VECTOR

Chapter 11 Touch Down

CHAPTER 11

Touch Down

Claire fumed as she walked to her lab. A ticket for driving alone in the HOV lane? That, that was awful. For one thing, she couldn't afford a ticket. For another, she felt stupid for making the mistake. If she hadn't been talking to Oliver… She didn't complete the thought. She was talking to Oliver because Jasmine's husband, infected with smallpox, was traveling to some unvaccinated country because countries were now unvaccinated. Why vaccinate against a disease that had been eradicated? That was a waste of money. And she knew as well as anyone that there wasn't enough vaccine to inoculate all the people who might need it. Damn and double damn.

She slammed her purse in a drawer and glared around the room. The day had started poorly and didn't promise to get better.

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Oliver wondered just how much of what Claire had told him was true. He leaned back in his chair, in his small cubicle, and tried to reason out just what was going on. As far as he knew, Ravi was a terrible husband who abused his wife. According to Claire, his wife was skilled enough and situated well enough to come across smallpox, which she happened to give to her husband because he deserved it. Her husband decided to travel against his wife’s wishes, and he lied about where he was going. Fair enough. He wasn't in Rome. Oliver knew that he could find out where the husband was heading, but did Oliver want to go to the trouble? It would be a hassle, especially because he didn't want to tell people the real reason why he was hunting down the husband. If Oliver uttered the word “smallpox” the entire world would go crazy. Oliver held no illusions about information leaks. As soon as he made that call, the news outlets would be screaming the word. It would be in four inch letters on the front page of the New York Times. And if Oliver were wrong… He didn't complete the thought. Being wrong would cost him his job in all likelihood.

But he had to do something.

He couldn't sit on the information because if it were true, millions might die, and millions would cost him more than his job. It would probably put him in prison. The government liked to sentence first and go to trial later. People who were negligent were treated badly. So, he grabbed his phone and dialed the number he needed to call. He would have an answer in minutes with any luck. Simply a matter of checking the airline reservation system, and his associates could do that without the airline knowing. Oliver knew that was the best way to handle the situation. Everything would be hush-hush. When he learned what he needed to learn, he would alert the local people who would grab the hubby. Sounded like a plan. It was merely a matter of time.

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Ravi fastened his seat belt in preparation for landing. It was a familiar routine. He knew that in the event of a crash, the seat belt would do little good. At the speed they would be traveling, the plane would break apart and probably burn. Most of the passengers would be dead before the flames found them. Those were the lucky ones. The unlucky ones would feel the burn, so to speak.

The flight had been as routine as the seat belt. There was nothing special in flying any more. The plane was basically a cattle car, hauling humans instead of livestock. The people filed in like sheep, fed and slept like sheep, and would file out like sheep. If they didn't act like sheep, they would be taken off the plane and questioned until they were too tired to think. To Ravi, it was better to be a sheep than to be a human in this circumstance. The last thing he wanted was to draw attention. His plan depended on secrecy. If he was discovered, things would go to hell. Of that much he was certain.

The plane descended, and his mind listed the upcoming tasks. He had to pass through customs which might take a lot of time in his case. Some countries looked at travelers from Pakistan with more than the usual care. Ravi couldn't blame them. His country was violent and produced violent people who would just as soon throw a bomb as shake a hand. He didn't like his country's reputation, but he knew it was justified. Pakistani men were not constrained like they were in other countries. Need to get rid of someone? Grab the AK-47 and get it done. A rich man didn't have to worry too much about the authorities. Money didn't just talk in Pakistan, it sang. Ravi almost laughed at the thought. Of course, money talked everywhere, even where he was going. Money was the universal oil. It lubricated everything.

After his meeting, he would need to find a room and sleep for a bit. The next part of his plan was not assured. He would have to be very alert to achieve his goals. But he was certain that if he acted boldly and with purpose, he would succeed. After that, he would be able to deal with Jasmine, and he so wanted to deal with her. Of course, she would be last. He would save her for last. She deserved everything he was going to do to her. And he was going to do things to her he had never done before. Then, he was going to kill her. Another luxury Pakistani men enjoyed that other men around the world did not have.

He looked out the window at the bright sun. It looked to be a fine day where he was going, a perfect day for what he needed to do. In a way, he was terribly excited. It wasn't often that he found the opportunity to display his courage. Today, he would be the lion, not the lamb. If he was a sheep on the plane, it was only so that he could be the lion later. He smiled as they plane banked, and he gazed upon the tall spire. What the people here call it? He remembered.

The Washington Monument.

