Quinn stepped to the speaker, his gun discreetly behind his thigh. “We heard shooting. Everything all right?”
“We’re secure,” the voice said. “But we have one FBI agent with a broken arm and a badly wounded suspect…”
“Buzz us in,” Mahoney said. “I can help until paramedics get here.”
There was a long pause before a female voice came over the speaker. It was strained, teetering on the verge of full-blown panic.
“The Arab had a small vial with him,” the voice quavered. “It’s been compromised.”
Mahoney swallowed. “How compromised?” She motioned both Quinn and Thibodaux over and had them take off their jackets, pointing toward the half-inch gap at the bottom of the door. Quinn realized what she wanted and used the thick leather to plug the void, backing it up with Thibodaux’s.
“Shattered,” the voice said. “Broken, shot to hell, spilled everywhere…”
“Give us a minute to suit up,” Megan said, already pulling her orange biohazard suit and attached breathing unit from the bag. “We’re coming in.” She turned to Quinn. “It may be too late, but we need someone in maintenance to turn off the HVAC as quick as possible.”
“On it, cherie.” Thibodaux was already punching numbers into his cell phone.
Mahoney hung a Bluetooth earpiece in her ear and called her office while she pulled the thick, rubber-coated zippers on the suit. She gave her location and requested a level-four hazard team and security detail.
Quinn called Palmer, who used his connections to throw up an immediate quarantine around Dulles under the guise of a chemical spill, grounding all departing flights and diverting inbound traffic to Reagan or Baltimore.
“Listen, Doctor.” The voice on the intercom had a catch in it, as if she was trying to control a sob. “I… I think I got some of the liquid on my foot…”
Mahoney shot a worried glance at Quinn. “We’ll be in in just a moment.”
Checking each other for correct fit and seal in the bulky hazard suits was labor intensive, and though Quinn and Thibodaux had been through the same procedure twice before in the last six hours, they were all exhausted. Mahoney took extra time inspecting their gear. Unsure of what to expect on the other side of the door, both men kept their sidearms in small nylon pouches next to the portable breathing units attached to their waists.
After an agonizingly slow five minutes Mahoney pronounced them “sealed” and the magnetic lock clicked open. Thibodaux resecured the heavy leather jackets at the base of the door inside.
The customs office was in a shambles. Papers from loose file folders were strewn across the industrial blue carpet as if the area had been hit by a tornado. The remnants of a wooden office chair lay broken on the floor. A man in a sweat-stained white shirt huddled against the far wall holding his arm in his lap, his red power tie hanging loose and askew. A tall woman with flaming red hair and a gun on her hip stooped beside him, her jacket behind his head and a slender arm snaked around his shoulders. Worry lines creased her freckled nose. It was impossible to tell if she was trying to give comfort or get it. Likely a little bit of both, Quinn thought.
A graying customs inspector, the tail of his uniform shirt hanging out over a paunchy belly, hunched above a wounded Arab. The inspector’s arms were bathed in crimson up to his elbows as he worked frantically to staunch the flow of blood. Red flecks dotted his face and stained the front of his uniform shirt. The Arab groaned, his mouth opening and closing like a fish drowning in the open air.
Quinn let Mahoney take care of the FBI agents while he knelt beside the customs inspector. Thibodaux stood next to him.
“Jamal Hamid?” Quinn bent in closer so the wounded man could hear the muffled buzz of his voice through the clear plastic face shield. “We know what you have done. We know what you have brought into our country.”
Hamid’s eyes fluttered, startled to hear someone speak to him in Arabic. “You know nothing,” he gasped. Pink blood foamed at the corners of his mouth. One of the shots had torn through a lung.
“We’ve already captured the others,” Quinn lied. “You are the last. It is over.”
Hamid closed his eyes, pained more from the news than from his wounds. “Impossible. Zafir was not… Zafir has…” He broke into a ragged coughing fit. As the coughing subsided, his olive face turned to ash, the muscles relaxed. He was bleeding internally, no matter how much pressure the customs inspector put on the wounds. “Not possib
…” He gasped, shaking his head in disbelief. “Zafir… not possible
…” His head lolled to one side. The customs inspector checked for a pulse, then shook his head.
“He’s gone.”
Thibodaux sighed. “Maybe we should consider bloodletting as a form of enhanced interrogation. Hamid just gave us the name of the third man.”
“It’s a start.” Jericho rose to his feet with a groan. “Zafir isn’t an uncommon name in the Middle East.” The clammy suit seemed more confining that his motorcycle leathers-or maybe it was just the thought of the surrounding virus and the memory of the horrors he’d seen in the Al-Hofuf lab.
Mahoney had turned a garbage can upside down on top of the broken vial and moved the two FBI agents to the other side of the room, as far from the damp spot as possible. She tried to get them to sit down, but the man refused, violently jerking away.
“Should we get them out of here?” Quinn asked, nodding toward the two agents.
“Not yet,” Mahoney said through clenched teeth. “Can’t take a chance on letting anything spread beyond this room. Our mantra has got to be ‘contain, contain, contain.’ ”
Quinn noticed how strong the doctor’s Georgia accent had become under stress. He found it oddly attractive considering the circumstances.
“What was in the glass tube?” Agent Chaffee asked. “Bird flu?” He had a nasty bruise on his right forearm. The way he babied the thing it was likely broken.
Agent Miller’s green eyes were dilated and wide, as if she stood awestruck at some passing celebrity. Flecks of dried saliva crusted white at the corners of her mouth. Quinn felt sorry for her. She looked young and this was probably the first time she’d even drawn her weapon other than at the firing range. Now she’d killed a man and had enough sense to know she was in grave danger. She was in shock, but less so than her more experienced partner.
Looking at Chaffee’s beet-red face, Quinn noticed tiny hairline cracks in the man’s teeth, probably brought on by years of jaw clenching. This was the kind of agent who lived his entire life in a state of near apoplectic stroke. There was no talking to people like that so Quinn made it a point to direct his words toward Agent Miller.
“Okay, Liz,” Quinn said. “These guys don’t travel alone. Did you notice any associates hanging back when you took this one into custody?”
“It was a plane from Dubai, jackass,” Chaffee scoffed. “There were two hundred Arab guys who got off with him. They could have all been his associates…” He winced, clenching his eyes shut until a new wave of pain subsided. When they opened he glared at Mahoney “I asked you a question. What was in that vial?”
“Have a seat, Agent Chaffee,” Mahoney said. “We have a team on the way. There’ll be medical personnel to take a look at your arm.”
“She’s right, Bob,” Miller said, trying to paste a smile over the strain on her face. “Just sit down and rest.”
Mahoney’s Bluetooth flashed on her ear, casting a pulsing blue halo around her hair inside the hood. “Hold on,” she said. “I have an incoming call. It’s probably my team.”
Agent Chaffee jerked away from his partner. He grabbed a fistful of Mahoney’s rubber suit with his good hand, spinning her around. His eyes were wild with a mixture of rage and hysteria. Spittle flew from his twisted mouth as he screamed, “You listen to me. The FBI has national security juris-”
Jericho reacted in a flash, slapping Chaffee hard across the ear with a cupped hand that sent him staggering backward. He followed up with a swift knee to the groin and snatched the agent’s Glock from his holster before he hit the floor.
“ You are not in charge, Agent Chaffee,” Quinn said, his even voice belying the fury and speed he’d used to pacify the man. “Now sit still and let us handle this as best we can.” He nodded to a stupefied Mahoney. “Go ahead and take your call.”
