Paul rocked to a halt in the parking lot of the Tarryville church, five blocks from the mosque. He got out quickly. A circle of Burnsville police cars occupied the corner of the lot. Several cops stood around, waiting for orders.
“Paul Schmidt, FBI.” He stuck out his hand to the chief.
“Bob Rasmussen. What’s the mission? We’re ready.” He wore a pressed uniform, burdened with a heavy belt that contained weapons, his nightstick, radio, extra speed loaders, and cuffs.
“You know where the mosque is?”
“Roger that.”
“For right now, we don’t want anyone to go in—or come out from a containment circle around the mosque.”
“What’s the mission?”
“Uh, for now, containment. Get your men out on a quadrant, spaced at intervals to intercept anyone leaving or arriving. Anyone leaving is to be detained and brought to our command center immediately.”
“Are we looking for a suspect?”
“Yes, but we’re not moving on that. I believe he’s in the mosque.”
“I’ve received permission from the church to use the full extent of the parking lot.”
“Good work, Chief.” Paul looked around at the expanse of asphalt. “This will make a good staging area.”
“Staging area?”
“For our support team.”
“Should we prepare for—”
“Chief, just form a perimeter around the mosque. Hurry.”
The chief nodded, squared his shoulders, and gave orders to his men and women. Squad cars left the parking lot in small groups.
Paul checked his cell phone. The CDC team would arrive in about five minutes. Conway and a large contingent of agents would get there in about ten minutes. Paul noticed several other messages but didn’t have time to respond.
Dr. Kumar came up in a small car. He got out and said, “Uber. Quickest way here. When the CDC team arrives, they’ll need enough space to set up the mobile lab. It’s a tent, really. The police should keep the area free and clear so the experts can do their work.”
Paul looked for the chief and waved him over. “Can you get a couple squads back here to provide security for the support people?”
Rasmussen unhooked his radio and called in the orders.
A crowd gathered at the edges of the parking lot. Several people stood, hips canted to one side, and watched silently. Some had kids in strollers. The presence of the police always drew many gawkers. Paul wanted to warn them to keep the kids as far away as possible but couldn’t say anything at this point.
The sky darkened, and he heard thunder.
A large group filed out from the side door of the church. Led by an older man with a white halo of hair and a deeply tanned face, they approached Paul. He held up his hand for the group to follow. They kept walking toward Paul.
“Pastor Roundhill.” He stuck out a hand to Paul.
“Pastor, I need your help here. Keep these people back as far as possible from our operation.”
The older man stopped abruptly but followed Paul’s orders. He led the group to the far side of the parking lot.
A large white van curved into the lot and stopped with a scrape on the asphalt. People exploded from every door, including the back end. A black woman in a white coat and short dreadlocks came directly to Paul and Dr. Kumar. “I’m Dr. Johnson, CDC. Who’s in charge?”
Paul introduced himself and Kumar.
She looked from one to the other. “I don’t mean to offend you, Jack, but is this all you got? From what I hear, we’re going to need an army.”
Paul told her about the backup on the way. Kumar spoke fast, telling her the latest information. Rasmussen came back and asked what was going on.
Paul glanced at him. “National security, Chief. These people are from the Center for Disease Control in Atlanta. You cannot let this information out at this time.”
Rasmussen’s eyes popped open. “Uh, what—”
“Not now, Chief. We’re too busy. Keep the crowd back as far as possible.”
When Paul turned back to the CDC team, seven people scurried around the van. They had already erected a large tent and were wheeling equipment inside it. Side flaps were lowered to conceal their work. They carried small suitcases and four laptops. One man lifted a heavy generator from the van. He rolled to the side of the tent, ran cables underneath the flap, and pushed on the electric starter. The generator roared to life until it settled down to a steady hum.
Kumar said to Dr. Johnson, “What can I do?”
She stopped working and looked up at him. When she lifted her head, dreadlocks danced over her face. “Get a map of the area up on the computer. We’re about to measure wind speed and direction. I need to know where the source is exactly. The first patient you have, we want to see. We’ll take a swab and put it on the jet to Atlanta. If it tests positive, we’ll make a decision to release the vaccine and which one. Anyone who has come within six feet of the source will be vaccinated.”
Kumar scratched his back and nodded.
Two marked FBI vans and three cars shot into the parking lot. Conway was out and charging toward the tent before his car stopped. Agents poured out of the other vehicle. Another car, marked USAMRIID on its side, pulled up and more agents came out, including Dr. Sarnahan. Paul was surprised that Joan Cortez and the ICE agents were missing.
The FBI agents gathered around Paul. “Should we storm the mosque now?” Valentini asked.
“I’d advise against it,” Dr. Sarnahan said. “If any of the infected people scatter and we lose them—”
“Right,” Conway said. “I’ve ordered a chopper to do surveillance. Should be here any time.”
“Besides, if Ammar is as dangerous as we think he is, there could be violence and the loss of lives at the mosque.”
Conway added, “Can you imagine the media shit storm we’d get? We’ll wait for now. We’re far enough away from the mosque. Hopefully, they won’t be tipped before we can act.”
