BioKill Page 7

  The nation’s largest bus terminal sat amidst commercial neighbors, the likes of the New York Times building, Madame Tussaud’s and Ripley’s Believe It or Not, mothership to a swarm of state and interstate passengers, with over two hundred thousand people passing through each day.

  The two bioterrorists arrived outside, unnoticed in all the hustle and bustle. Exiting the city bus onto the busy sidewalk, the men made their way inside, where the semi-organized street traffic gave way to organized chaos. Duffel bags slung over their shoulders, tightly gripping the straps, they negotiated the throng of commuters, swerving in and out of the rumbustious flow. Every so often an unwitting person would bump into them, some knocking the bags the men carried. On not a single person’s mind was the notion that, within their midst, two young men were on their way to unleash an economic catastrophe to rival the loss of the Twin Towers. And it would be done so easily, so cheaply. The poor man’s nuke was in transit.

  Yusuf glanced down at his watch — ten forty-five in the morning. The last bus upstate to Binghamton had left at ten; the next was due to depart at eleven-thirty from the lower level of the North Terminal.

  Music played over loudspeakers, every so often interrupted with messages about security and not leaving luggage or parcels unattended otherwise there was the probability of search by the Port Authority Police. Neither Yusuf nor Bashir had any intention of letting go of their bags. Retrieving his credit card from the automated ticketing machine, Yusuf placed it safely in his pocket.

  Bashir carried out the same procedure. “C’mon, we’ve got plenty of time before we pick up our ride. Let’s go for a coffee and use the restroom, it’ll probably be a long trip.”

  “You’re as bad as my mother!” Yusuf grinned. “Hey, I’m getting more excited every minute! Look at all these people around us — the morons have no idea what we’re about to do!”

  His friend nodded. “Yeah, I’m the same. Can you feel the presence of Allah walking with us? It’s like he’s guiding our every move — and we’re totally invisible to our enemies. It’s like he’s put a protective shield around us.”

  His friend nodded. “We mustn’t lose our concentration; we have to stick to the plan. Timing is critical. As soon as we reach our destination, we’ll have to find our first victims straight away.”

  The bag straps never left their shoulders as they sipped their hot coffee and later relieved themselves in a restroom. At eleven twenty-five the last of the passengers boarded the Greyhound bus to Binghamton.

  Chapter Eleven

  Matt Lilburn’s back told him he’d definitely had more comfortable night’s sleeps than the bunk room at One Police Plaza. He’d certainly eaten better meals than what was offered in the cafeteria — even the coffee didn’t taste that great. He remembered the coffee he’d had with Evangeline in London and promised himself that one day he would go slightly more up-market than instant. The night in the holding cells had done nothing to loosen the tongue of Imam Fawaz; the only good thing that came of the whole exercise was the listening devices NYPD had managed to place in his house overnight, with no interference. The helicopter pilot had apparently had a better time and not wasted the nightlife New York City had to offer. He was in a jovial mood as Lilburn strapped himself in the chopper.

  “Don’t worry, Gracie darlin’,” said the pilot, caressing the instrument panel of the cockpit. “She wasn’t as good as you.”

  “Glad someone had a good night.”

  “I told you, you should have come out with me. Albany?”

  “Albany.”

  Just as the pilot was about to start the engine, there was a sudden knocking on Lilburn’s door.

  “We have a breakthrough,” blurted Inspector Gibbons as Lilburn opened the helicopter door. “Fifteenth Precinct, where we picked up the Imam, just got in touch; two of their officers have reported talking to a Syrian, one of the officers noted seeing a stamp on a empty parcel which he identified as coming from Syria.”

  Lilburn had started undoing his seat belt the moment he heard the word Syrian; by the time the inspector had mentioned Syria again, Lilburn was pushing him aside as he disembarked.

  “I was going to take the scenic route back to Albany,” the pilot yelled out as his passenger started running. “OK then,” talking to himself, “maybe later.”

  The door of the elevator was starting to close on Gibbons as he hurriedly joined Lilburn.

