Someone like Scott being nervous….
Parker didn’t like it. No one could afford to be nervous in this business.
Parker continued to watch for a second as Scott stared at the giant jets as they taxied by the FBO. An Air France Boeing 777 rolled by. As it did, Parker could see over Scott’s shoulder the pilot going through the final takeoff checklist, reaching up and flipping switches. The gigantic wings, full of fuel, passed above them as the aircraft moved by.
“Mr. Scott.”
Scott turned around to see Parker standing in front of him.
“It’s good to see you.”
“Let’s step outside.” Parker pointed to the door to the flight line.
As the two stepped outside, the roar of the Air France jet engines was deafening. The engines threw up a hot wind that blew past them.
“So, are you in?” Scott couldn’t disguise his impatience.
Parker could read the tension in his voice. No doubt Scott was already imagining trying to talk the British into the backup plan, one they wouldn’t like. A UAV would try to follow the real Zabara to the meeting in the mountains of Pakistan, and then, at just the right moment, a Hellfire missile would be dropped from a high-altitude jet out of sight to those on the ground. MI5 would lose a valuable asset, and all who knew Zabara would become suspect to the jihadists. Still, it would probably be a fair trade-off, but they’d vastly prefer the Parker plan.
“Yes,” Parker said at last.
“Good. We’re a bit struck for time.”
Parker nodded. “But we are going to do it the different way I suggested before.”
Another jet, this time a much smaller, triple-engine jet, colored in plain white, taxied by and, with it, another roar of the engines. Again, the engines kicked up a blast of hot wind and the smell of kerosene followed. The roar of the engines, however annoying, would also make it impossible for anyone to overhear the conversation.
“I need to meet with Dr. Stewart as soon as possible.”
“The meeting with the CDC has been set up for now. They’re already waiting for you.”
“Good. Are you getting an idea of what this involves?”
“Given your interest in the CDC, I would surmise that you will carry a very bad bug into the camp and release it, and as a consequence Mr. Yousef will become sick and quickly die.”
“Right. Or, failing that, it should flush your target out into the open. If Yousef gets sick and has a doctor near him, he’ll likely be told that the only thing that can save him will be very special antibiotics at a high-end hospital. That should limit the number of places he could run to. Meanwhile, if the bug works quickly enough, or if the doctor misdiagnoses him, he dies in his camp.” Parker paused. “Along with hundreds or thousands of others, if you don’t mobilize shipments of vaccine and antibiotics into the region quickly enough.”
“We’ll take care of that,” Scott said. “But what about you? Being that close to a germ like that?”
“You’re right. I’ll need the right antibiotics available. Having them there will be your job, Mr. Scott. I will need the right team there, very nearby, so that I can reach them quickly.”
“We can do that. Like I said, our resources are unlimited.”
“About my team…”
“Yes?”
“I want my gunny on it.”
“You mean Moncrief?”
Parker nodded.
“Done. Now we need to get you to London and have you become Zabara as soon as possible. As soon as we have you in place, we will figure how to get you together with your team.”
“What about your team, Mr. Scott?”
Quickly, Scott explained that he’d spent the last twenty-four hours putting the various pieces in place. First, he’d established a command center in London, near where Parker would be living. An ops center would be created at a nearby British air base, where the support team would assemble and be trained. And they’d already started planning for a command center in the eastern mountains of Afghanistan. This one would have to be mobile, able to move at the last moment, as they learned where exactly “Sadik Zabara” was going to meet Yousef.
“Make sure you include the best infectious-disease physician you can get,” Parker said. “And I’ll need him near the meeting point.”
Scott nodded. “Now the bad news.”
Parker smiled, waiting.
Scott returned the grin, obviously relieved to see that Parker, like any good operative, had assumed that there would be bad news.
“It’s about the time frame.”
“Tell me,” said Parker.
“Sadik Zabara finally got his summons from Yousef. They’re to meet in ten days.”
CHAPTER 12
“Hello, Mr. Jones.”
William Parker turned from the wall of framed diplomas when he heard the voice behind him. Dr. Paul Stewart’s voice held more than a faint hint of sarcasm when he spoke the words Mr. Jones.
“Hello, Doctor.” Parker extended a hand, but the doctor took a seat without shaking hands.
Yeah, he doesn’t like this at all. Clearly the scientist assumed this visit, ordered from above, was not for the benefit of either Dr. Paul Stewart or the American public.
Dr. Stewart was an older Buddy Holly look-alike, complete with out-of-date black-rimmed glasses and gelled hair. His plaid shirt and khaki trousers, both wrinkled, with worn Rockport shoes showed that he cared more about what was growing in his petri dish that day than what others thought about his appearance.
“You would think they could come up with something better than Jones.” Parker offered a conciliatory smile as he said the words.
“Yes.”
He sighed inwardly at the tone of Stewart’s one word.
“Sometimes it may save someone’s life to not know too much, Dr. Stewart.”
“Yeah, right. You’ve made your point.” The doctor held up his hands, as if in submission. “I understand from our director that I am to help you in any way possible. In fact, she was emphatic in saying that you have free license to ask anything.”
Parker had heard from Hernandez that this man was well respected by the others at CDC. Dr. Stewart had one particular interest that had caused Parker to ask for him.
“I appreciate that,” Parker said. “Let me ask you about Neisseria meningitidis.”
Stewart leaned back in his chair, for the first time showing some comfort with the situation. This, Parker knew, was because Steward was the world’s leading expert on meningococcal disease, a deadly, vicious process of infection in the fluid that surrounded a person’s spinal cord and brain, the effects of which were particularly cruel. Those victims who did not die often suffered brain damage that was permanently debilitating. And those who did not suffer brain damage frequently lost limbs, fingers, and toes. A lucky patient would only be deaf for life. And this would be only after a quick and aggressive treatment from several powerful antibiotics. The body had to be flooded with the drugs for someone to stand any chance. But it had to be the right cocktail. Several bugs could cause the infection, some viral and some bacterial, but the nastiest was the Neisseria bug.
“Okay,” said Stewart, “what exactly do you need to know?”
“Can it be contagious?”
Stewart chuckled. “Very much so.”
“Can it be contagious even to those who have lived in the meningitis belt?”
“You are well read, Mr. Jones.”
The layperson rarely knew of the meningitis belt. Parker had done his homework. A zone that crossed over the countries of mid-Africa from Gambia on the west coast to Ethiopia on the east coast, it suffered epidemic outbreaks of meningitis every so often. Both central Africa and certain islands in the Pacific would have rampant outbreaks of the disease. Many thought that if one survived living in the meningitis belt without catching the disease, the immune system would be particularly well equipped.