“There’s one more piece of evidence I haven’t shared,” said CJ. “One of the victims briefly regained consciousness in the middle of the night, right before she passed. With her last words, she told her doctor that she heard the bomber say something in English.”
“And that was?” prompted Quinn when the FBI agent paused too long.
“‘I am the first sign.’”
They all gazed silently at the face of the suicide bomber for several seconds. Nick furrowed his brow. “The first of how many?”
CHAPTER 8
Pavel Ercan whistled as he walked. He loved the acoustics of empty hallways. He enjoyed solitude. That’s why he requested the late security shift at the university’s new biochemical research facility. He led a team of three guards that each manned a floor. As the senior guard, he could have taken the desk at the entrance — where there was a television — but he preferred it here, on the third floor, in the quiet.
The click of a closing door echoed from the crossing hallway ahead. Usually by this time, all the staff and students had gone home. The floor should be empty. Pavel placed a hand on his nightstick, but before he reached the hallway, a short, white-haired man in a lab coat rounded the corner at an urgent pace. Pavel relaxed. He recognized Dr. Varga. The facility chairman always moved at such a pace, always had someplace to be.
Pavel waved smartly and smiled, but the professor ignored him and continued toward the bank of elevators at the center of the floor. The security guard did not feel particularly snubbed. Dr. Varga never acknowledged anyone beneath his station, unless it was to bark an order or chew them out. He watched the man jab at the down button until one of the elevators finally opened and he stepped inside. Then he inclined his head and spoke into the radio handset hanging over his shoulder. “Big man is coming your way, Janos,” he warned, prompting the guard at the entrance to turn off the TV and pretend to watch the door until Varga exited the building.
“Yah, yah,” the radio crackled back.
With the most exciting event of the evening behind him, Pavel retreated to a chair at the end of the hallway and sat down to enjoy his dinner. He removed a paper-wrapped chutney sandwich and thermos of coffee from his backpack, and was just about to bite into the sandwich when he heard an echoing crash from far below.
Pavel sighed. He set the sandwich down on top of his backpack and keyed his radio. “Janos, what have you done?”
Janos made no response.
“Adnan, go down to one and check on Janos. Find out what that imbecile has broken this time.” Pavel emphasized the word imbecile, hoping that Janos could hear him.
“I always check on him. Why can’t you check on him?”
Pavel glanced down at his chutney sandwich. It called to him. “Because I am in charge and you are closer. Now get moving.”
Half a minute passed as Pavel took a sip of coffee and then raised his sandwich for the second time. As his teeth sank into the soft white bread, the hallway went completely dark. “What now?” he mumbled through a mouth full of chutney. He swallowed and picked up the radio again. “Adnan, come in.”
Adnan did not reply.
“Adnan? Janos?”
Pavel got up and started walking toward the elevators, muttering about the incompetence of his crew. He tried to raise his flashlight, but the lanyard tangled on his belt, forcing him to hold the sandwich in his mouth and look down to unhook it. Finally, he flipped on the bright beam and looked up again. His blood ran cold. The chutney sandwich fell to the floor with a light splat.
A menacing figure barred his path barely a meter away, cloaked in black with a wide hood that obscured his face. The security guard went for his nightstick, but he was too late. He barely saw the flash of the knife before it ripped across his throat. He grabbed at the wound with both hands and felt the sickening gush of his own warm blood pulsing through his fingers. He tried to speak, but he couldn’t. He couldn’t even scream.
The hooded figure stepped around the gurgling guard without waiting for him to fall. It was not until he turned down the next hallway that he heard the crack of the man’s skull hitting the tile next to his ruined sandwich. At the far end of the hall, he found the facility’s cold-storage locker. A red light glowed above the door, warning that structural power to the refrigeration units had been compromised, leaving them on the auxiliary batteries. The door was still locked, secured by a keycard reader and biometric pad that were also supported by backup batteries, but that was expected.
The intruder reached into the fold of his cloak and removed an access card that read VARGA, BIOCHEM. He swiped the card, causing the red LED on the biometric pad to turn orange and blink. Letting the card fall to the floor, he reached into his cloak again. This time he produced a white cloth, stained with blood, pinched between his fingers. As he raised it to the pad, the cloth unraveled over his hand to reveal a severed thumb. He pressed the thumb against the pad and the LED turned green. The lock clicked open.
Inside, the intruder opened a large canvas satchel and began sweeping chemicals off shelves. Most fell into the bag. Others fell to the floor. Glass vials filled with blue, amber, and clear liquids shattered at his feet. When the bag was half-full, he went to the rear of the locker and found a tall locked cabinet. He smashed the glass with his elbow. Again, the intruder indiscriminately swept vials and bottles into his satchel — this time continuing until it was full. Then he bent down to the bottom shelf and carefully lifted a pressurized titanium container. On all four sides of the box, bright yellow labels read BIOHAZARD: CONTROLLED SUBSTANCE.
CHAPTER 9
Get packed,” said Nick, letting the door slam behind him as he rushed across the tile foyer of his home. Katy sat on the living room couch working on her latest hobby. Photos and colored paper lay all around her on the cushions, a large open binder on her lap. Their son sat on the carpet at her feet, giggling as he knocked down stacks of blocks.
Katy did not look up from her scrapbooking. “My day was fine, dear. How was yours?”
“My day’s not over yet. I have to ship out tonight. Pack up. You’re going to stay at your mother’s while I’m gone.”
That got Katy’s attention. She put her scissors down. “What’s going on?”
As a young officer, Nick had learned to discern when it was appropriate to follow orders without questioning. His subordinates also had that skill. He often wished his wife could learn it too. “Look, it’s not complicated. I don’t want you and Luke here alone. As soon as you drop Dad off at the airport tomorrow, I want you on the road to your mom’s house. Don’t even come home in-between. Pack up the car before you leave with Dad. If he asks why you’re going out of town, make up an excuse.”
“Or you could tell him the truth,” said Kurt Baron, emerging from the hallway to the guest room. “What’s all this about?”
“It’s nothing, Dad.” Nick turned away from his father and shot Katy a look that said “Do as I say.”
Katy shot a glare right back at him, suddenly in one of her moods. “How is it nothing?” she argued, standing up and crossing her arms. “You’re telling me to flee our home, but you won’t say why.”
Nick heard a sniffle at his feet. “Dada?” Luke stared up at him, on the edge of tears, his hand frozen above the tumbled blocks as if he had caused all the anger in the room by knocking them down. Nick willed his tense features to relax and gave his son a reassuring smile. Luke smiled back and returned to his game.