The Janus Reprisal

5

Nathaniel Fred Klein nodded to the Secret Service officer manning the entrance to the White House as he passed. About sixty, Klein was medium height, with a craggy, lean face and lanky body. To an outsider, Klein’s rumpled suit, ever-present pipe, and piercing eyes that revealed a mind constantly churning with ideas lent the impression that he was either an academic at a nearby university or a member of a Washington, DC, think tank. He stood erect and moved easily, and more astute observers of human nature would have noticed that he carried with him an air of authority. In fact, as the head of Covert-One, Klein managed one of the deepest black operations in the US intelligence community. Covert-One was bankrolled with discretionary funds that were available only to the president and were not tracked by any oversight committee or taxpayer-accountable governmental office. The president alone directed their activities and had formed the unit after an earlier terrorist incident involving a virus that nearly spread a pandemic across the country. Klein ran the day-to-day operation, and now he was headed to a private meeting called by the president. He walked through the White House halls, headed to the Oval Office. Another sentry there nodded him forward.

President Castilla rose from behind his desk and moved around it to meet Klein halfway. In his forties, trim and driven, the former governor of New Mexico appeared young enough for the demands of the job, yet mature enough to have the experience the position required. Klein found him to be a thoughtful and intelligent man, but he noticed that the bits of gray in his dark hair had increased. The presidency had a way of taking a significant toll on the men elected to the position, and Castilla was no different in that regard. This latest bad news from The Hague certainly didn’t help.

“Good to see you,” Castilla said as he shook Klein’s hand. “I suppose you’ve seen the images from The Hague?”

Klein nodded. “Believe it or not, I have a Covert-One operative on site. He was attending the WHO conference as an expert.”

Castilla raised an eyebrow. “Did he make it out of there?”

“He was the man hanging from the window ledge. I haven’t had any contact since he pulled himself back into the hotel.”

Castilla’s eyebrows flew up even higher. “For a moment there I thought we were going to see a terrorist kill an innocent man live on television. I don’t have to tell you what a coup that would have been for the attackers.”

“I was impressed with the sniper. Was it a member of a Dutch SWAT team?”

Castilla shook his head. “No, he was CIA. He’s still on site, but deploying to a new location. I’m told that the terrorists are fanning out.” Castilla waved Klein to a seating area with four armchairs and a coffee table in the center.

“That’s not good. Has anyone taken responsibility?”

“Not yet. In fact, the main terrorist organizations are denying responsibility.”

Klein grunted. “Unusual for them.”

“The CIA believes that attacking during a WHO conference is most likely not a coincidence. My concern is that the attackers’ real target is either one of the attending scientists or the biological products that several brought with them.”

“My operative found a handful of photos in the pockets of one of the attackers.” Klein recounted Smith’s information about the photos.

Castilla sat back while he listened. “Let’s put aside the photo of the MI6 agent and focus on the woman. Could she be an attendee? Maybe one of the scientists?”

“That’s a definite possibility. Once I get my hands on the photos, I’ll have them analyzed as quickly as I can.”

“I have some further bad news, though. I received a call from WHO’s director-general. Three of the scientists at the conference brought with them samples of a new strain of cholera, an antibiotic-resistant strain of hepatitis B, and some particularly nasty E. coli. They were to be transferred to a secure site for analysis by an international consortium of biologists. The samples themselves were initially considered small enough to be of limited use to any potential terrorist, but we’ve just learned that the cholera strain can multiply with astonishing speed. In two weeks that sample will have grown exponentially. If any of these get into the hands of the terrorists, we’ve got to assume they’ll dump it into the water supply somewhere. I don’t need to tell you the kind of mass deaths that could occur if such a thing were to happen.”

“Are these the only samples we should be worried about?”

Castilla pondered the question. “The rest were ‘good’ bacteria. Everything ranging from live yeast cultures to a newly discovered bioelectric bacteria that can charge batteries without the need for a separate electrical source.”

“Where were they kept?”

“On site in the hotel safe in two different locked stainless-steel coolers. The good bacteria as well as the resistant strains. Because the samples were so small, extra security measures were deemed unnecessary, particularly in light of the quality of the Grand Royal’s safe. It’s one of the best. Over the years, the jewels of several royal families have been secured there while their owners conducted diplomatic affairs. I’m told it can withstand a blast of the nature of what we’re seeing, but the concern is that the terrorists will have found the code that opens it. Covert-One needs to begin tracking down these samples and the scientists that carried them and we need to reacquire any that are taken before they become viable bioweapons.”

Klein rose. “I’ll get a crew on it. And my first member will be the man hanging from the ledge.” He walked to the door. “That is, if he makes it out alive.”