Each tablet contained concentrated, weaponized encephalitis virus, surrounded by a thin gel coating. The virus within the clear gel coat had been given a dark red color in the lab, so each tablet looked like a menacing eye, which underscored the virus's potential. The gel coating was designed to last roughly thirty minutes before releasing the virus into the water. He knew that water leaving the plant would end up in a massive storage tank that constantly filled and emptied into the city. The concentration of virus would be more than adequate to infect the entire supply and continue to infect it for several hours. The charcoal filters installed between the disinfectant tanks and the pump station would ensure that any remaining chlorination would not be enough to kill the hardened virus Reznikov had developed. Only a strong anti-viral water treatment course could accomplish this, and these were nearly nonexistent in public water treatment plants.
The virus tablets would reach the main storage tanks partially dissolved and remain at the top of the tank for a few minutes, until they released their payload, which would sink and spread throughout the tank. Later that day, pipes in every household and business within Monchegorsk would contain contaminated water. Within three to five days, the city's hospital and medical clinics would be overwhelmed by patients complaining of severe headaches and rapidly progressing flu-like symptoms. A few days after that, the city of Monchegorsk would descend into chaos, taking Norval Nickel along with it.
The Russian government would face one of its biggest challenges in recent history. How does mother Russia contain the news that a city of 54,327 people had imploded, with no plausible explanation? He couldn't wait to see how they'd try to contain the news. Based on Russia's notoriously poor human rights track record, he felt confident that it would be a disaster for the Putin government.
The virus combined several of the nastiest viral encephalitis traits he could genetically manipulate. He had started with a particularly virulent and highly infectious strain of Venezuelan Equine Encephalitis (VEE) and had gone to work modifying its structure. He enhanced the virus's focus on the limbic system, specifically targeting the temporal lobes, which caused victims to exhibit rabies-like behavior. The recurrent hallmark behaviors he had observed through human experimentation included: severe aggression, marked destructiveness, primitive impulses, and transient disorientation or catatonia, often followed by hyperactive episodes. Brain damage had been severe in most of the cases they examined, and nearly seventy percent died within a week of showing symptoms.
The remaining thirty percent deteriorated at different rates, with varying degrees of brain damage. Like every disease, some got lucky, though they were usually the first to fall victim to the madness that descended on the others. Once the virus had been tweaked to his own desired specifications, they had conducted a practical test. Twenty "volunteers" each drank a glass of water spiked with the same concentration of virus that he calculated would be present in every sip of water throughout the city. Roughly eighty percent contracted the virus, though he took steps to ensure all of his test subjects were infected. The eighty percent statistic had made him smile. He relished the complications this would present to the Russians.
Now that the virus was in the water, his next task was to get out of here undetected. He jammed the cylinders back into the backpack, along with the mechanical saw, and withdrew a silenced semi-automatic pistol from one of the other pouches. He debated whether to head up the stairs, or hide in the station and wait. He couldn't imagine that the station didn't have an alarm rigged to the doors. Yesterday, he had timed the technician's journey from the central station to the pump station and averaged it to six minutes, if he didn't stop for a cigarette. His watch showed six minutes and thirty seconds, which he blamed on his damn fumbling hands. Glancing around the station, he chose to stay and hide.
The pump itself was massive, providing numerous hiding places, and he saw another staircase at the end of the catwalk. He might be able to squeeze underneath the end of the pump or the wide outflow pipes on either side. If the technician decided to walk down to the catwalk and poke around, he would be forced to use the pistol. It would be his last resort and buy him enough time to get out of town, but depending on the city's response, it could jeopardize the entire plan. He would walk the technician out of the building at gunpoint and push him over the catwalk onto the domed tanks. He hoped it didn't come to that because his hands were trembling from the latches, and he could barely hold the gun straight. He might need every round in the pistol's magazine.
Just as he tucked himself under one of the huge outflow pipes on the right side of the station, he heard the door above him open. The technician entered through the front door and shut it behind him, pausing on the grating above. The man walked around for a minute, presumably checking some of the diagnostic gauges above, and started to descend the stairs. Anatoly's pistol hand was shaking, and he was afraid that he might fire the pistol accidentally. He depressed the safety lever to prevent an unintended discharge. He further squeezed himself under the pipe and along the outside of the pump. He would be undetectable if the man stayed on the catwalk.
He had a hard time hearing the man's footsteps over the vibration and hum of the pump, but knew he was drawing closer along the catwalk. The sound of the metal grating increased and suddenly stopped, indicating that the man was at the top of the second set of stairs. He could picture the man leaning over and determining if it was worth his effort to take a further look. He jammed himself further back, willing himself to be invisible to the man. A few moments later, he heard footsteps heading back down the catwalk, followed by the stairs. Less than a minute later, Anatoly was alone in the pump station.
He decided not to press his luck. He replaced the pistol, keeping the pouch unzipped, and left the station through the back door. He knew it would trigger another alarm, but figured the duty crew would consider it to be a glitch. They'd watch the sensor from their comfortable seats all day, and when it didn't happen again, it would be forgotten. He wondered if anyone would have the presence of mind one week later to make the connection. Based on the human testing results in Kazakhstan, he sort of doubted it.
Chapter 8
Special Agent Susan Castaneda took another look at the manila folder on her desk and picked up the phone to dial Ryan Sharpe. He had contacted her a few days earlier with an odd request, which had been easy enough for her to research without attracting any attention. Sharpe wanted to know if the Argentine Federal Police (AFP) had started any investigations within the past three years into any fledgling terrorist or paramilitary organizations, with a focus on regional arms smuggling or cross-border operations. He was also interested in any unusual paramilitary style operations or violence over the past few years. Sharpe had been detailed enough with the focus, but nebulous beyond that.