Chapter 47. Bioweapons
Nuevo Laredo, Mexico, one mile from the Texas border
Agent Jimmy Pond sat on the hood of a Texas Border Patrol Suburban, which was parked on the dirty scrub on the side of Route 35, the highway running from Guadalajara, Mexico to Dallas, Texas. As he scanned the highway with binoculars, he spoke into his Bluetooth headset.
“Bobby, you got anything at any of the other stations?”
Special Agent Bobby Fils spoke to Pond from Washington.
“No, we have beefed up security and set up roadblocks where you are, and near Cuidad Acuna, Piedras Negras, Reynosa, and Matamoros. Those would be the likely entrance points from Guadalajara. So far we got nothing. And we are inspecting every car and every truck coming through.”
“Maybe we should just shut the border down altogether.”
“The President was given that option, and she declined. All we have is a scrap of paper from the warehouse. It could mean nothing.”
Pond thought. The lack of any information was troubling. “They might have taken another route, maybe through Big Bend National Park. Are we covering that?”
“Jimmy, we have agents walking every inch of that border. If someone is bringing something through, we will find it.”
“Unless they already got through,” said Pond soberly.
“There is that,” said Fils.
“Any word from the Texas hospitals?”
“All quiet on the Western Front.”
“It is strange that the Mapquest paper was the only evidence left in the warehouse. If you are clearing everything out, why would you leave that?”
“Maybe they got careless,” suggested Fils.
“Or maybe this is one giant wild goose chase, meant to divert our assets and attention from the real target.”
“Yeah, but what is the real target?”
“I wish I knew,” said Pond. “Let me know if you hear anything.”
“Roger that.”
Pond looked through his binoculars at the long line of cars and trucks. Where were those bioweapons and just how much time did they have?
Natal, Brazil. 11 a.m.
The two scientists stood at their vending booth, wearing jeans, official green and yellow FIFA World Cup Brazil shirts, and the lanyards secured for them by Davy Branco. Both of the brothers wore aviator sunglasses. The matches had gone as the scientists expected. Today at noon was the big showdown between The Netherlands and the United States. The twenty-foot counter was filled with plastic water bottles, containing a half-soccer ball as the domed lid. At the top of the lid was a small fan, as well as a hole for a plastic straw. The sides of the bottles bore the flags of either the United States or The Netherlands. Inside each bottle was the deadly virus which had traveled all the way from bat guano in a cave in Tanzania. The scientists were good sellers and their booth was in a prime location along the walkway to the stadium. They offered the bottles for a very low price of six Brazilian reals, or about three United States dollars. In comparison to all the other high-priced merchandise along Stadium Way, these bottles were a bargain, and American and Dutch tourists were eagerly buying them up. As he sold another bottle to an American tourist, Gegic and Telly Gurdic, known to the world as Matteo Graciano and Dominic Chastain, smiled to each other.
“This is going to be a great day. I think we have sold almost five hundred,” said Graciano.
“There is no way they will be able to contain them all,” said Chastain. “They will have no choice but to give in to our demands.”
“Do you think the Americans will be able to find all of the people on our list?” asked Graciano.
“I don’t think that is going to be a problem. The Americans have spies and killers all over the world. If they think their whole country is at stake, believe me, they will find them.”
“What about Clinton? You think they’ll give him up, too?”
“No, probably not. But if I get even half the people on our list, I will be satisfied.”
“I cannot wait to see the look on the face of that asshole that killed Popi. He is going to die a slow death.”
“I just hope Branco and Cezanne don’t screw things up.”
“Once they get their money, they won’t care.”
Graciano made another sale to a Dutch tourist. The tourist tried to haggle for a lower price, but Graciano said no, the prices were fixed. The tourist, miffed, walked off without making a purchase, not realizing how his frugality had just saved his life.
“These Dutch pigs. I cannot wait to see their government pleading for mercy. Then they can see how ‘neutral’ we are going to be,” said Chastain. “They are as bad as the Serbians.”
Inside Natal Stadium, fans began preparing for the start of the big football game. Over five hundred sports fans were already drinking virus water and spraying it on their faces. By the end of the day, a total of 2,327 American and Dutch citizens would become infected with the Mackinac Ebola Virus.
Twelve miles away, in an abandoned warehouse in Natal, Amy Rosario, daughter of the Natal police detective, was handcuffed to a radiator. Her mouth was gagged with a blue cloth which tasted foul, almost like gasoline. She was desperate. She did not know when the horrible men with the bad breath would be back to kill her. She yanked on her handcuff. Neither the handcuff nor the radiator was going anywhere. She tried to yell as much as she could through the cloth. Who was she kidding? No one was going to hear her down here. Her mind raced, as she tried to think of a way out. And then she thought of something her dad had taught her.