Pandora's Legion

Pablo Ramirez cursed long, silently and fervently. A firefight with the Border Patrol was the last thing he wanted on Planet Earth. The only positive aspect was the conclusion. Two dead Yanquis versus two of his men wounded; one seriously.

Ramirez forced himself to focus. He sprinted to the Dodge and noted the doors shut, the radio apparently unused. He dashed back to his men, finding one receiving rudimentary first aid. “Jorge, take Casique home. The rest, come with me. Now!”

Supported by his friend, Casique Estrella looked at the first dead American. He realized the body was female. He muttered, “I never killed a woman before.”

Jorge de la Cruz pulled his partner’s arm around his neck. “Amigo, I never saw a cow in a bull ring, either.”

Ramirez turned to gather up his group and counted heads. He heard soft moaning. “Donde es…”

Joaquin pointed toward a prostrate form. One of the couriers was bent over the other, wailing an incomprehensible dirge that penetrated the night air.

SSI OFFICES

SSI had an early morning call from Burridge’s deputy.

“Derringer here.”

John Demeter’s voice still carried the flatland tones of Nebraska though he had not lived there in nearly thirty years. “Admiral, the secretary is attending a meeting at State but he left standing orders to notify you immediately of any change.”

“Yes, John. Go ahead.”

“There was shooting on the Arizona border last night. Two agents were killed and apparently at least one of the perpetrators was hit. No body but quite a blood trail.”

“Yes?”

“Well, it was a small group — the field supervisor puts it at six or seven. There were two larger groups farther east, and they may have been decoys. Anyway, the killers left a fair amount of material behind. Probably a lot of confusion with the shooting in the dark. Anyway, one of the items was a prayer book.”

Derringer felt himself growing testy. Cut to the chase! “So?”

“Oh. Well, apparently it’s a Muslim prayer book. Not Arabic, either.”

“Pakistani?”

“We’ve not had it fully analyzed, but I’m told it could be Urdu.”

“Where’d this happen?”

“Between Bisbee and Nogales.”

“GPS coordinates?”

“Ah, we don’t have that yet: just the preliminary report. But I checked the map, and it’s roughly 110 west by 31.5 north.”

Derringer recorded the lat-long, then asked, “What time?”

“Apparently about 1:00 A.M. local. Call it… five-six hours ago.”

Damn it to hell! Derringer made a conscious effort to ease his grip on the phone. “John, that means they’ve got a big jump on us. My crew landed at Tucson last night, expecting to operate across the border. I’ll get right on to them and deploy to Phoenix, unless you think we should continue as planned.”

“Well, Admiral, I’ve consulted with our operations office and they say this could be an elaborate ruse. But if so, it’s very well planned. There’s blood on the prayer book. We recommend that you keep a small team to watch Tucson and send the rest to Phoenix. You have the contact info there?”

“Affirm. It’s in the contingency plans.”

“Very well, sir. I’ll have the secretary call you ASAP.”

“Right.” Derringer punched the button, ending the call and buzzed his secretary. “Peggy, have everybody meet me in the conference room immediately. Things have turned to hash again.”

LONDON

“Mr. Padgett-Smith? I am Dr. Singh. We spoke on the phone.”

“Ah, yes. Thank you for your call, doctor.”

The Indian physician spoke excellent English with precise diction. But he did not want to leave anything uncertain. He extended an arm down the hallway. “We can speak more comfortably in my office.”

Charles Padgett-Smith had not made a small fortune by missing the nuances. “What is it, Doctor?”

Singh glanced around, unwilling to speak in public. He cradled his clipboard in both hands and regarded the Englishman. “Sir, your wife’s condition is quite grave. It worsened overnight.”

The financier swallowed. Hard. Finally he found the words. “Is she going to… die?”

Singh had years of experience with such things. It did not matter. Without intending to, he looked at the floor.

SSI OFFICES

When Derringer entered the conference room Sandy Carmichael got up and poured another cup of coffee. Derringer noted that her hair could use some attention, and there were unaccustomed wrinkles in her blouse. Joe Wolf, who typically ran toward disheveled, was rubbing his temples again — another sign of fatigue. Most of the other staffers also showed signs of working late-late. Or, more accurately, early-early.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” Derringer interjected, “let me say something.” He paused, waiting for the staff’s full attention. “Most of you look like hell.”

His quip had the desired effect. The laughter was neither forced nor polite. “Just remember, regardless of how you feel, think about our operators. They had one night back in this country before taking off for Arizona. Along the way they’ve had to junk their plan for cross-border ops and now work out a discreet surveillance routine in one of the world’s busiest airports.” He spread his hands. “Basically, they left on a camping trip and now they’re attending a convention. I checked with Phil Catterly, who’s still with them, by the way. He estimates most of our people have forty-eight to sixty hours of useful work in them. After that, they’re going to start crashing.”

Carmichael absorbed that information, then asked, “Given the limited time we have to work with, what’re our priorities?”

“Sandy, you said it. We have to think fast and work fast. We’re going to improvise like hell today.”

Derringer explained the overnight developments and waved down the comments from astonished staffers. “I’ve called Frank and Terry in Tucson and told them to leave some guys there to cover the airport in shifts. But I think that Phoenix is the target because it’s a much larger facility. If the Marburg gets a grip there, the effects could be devastating. Closing down one of the six biggest airports in the country is just a start.”

The phone, fax, and email traffic was relentless. Joe Wolf tried to make sense of it and declared it an impossible task. “It’s what I was afraid of,” he said. “Information overload. We just don’t have time to sort it all out.” He held up a sheaf of emails and notes from phone conversations. “After this is all over, people will look at the record and think, ‘My god, they were dumb. It was right there!’”

Derringer conceded the point, then conned the SSI vessel back on course. “Joe, we can’t worry about that now. Let’s stay focused on our operating area.” He used PowerPoint to produce a map of Phoenix. “This is the fifth largest metro area in the country. There’s always public events; just look at this weekend’s schedule.” He ticked off several items from a website. “The Diamondbacks are in San Diego, but ASU hosts Oregon State. There’s also a trade show at the civic center and a big gun show at the fairgrounds.”

“Any of those events draws thousands of people,” Carmichael said.

“That’s right. But look at it from the suiciders’ perspective. Sure, there’s thousands of people at those events. But they’re mostly local. Anybody infected here mostly stays here. At the airport you get it both ways: people coming and going. Somebody exposed to Marburg here can be in LA or Boston or London in a matter of hours. And there’s no need for the suspects to go through security. Just wander around, spreading the virus by contact with doors, lavatories, escalators. You name it.”

Mohammed nodded in agreement. “We can’t cover many places so we concentrate our people at Sky Harbor?”

“That’s right, Omar. All our eggs go in the airport basket.”

TUCSON, ARIZONA

Hazrat Sial, aka Baldah, felt more comfortable than any time since the night on the border. Poor Mian; he