Pandemic

Turning off the tap, Eleish reached for a towel. He stopped when he heard a soft thud. His heart skipped a beat. He listened. Nothing. He grabbed the towel and dried himself. He stepped out of the shower, put on his robe, and then stood inside his bathroom, listening. He waited a full minute without hearing another noise.

He stepped back into his living room. He had just sat down at his desk when he heard a bang, followed by three loud thumps.

His palms moistened. His heart smashed against his rib cage. The noise came from his front door.

His gun! For an agonizing moment, he wavered, but decided he had a higher priority to address. He reached for the mouse and clicked on the "new mail" icon and then frantically one-fingered typed the captain's e-mail address in the "send to" box.

Thud! Thud! The noises came from the door.

In the "message text" box, he typed wildly in note form. "Vancouver. Virus carrier = Sharifa Sha'rawi."

Eleish heard a series of sharp cracks, as someone emptied a round of gunfire into the door.

He typed: "Hazzir Kabaal = leader. Major Abdul Sabri?"

A creaking noise indicated the door hinges were beginning to give way.

He kept typing. "Al-Futuh Mosque. Sheikh Hassan."

Crash! More wood splintered.

"Base in Somalia," he typed. He grabbed the mouse, but his shaking hand overshot the "send" key twice before finally making contact. As soon as the musical tone confirmed that the e-mail had been sent, Eleish reached down and yanked the plug out from the back of the computer.

He leaped to his feet and ran for the kitchen.

Eleish made it to the living room just as his door toppled backward into the room. He froze in his tracks five feet from the countertop and his weapon. Someone else's gun pointed at his head.

A hulking man casually stepped over the smashed door and into the apartment. Eleish instantly recognized him as Major Abdul Sabri.

From ten feet away, Sabri cocked his head at Eleish. "Sergeant, I've been looking all over for you," he said softly.

"You could have just called." The joke seemed to Eleish like something one of his literary detective heroes might have said, but it drew no response from Sabri.

"Sergeant, you and I have things to discuss," Sabri said inexpressively.

The sweat dripped down Eleish's neck and onto the collar of his bathrobe. His mind raced in time with his pounding heart. Without looking over at the counter, he tried to calculate how best to lunge for his gun. "Okay, we will talk," Eleish said. "But can I put some clothes on first?"

Sabri shook his head slowly from side to side. "And, Sergeant, there's really no point in going for your gun. You'll be dead before you reach it."

Eleish had a flashback to the photo of his burnt and beaten informer, Bishr Gamal, whose ear had been hacked off. He doubted he could withstand that kind of torture without talking. He swallowed hard. "Wouldn't you prefer me alive?" he asked.

"Prefer, yes," Sabri said. "Required, no."

Suddenly Eleish's path cleared before him. A tranquil calm enveloped him. An absolute peacefulness he had never before experienced. He smiled widely at Sabri. "Allah is most great," he spoke the words from the call to prayer.

Sabri's eyes narrowed and he raised his weapon to eye level.

Eleish didn't lunge for his gun. Instead, he spun and ran for the open balcony door.

"Stop!" yelled Sabri.

Eleish heard a bang and felt a searing pain in his left shoulder and his arm fell limp at his side. But the bullet wound didn't slow him as he reached the balcony in one stride and hurled himself over the railing.

"Allah is most great!" he repeated as he felt the air rush by his head.

CHAPTER 27

CIA HEADQUARTERS, LANGLEY, VIRGINIA

Since Rand Delorme uncovered Dr. Ping Wu's e-mailed confession, his coworkers at Carnivore accused the young agent of having undergone a personality transplant. Once only distinguished for his frosted highlights, black bowling shoes, and rebellious attitude, Delorme was now known for logging the longest hours and clearing the most intercepted e-mails. The day before, his supervisor had written in his monthly evaluation that Rand was "a man on a mission." And he was. To Delorme, each new e-mail Carnivore earmarked for human review was another potential opportunity to foil terrorism.

With the extra bodies covering Carnivore, the agents had caught up entirely on the backlog. Less than half an hour after it was sent, Achmed Eleish's e-mail popped up on Delorme's screen. Carnivore had graded it as "highly suspicious," so Delorme approached it with more circumspection than he otherwise might have.