Part 18 (2/2)

'G.o.d only knows,' Rebecca said. 'But there is an alternate theory, about how it doesn't take Fort Detrick to mail an anthrax letter. Carl Macek, an agent and a good guy, he and I came up with it over drinks in a San Francis...o...b..r one fine wet evening eight years ago. We had just attended a seminar on forensic nanotechnology-high-tech future, end of crime, all that c.r.a.p. But I ran into a guy who told me they were using inkjet printers to lay down microcircuits and tiny plastic channels and things. And out of the blue, Carl asked him, ”Could you just deposit tiny little blobs? Less than five microns?'

'”No problem,” he told us. ”Could be a big thing in pharmaceuticals.” So Carl and I told News-Hiram Newsome. And News got it right away. We did some research, and we were both hot on it until the then-director started focusing on s.h.i.+t that n.o.body wanted to deal with. Political s.h.i.+t.'

She took the turn once more onto the farm road. The car started jouncing but she did not slow.

'Where did it go after that?' William asked.

'Nowhere,' Rebecca said. 'It was a cold case. FBI had already taken a lot of heat for ruining the lives of a few innocent suspects. Well, innocent of spreading anthrax, anyway. Carl Macek died of a heart attack three years ago. And back then, News wasn't Ay-d.i.c.k...a.s.sistant Director of Training Division.'

She slowed the car. The scene was surrounded by mobile lights on tall poles. It looked like a tree farm on the night before Christmas. a.n.a.lysts were still in the yard and clambering gingerly over the collapsed pit of the barn, doing their work through the early morning hours, even in the rain.

Rebecca parked beside an unmarked black panel truck festooned with antennas. She kicked down the emergency brake. 'Our newly appointed director is busy trying to keep the bureau from being dismantled. News has more time in the bureau than he does, and a lot more contacts and probably more downright respect among field agents, and so for the moment n.o.body looks over his shoulder. And he tells me there's interest again, in high places. So, here I am. And you.'

'You've got a glove, saliva, blood, and...?'

'You were were listening, you snoop. Some people killed a state patrol officer rather than let themselves be caught with a cargo of three hundred inkjet printers. n.o.body knows where they were going-yet. Almost simultaneously, we find the remains of more inkjets on a farm in Was.h.i.+ngton state-a barn owned by a white supremacist. Why?' listening, you snoop. Some people killed a state patrol officer rather than let themselves be caught with a cargo of three hundred inkjet printers. n.o.body knows where they were going-yet. Almost simultaneously, we find the remains of more inkjets on a farm in Was.h.i.+ngton state-a barn owned by a white supremacist. Why?'

'Maybe they were printing extra copies of The Turner Diaries. The Turner Diaries.'

Rebecca tightened her grip on the steering wheel. 'I don't want to screw it up again.'

William wasn't quite sure what to believe. He decided a neutral concession was best. 'At Quantico, it's all just a game, until you think of the stakes.'

'I hate games,' Rebecca said.

'Anthrax,' William said, and could not help shaking his head. 'That kind of operation-it would take dozens of skilled, heavily protected workers and hundreds of thousands of dollars worth of equipment. We monitor all lab equipment and antibiotics sales.'

'We didn't back then. Despite years of threats and false alarms, we didn't, G.o.d bless our pointy little heads.'

William admitted that was true. 'Have there been any recent cases in the U.S.?'

'One in Texas, last year. An illegal alien tried to eat part of a dead steer. Four others at a wedding party in Oklahoma. A family slaughtered and ate an infected sheep, medium rare.' She gave him a wry glance. 'n.o.body knows what motivated Amerithrax. He sent out one envelope before 9-11, then 9-11 really set him off. His targets didn't make a lot of sense. Why lash out at The National Enquirer The National Enquirer, for Christ's sake? No profile we could come up with panned out. Suppose Amerithrax was responsible for both the hoax letters and the real letters? For the different grades of anthrax mailed to different parties? Maximize the confusion and terror, conserve the best product-and wait for another opportunity.'