  “The officers, are they still at the Fifteenth Precinct?”

  Gibbons adjusted his clothing. “Yeah, I thought you might want to talk to them so I told them not to send the officers out until you get there.”

  “A stamp. Amazing how the smallest detail can get the ball rolling in the right direction.”

  “Looks that way. The devil’s in the detail, right?”

  The lift came to a halt and the door opened to the eleventh floor.

  Gibbons looked at Matt. “How do you want to do this?”

  “Can you get two of your staff, and transport to the Fifteenth? We’ll then go straight to the place where the officers saw the Syrian and the stamps.”

  The white van screeched wheels as it climbed the ramp leading from One Police Plaza into the morning traffic. Outside the Fifteenth Precinct, Lilburn and Gibbons left the other officers in the van while they sought out Officers Maitland and Martinez and the best lead they had so far.

  “Special Agent Lilburn, Homeland Security, and this is Inspector Gibbons, NYPD.”

  “Morning, gentlemen, good to see you again, sir.” The lieutenant stood up from behind his desk and saluted.

  “Been a while, Henry.” Gibbons reached over the desk and shook Lieutenant Mather’s hand. “Congratulations on the recent promotion.”

  “Can’t say I was disappointed when it came through, the wife sure likes the extra dollars in the pay packet.” Lieutenant Mather sat back down.

  Lilburn cut to the chase. “Could I speak to the two officers?”

  “Not a problem.” The lieutenant rose and proceeded to the door where he asked the nearest person to fetch Martinez and Maitland. Settling back on the front of his desk, he looked at Lilburn with undisguised interest. “We only just got instructions from Homeland early this morning and… here they are now. Shut the door behind you.”

  Lilburn could see the younger officer wasn’t long out of training; he appeared nervous as he entered the lieutenant’s office. The older officer had a streetwise swagger to him, probably a good choice to partner up with a rookie.

  “Officers Maitland and Martinez, this is Inspector Gibbons from One Police Plaza and Special Agent Lilburn, Homeland Security. Tell them what you told me earlier.”

  Maitland hooked his thumbs in his service belt and recounted the events that occurred in the apartment in Bedford-Stuyvesant. Lilburn nodded as he heard about the stamps on the brown wrapping paper. “Did anything look suspicious to you?”

  “Not really, sir, I had a good look around. The occupier, or at least the one of the two that was there at the time, let us in the apartment, he cooperated, passed the attitude test, gave us no nonsense, so we just carried out normal procedures and left. That was about it I guess.” Maitland looked to his partner. “You got anything to add, Carlos?”

  Maitland had never used his Christian name before — and Carlos Martinez fumbled for his notebook, which gave him a bit more time to think. Martinez took a deep breath and looking at his notes on the incident he decided to bring up the conversation they had with the lady in the apartment next door, the one who had laid the complaint in the first place. He cleared his throat. “Um, I think the lady who laid the complaint could be of help, in this case. She said to… Ben and me that she thought the two men next door were making bombs.” Looking up towards Maitland he met a cold stare and straight away looked back to his notes. Perhaps using his first name wasn’t such a good idea.

  “What’s this about a bomb?” It was the first their lieutenant had heard about it.

  “Nothing, sir,” Mai
tland quickly broke in. “It was just the old lady ranting but I would have used it as an excuse to bust in next door if I’d needed to — but it was opened.”

  “Anything else?” Lilburn pushed for more information. “Did you get names?”

  “I’ve got the names written down here, sir, in my notebook.”

  “I bet you have officer, good work.” Lilburn directed his conversation to the lieutenant. “I would like to take these officers to the apartment and have a look for myself.”

  “Sure thing… What’s this about anyway?”

  “Too early to tell. Let’s go.”

  Gibbons shrugged his shoulders then followed Lilburn out the door. Martinez followed behind Maitland, deciding not to push his luck any further.

