“Shit,” Allenby said under his breath. This was going to be difficult to keep under wraps. And if the media found out…“What do you need from us?”
“Get down to Miami and liaise with the local authorities. You can have jurisdiction if you want. It may look better with the FBI involved rather than DHS. We’ll stay in the background.”
“Okay. Where are the victims right now?”
“The three still alive are in their home.” He recited an address. “The father’s body is already en route to Fort Detrick for autopsy.”
“Who’s in charge at present?”
“Local cops, but they don’t know what’s going on. Let’s try to keep it that way.”
“This is going to be difficult, J. D.,” Allenby said. “Christ, an entire family.”
“I know, Jim, but do your best. And keep me in the loop.”
Jim Allenby hung up, then dialed again. He requested a company jet on standby at Reagan within the hour, then called the Miami field office. Arthur Wren, Special Agent in Charge, took the call. Allenby and Wren went back twenty years, and he was glad he was dealing with a veteran agent on this one.
“How are things in science, or counterterrorism, or whatever it is you do?”Wren asked. He was a likable man in his late fifties who had been decorated twice for bravery. Both medals were under a bunch of socks in his underwear drawer, and his office walls were covered with pictures of his grandchildren.
“They’ve got me stuck right in the middle,” Allenby said. “Anything relating to science or drugs and I’m the guy they call. That’ll teach me to pick a career with the Bureau after getting a science degree.” His tone shifted as he moved to the reason for the call. “We’ve got a problem, Arthur, and it’s in your backyard.”
“What’s up?”
“Local cops are all over an incident in Olympia Heights, but we’re going to be taking jurisdiction on this one. And quick.”
“It came through on the scanners about twenty minutes ago. How do you know about it?”
“Let’s just say I’m in the loop on this one. I’m leaving D.C. immediately and flying down, but I want you to personally take charge until I get there. And Arthur, don’t let anyone in that house without full protective gear. I’m talking lethal virus here. Very scary stuff.”
“Holy shit. What’s going on?”
“You control the scene and I’ll tell you when I get to Miami. Just keep the press away if possible. DHS will be around, but they’re going to stay in the background. When the victims die, the bodies will be wrapped and moved to Fort Detrick. DHS will handle that.”
“Department of Homeland Security? What’s going on, Jim? Have we got an act of terrorism on our hands?”
“I’ll fill you in when I get there. The longer I spend on the phone with you, the longer it’ll take for me to get to Miami.”
“Okay, Jim. I’ll take care of things on this end.”
“Thanks.” Allenby hung up, clipped his cell phone on his belt, grabbed his briefcase, and moved quickly to the elevator. A car was waiting on parking level one, and he slid into the backseat. The driver already knew they were heading for Reagan and was en route within seconds. Jim Allenby made a few calls, ensuring he had the right resources, both people and equipment, in place. By the time they reached Reagan, the cell phone was back on his hip, his emergency team in place or on their way to Miami.
Jim Allenby’s position in the Bureau was unique. He was the only special agent in charge who didn’t report directly to one directorate. He floated between the Counterterrorism Division and the directorate for Criminal Investigations. His knowledge of drugs, diseases, pharmaceuticals, and research techniques made him a specialist with skills that worked for both divisions of the FBI. And he was a favorite of DHS as well, especially when they had a virus or a bacterial strain on the loose. This wasn’t the first time J. D. Rothery had requested that Allenby coordinate a response to a viral threat. But by the looks of things, this one was the most serious.
Allenby boarded the Gulfstream and settled in for the flight. The fax machine beeped three minutes after they were airborne and he ripped the page off once the transmittal was complete. A full dossier on the stricken family was included, plus their movements for the past week, courtesy of Miami Dade police. It took all of eight seconds for Allenby’s gaze to land on one line and stay there. The entire family had eaten at TGIF, a family restaurant chain with franchises across the country, four days ago. The time frame worked, as did the locale. His suspicions ran to either the food or the cutlery as the method of delivering the virus. Since only one table of diners were sick, his best guess was that someone had replaced the cutlery with tainted forks and spoons, which the family used to eat their dinner. That would account for how the virus was ingested and why all four of them were sick, but no one else. He placed a call to his counterparts in Miami and advised them to quarantine the restaurant immediately. Confiscate every knife, fork, and spoon, and identify the booth the family had sat in. Check it for any traces of the virus.
It was a long shot. The virus had probably been planted four days ago, and every piece of cutlery would have been put through the commercial dishwashers on site, probably killing any remaining virus. That was good and bad. Good in that the virus, once dead, would be unable to infect additional people. Bad in that without proof they would never be one hundred percent sure TGIF was the source. He glanced at the pictures of the family that had come through with the fax. A nice-looking family, probably of Cuban descent, the boy about twelve and wearing a Florida Marlins ball cap. The girl was younger, with a beautiful smile. He shook his head at the waste.
The Gulfstream landed at Miami International and a government-issue Crown Victoria whisked him off the tarmac and onto the freeway system. Traffic was reasonable for two in the afternoon, and the trip to the district of Olympia Heights took twelve minutes. He grimaced as they pulled onto the street. Numerous police cars, a few nondescript Bureau vehicles, and four television crews were present. Add in every nosy neighbor for a square mile and the place was as busy as the Orange Bowl on game day. He cursed silently as the car pulled up to the barrier. The driver showed his creds and they proceeded through.
Arthur Wren came out to meet him. “Believe it or not, this situation is controlled,” he said before Allenby could say a word.
The SAC out of Washington glanced about. “How’s that, Arthur? It looks kind of busy.”
“The father is someone in the Cuban community. He’s big in the local church and ran for political office last municipal election. It’s hitting the fan, Jim.”
“Yeah, it’s in my dossier,” Allenby said. “What’s the status of the victims?”
“Three dead, fourth won’t last another hour.”
“The bodies?”
“Two already bagged and en route to Fort Detrick. We’re holding the third body until the last family member dies so we can send them down together.”
“What spin are you putting on this?”
“That they contracted a strain of bacteria at the restaurant four days ago. The press is going to put two and two together and figure out that the quarantine on TGIF is related, so we gave it to them. No sense appearing uncooperative.”
“Anybody asking why the Bureau is involved?”
“No serious questions yet. They’ll clue in sometime soon. Miami Dade is all over the place right now, so that keeps the camera crews busy filming the local cops. We’re trying to stay in the background.”
“Who’s here from DHS?”
“One guy, one woman.” He motioned with his head without pointing. “That’s them over there.” An average- looking couple, dressed in summer clothes and watching the event from just outside the yellow tape, nodded back at him when he made eye contact.
“Everyone going inside that house protected?” Jim Allenby asked.
“Fully suited. Portable HEPA filters. They’re okay.”
Jim Allenby stood and watched the scene unfold. This was going to be a public relations nightmare. It was containable as long as they kept to the infectious-bacteria story and assured the public the source had been located and destroyed. That meant getting the press on side, and that was his job. He created the new strain of bacteria in his head, gave it a cellular structure and an antidote, then headed across the street to the nearest camera crew. He was good at this stuff, but one thing gnawed in the back of his mind.
What would happen the next time the terrorists unleashed the virus?
