tent, ran cables underneath the flap, and pushed his finger on the electric starter. The generator roared to life until it settled down to a steady hum.
Kumar spoke to Dr. Johnson. “What can I do?”
The doctor stopped working. When she lifted her head, dreadlocks danced over her face. “Let’s get a map of the area. We’re about to measure wind speed and direction. I need to know where the source is exactly. The first patient you have, we want to see, of course. We’ll take a swab and put it on the helicopter to Atlanta. If it tests positive, we’ll make a decision to release the vaccine. Anyone who’s come within six feet of the infected parties will receive it. Plus, of course, all law enforcement on the scene.”
Kumar scratched his back and nodded.
Two marked FBI vans and three cars shot into the parking lot. Conway was out and charging toward the tent before his car stopped. Agents poured out of the other vehicles. Another car, marked with USAMRIID on the side pulled up, and Dr. Samson stepped out. As Paul watched, he wondered why Joan Cortez and the ICE agents weren’t with them.
Conway demanded, “Where’s Agent Schmidt?”
Paul came from around the back side of the tent. He told Conway the cops were deployed around the mosque.
Valentini and Dr. Samson gathered beside them. “Should we storm the mosque right now?” Valentini asked.
“I’d advise against it,” Samson said. “If any of the infected people scatter and we lose them …”
“Right,” Conway agreed. “I’ve ordered a chopper to do surveillance. Should be here soon. Hopefully, they can tell us more.”
“Besides, if Ammar is as dangerous as we think, there could be violence. We don’t want to risk the lives of any of the boys or religious people in the mosque.”
Conway wiped his damp forehead. “Can you imagine the media shit storm we’d get? I agree. We’ll wait for now.”
For now, Paul felt impotent. The disease could be spreading as they talked. What if it had already jumped the quarantine line guarded by the cops? He walked over to Dr. Kumar. “What can we do?” Occasional drops of rain plopped onto the asphalt lot.
He frowned. “Wait.”
“Hey, guys!” Dr. Johnson shouted from the corner of the tent. “Get these people out of here.”
Paul turned to see Pastor Heinz and a large group of people edging around the tent. They swarmed over the cables, and one person even lifted the flap of the tent. The two police struggled to move the mob back, but they couldn’t budge them.
Paul and Valentini moved into the crowd. They flashed badges and shouted for people to back up. Paul found Heinz and yelled at him. “I told you to keep these people back!”
“This is our church. We have a right to know what’s going on. This many cops and FBI means you’re not out here looking for lost kittens.”
“I’ll explain later, but for now, get the fuck back. This is an emergency!”
People swore and shouted but started to fold back into the grass edges of the parking lot.
Paul noticed several more new people streaming in from the houses to the south of the lot. He hurried over to Chief Rasmussen. “Can you get more muscle out here?”
Sweat trickled down the side of Rasmussen’s face. “I’ve got every man and woman out on the line right now. I can call for help from the next city over but that risks bringing more officers into this. I thought you wanted to keep things quiet?”
“I know, I know but we need the help. Call ’em.”
Rasmussen pulled out his cell phone and made a call.
Paul’s phone buzzed, but he ignored it.
Suddenly, a squad car crunched into the gravel of the parking lot. The side door flew open, and a cop pulled out a small man. He hustled the man over to the tent. “Found this man leaving the quadrant. Says he wasn’t in the mosque but walked by it.”
Dr. Johnson stepped up. “Good work, officer. Get him in the tent. We’ll take a swab.” She followed the man inside the tent and closed the flap. In a few minutes, they both came out. “Keep him in the back of your squad for now. We may need him quarantined at the closest hospital.”
Paul’s shirt felt steamy and damp. He wanted to take off his sport coat but was afraid to show his weapon and holster. As it was, the larger crowd bulged out from the south side of the lot to reach within twenty feet. He motioned Conway to use the other agents for crowd control.
As the agents moved toward the crowd, Paul could tell they were at the tipping point. The crowd could easily overwhelm the law enforcement and CDC, if they wanted to. He ran to find Rasmussen. “Where are the other police?”
“I got ’em coming, but it takes awhile to round ’em up.”
“Can’t you see it’s about to blow-up here?”
Rasmussen stopped and looked into Paul’s face. “Hey, we’re doing all we can. This is your show, pal.”
A surge of noise interrupted them. The crowd shouted and cheered. Paul looked over their heads to see a green van pull up with an antenna mounted on the roof. “Oh, shit!” he shouted as he ran toward it.
Large yellow letters on the side of the van said, “Channel 6 News.” Three people spilled out of the sides. Two had cameras on their shoulders, and a blonde woman dressed in a starched blouse and blue blazer over blue jeans, waded through the crowd. Carolyn Bechter smiled and waved at people.
Paul’s stomach tightened when he saw her. The short fling they’d had didn’t work out. He knew Carolyn blamed him for everything. She’d be tough to deal with.
Paul heard Conway, who stomped around so much he looked like he was dancing. “Who the hell called those assholes? Get ’em out of here!” he ordered.
At the edge of the crowd, the cameramen pointed toward the news woman who started talking to Pastor Heinz. Someone opened an umbrella over the two. Angry shouts carried around the crowd. Paul moved to the interview.
Then Bechter started her interview, “We received an anonymous tip about the break-out of a small pox epidemic, a deadly contagious disease. Can you comment on that, pastor?”
Paul’s breath stopped. How did they know about it already? When that news spread, could law enforcement control the crowd? For a while, he couldn’t move.
Paul could see the heads of people bobbing back and forth in unison in a mindless push of panic. A scuffle broke out. People shouted and clawed at each other to get away. He looked around for more police. Bechter looked behind herself. Paul could see fear shadow her face. She sheltered herself next to the burly cameraman.
A second news van pulled in behind the first.
As Carolyn backed up quickly, someone ripped the microphone out of her hand and started yelling into it. She kept backing while the cameraman to her side tried to film. The person with the mike jerked it backward, causing the camera to tumble off the black guy’s shoulder.
He and Carolyn looked at each other. Paul could see they were afraid.
Her head swiveled, searching around behind her, saw Paul, and worked her way through the crowd to reach him.
“Paul?”
“Carolyn,” he said. He felt like they were two cats, circling each other.
“We need help.”
He let his breath escape. “Here. Get inside that tent. I’ll go with you.” He looked her in the eyes. “Get into a corner and don’t you dare ask any questions. Those people working in there may be the only ones who can save us now.”
She nodded and sighed in resignation.
Paul’s phone buzzed again, and he reluctantly reached for it, flipped it open. There was a voice mail from FBI headquarters in Washington. He listened.
“Agent, we’ve developed more intel about your suspect, Michael Ammar. He’s got deep cover, so most data bases couldn’t find him at first. He’s Egyptian. Member of the Muslim Brotherhood, an extremist, violent group. And