  The van driver and the other plainclothed officer from the Major Case Squad just had time to throw their cigarette butts into the street as their passengers arrived. Gibbons directed Officer Maitland to the front passenger seat to give directions to the apartment, while the others entered the rear. The van’s sliding door had only just shut as the vehicle pulled out and jostled its way into the thick traffic.

  “This is the building.” Maitland pointed for the driver.

  The two doors slammed shut as five of the occupants stepped out of the vehicle, the driver remaining inside.

  “This one here, five-story apartment block, number twenty-five on the third story. Hope you like stairs…” Maitland looked up at the building; by the time he looked down Lilburn was already inside the foyer.

  Maitland mumbled to himself. “More fuckin’ stairs.”

  Had anyone encountered the men on the stairs, they would have given them plenty of space. As it was, no one noticed as they gathered in the third-story lobby.

  “Nothing’s changed. That’s the door there, number twenty-five.”

  Lilburn considered a quick forceful entry but decided instead to take an easier option. He placed a finger across his lips, a silent signal to the team, then he knocked on the door.

  “You’re wasting your time knocking on that door, sonny.” The elderly black woman from number twenty-seven had her head out her door, looking at the men. “No one in there. Those A-rabs went out early this morning, ain’t come back. Not that I care. Hey, ain’t you two boys the same ones I talked to the other day?”

  “Morning, ma’am,” Maitland approached the lady. “Me and the other uniform here are the same ones. Yes.”

  “I figured it was you, I don’t forget faces, I remember you and that handsome young friend of yours. You here to bust them A-rabs? I was going to ring you again.”

  “Why was that, ma’am?”

  “I was gonna get back on the phone and tell you to come right on back and bust those A-rabs’ skinny asses. I don’t have to now, I see you bought the whole dang station wid you!”

  “Excuse me, ma’am,” Lilburn approached the woman. “I didn’t get your name?”

  “Nope, cause I didn’t get yours, hon.”

  Lilburn smiled at the old woman’s brashness. “My name’s Matt, what’s yours?”

  “Folks around here call me Bonny.”

  “Nice to meet you, Bonny. Did you call the police here a couple of days ago?”

  “I sure did — and it was high time somebody did something about that damn caterwaulin’…

  Lilburn cut off what looked like turning into a lengthy tirade. “Bonny, I bet you could tell us a thing or two about those two men next door?”

  “You bet your bottom dollar.”

  “When did you last see them?”

  “This morning they woke me up real early with that wailing and chanting, then a bit later after some more wailing, they ups and goes out.”

  Inspector Gibbons moved in closer. “There might be some CCTV cameras around this area. If Bonny here can identify them from footage we can get out an APB. That all right with you, ma’am?”

  Bonny turned her attention to Gibbons. “Folks around here don’t take kindly to cameras snooping on them. I don’t want no perverts looking at me neither. And what’s an AP whatsit?”

  “Sorry, ma’am, didn’t mean to offend you.” Gibbons explained that security cameras could help in providing information on what the two Syrian men were wearing, so police could issue the description to patrols in the area.

  “You don’t need no cameras to do that — I know exactly what they was wearing and the exact time they left. I wrote it all down.” She leaned into Lilburn and whispered. “Evidence.”

  Lilburn stifled a smile. “Bonny, I would really appreciate it if I could see what you wrote.”

  “You just wait here, hon, and let old Bonny get her writing pad.” Bonny felt pleased with herself, and smiled up at Lilburn. Gibbons got a quick, less-than-approving look as she went back inside to retrieve her notes.

  “Here it is, honey bunch, all written down. Now let me see. Ah yes.” Bonny read out aloud from her notes.

  Gibbons wrote down the information. When she finished, she watched Gibbons completing his writing. “Wonder you don’t just take a picture of my book wid your phone. Be quicker.”

  Lilburn grinned, pleased with her informative notes. It was time to see what was in the apartment next door. “It’s been a pleasure, Bonny, you’ve done well. If by chance you see your neighbors again, would you mind giving me a call?” Taking out a business card he handed it over.

