The shampooing process saturates the carpets with liquid soap, but — in this case — the liquid in the machines was about 5 percent soap and about 95 percent mycotoxin. Every carpet in the building received a massive concentration of the T2 mycotoxin.”
The president tugged at his necktie. “How much do we know about the attackers?” he asked.
“There were two men, both American citizens of Middle Eastern descent — Michael Umar and Raphael Ghazi.”
“Deep-cover operatives?” the president asked.
“Possibly, sir,” the national security advisor said. “So far, three terrorist groups have claimed credit for the attack: Assi’rat, the Islamic Revolutionary Congress, and the Hand of Allah. Langley is pretty sure that none of those groups were actually involved in the planning or the attack itself. Most of the major terrorist groups are denying involvement.
We haven’t yet turned up any links between the attackers and any known organizations. There was a third man assigned to the carpet cleaning crew as well, a nineteen-year-old American Sailor named Jerome Gilbert. He was dispatched to the embassy with the other two men, but according to the logbook, he never showed up. We’re looking for all three men, but no luck so far.”
The president rubbed his eyes. “One of our Sailors was involved in a biological warfare attack on the British Embassy?”
“We don’t know that, sir,” Brenthoven said. “Seaman Gilbert was moonlighting, and he was brand new to the job. There’s a good chance that he was just in the wrong place at the wrong time. My guess is he showed up for work and got assigned to a crew with a hidden agenda. It’s even odds that Umar and Ghazi, the other two men on his work crew, murdered him before the attack took place — to keep him from interfering.
I wouldn’t be surprised if his body turns up in a ditch somewhere.”
“If that’s true,” the president said, “then the attackers have another murder to answer for.”
“Yes, sir,” Brenthoven said. “It’s a pity we’ll never get a chance to bring them to justice.”
The president’s eyebrows went up. “Why is that?”
“They’re almost certainly dead, Mr. President,” Brenthoven said.
“They couldn’t very well arouse suspicion at the embassy by wearing gas masks or biohazard suits. They would have had to do the job in their regular work uniforms.
No masks, no respirators, no special protective equipment. I don’t see any way they could have avoided absorbing lethal concentrations of the mycotoxin.”
“A suicide mission,” the president said.
“I think so, sir,” Brenthoven said. “Standing right next to the carpet shampooing machines as they were pouring out the mycotoxin, Umar and Ghazi were probably the first people in the embassy to receive a lethal dose. It’s also likely that they were exposed to higher concentrations than everyone else — again because they were right next to the machines. So they got it first and they got it worst. According to CDC, victims of T2 exposure generally begin to show symptoms about five or six hours after contact with the mycotoxin. Death usually follows an hour or two after that. So the attackers were almost certainly dead before any of the embassy staff began to show symptoms.”
“So much for catching the attackers,” the president said.
“I’m afraid so, sir,” Brenthoven said. “We’ll probably find their bodies in a day or two.”
“Do we have any other leads?” Doyle asked. “Can we trace the source of the biological warfare agent?”
“We’re working on that,” Brenthoven said. “USAMRIID thinks the mycotoxin may have been genetically modified for increased lethality and a higher rate of contagion. That should narrow the field for us a bit.
Despite the UN’s efforts to stamp them out, there are a number of biological warfare laboratories in the Persian Gulf region. But most of them lack the sophistication for tinkering at the genetic level. The list of countries that could pull it off is relatively short.”
“Don’t tell me,” the president said, “Siraj is at the top of that list.”
“Pretty near the top, sir,” Brenthoven said.
The president held up a hand. “I’ll get the rest of the details at the briefing. Talk to me about Germany.”
Brenthoven fished out his little leather notebook and flipped it open.
“CIA has authenticated the memo.”
“The one from Chancellor Shoernberg to his attaché officer?”
“Yes, sir. It looks like Germany is going ahead with the arms-for-oil deal.”
The president’s eyebrows went up a millimeter. “You’re certain about this?”
Brenthoven nodded. “I’m afraid so, sir. Three days ago, one of the Air Force’s Oracle spy satellites imaged four submarines at the naval arsenal in Kiel, Germany. A significant portion of the satellite’s imaging footprint was blocked by cloud cover, but it’s pretty clear that the subs were on loading missiles and torpedoes.”
Doyle glanced at her watch. “Three days ago? Why are we just finding out about this now?”
Gregory Brenthoven pursed his lips and paused for a second before answering. “Three days ago, our German allies were not considered to be even a remote threat. Air Force intelligence analysts didn’t regard a routine weapons on load by an allied navy as very noteworthy. It was a reasonable decision, based on the situation as they understood it. It hardly seems fair to second-guess their judgment after the fact.”
“I agree,” the president said. “Is there more?”
Brenthoven looked back at his notes. “Yes, sir. Langley has been chasing down a few leads. It turns out that a lot of the Indian pilots that Germany has been training over the last several months might not actually be Indian.”
“Meaning they’re Siraji?”
“That’s what we’re thinking, sir. We’re running it down, but — at this stage — all we can say for certain is that a number of their immigration papers have strange inconsistencies.”
“It’s starting to sound like this deal has been cooking for a while,” the president said. “So the Germans might be ready to deliver some of the hardware right now?”
“They may have already started, sir,” Brenthoven said. “Yesterday evening, one of our destroyers in the Persian Gulf intercepted and boarded a cargo ship that was attempting to run the blockade of Siraj. The Visit, Board, Search, and Seizure teams discovered approximately three hundred German-built, over-the-shoulder missile launchers.”
Doyle shook her head. “Greg, how in the hell did we miss something this big?”
Brenthoven closed his notebook. “A lot of our intelligence assets — too many — are electronic. We’re still feeling the bite from the Clinton years; he cut our network of field operatives to ribbons. And the best electronics in the world are no substitute for good agents working on the scene. Our European network is especially thin; we’ve been concentrating most of our efforts on the Middle Eastern countries.”
The president closed his eyes and took a deep breath. He released it slowly and opened his eyes. “Where are the subs now?”
Brenthoven blinked twice and looked at the president. “Ah … we don’t know, sir. Our last satellite imagery of them is three days old. They could be through the English Channel by now.”
“They’ll have to transit the Strait of Gibraltar to get to the Mediterranean,” the president said. “What if we blockade the strait?”
Brenthoven said, “Our nearest significant asset is the Abraham Lincoln carrier strike group. They’re way down at the east end of the Med. Even at top speed, they’d never make it in time.”
“If we can’t get ships over there,” the president said, “we’ll have to find someone who can. Who are our allies in this?”