Richard Johnson - Deadly Cargo - A Chilling Naval Terrorism Thriller

“Still sounds a lot like the flu to me,” Chris interjected.

“Exactly. But hang on. As dehydration continues, urination becomes less frequent, the blood pressure takes a severe drop, and the heartbeat becomes rapid and shallow. The bacteria are hard at work in the system releasing toxins. A rash suddenly appears over the entire body and then quickly develops into large, dark, runny boils that ooze pus. Within a few hours, toxic shock spreads through the body's organs and they simply shut down. The victim dies a very painful and ugly death.”

“How did Groschenko know?” Curt asked. “He didn’t do human testing, did he?”

“Actually, he did. Husam al Din provided a few infidels for experimentation. The whole thing was too much for Groschenko. He passed out like a schoolgirl when al Din suggested human lab rats. So the Russian worked in his makeshift lab and then al Din himself administered the dose to the prisoners. They were kept locked away in a sealed room underground some distance from the village, for observation. They tested the progress of the disease through two generations; then the bacteria died off and the place was safe again.”

The room was quiet for a long moment. Then Josh broke the silence. “The only good news, if you can call it that, is that this bug isn’t a hundred percent. Groschenko said some victims will suffer no more serious illness than a normal flu. He was working on a way to make it more effective, but Husam al Din was in a hurry and didn’t want to wait.”

“Well,” Susan exhaled, “bless his heart.”

“So, how can it be stopped?” The question came from the end of the table, where a noble-looking middle-aged gentleman sat. Ernie McFarland wore a pencil-thin mustache, slicked-down hair and a Jaguar green Ascot beneath his tweed jacket. Josh always thought McFarland would fit right into a 1950s British movie, playing the role of an ace flying a Spitfire in the big war.

“Total containment.”

“You’re saying we would have to shut down all travel in or out of the country?”

“A full-scale national quarantine. If anybody escapes across a border, the thing will keep spreading. For the sake of protecting the rest of the world, we would have to be willing to close our borders and absorb the full impact of the disease ourselves. Those who live through the pandemic will gain immunity from the mutant forms.”

“We go public with this, and we won’t need to worry about the disease,” Chris said. “The country will explode with panic. Everybody will kill each other in a full-blown stampede to escape.”

Josh nodded. “That’s the convenient thing about terrorism. The rumor is as effective as the weapon.”

Susan squirmed in her chair. “Let’s get back to the disease. So you’re saying that after four days of having been infected, the bacteria will either kill you or not. And if you live, you become immune and be safe from future outbreaks.”

“That’s what Groschenko told me.”

Susan continued. “And that after several mutating generations, the bug will finally wear itself out and die?”

“Yes,” Josh said. “But by that time, a large percentage of the population of the United States will be dead.”

Curt Delamo sat back in his chair and stared at the ceiling. “Well, the way I see it, we have only two choices. Either we stop the shipping container from ever reaching Miami, or we evacuate Miami ahead of its arrival and then cordon the area and let enough time pass for the bug to die naturally. If we can manage to contain the bacteria, we will lose some people, but maybe not the whole population.”

Denise Lund was the quiet one on the team and she had been listening as usual, and putting her thoughts together before speaking. “If we attempt to evacuate Miami, won’t that be noticed by the al-Qaeda network? And if it is, won’t they simply change plans and hit another port city?”

Josh nodded. “Denise makes a good point. Trying to empty Miami will tell the bad guys we’re on to them and they’ll just switch to another plan. They’ll hit Houston or LA or San Francisco or Seattle. As much as Husam al Din wants to target Miami because he thinks it represents a lifestyle that is offensive to his theology, he wouldn’t blink twice at having to take his weapon somewhere else.”

Curt leaned forward again. “Do you know where the container is being shipped from?”

Josh shook his head. “No. But I do know that Husam al Din planned to be inside the container. He wants to become a martyr by delivering the weapon in person.”

“All right,” Curt said, “time to hit the streets. Josh, work with Denise and Ernie. You know what Husam al Din looks like, so put together a sketch. Get with the people upstairs. We need access to their assets in all the right places. Get that sketch into their hands and tap into the surveillance camera system at every airport Husam al Din might have used after he left Waziristan en route to a shipping terminal that has service to Miami. See if we can come up with a match.

“If I were a betting man, I’d say he headed for Indonesia or one of the other predominantly Islamic countries close by with major port facilities that can handle container shipping. Let’s find that terminal and the ship he’s on. Susan and Chris, get in touch with Infectious Diseases over at CDC and pick some brains without alerting anyone. We don’t need to create any panic, but we need to develop a response plan. Jack, get with Homeland Security, the Coast Guard and the Port Authority in Miami to work up a port security program with enhanced inspections. If possible, we want to keep that container from ever reaching dry ground. I’m going to see the president.”

National Hurricane Center – Miami

“Hey, Harlan, I think you should take a look at this. We’ve got us another one.”

Steve Crossfield moved aside as Harlan Morehouse sat down in front of the monitor and watched the satellite playback of a weather system building off the west coast of North Africa. “Yeah, there she is all right. Just a baby right now, but give her time and let her feed on the 84 degrees water and she’ll grow up to be a regular mama. Still too small and weak to merit any mention, but she’ll bear some watching. Give her a week to ten days and then we might have something.”

“Well, just in case, I’ll get the paperwork together for the next name so we can christen her when it’s time.”

Harlan chuckled, “Yeah, we might as well be prepared. This has been one heck of a season, and I don’t think it’s going to end right on schedule. We could see a couple more of these before it’s all said and done. Hopefully, no bombs.”

“That’s all we need,” Steve agreed. “The whole coast from New Orleans to Pensacola still looks like a war zone. Maybe we’ll get lucky and this one will spin off into the north Atlantic and leave us alone.”

“Sure,” Harlan laughed. “I believe in the Easter Bunny.”

“Well, a guy can dream, can’t he?”

Harlan slapped Steve on the shoulder as he was moving back to his own desk. “After you’ve been in this chair for a couple of decades, like I have, you’ll come to accept that most of our dreams turn to nightmares. At least during hurricane season.”

October 23rd – NIA Headquarters

An excited vibration in her pocket alerted Denise Lund that a call was coming in. “Denise, get Ernie and Josh and watch your monitor. I’ll send the video footage via secure satellite when you’re ready. From the sketch, I think this is your man. He went through here on the 11th, but as you’ll see, he is no longer wearing a beard, and he’s in western clothing.”

The man on the other end of the line was Rashid Singh, a NIA operative who ghosted through southeast Asia, changing his appearance and personal documents to suit his needs. A master of disguise and able to speak nine languages with perfect dialect, Singh had played the role of everything from a Dutch businessman to an elderly Indian grandmother to a British punk rocker. So it was easy for him to spot a man who was trying to change his appearance, as Husam al Din did.