make do until the proper equipment arrived. She grabbed what she needed and ran to the lawn.
She ripped open several packages of gauze pads, set them up on the grass and doused them with alcohol.
She wiped down her cell phone first, then her gloves. She threw the used pads to the side, then took off her gas mask and used the remaining pads to scrub down her face, mouth and ears until they burned. She called 911, cutting off the female dispatcher who answered.
'My name is Darby McCormick. Don't talk, just listen. Senior Corporal Gary Trent of SWAT summoned me earlier this evening to a home in Dover.' She quickly gave the woman the address and said, 'Do you have a list of area fire departments?'
'People have called about a fire, so engines are already en route to — '
'You need to warn them about a possible chemical attack. They are not to approach the bombsite unless they have gas masks with military-grade filters. Make sure whatever hazmat gear they're using has a Biosafety Level 4 rating. Now repeat back what I just said.'
'Hazmat suits,' she said, her voice cracking over the words. She was clearly in over her head. 'Masks with military filters.'
'Biosafety Level 4 rating. If they don't have that equipment, they're not to approach the bombsite under any circumstances. I have no idea what chemical agents were used. Your job is to limit the contamination as much as possible. After you call the fire departments, get on the horn to all the area hospitals. Have them seal the front and emergency-room doors to give their people time to access their hazmat gear. Tell them they're looking for victims showing signs of nausea and difficulty breathing, foaming at the mouth.'
A pause, and then the woman said, 'Are you saying there's been some sort of biological attack?'
'That's exactly what I'm saying. The hospital staff will know what to do, they've all had training.'
'Okay. Okay, I'll call them right — '
'Hold on. I also want you to make sure that you have people guarding the shooting victim — the guy the EMTs picked up from the front bushes of the Rizzo home. What's his status?'
'He's gone,' the dispatcher said.
'He died?'
'No. I mean, I don't know. The ambulance never showed up at the hospital.'
Darby glanced over her shoulders at the APC's back doors, listening to the woman's frantic tone. 'Union Hospital called and told us. They've had no contact with the ambulance in question. We sent out a patrol but haven't heard back from them. I also informed Senior Corporal Trent of the development and we haven't heard from him either — we haven't heard from anyone except residents calling about a fire and what they think was some sort of explosion.'
'What local agency do you call in case of bio-attack?'
'We, ah… I, I don't know, we haven't ever faced — '
'Where's your emergency protocol sheet?'
Darby heard shuffling of papers, things being moved.
'Where's the nearest army base?'
'We don't have one stationed here any more,' the dispatcher said.
'What about the Pease base in Portsmouth? The air force still has someone stationed there — they could mobilize one of their Air Mobility Command Units to — '
'They've been shut down. Budget cuts. And the hospitals in the area, I know for a fact they're not equipped to deal with multiple contaminated patients. Maybe two or three at a time, that's it, but if it's something as large as you're saying, we'll — '
'Boston University has a new Biological Agent Research Lab,' Darby said. 'They have people equipped to handle this, and you'll need trained people here anyway to identify the type of gas or chemicals used. They're in the South End, about an hour away. I'll make the call and brief them. Call the fire department first, then the hospitals.'
Darby hung up without giving her cell number — no need since her number had been captured on the dispatcher's computer system.
At the beginning of the year, BU had opened their brand-new 1.6 billion-dollar research lab, courtesy of funding from former president Bush's Project BioShield, created to increase the US's response to bio-terrorism. The BU lab had a Biosafety Level 4 rating, the highest security classification, as it dealt with the world's most infectious and incurable pathogens. It also had, in conjunction with the army, a specialized Crisis Response Unit that could respond to any biological attack or catastrophe on the East Coast.
The public didn't know about the unit, but police and federal law enforcement agencies did. Every Boston cop and lab technician had been given the hotline number with strict orders to programme it into their cell phones. Her temporary suspension had forced her to turn over her badge and laminated ID card that gave her access to almost every area inside the Boston police department. She'd also had to turn over her beeper but not her work cell. She found the hotline number quickly.
The man who answered the phone identified himself as Sergeant-Major Glick. Darby gave her name and then explained who she was and what had happened in New Hampshire. She told him about the number of dead SWAT and police officers and Glick asked her several in-depth questions about the symptoms.
Glick said, 'Are you showing any symptoms?'
'Not yet.'
'The person you captured, where is he right now?'
'In the back of the APC.'
'With the other dead officers,' Glick added.
'I didn't have much of a choice.'
'Understood, but you need to decontaminate him quickly.'
'I haven't found any decon kits, so I'm going to scrub him down the old-fashioned way, with soap and water.'
'Scrub yourself down while you're at it. If he tells you what gas was used, it will save us some valuable time. We may be able to treat on site. Otherwise, we'll have to wait for blood analysis.'
'He'll tell me,' she said and hung up.
After she shoved the phone in her pocket, Darby put on the gas mask and then moved to the back of the APC, sliding the tactical knife out from underneath her sleeve.
12
A quick jerk of the sharp blade and Darby cut the Flexicuffs binding the APC's door handles. She opened the doors and backed up, bringing up the shotgun.
Her prisoner, still wrapped in the net, had managed to push himself up into a sitting position. In the process he had somehow worked the gas mask back over his mouth, what little good it did him. He had already breathed in the tear gas, the chemicals coating the soft, sensitive membranes lining his lungs, throat and sinuses. His chest heaved as he hacked into the mask, trying to expel the fire.
Darby stepped inside. In the dim interior light she could see his mottled face, his bloodshot and watery eyes. They tracked her as she knelt next to the SWAT officer who had been barely conscious earlier. Now he was slumped against the floor in a puddle of vomit, a white, frothy mixture covering his lips and bubbling from his nose and mouth.
She pressed a gloved finger against the man's neck.
No pulse.
She grabbed the prisoner by the back of his collar. He didn't put up a fight or struggle, too weak and disoriented from the tear gas and the blows to his head. She lifted him easily to his feet and marched him to the opened doors. When he reached the edge, she shoved him outside.