Paul felt impotent. The disease could be spreading as they talked. What if it had already jumped the quarantine line guarded by the police? Occasional drops of rain plopped onto his head. He asked Dr. Sarnahan, “What can we do?”
Sarnahan frowned. “Wait.”
“Hey, guys,” Dr. Johnson shouted from inside the tent. “Get these people out of here.”
Paul turned to see Pastor Roundhill and a large group of people edging around the tent. They swarmed over the cables, and one person even lifted the flap of the tent. The two police officers struggled to move the mob backward, but they couldn’t budge them.
Paul and Valentini moved into the crowd. They flashed badges and shouted for people to back up. Paul found Roundhill and shouted at his face. “I told you to keep these people back.”
“This is our church. We have a right to be here. And I don’t think you’re looking for a lost kitten.”
“I’ll explain later. But for now, get the fuck back!”
People swore and shouted but folded back onto the grass at the edges of the parking lot. Paul saw more people streaming out of the houses in the neighborhood. He ran to Chief Rasmussen. “Can you get more muscle out here? Now!”
Sweat trickled down the chief’s face. “I’ve got every man and woman from the line right now. I can call for help from the next city over, but that means bringing more officers into this. I thought you wanted to keep it quiet?”
“I know, but we need the help. Call ’em.”
Rasmussen pulled out his phone and made the call.
A squad car scraped across the asphalt and stopped. A cop came out with a civilian. They hustled over to the tent. “Found this man leaving the quadrant. Says he wasn’t at the mosque but only walked by it.”
Dr. Johnson stepped up. “Good work, son. Get him in the tent. We’ll take a swab.” She followed the civilian inside the tent and closed the flap. In a few minutes, they came out. “Keep him in your squad. We may need to quarantine him at the closest hospital.”
Paul’s shirt was steamy and damp. He wanted to take off his sport coat but was hesitant to show his weapon and holster. As it was, a larger crowd bulged out from the south side of the lot to reach within twenty feet of the tent. He motioned Conway to use the other agents for crowd control.
Paul could tell the crowd was at the tipping point. They could easily overwhelm the law enforcement and the CDC team. He ran to find Rasmussen. “Where are the other cops?” Paul shouted.
“Coming, but it takes a while to round them all up.”
“Can’t you see it’s about to blow up here?”
Rasmussen stopped and looked into Paul’s face. “We’re doing all we can. This is your show, pal.”
A surge of noise interrupted them. The crowd shouted and cheered. Paul turned to see a green van pull up with an antenna mounted on the roof. “Oh, shit,” he yelled as he ran toward it.
Large green letters on the side of the van said “Channel 6 News.” Three people spilled out of it. Two had cameras, and the blonde woman dressed in a starched blouse and a blue blazer waded through the crowd. Carolyn Bechter smiled and waved at the people.
Paul’s stomach tightened when he saw her. The short fling they’d had didn’t work out. He knew Carolyn blamed him for everything. She’d be tough to deal with. He heard Conway, who stomped around so much it looked like he was dancing.
“Who called those assholes? Get ’em out of here,” Conway ordered.
At the edge of the crowd, Carolyn started to interview Pastor Roundhill. The camera zoomed in while someone held an umbrella over the two. Paul moved closer.
Bechter started, “We received a tip from a religious leader about a raid on a peaceful mosque in Burnsville. Apparently, it has to do with a breakout of smallpox, a deadly disease. Do you know anything about it, Pastor?”
Paul stopped. How did they know about it already? What raid was she talking about? Nothing had happened yet. If that incendiary news spread, could they control the crowd? He saw the mindless bobbing of heads and a shove of people who were worried. A scuffle broke out. People shouted and clawed at each other to get away. Paul looked around for more police. Bechter looked behind herself for an escape route. She tried for shelter next to the burly cameraman.
As Carolyn backed up, someone ripped the microphone out of her hand and started yelling into it. She kept backing while the cameraman tried to film. The person with the mike jerked it, causing the camera to tumble off the shoulder of the cameraman.
Carolyn’s head swiveled. Searching for an escape, she saw Paul and worked her way through the crowd toward him. “Paul?”
“This way.” He imagined they were two cats circling each other. But now, she needed help. He grabbed for her hand, got it, and pulled her toward the back side of the tent, where there were more police. “Stand by the tent, and don’t you dare ask any questions. Those people working inside may be the only ones who can save us now.”
She nodded, her eyes bulging.
Paul’s phone rang, and he reluctantly answered it. “Agent Schmidt, in response to your inquiry about a suspect named Michael Ammar, it took us a while to review the databases. He’s got deep, deep cover, so the search engines couldn’t find him at first. He’s Egyptian. A member of the Muslim Brotherhood, an extremely violent group that advocates a return to strict Islamic law. His real name is not Ammar. It’s Mustafa Aadheen.”
He thanked them and decided to check all the messages that had piled up in the past hours. There was a text from Zehra. Paul opened it and felt his chest pound. She was going to a Science Expo at the school with Michael Ammar! He wasn’t at the mosque. He glanced at his watch —7:30. He punched the school’s address into GPS, made sure he had his weapon, and shouted at Conway that he was leaving. Paul heard the faint screams of his boss as Paul roared out of the lot, almost hitting the civilians.
Chapter Forty-Three