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Oliver sipped his coffee as he returned to his cubicle. He liked that the coffee mess was some ways from his computer. The walk was precisely what he needed. Sitting too long in one place was bad for his heart and his mind. He tolerated the cubicle; he loved field work. His kind of field work wasn't like the dark ops. While he traveled and did intelligence gathering, he did not deal in violence or hostage taking. That was left to the men who liked danger far too much. Oliver liked that he could fly in, meet someone, take some photos, and fly out, generally without being subject to overbearing surveillance. Most of the time, the host country didn't bother with him as he was too small to worry about. Of course, in some countries, like China, he was covered by any number of domestic agents. It was part of the game, the big game played on the world stage. He liked being a small part of the big game.

There was a message for him as he settled into his chair. He tapped his keyboard and typed in his password. The message was exactly what he had been looking for. Setting down the coffee, he read the short missive—and his heart skipped a beat. The hubby was indeed on a plane, a plane that had landed at Dulles International airport an hour before.

Oliver slammed his fist on the top of his desk and grabbed his phone. With any luck, customs had held up the hubby because he was from one of those countries that were on the special list. While the government didn't own up to the special list, Oliver knew it existed. Travelers from countries where American troops were fighting received more than the usual vetting. With any luck, the hubby had wised off to a customs agent who was now conducting a strip search. Of course, the hubby would be indignant, find a cheap lawyer, and file a suit, but the government didn't care. They had more time and money than anyone or anything. They would win.

As Oliver's call was passed from person to person, Oliver suddenly understood how America would fail. When speedy action was called for, Americans would pass along the message until it was moot. The country would fade into history because someone was left on hold.

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With a smile, Ravi approached the customs officer. Ravi’s single, small bag didn't fit the profile of a trafficker in anything. The only contraband Ravi might be smuggling into the country would be diamonds. Nothing else would fit. Ravi had already passed through passport control, and the officer there had been swift and tired. Since Ravi's passport hadn't raised any flags, and his pleasure trip would be short, the bored person in the booth hadn't been terribly thorough.

What was the nature of his trip?

Pleasure. He was visiting family.

How long did he plan to stay?

A few days.

Was this his final destination?

Yes.

The questions were banal and stupid to Ravi's mind. Anyone could lie, and they did lie, and the lies only hurt later when the traveler was revealed to be a liar. That would be a surprise, right? Ravi didn't know of a better system, but he knew this one was designed to gather the least amount of real information and to gather it in a way that provided no good intelligence. What would the passport flunky say later? “He lied to me.” Ravi wanted to smack his head.

The female customs officer looked at Ravi's forms and his small bag and smiled.

“Nothing to declare?” the office asked.

“Nothing,” Ravi answered. “I'm here for the wedding of my niece. As soon as that is accomplished, I'm going back.”

“Oh? What church?”

“No mosque,” Ravi answered. “It’s one of those back yard celebrations. I don't know what the younger generation is coming to.”

The female officer chuckled. “Don't I know it. It's like church is a four-letter word.” She laughed and stamped Ravi's forms. “Have a great stay and good luck to your niece.”

“I hope she doesn't need it,” Ravi said.

“We all need luck.”

As Ravi walked away, he wondered if his stay would indeed be great. He also hoped he would have luck, for as the officer said, everyone needed luck.

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Oliver walked briskly into the international terminal, his phone to his ear. For some reason, he was having difficulty communicating to the customs supervisor the important nature of his call. Yes, it was imperative that they locate and detain a man named Ravi, a wayward husband who might be sick enough to wipe out half the country. Oliver couldn't tell the supervisor that. Oliver had to rely on being loud and insistent and assuring the supervisor that Oliver's organization would take responsibility for the detention. The supervisor was off the hook and he told Oliver to wait.

Oliver stood by the luggage carousels, watching the endless flow of people walking past, people from every country in the world. He didn't know exactly why America drew such travelers. He did know that America, to many people, was akin to Shangri-La, a magical place that once glimpsed could never be forgotten. It was almost a legend, almost too good to be true. Travelers stepped off the plane and for the first time realized how vast the country was, how beautiful, how rich. For Washington D.C. was the city with streets paved with gold. The money rushing into the city and then out again was staggering. He had tried to comprehend the trillions once, but he soon became lost in the zeroes. Too many zeroes for anything less than a calculator. Rich beyond measure.

He watched, and he noted that were many, many travelers from the part of the world where the hubby was from. Was one of them his quarry?

The supervisor came back on the phone. Oliver had missed his prey by five minutes.

Damn.

Sure?

Very sure.

Oliver killed the call and looked around the terminal. Perhaps, just perhaps, the hubby was still there.

Even as Oliver looked, Ravi was stepping from the walk to a waiting car.