'But no anthrax was sent out after 2001-or for that matter, after 10-4.'

'And why not? Did he die, is he lying low, or is he just busy with something else? Suppose now it's the same guy, or a small group of guys-what if the process can be mechanized, privately financed, kept quiet for years?'

'That's a lot to suppose,' William said.

'Carl and I did some calculations,' Rebecca said. 'If you had a fermentation tank of sufficient size and used a highefficiency growth medium, and then you have, say, one hundred inkjet printers, you could, in theory, produce more than thirty kilos of perfectly weaponized anthrax spores in six months. Hijack a crop duster, and that's enough to spray every large city on the west coast. There isn't that much antibiotics in the entire world. Back in 2001, that's what we thought terrorists might have been planning-to use a crop duster to spray a city. The b.a.s.t.a.r.ds couldn't get crop dusters so they took jetliners instead, a poor second by comparison. Now, suppose someone has stockpiled tons tons of the stuff, ready to go, right here?' of the stuff, ready to go, right here?'

Rebecca got out. Over the car's roof she stared at him for a second, then said, 'I want another chance, another look-without Agent Trune watching over our shoulders. Humor me.'

The trailer was quiet. Only two police officers and two FBI agents remained inside, sitting before computers filing the pieces of information they had been handed earlier in the day and drinking black coffee from large cups.

Rebecca requested an access code to the server, then spun around a big monitor on its rolling stand. The monitor had been used to brief local chiefs and agents. She fast-forwarded through Griff's video until she came to the steel organ-pipe cl.u.s.ter-the hedgehog. Griff's voice hissed from the display's small speakers. 'They could use the tractor to haul that Calliope outside. I'm wondering why, though.'

Rebecca paused. 'You okay with seeing this again?' she asked William.

'So far,' William said, and pulled up a chair. The other agents turned to watch. Rebecca resumed the video, then split the screen between the two helmet-mounted cameras.

Alice Watson spoke next. 'Fireworks,' she said. 's.h.i.+t.'

They had been looking right at each other, two thick monsters in olive-green suits.

Griff extended his thumb. 'I should have thought of that. Hey, listen up, guys. Alice just set off a little light bulb.'

'We heard,' said someone off site, probably Andrews from HDS Redstone. 'Watch for devices triggered by bright ideas.'

'Well, why didn't we think of it earlier? Portable fireworks launcher. Atta girl. Why?'

Rebecca ran the video back to the steel pipe a.s.sembly. 'Looks like a hedgehog. What in h.e.l.l is it for?' she asked in an undertone. 'Can you actually use fireworks to spread a powder?'

Another man entered the room. 'I heard you two were staying up late,' he said.

They both turned and Rebecca shut off the monitor. She did not know him. He had tight black hair and broad cheeks and a turned-up nose. He was wearing a DS cap-Diplomatic Security. 'You're Rebecca Rose, right?' he asked.

'Yes.'

'And this is Griff's pup?' The DS agent held out his hand. 'Sorry about your father. We're rooting for him.'

Rebecca looked him over coolly. 'What can we do for you?'

'David Grange. Special Agent Trune said I could take a look around, in the spirit of sharing.'

'Do you suspect a threat to our esteemed State Department?'

Grange smiled. 'The Patriarch has been on our list since before I was born. Congratulations. But more to the point, I'm curious as to why you're you're here.' here.'

'Fair enough,' Rebecca said. 'Have you looked at this apparatus?' She wheeled the display around to show him the hedgehog.

'Put it out for the smash and dent sale. It's mostly just little pieces.'

'You've looked at it.'

The DS agent squeezed his eyes together and looked as if divulging anything might be painful. 'Griff should never have forced the issue,' he said. 'If he hadn't pushed the Patriarch, we could have gone in slow. We'd have more to look at now than just broken tubing.'

William walked around behind Grange, leaving Rebecca in front of him. 'I beg your pardon?' William asked.

'No disrespect,' Grange said, twisting his head.

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