“That’s the landing pad on the grassed area by that group of buildings. What looks like a German Iron Cross — that’s where we touch down. Come on, Gracie old girl, gently does it.”
The helicopter landed without any discernible bump and the pilot let the engine move to idle, the three rotors gradually slowing down. Nearly thirty-three feet in diameter, they could now be seen, revolving in a clockwise direction above the cockpit. A black Jeep appeared and came to a stop within a safe distance to the left of the helicopter. The driver’s door opened and a man briskly approached the chopper.
“Here comes your courier now.” A man approached his door, and the pilot gestured to him to go to the passenger side. “Go around the front, not the damn back. Yes, you. That’s it. You have no idea the number of people who think they can whip around behind the chopper to get to the other side, scares me shitless when they disappear from sight.”
Lilburn gathered the plastic bags of evidence together. The courier knocked on his door and waited. Lilburn opened the door. Instantly he felt the downdraft from the turning rotors.
“Are you Special Agent Lilburn?”
“Yes.”
“If you’d like to give me the items, I’ll take them directly to the lab.”
Lilburn handed the container over then pulled the door shut.
The pilot chuckled to himself, “You know, I’ve been here maybe two dozen times and never once have the pricks invited me in for coffee.”
“Would you want them to?”
“Hell no, that’s why I don’t shut Grace down. Let’s vamoose — this place gives me a chill up my spine.”
Lilburn didn’t disagree as the helicopter took off for Homeland Security, Albany.
“Heads up, listen in.” Director Hall commanded complete attention. “We now have confirmation from Plum Island that the package from Syria is foot-and-mouth. We know who it was delivered to and they’re being investigated by Director Lopez, who will brief you shortly. We can assume the terrorists will be making their way out of New York City to a location where they’ll try to infect livestock. We know they’ll primarily be transmitting the virus using aerosol cans, spraying some poor animal in the face. Now, I know most of you have been at your stations for a hell of a long time. Because of that we’ve made good progress, some through good management and a good dose of luck. Don’t ease off on the throttle — it’s not over yet. Director Lopez.”
“Thank you, Director Hall. We have two main persons of interest, Yusuf al-Nasseri and Bashir Zuabi, both American citizens, both born here, both now members of Takfir wal-Hijra. We have an eyewitness who saw them leave their apartment this morning and a detailed description of what they were wearing. One of my teams is working on their background, friends, family, acquaintances, another team is working on records, phone, banking, internet history and another on the likely scenario of an actual outbreak.”
“And that last team’s being led by Dr. Evangeline Crawston.” Hall interrupted, reluctant to let Lopez have too much floor time. “Some of you will have already seen her around. Her background is in bio-pharmaceutics and her contribution as an expert in bioterrorism is invaluable. Now, before we put our heads back down and push on, just let me remind you I don’t want any silos here — after all, we have two directorates working together in the same room. Don’t keep info to yourself — we aren’t competing against each other, we need to work as a team.”
The buzz within the room started up again as soon as the situation report ended.
“Ma’am.”
“Yes, what is it?”
An officer approached Lopez. “Ma’am, we have their banking details.”
“Let me see.” The director was handed Yusuf and Bashir’s latest bank statements. Her eyes scrolled down the pages until they settled on the last withdrawals. Within a minute of each other, both men had made withdrawals of fifty-seven dollars at the Port Authority Bus Terminal. There was no indication of the destination but she now had an exact time the tickets were purchased.
The skinny ex-hacker from Manhattan pushed the bridge of his glasses back with one finger and sat upright from a slouch as Lopez asked him a question.
“The Port Authority Bus Terminal has security cameras everywhere. Can you get me to the images taken at the ticketing machines and kiosks?”
“No problemo.” The young man, having been given an ultimatum by a Youth Court judge to buck his ideas up regarding his pathological hacking into computer systems of the top ten companies in downtown New York, had been enticed into the Homeland Security umbrella by those who recognized his unique talents. Nicco liked nothing better than to beat the system — so getting paid to do it was a bonus. “Just a little bit of this, a little bit of that.” His fingers worked the keyboard like a concert pianist’s. Nicco looked up to see a scowling Director Lopez with her arms folded. A few more key strokes and he was in. “There you go — the Port Bus Terminal cams.” A wide grin broke out.
Lopez certainly wasn’t grinning as she looked over Nicco’s shoulder at his computer screen. “Christ, there must be dozens.”
“Yep, all live streaming.”
“I have a specific time, ten fifty-three this morning for the first ticket purchase and less than a minute later for the second.”
“Now that there’s a teensy-weensy bit harder.”
“Can you do it or not?” Patience was not one of Lopez’s virtues.
“Yep!” It would take more than Homeland Security to take the boy out of the hacker. Nicco’s fingers and mind worked magic.
Director Hall, known for having eyes in the back of his head and an uncanny ability to read people’s minds, didn’t miss his fellow director leaning over Nicco. His inquisitiveness barreled him over in her direction.
“What’s up, Suzanna?” Hall noticed her slight look of surprise. His mention of ‘silos’ had been directed at her, and she knew it.
“Bank statements came in, our two suspects purchased tickets at around ten fifty-three this morning at the Port Terminal.”
“Where to?”
“We’re just getting to that now.”
“What have you got, son?” Hall’s attention turned to Nicco, who wasn’t the slightest overwhelmed by two directors looking over his shoulder.
“Gimme a minute.” Nicco, totally engrossed in his computer, replied without looking up from his screen. Lopez unfolded her arms and was about to discipline him when Hall stopped her.
“Just take your time, son.”
“You betcha, sir… I’ll just wind the clock back a bit on the tapes, got it, there you go, now let me just grab the pics we have of our two and do a… bit… of… facial recognition. That’s my girl, come on, sweetheart, come to Nicco… Yes! Ta-da!”
Hall had to put on his reading glasses. In front of him on the screen, two men were standing in front of an automated ticket machine.
“Take it forward frame by frame; see if we can get a close-up on the tickets.”
“Okey-dokey.”
“There — stop! That’s Yusuf, he’s turning, take it forward. Good, keep going, stop. Zoom in on that ticket.”
Nicco obliged but the picture was now grainy and nothing could be read. “Let me do a bit of enhancing, just a bit here and a bit there. Now — howzat?”
Both Hall and Lopez struggled to read the ticket and leaned forward over each of Nicco’s shoulders. Nicco now started to feel a touch too close to his bosses and the perfume Lopez was wearing was just a bit much. “Hey, man, lemme breathe here!” The directors backed off. Nicco studied the screen hard, thankful he now had his personal space back. “I see a capitol B followed by an i… n… g… Bing… Binghamton.”
Director Hall brought both his hands down on Nicco’s shoulders. “Good on you, son. Now can you see what time the bus leaves?”