  Bonny held the card out at arm’s length. “My, my… Homeland Security!” Bonny held the card up comparing the likeness of the photo ID to the tall man standing in front of her. “You’re a handsome young man, Matt Lilburn. If I were forty years younger I’d invite you in… not him though,” Bonny indicated Gibbons.

  She burst out laughing as Lilburn gave her a wink.

  As expected, the door was locked. Lilburn didn’t waste any time as he stepped back and gave an almighty kick. The door flew open.

  “Officer Maitland, compare what you see now with what you and Martinez saw the other day,” Lilburn said as they entered the living area.

  “Looks pretty much the same, sir, nothing jumps out.” Maitland tried to remember the brief visit. “I recall speaking to one of the suspects here in this room, then I went into the kitchen over there.” Moving around Lilburn and the inspector, the officer entered the kitchen area. “The wrapping paper with the stamps on it was on the bench about here… not there now though… hang on. Some folk keep their garbage under the sink.” Opening a cupboard door the officer removed the object he had been looking for and placed it on the sink bench. The light-blue-colored rectangular plastic bin was half full of household rubbish and decomposing food scraps. “Ah shit. Hey, Martinez, you got any gloves on you?”

  The officer shook his head. “Sorry.”

  “Great.” If the inspector wasn’t here Maitland would have detailed Martinez to sort through the pile. Deciding the sink was the best place to empty the container he first placed the sink plug in the drain hole. As he upended the bin the contents spewed out, helped with a couple of quick jerks and a tap on its bottom.

  “Yep, there’s what looks like the brown wrapping paper.” A few shakes of the paper dislodged some potato peels and some gooey thick liquid Maitland didn’t even want to think about. Dragging the paper to the side with a finger and thumb, he placed it on the stainless steel bench top. “This is it and there’s the stamp, just like the one I saw at my brother’s place.”

  Lilburn looked for himself. The country was unmistakable. “Syria it is.”

  “That’s about all I really remember. Martinez did a check of the other rooms. Me, I looked some more around here. Nothing unusual.”

  “Think harder.” Lilburn needed more information. “Anything, even something that maybe wasn’t that out of place but still caught your eye, something you may have smelt, touched.”

  Maitland gave a short whistle, a sound of exasperation, a symbolic sign to show others he was trying. “You know…” He looked around the kitchen area spinning on his heels. “There were plastic dish
things on the windowsill here… what did you call them, Martinez?”

  “Petri dishes.”

  “Anything else?”

  “Nah, I walked back over there, spoke to the suspect.” Maitland started retracing his steps, then remembered something. “I kicked over some cans here on the floor, spray cans, deodorant or something like that. They’re gone too, can’t see them now, then I got Martinez to look in the other rooms and then we took down the guys’ details.”

  “Whoa, back up a bit.” Lilburn was trying to create the past scene in his mind. “Spray cans. Cans of deodorant?” Something Evangeline said back at Albany triggered his brain. Aerosols. Aerosols was one method of dispersing the virus. “How many cans were there?”

  “Hell, I don’t know, I didn’t take much notice.”

  “Try harder, it’s important.”

  Maitland looked to Inspector Gibbons as if to say What the fuck has a bunch of damn spray cans got to do with anything?

  “Come on — spray cans, how many?”

  Lilburn’s determination hadn’t gone unnoticed. Gibbons was still trying to fathom a link between Homeland Security’s interest in the Muslim cleric and now these two Middle Eastern men and what was in their apartment. He didn’t know what to think, but terrorism was the most likely; the world was full of it and America was continually on high alert. Gibbons remained silent, for now. He would see what eventuated.

  “Four… five, maybe a half-dozen.”

  Lilburn was painting a picture: parcel from Syria, now empty of its contents, spray cans. His gut feeling was that the apartment held a link to the bioterrorism threat. Lilburn dialed Homeland and asked to be put through to Dr. Evangeline Crawston. Aware that the other four in the apartment room weren’t yet privy to a potential virus threat, Lilburn needed to keep the conversation generic.