“He didn’t make it,” Tanner finished for her.
“No! His eyes opened for a brief second and I thought, maybe — I—”
“You did your best.”
“The emergency responders arrived right after that. They tried to resuscitate him but it was no use.” She paused for a moment, composing herself, and then continued. “The terrorists said they’ll be back for me, Tanner, and when they come if I don’t have the working antidote ready, they’ll kill me. Probably with my own STX.”
“Jasmijn. Listen. This is very important. Did they say anything or give any kind of hints about what they were going to do with the STX?”
He heard snuffling sounds for a few seconds, and then, “No. Only that ‘the world will thank me for my good work,’ whatever that means.”
Jasmijn continued before Tanner could respond. “Tanner, this is bad. I’ve been working with STX for a long time. Ever since I saw a natural instance of STX become aerosolized on a beach one time, I knew I had to know more about it. It’s one of the most potent toxins in existence.”
“I’m familiar with STX as a potential bioweapon, but to my knowledge it hasn’t yet been able to be harnessed on a large scale. And I know lots of people get sick and even die from tainted shellfish that carry concentrated STX in their flesh.”
“Right, but believe me, Tanner, this is much, much worse than that. First of all, the tanks of the stuff were concentrated a hundred-fold over what even the most tainted shellfish would have. Even if a shellfish lived for ten years inside a potent red tide, it wouldn’t have nearly the concentration of STX that I was working with. And that was before I modified it in the lab. It killed Nicolaas in fourteen minutes, Tanner. Fourteen minutes. And I don’t think I can make the antidote within the terrorists’ timeframe. A week is not enough…”
“Forget about the antidote for now. You need to get to a safe place.”
He heard her sigh in frustration. “I was thinking of going to stay with my mother in the country, and then for some reason I decided to call you.”
“You did the right thing.” Tanner slid out a computer keyboard from his desk and tapped some keys. He brought up a file he had on Hofstad and started reading and viewing pictures of North African Muslims while he spoke. “But you won’t be safe at your mother’s.”
Silence greeted him from the other end of the line. “I…I don’t know where else to go, Tanner.” She paused for a moment before adding, “I’m not seeing anyone. All I do is work, and now my work is not safe.”
“You could come to the States and stay with me for a while. You’ll be safe here.” Tanner stared at the small bank of CCTV monitors on his wall that showed views of his front entrance, backyard and driveway.
“Oh, Tanner, I don’t know, I—”
“It’s no inconvenience at all. I’m not seeing anyone, either, so I’ve got plenty of room here. I’ve got a spare bedroom you can use, you can use my phone — yours might be compromised, but don’t worry, I’ve got safeguards on my end that’ll take care of that for this call. But don’t use your phones — personal or lab — after this call.”
“Okay.”
“I’ll make your flight arrangements.”
THREE
In the subterranean labyrinth of tunnels beneath the stadium, Pablo Guitierez sat inside the rear work area of a special production truck that contained equipment needed to put on the halftime show. He was testing an image projector when he heard footsteps approach the open back of the truck behind him. Fellow employee Alec Schmidt walked up to the ramp into the truck, which was dimly lit inside by banks of closed circuit monitors showing the football field, as well as blinking LEDs on various pieces of equipment.
Pablo turned around to acknowledge Alec before quickly resuming his work. It was way too close to showtime to be needing assistance, but Pablo did his best to keep his cool and give the guy a break. Alec was hired only a couple of months ago and was still learning the ropes. “What do you need, Alec?”
The newcomer looked about the truck, including through the thin window into the cab, which he could see was empty. Glancing once behind him, he pulled a three-inch Kershaw folding blade from his front right pocket and stepped up to Pablo, who was hunched over the projector.
“Is the projector working?” He leaned over him while he worked.
“Yeah, it’s good to go, why?”
“I need to put a new slide set in.” The projected images that were used as part of the show were carefully curated and approved beforehand.
“Whoa, nobody told me about any new—”
Pablo never finished his sentence.
“Alec Schmidt” reached out and drew his blade across Pablo’s undefended neck. He made a weird gasping noise that Alec could swear came from the open neck wound itself and not his mouth, and then began to flail in blind panic, far too late.
Alec held his victim’s left arm down with his own, and then used the crook of his right elbow to smother Pablo’s mouth, both to prevent his death cries from being heard and to hasten his demise by smothering the life from him. Once he was still, he released him and allowed his body to slump to the floor.
“Thanks, Pablo, I’ll just swap the slides out myself.” Alec removed a USB drive from the projector and inserted his own in its place. That piece of business concluded, he turned his attention to other matters.
In this same rear area of the truck was a tarp covered bundle he’d carefully hidden there the night before. He went to it and threw back the tarp.
Yes! Still there. He picked up a small metal container that looked a lot like a thermos, along with a respirator mask. He walked with them outside to the golf cart he’d been driving around the tunnels. On the back of the cart was a large plastic tank of water that was used to create mist for a special effect during the show that would allow for images to be projected onto a thin film of water droplets, so that they appeared to materialize from thin air.
Alec scanned his surroundings. When he determined no one was coming, he unfastened the tank’s lid. Then he hurriedly donned the biohazard mask and carefully opened the container that looked like a thermos but was many times more sturdy, able to shield its contents from both great shocks as well as wide temperature swings. He poured the contents of the metal container in to the larger tank on the cart. He carefully screwed the thermos lid back in place and returned it to its place beneath the tarp in the truck. Then he refastened the lid on the water tank and got back behind the wheel of the cart.
“Alec! Hey Alec! Where are you going with that? That tank should be on the field already.” Stephanie Parrish trotted down a concrete tunnel beneath the stadium toward her employee. Her ponytail bobbed beneath a Miami Dolphins ball cap as she bounced along. Always full of energy, as the manager for the production company responsible for putting on the stadium’s halftime show, she kept in shape and it showed in her short but toned figure.
The young man was driving an electric cart with a tank of liquid on the back. He greeted her with an enthusiastic wave. “Hi, boss. There was a problem with the tank for the mister — it had a crack in it after we set it up, so I told Antonio I’d be back quick with another one. This is it.”
Stephanie looked at her sports watch.. These type of problems were par for the course for her in the five years she’d been doing this job. She even took a second to glance at her pedometer reading (9,500 steps so far today — even more than usual — I’ll lose those five pounds in no time!) before noting the time.