Lethal Agent (Mitch Rapp #18)(45)
“So are we going public with this?” Barnett interrupted.
“I’d strongly recommend against it,” Robert Woodman replied. “Based on what our informants are saying, the talk south of the border is about the loss of the mall, not the coke. That’s about what we’d expect with a twelve-million-dollar bust like this. The lack of concern about the contents of that truck suggests that either the traffickers aren’t aware that the anthrax was in their shipment or they assume we won’t find it.”
“You’re trying to tell me that the drug traffickers don’t know what they’re transporting?” Barnett said incredulously.
“It actually makes perfect sense,” Kennedy responded. “There’s no profit in terrorism, and they run the risk of bringing an enormous amount of heat down on themselves. A likely scenario is that one of Halabi’s Middle Eastern drug operations has partnered with a Mexican cartel and he slipped the anthrax into that shipment.”
Woodman nodded in agreement. “We’re trying to trace back the owners of that mall but, as you can imagine, it’s a web of shell corporations and foreign partnerships. Based on the ambition of it all, we believe that it was a joint project between a number of different trafficking organizations. We’ve seen them spread their risk like that before on big projects. Also, we have the two men who were driving the van in custody. We’re interrogating them and hoping to figure out which cartel they’re working for. Bottom line is that if we go public with the anthrax, everyone in the supply chain is going to scatter. Our chances of tracing this package back to its source will go to zero before the first news show even finishes its report.”
“Is your interrogation getting results?” Barnett said.
“Not yet. These are hard men, Senator. And the consequences of them talking to authorities is high. But we’re continuing to work on them.”
“I feel safer already,” Barnett said sarcastically.
“If you have any thoughts on a course of action, Christine, I’d love to hear them,” Alexander said.
Typically those kinds of questions had the power to shut her up for a while. Barnett was a prodigy at tearing down the efforts of others, but her policy proposals tended to be smoke and mirrors—designed more to pump up her base than to actually solve the complex problems facing America. This time, though, she wasn’t so easily silenced.
“Get the hell out of the Middle East. That’s my thought. We’re spending the better part of a trillion dollars a year on a military that can’t win wars against insurgencies and won’t fight nuclear-armed countries—basically everyone we’d ever want to fight. The record’s clear. Vietnam. Iraq. Afghanistan. We’re not gaining anything. We’re just whacking away at a hornet nest and then acting surprised when we get stung.”
“I think that’s a na?ve view,” Kennedy responded.
The senator’s eyes narrowed at the insult but Kennedy couldn’t bring herself to care. In the very likely event that Barnett became president, her first order of business would be to put someone loyal to her in as head of the CIA. And more than that, she’d almost certainly try to make an example of Kennedy by tying her up in years of bogus Senate investigations. There was little Kennedy could do or say at this point that would make her future any darker.
“Sayid Halabi’s endgame isn’t to use anthrax to kill a few hundred—or even a few thousand—Americans,” Kennedy continued. “And while I agree that he wants us out of the Middle East, it’s not so he can create a peaceful Islamic paradise there. No, he needs a refuge to build his capability to make war on the West. We learned this lesson in Syria, where we left a vacuum that ISIS exploited, and we’ve just learned it again in Yemen. Don’t be fooled, Senator. Halabi will offer easy, seductive solutions and short-term political wins. But he won’t stop until he’s destroyed or we are. And in a world of runaway technology and political division, it might be us.”
CHAPTER 22
WEST OF MANASSAS
VIRGINIA
USA
ONE last shove and the massive filter finally snapped into place. Rapp stepped back, wiping the sweat from his forehead and examining his handiwork. According to Gary Statham, the upgrade would filter most biological agents, complementing the existing system designed to combat gas attacks. The drawback—and there always seemed to be one—was that the motors in his ventilation system would no longer be powerful enough. Based on the manufacturer specs, they’d burn out after less than forty-eight hours under the additional load. So they’d have to be replaced, too.
Rapp tossed his screwdriver on a greasy rag and took a seat on an ammo box. The safe room hidden in his basement was about the size of a single garage bay. Constructed entirely of reinforced concrete and steel, it included two huge batteries for storing energy from the rooftop solar panels, filtered water drawn from a well beneath the building, bunk beds, and a full bathroom. The cheerful yellow on the walls was a gift from the interior designer he’d hired to deal with the details of the house. She’d said something to the effect of “if the wolves are at the gate, a little hygge will go a long way.” What that meant, he had no idea.
Based on the theory “two is one and one is none,” he’d had the space ridiculously overbuilt. At the time he’d figured the most dangerous thing he’d have to face was a coordinated attack by a well-trained, well-armed terrorist cell. In that scenario, all he really needed was solid blast resistance, a few weapons, and breathable air. The food, bathrooms, and well water were complete overkill in a neighborhood where a bunch of Arabs shooting rockets would be dealt with pretty quickly.