Pandora's grave

The young man hesitated. “I served with Hossein only briefly, but that was sufficient to impress upon me a man who, although brave, was consumed with his own arrogance. Had he been possessed of enough humility to heed my advice, I feel assured that the Americans would not have escaped.”

It entered Shirazi’s mind that the description of Hossein might apply more accurately to his beloved nephew, but he kept those thoughts to himself. Larijani was a useful tool, competent to obey orders, if not to give them. “Then it will delight you to know,” he said, clearing his throat, “that they did not all escape.”

The look of surprise on his nephew’s face was enjoyable. “Yes, indeed,” Shirazi continued, “one of them is still in our country. Hiding out in the mountains with our old friend Azad Badir.”

“Where?”

The Iranian president stood and walked over to the large map that was spread across one wall of his office. “Somewhere in this circle, by last report.”

“Badir is a fox,” Larijani observed wryly.

“And how do you bring a fox to terms?”

“You lure him from his coverts, into the open where his wiles are of no avail.”

“Exactly!” Shirazi exclaimed, pleased by the response. He reached over and pressed a button on his desk. “Send Dr. Ansari in, please.”

1:03 P.M. Eastern Time

National Navy Medical Center

Bethesda, Maryland

“I’ve got the video feed up, Maria.”

Dr. Maria Schuyler turned to smile at the technician that had just entered the room. “Thanks, Ted. I should be able to take it from there.”

“Sure thing.”

In her mid-fifties, Schuyler had worked as a biochemist at A.I. Dupont for fifteen years before enlisting in the Army following the death of her first husband in the Pentagon on 9/11. Since then, she had become the U.S. military’s leading expert on biological warfare-a job that was typically quite academic. Not today.

With a sigh she turned to her computer and depressed a single key, bringing up the feed. “Good afternoon, director.”

“It isn’t, but I thank you anyway, doctor,” the voice of David Lay replied over the uplink. His face was clearly visible in the webcam, and he looked worried. Very much so.

“I understand.”

“I’m here with the president, Dr. Schuyler. Can you encapsulate your report for him?”

Lay’s face was replaced by that of President Hancock and Schuyler cleared her throat, looking down at her notes. “You must understand, Mr. President, that I have little to go on. All we’re working from is a medium-resolution photograph provided by the CIA, which is hardly enough to make a positive diagnosis.”

“Yes,” Hancock interrupted, “I understand. Your conclusions, doctor.”

“My diagnosis, based solely on photographic evidence, is that the victim was suffering from a particularly virulent case of the pneumonic plague.”

“The Black Death?”

“Essentially, yes, Mr. President, although pneumonic plague is the less common variant, called the Red Death in medieval times. Both it and its more famous cousin bubonic plague are caused by exposure to the bacteria yersinia pestis-the primary difference between plagues being in mode of transmission. Pneumonic plague is caused by breathing in the plague bacteria.”

Hancock cast a glance off-camera, presumably at David Lay. “So, it could be spread in an aerosol?”

His question smote her to the heart. There was something here they weren’t telling her. “Yes, sir. That is one of the scenarios we lined out in wargames last year-the possibility of a bio-terror attack on New York city. We did not use the yersinia pestis bacterium as the base of the scenario, but it would have the same effect.”

Director Lay cut her off before she could ask any questions. “There was a further component to your diagnosis, doctor. Perhaps you could elaborate for the president.”

“Of course. If you will look at the photograph, you will see that every blood vessel in the man’s body is outlined in black. That would indicate that the plague entered the man’s bloodstream before death-we’ve seen that before. However, I have never seen it to such an extent, which leads me to the following conclusion, which is purely speculative. Which is that this man was exposed to a more virulent strain of bacteria than any we’ve ever seen. Far more virulent…”

8:35 P.M.

Parker and Zakiri’s apartment

Manassas, Virginia

“Agent Zakiri just left Langley,” the voice in his headset informed him. “You’ll want to be moving out of there.”

The man nodded his head, toggling the headset mike as he looked around the small apartment. “We’re almost done. Thanks for the heads-up.”

He switched the radio off and walked over to a man standing in front of Hamid’s computer. “Find anything?”

“I’m through his firewall without any trouble,” the tech replied. “Mirroring is almost finalized.”