kicked those out from the start.”

“Even if it’s just a missing person report?”

“You know, I don’t know that. My guess is that it would, but let me check. I’ll call you back in five minutes.”

Five minutes had stretched to two hours, and McDaniels had moved on to the more mundane business of returning Iran to the Stone Age. In nine hours, the fury of the United States of America was going to be unleashed on Iran’s military apparatus. Already, the Iranians had tested America’s resolve by sending two waves of ancient Phantom and MIG fighters towards the wounded Eisenhower. Ike had responded by sending her own modern fighters towards the oncoming Iranians. Score: Ike 22, Iranians 0. Apparently, some of the American pilots had pursued the fleeing Iranian jets almost all the way back to their bases before destroying them over Iranian soil. They had used their nose cannons, which were a pilot’s equivalent of looking someone in the eye as you stab them in the heart.

A discreet knock on the door disturbed the planning meeting. “Sir, the director of the FBI is returning your call.”

“That will be all, gentlemen,” said McDaniels, and the two three-star generals and a rear admiral filed out. “Kyle, that was a very long five minutes.”

“And that was a very fine idea you had. It seems that not all missing person reports are treated the same. Fact is that in my hometown of Charlotte, if an individual can provide enough documentation, the report just goes away. Want to know what constitutes enough documentation? A photo ID.”

“Damn,” McDaniels answered.

“It gets worse. For years, when queried, most jurisdictions have simply reported whether the applicant has a criminal record or not. That all changed a year ago.”

Years ago, after 9/11, Congress had mandated that all authorities, federal and local, tie into a single master law enforcement database. In typical Washington style, it had taken them nearly five years to fully fund the simple project, and then almost another five years to complete it.

The director continued, “In my hand I hold a sheet of paper that has a paltry 161 names on it. These are the names of individuals who have at one time in their lives been reported missing, and then later, miraculously reappeared, applied for, and were granted federal clearance. Technically, these 161 people are still missing, but they’re not going to be missing much longer. We’re rounding them up as we speak.”

“Did you find Rachel Hill?”

“Number eighty-nine. Excellent work, General. Now go blow those bastards up, and we will take care of this.”

“So any idea how much time we have before these eleven infiltrators release the really bad virus,” the President of the United States asked his Cabinet.

“Less than forty-eight hours. We’re working under the assumption that Reisch managed to send out his message before we were able to shut down the Web site. It is possible that some of the infiltrators did not see it before the site was taken down. Unfortunately, that will only delay the release, not prevent it.” McDaniels had taken the lead in the briefing.

“All of this comes from the young woman that survived this same virus,” the president said. “I’m still uncomfortable with this. How do we know that she is not in league with them and that all this paranormal stuff is just to confuse us?”

“I’m convinced of it,” Kyle Stanley said. “She took out five of our agents without ever moving. I’ve seen the video, and the evidence is compelling.”

“Any casualty estimates?” The president had turned to his secretary of health and Human Services, who was visibly uncomfortable in the spotlight.

“Based upon what happened seven years ago, I would say a little less than the entire population of the United States.”

“Three hundred million people? You want me to believe that in less than six months, there will be no one left?” The president’s stare pinned the secretary to the couch. “Well, I guess we don’t have to worry about mid-term elections.”

The six men arranged around the president chuckled nervously at his gallows humor.

“Obviously, this is unacceptable. Options?” He searched the faces of each of his advisors, but most of them looked away. “Kyle, what is the probability that we can catch these eleven terrorists in the next forty-eight hours?”

“We have two leads that we’re working on. The first may be the most promising. It seems that the spy Avanti used, who by the way was actually working for the Russians, took her identity from a missing person. We’re cross-referencing the list of missing persons and federal employees. We’d like to branch out a little and look into state and municipal employees, but that would take days. The other lead is the man who helped our spy establish herself. He happens to be in a federal prison right now.”

“Excellent. What about this name she gave us, the financier, Moncrief?”

“The name didn’t check out. We’re down to basic police work, cross-referencing residents in upstate New York with French citizenry. Unless we get extremely lucky, that direction won’t get us where we need to be.” Stanley finished by scanning the room, hoping that someone else had an idea.

“What we need is a little more time. We need to extend the quarantine to involve the entire country, Alaska and Hawaii included. I would recommend a complete ban on travel except for emergency and military personnel, and impose an around-the-clock curfew thirty-six hours from now,” McDaniels said.

“Why wait? The president asked.

“It will take some time for all the federal, state, county, and city emergency plans to be activated. It would take at least twenty-four hours for everyone to marshal the resources, and another twelve to get all the people in place. To do this correctly and safely, everyone is going to need a little time.”

“You’re exactly right. Make it happen.” The president made a show of looking at his watch. “That means that the curfew begins eleven tomorrow night.” All the men in the room nodded their heads.” Now, onto other business, General. How are the Iranians getting along?”

“Poorly, sir. We are proceeding on schedule.” McDaniels was a soldier and would obey all orders from the commanderin-chief promptly and to the best of his ability, but this was not the smartest order he had ever executed.

“Thank you, gentlemen.” The president stood, and everyone began to file out of the room silently. “Bill, please may I have a minute?”

The door to the Oval Office closed with a slight whoosh, and the new chairman of the Joint Chiefs faced his civilian boss. “Yes, sir?” He stood at attention.