“I’m taking him in,” Manderi said.
“Wait a minute, I want to ask him some questions.” Carter lowered himself down next to Smith’s head. “Tell me why you think there’s mustard gas in the tunnel.”
“I was there when the canister was thrown. An overpowering smell of garlic came with it,” Smith replied. “I got hit with it.”
“Funny, you look all right to me,” Manderi said.
“The symptoms don’t appear right away,” Carter told Manderi.
“You see anything? A smoke cloud?” Manderi said.
“Mustard gas is colorless. Stop wasting my time,” Smith said.
“Carter, that true?” Manderi said.
Carter nodded. “I was National Guard. Did a stint in Iraq during the Gulf War. He’s right. Mustard gas is colorless, and some guys can’t even smell the garlic when it’s thrown. That was the real danger because you didn’t even know you’d been exposed until the burns show up later. I wouldn’t mess around. It’s a bitch that they threw it in the deepest subway stop in the system. The stuff is heavier than the air and sinks. Ventilating the area is gonna be tough.”
A second vehicle pulled up to the patrol car. Smith lifted his cheek from the ground and craned his neck to see the new arrival. This one, a heavy American-made sedan, black with dents on one side, was an obvious undercover patrol car. A light on the dashboard circled in the dark. The door opened and the same black man in the long braids who had appeared from the darkness and given Smith the guitar case emerged. This time he wore a lanyard that displayed a large badge. He took in the scene, glancing at Smith on the ground and at Carter and Rolly.
“Hello, officers. What’s the status?” he said.
Manderi took a step toward the man.
“I’m Officer Manderi,” he said. “I got this under control. You are?” Manderi squinted as he tried to read the man’s badge.
“Agent James Brand. FBI. You’ve got a possible gassing and you’re standing around? Get moving.”
“Back off. This guy,” Manderi pointed to Smith, “claims someone threw mustard gas in the subway. I’ve seen him before, though. He’s a suspect in the Landon Investments killing and there are three dead guys behind that screen. I’m betting his claims are bullshit.”
Brand pointed at Smith. “That’s Lieutenant Colonel Jon Smith of USAMRIID. Get those cuffs off him. Now. We’re going to need his assistance in clearing the gas.”
“Alleged gas,” Manderi said. “And maybe you don’t get it. I’m with the NYPD. A special operations terrorism unit. The NYPD has jurisdiction over hazmat incidents in the subway. We decide what gets cleaned up, and the Fire Department does the rest. We got jurisdiction here.”
Brand stepped closer. “If you’re with NYPD terrorism, why aren’t you at the 215th Street station with the rest of the unit? They’re up there battling a possible terrorist incident.”
“Who do you think you are, questioning me?” Manderi said.
“I’m with the Department of Homeland Security. The DHS trumps you when it comes to a domestic terrorism incident. While NYPD should be handling hazmat incidents, it’s clear that you’re screwing up. If Colonel Smith says there’s mustard gas down there, then there is.” He turned to Carter.
“In addition to the gas, there’s a bacterial agent that’s been applied to the third rail. A man named Ohnara is on his way to assist. He’s an expert.”
Carter nodded, looked at Manderi, gave a slight shrug, and he and Rolly headed to the rear of the truck.
Brand pointed at Manderi. “I don’t know who or what this special operations unit is that you claim to be a part of, but you’d better get those cuffs off that man now or the only special operations you’ll be handling will be at a desk in a file room. Get it?”
“I’ll be checking on you, too. Then we’ll see who runs this operation,” Manderi said.
“You do that. But I want those cuffs off him.”
Manderi was breathing heavily. He looked down at Smith with loathing, but Smith was relieved to see him pull the cuff keys out of his pocket. Smith breathed a sigh as the tight metal bands fell from his wrists. He sat up, rubbing them, and looked at Brand.
“Thanks,” he said.
Brand nodded. “How bad is it?”
Smith stood up. For a moment his head began to swim and a slight chill ran through him. The chill felt like the beginning of a fever.
“The gassing?”
Brand shook his head. “The bacteria.”
“Bad. The subway lit up again for twenty minutes. Long enough to give the carrier bacteria a hefty boost. You’ll need to get a crew down on the rails. Have them bring brushes and start brushing every inch of the third rail. The biofilm colonizing activity needs to be disrupted.”
Brand frowned. “Wouldn’t a chemical wash be better?”
Smith shook his head. “Won’t work. Biofilms are like plaque on your teeth. When you brush or floss, you are really disrupting the activity. Some washes help, sure, but the plaque can survive it, and once it colonizes, it becomes impenetrable.”
“Tartar.”
Smith nodded. “Exactly. Tartar on your teeth is a hardened biofilm. Let’s not let it get to that stage. And if the rail is still surrounded by water after you’re done brushing, you can turn it on and heat it up. The bacteria that haven’t yet colonized will die in the heat. That’s a risky move, though, because the bacteria will start to feed off the rail.”
“I’ll get on it. Anything else we can do?”
“The FBI has a friend of mine in custody, Andreas Beckmann. Can you spring him?”
Brand nodded. “Yes, Klein’s already contacted me about that. Sorry, we were unaware that you were running an operation, or we wouldn’t have interfered. I’ll handle it.”
Smith waved at Manderi. “And can you make him get lost?”
Brand snorted. “That, my friend, is too much to ask. But you want to suit up and join?”
Smith shook his head. “I need to hook back up with Russell and find Dattar. For all we know, he could be placing more at another location. I sent her back in the tunnel. I’ll go to the previous stop. Can you take me there?”
Brand opened the driver’s side door of the sedan and waved Smith to the passenger side. “Get in.”
Smith hesitated. “I’ve been gassed. These pants are from one of the dead guys, but I’d feel a whole lot better with some fresh clothes. I put these on before I completed washing off the vapor.”
Brand nodded. “Get in. I’ll call ahead and have someone meet us there with some clothes.”
“And a gun,” Smith said.
“Definitely a gun,” Brand replied.
53
Harcourt kicked Nolan in the shoulder. “Get up,” he said. Nolan moaned and rolled over. Russell shook from head to toe but did her best to keep focused and stay conscious.
“She’s bleeding,” she said.
“That’s her fault.” Harcourt kept his gun pointed at Russell. “Get up.”
Russell rose and stumbled.
“Bacteria get to you?” He smirked.
“Call the NYPD. I’ll go in with them,” she said.
“Maybe you don’t get it. You’re not going to get out of this one.”
At that moment Russell’s mind settled. She needed to get away from Harcourt, and she needed to be strong to do it. She settled her shaking limbs, but only succeeded for a second. They started up again the moment she turned her attention back to Harcourt. She moved until her back was against a wall and bent her knees. The knife that she kept in a holder was at her ankle, but it was of no use while her hands were cuffed behind her back.
Nolan moved and Harcourt kicked her again.
“Get up. Time to move some money around.”
Nolan sat. Her left eye was blackened and dried blood stained her upper lip and chin where her nose had bled.