The Templar Reprisals (The Best Thrillers Book 3) by James Best (free ebook reader for ipad .TXT) 📗

on the receiving end this time. We don’t know how the bombings will happen. Worse, we can’t find the operatives. To tell the truth, we’re baffled. And pretty scared.”

“What resources have you applied to this?”

“We’ve put everything in D.C. on it. Everything. No one has turned up a smidgeon of actionable intel. In truth, we’re so desperate, we’re hoping Army Intelligence learns something so our asset can pass it on to us.”

“Go to hell!” Evarts exclaimed. “You’ve had critical data about a forthcoming attack on this nation and you kept it to yourself while trying to steal classified information from the government. That’s inexcusable.”

Methow sat straighter. “We know that the intelligence community knows more than we do. So—”

“They don’t know that the bombs were assembled in Al Jubail, Saudi Arabia.”

“What difference does it make where the bombs were manufactured? We need to find out where they are now!”

Evarts realized that despite centuries of experience; the Templars were amateurs. If American intelligence had known a month ago about the fabrication of terrorist bombs, they’d be in much better shape today.

Wilson was the one to react verbally. She scoffed, “If Army Intelligence had gotten this lead, we could have stopped this thing dead in its tracks.”

“Bullshit,” Methow said. “If we couldn’t stop it, neither could you.”

Wilson was pissed “What the hell makes you think you’re better than we are?”

“I’ll tell you why, because we’re not constrained by laws … or good manners.” He whipped around on Evarts. “Now what have you got.”

“Not so fast. You just gave us a whole bunch of nothing.”

“That wasn’t—”

“It was. Give us something real … and current. Not speculation or something we already know, something from your source inside the Ikhwan. Prove you’re willing to share.”

After a long pause, Methow said, “Okay. Our source says there are three bomb teams. Each completely compartmentalized. You break one, the other two can complete the mission. There’s a fourth team running a separate operation. They’re do or die, no backup. A two-person crew, and they’re chemists.”

“Chemists?” Wilson said. “What kind of chemists?”

“We suspect toxicologists.”

“Target?” Evarts asked harshly.

“Possibly the president.”

Chapter 50

“Do you know their plan?” Evarts asked.

“No, but the president leaves Washington on Friday after a congressional luncheon,” Methow said. “He’s meeting the British prime minister in Bermuda to negotiate the next phase of a trade agreement. That flight schedule fits with a shock and awe scenario.”

“He’ll never arrive alive,” Wilson said almost to herself. “Or that’s their intent.”

“Our assessment as well,” Methow said. “Targeted bombs in the capital and the president poisoned. The events occur together to really bring the nation to its knees.”

“Getting to the president’s food is nearly impossible,” Wilson said. “How do they propose to do this?”

“Candy, snacks, water, booze, postage stamps,” Methow mused. “We don’t know.”

Wilson harrumphed. “The president doesn’t lick postage stamps.”

“He’s flying,” Baldwin interjected. “Could they poison the pilots?”

“Their food is safeguarded as well,” Wilson said. “Besides, that plane can fly itself.”

“It can?” Baldwin asked. “Wow, can it land itself?”

“Classified,” Wilson said dismissively. “If they want to take out the president in route, they’ll need to poison him, not the pilots.”

“Your source has no idea?” Evarts asked Methow.

“None. The Ikhwan is as compartmentalized and secretive as we are. Probably more so.”

“So, your source is not one of the two ẓahīr,” Baldwin said.

“You assume the ẓahīr are informed about everything,” Methow said. “We’re not as sure. As far as we can tell, caliph and the back-up caliph are the only ones who know everything. We believe each ẓahīr participates in operational plans, but they don’t engage together on the same plan. Each has separate assignments.”

Evarts turned to Wilson. “Diane, how likely is it that someone could succeed in poisoning the president, especially once the secret service has been forewarned?”

“Normally, hard as hell. Especially after two bombing incidents this week. If we send along this alert, he’s got to be impenetrable.”

Evarts rubbed his chin. “But they must have—”

“Wait a minute,” Baldwin interjected. “Diane said if the crew were killed, the president would remain safe. What if they kill everyone, including the president?”

“Oh crap,” Methow said. “That’s it. This is supposed to be earth-shattering news. What if Air Force One landed in Bermuda and it was a ghost ship. No one alive. Think of the drama. People waiting and waiting for the hatch to open. That visual would rock the world.”

“The ventilation system?” Baldwin asked.

“That’s called the cabin pressurization system,” Wilson said. “You’d have a better chance of breaking into Fort Knox.”

“She’s right. It would need to be an independent nebulizer,” Methow said. “But how would they get it on board?”

“Not it, them,” Wilson said. “The various cabins can be secured against this type of attack. The main cabins used for the press and staff can go negative pressure lickety-split. No liquid or gas can escape. If you want a ghost ship, you will need to plant nebulizers around the aircraft including the presidential suite and flight deck, both of which are restricted.”

“Okay, Diane,” Evarts said, “how would you get around all that?”

“You can’t,” Wilson said. “Everyone’s movements are restricted. You can’t wander the airplane.”

“What if I’m a VIP, can I give gifts to the other passengers and the president?”

“Not during flight,” Wilson said. “If that’s their plan, it won’t work.”

Evarts stood and stretched before beginning to pace. “Look, we’re thinking a poison gas, but what if it’s biological. Hell, to do this job, you could hide enough virion in a fountain pen. Mist it out and let the cabin pressure system do the work. If they—”

Methow asked, “Are there separate pressurization systems for each compartment?”

“The presidential section and upper deck are separate.” Wilson answered. “But …”

“But what?” Evarts asked anxiously.

“If they engineered a fast acting, lethal biological weapon, then projectile vomit could spread the virus across the pressurization safeguards.”

Evarts asked, “Aren’t there protocols in place to put the president in hazmat gear when multiple people get really sick?”

“Yeah,” Wilson said almost to herself, “If there’s time. If extremely potent, everyone could get sick