“It stands for dissimilatory metal-reducing bacteria,” he said.
“Oh, well, that clarifies things,” she said.
“It can be used to reduce heavy metals in water. Iron, things like that,” Ohnara said.
Smith’s head was clearing. He looked around the lab and saw a series of flasks and petri dishes along a counter.
“What’s that?” he said.
“I asked for some more testing,” Russell said.
“It’s the bacteria. I’m growing it both aerobically and anaerobically.”
Smith slid off the stool and stood. He was pleased that his legs felt normal again. He walked to the bottles and stared at them.
“When it’s communicating through the nanowires, what is it doing?”
“Colonizing. It forms a biofilm. We think it breathes without the need for oxygen by using the wires to communicate, one to the other, until finally the portion of the biofilm that is in contact with the air transmits the oxygen down to the lower levels. The nanowire electricity is the conduit that the O2 travels along.”
Smith took another sip and stared at the flasks. What was he missing? The sound of a ringing phone filled the room. Russell checked the screen.
“It’s Klein. I’ll put him on speaker.”
“Ms. Russell?”
“And Ohnara and Smith,” Russell said.
“Smith? You’re awake?”
Smith shrugged more out of reflex, since Klein couldn’t see him.
“Russell gave me some coffee. It’s helping.”
“I’ve been monitoring both the FBI transmissions as well as the New York City police band and I’ve learned something interesting. The NYPD considers both you and Russell to be criminals: Russell a CIA agent gone rogue who is acting as a mole within the agency, and you a killer of the woman at Landon Investments. A warning has gone out that you are both armed and dangerous. Needless to say, I found this surprising.”
“I have a pretty good idea who started that rumor in motion: Harcourt.”
Russell’s head snapped up and she looked at Smith. “You’ve got to be joking.”
Smith shook his head. “Didn’t Marty tell you? I was staring down Harcourt’s gun minutes before you showed up.”
“All Marty said was that the FBI was mistakenly trying to arrest you.”
“No mistake about it. Harcourt pointed them to us both. He discovered that Marty was using your passwords to access the CIA system. He says the agency assumes that you’re a mole. I think he’s utilizing his close contacts with the NYPD to encourage them to see us as persons of interest; me in the shooting incident at Landon, and you for allowing the CIA system to be hacked.”
“Please ask Mr. Ohnara to step out of the room. I’d like to speak with you both on matters that require clearance,” Klein said.
Ohnara nodded. “I’ll get some more coffee.” He left, closing the door behind him.
“Has he left?” Klein said.
“Yes.” Smith took a sip of his drink.
“This is a sticky situation. I can’t very well explain to the CIA your status with Covert-One, and while I can warn off the FBI with some vague argument about international security and ‘need to know’ claims, I expect that the CIA will quickly countermand that order.”
“So we’re on our own,” Smith said. “Not the first time.”
“And not entirely. Two can play this game. I’ll do my best to suggest that it’s Harcourt that’s the mole and request that he be detained.”
“Anything in those transmissions give us a clue as to where Nolan and Dattar may have gone?”
“Nothing. Only real news is that a subway station on the Upper West Side and now another near Inwood have been shut due to flooding. Apparently some brand-new sump pumps stopped working.”
“Is that so unusual? The New York subway often floods. Old infrastructure,” Russell said.
“It’s dry outside,” Smith said.
“Which doesn’t mean much,” Klein said. “Water is always an issue for the subway. On a daily basis those pumps remove thirteen to fifteen million gallons of water. Now that they’re down, water is accumulating fast. And the sump pumps were brand new. Perhaps it’s nothing, but I thought you should know. Both the electric grid and subway stations are considered prime targets for terrorist activity. I usually keep a close eye on both.”
“Did they close the station?”
“Not only that, but they shut down the third rail. The electricity is off.”
An idea fell into place. Smith put the coffee cup down so fast that liquid sloshed out of it onto the white Formica counter. Russell gave him a piercing look.
“My God, I think I’ve figured it out.”
There was a knock and Ohnara returned, holding a cup of coffee. “May I come in?” he said.
“Absolutely. I have a theory.”
Ohnara stepped closer. “What?”
“The Shewanella isn’t the weapon, it’s simply the conduit. Whoever stole the coolers figured out how to make it pass not only oxygen but a virus through its nanowires. That’s why the avian flu strain is attached. The Shewanella is feeding it upward.”
Russell stood as well. “We just learned that the third rail of a subway line was shut down.”
“What if the bacteria was added to the metal rail? What then?” Smith said. He looked at Ohnara. “How fast can it colonize and how quickly will it travel?” Ohnara turned so pale that Smith thought he would faint.
“On a third rail? In a subway line?” Ohnara swallowed. “I can’t be sure, but under ideal conditions it could double every forty minutes. With a live electrical source as powerful and limitless as a train line, who knows?”
“Where does the line terminate?” Klein’s voice on the phone sounded strained.
“That’s just it,” Smith said. “The bacteria feeds on both metal and electricity. The subway train rail terminates, yes, but the electricity feeding to it continues out to the grid.”
“Where it then continues to every house and building that’s connected to it,” Klein said.
“And the nanowires push the virus up to the air,” Ohnara said. “The mutated version, so that it can be easily transmitted by humans.”
“You have any weapons?” Smith said.
Russell grabbed a set of car keys. “An Uzi, a knife, and a Beretta.”
“That’ll work. Let’s go.”
43
Manhar crawled down from the platform to the third rail, sloshing through the brackish, stinking water as he did. He plunged the thermometer into the stream for the second time. He waited, heard the beep, and pulled the stick out.
“Forty-two.” He called the words to Rajiid, who swore in Urdu at the number.
“More water!” Rajiid yelled into the handset of a pay phone on the wall. The hose resumed pouring the fresh water into the stream. Manhar stayed where he was and watched as a dead rat floated by. He wanted out of this despicable country, away from Rajiid, Dattar, and all of the others the moment he could flee. He glanced at the Nolan woman. She bled continuously, but seemed oblivious to her wounds. Manhar hated women who controlled their emotions; it was unnatural. To be stoic was a characteristic of men, not women. At that moment, Dattar erupted in anger, yelling at Rajiid and waving his arms around to emphasize his piercing shrieks.
Well, maybe not that man, Manhar thought. Dattar was ten times more volatile than most. He excelled at instilling fear. Manhar had heard that Dattar had once skinned a European alive in retaliation for some affront or another. Manhar had no wish to be next. For the moment he was stuck cooperating.
“Check again,” Rajiid said. He yelled over the cascading water. Manhar reset the thermometer and shoved it back into the stream. Sixty seconds, a beep and a reading.