Revenge: The Stopper Files, #6

By Eugene Lloyd MacRae

A race against the clock to avert a worldwide disaster.

 

When the American military and their coalition partners in the Middle East betray one of their own, including killing the family in an air strike, Merlin Arthur Dragon is sent in to deal with the result of the treachery. Revenge in the form of biological warfare. Unleashing a weapon of mass destruction that will bring death for millions around the world.

 

How far will Merlin have to go? What inner demons will he confront when he comes face to face with the hard task of eliminating the one who was betrayed, ending the threat.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Eugene Lloyd MacRae
• Release date: Jan 11, 2022
• ISBN: 9798201884970

Eugene Lloyd MacRae

Eugene Lloyd MacRae lives on Canada's South Coast in Ontario. He is the author of the Rory Mack Steele series of novels and several family history books. He began writing novels after a near-fatal heart attack in March, 2012 left him lying in bed with little to do. He began pecking away on a Blackberry Playbook he had bought 2 months before and the characters that emerged kept him company.

Book preview

Chapter 1

Qudsaya, Rif Dimashq Governorate, Syria

THE FIGHTER JETS came in from the east and what had been a normal day under the hot sun quickly became significant for Yazmin Antoun. She wore her desert camouflage uniform, tactical vest, and a tan-checkered keffiyeh scarf around her head as well her nose and mouth. Only her glittering dark eyes were visible to anyone she passed. No one knew she was a woman. They only knew her as a brilliant tactical leader of men. One who carried an M4A1 assault rifle over her shoulder at all times. With a little rearrangement, the weapon could be converted into a grenade launcher and that made her a highly effective and dangerous fighter. One that put fear into the Ba'athist Syrian Arab Republic Army time after time as they fought back.

The noise came first, reaching across the Barada River like claws extended, announcing the attack.

Turning to face the sound, Yazmin wondered, peering up between the concrete four-story buildings to her right.

Echoing off the low hills in the distance, the cracking roar ominously rolled over the landscape, heading for the very spot where she stood in the already bruised and battered city.

Yazmin's hand automatically reached for the assault rifle over her shoulder. But she knew the weapon was useless, recognizing the six deadly shapes that grew large in the shimmering blue sky within a single heartbeat.

America F-22 Raptor stealth fighter jets. British RAF Tornado IDS fighter-bombers. French Rafale fighter jets. Two of each.

They had flown over her in battle many times, heading for the enemy. But this didn't make sense. Why were they here–?

The F-22 Raptor letting loose with the JDAM-equipped bombs told her all she needed to know. The 2,000 pounds bombs were guided by an integrated inertial guidance system coupled to a Global Positioning System (GPS) receiver—all-weather precision-guided munitions. And there was no mistaking where they were headed. The apartment building that had been her destination. Where her family lived.

She screamed at the top of her lungs for everyone to get out

In an instant, the Tornado and Rafale jets joined in the attack with laser-guided bombs, and SCALP EG cruise missiles.

The results were deafening and devastating.

Yazmin was knocked from her feet by the terrifying concussive blasts that seemed to go on forever.

Fireballs tore across the landscape, destroying apartment buildings for half a block, and sending them skyward. Seconds later, jagged pieces of concrete, torn steel rebar, shattered glass, and flaming wood fell from the sky.

Screaming directly overhead, the fighter jets soared over the western slope of Mount Qasioun and climbed back into the shimmering skies.

Yazmin Antoun sat up and rolled to her knees, looking around frantically, yelling and screaming for her family, the sound of her voice blunted by the ringing deafness in her ears. The ruthless attackers had reduced everything around her to flaming piles of rubble in mere seconds. The all-too-familiar taste of scorched metal, the pungent smell of exploded bombs, and the strong scent of burning flesh overwhelmed her. Barring a miracle, that was everyone gone now. All of her loved ones. Their bodies would be ripped, torn, or incinerated like so many she had seen. She cursed the skies. And the Americans. And the Brits. And the French. They were supposed to be allies! Didn't they know who she was?

Chapter 2

Ottawa, Canada

MERLIN ARTHUR DRAGON sat in a large comfy chair, his blue, wooly Chartreux cat Jigs curled in his lap. They were both missing Jaimee Hartman. When the willowy beauty with the jet-black hair and bubbly personality first moved into the building well over a year ago, Jigs had taken an immediate liking to her. So had Merlin. But being that square peg in a round hole—and being inept in every social situation you could imagine—he had struggled to move ahead with the relationship. That was despite the fact Jaimee had more than hinted that she was eager to do so. In the end, he had messed everything up. She had misunderstood a situation and moved from the apartment building without–.

His special cell phone buzzed and vibrated on the table next to him. It was connected to Interpol's I-24/7 secure global police network, allowing him access to the Interpol databases 24 hours a day, 365 days a year. All its other special features were hidden behind facial recognition software, only allowing him access. It was also how he received notice that he had an assignment.

Jigs lifted his head, glanced in the direction of the phone, and then looked into Merlin's eyes.

Merlin scratched his head. I know, pal. I know.

Jumping down, Jigs crossed to the window, where he settled down to watch the birds feeding on the other side. His tail swished back and forth.

The cell phone continued to buzz, demanding Merlin's attention.

Ignoring it, Merlin went to the kitchen and made a coffee. No sooner had he tasted and smelled the rich Mocha taste, a soft knock came at the door. The cell phone buzzed and rattled on the table in the other room. Merlin ran his fingers through his hair. He had no intention of answering either one. He heard the thump of Jigs jumping down from the window and his padding across the floor to the door.

The soft knock on the door again told him whoever was out there wasn't going away any time soon.

Merlin walked back into the other room and stood there, sipping his coffee.

His wooly Chartreux friend was sitting not far from the door, staring at him with intense eyes. His tail swished back and forth on the floor.

Sighing, Merlin knew what that meant and he couldn't deny the little guy. Don't tell me. Someone brought you something.

Jigs swished his tail, his eyes growing larger as his ears picked up a sound on the other side of the door.

Merlin walked across to the door, placed his hand on the doorknob, hesitated, and then pulled the door open.

A dark-haired young woman in a police cap and uniform stood at the door.  Her shoulder patch identified her as part of the Bear Island Police Service—which meant she was a member of the Temagami First Nation, an Algonquin Indian band. But Constable Samantha Powless, was also a member of the Interpol Crime Unit, working for Evelyn O'Toole. She had a smile on her face as she looked at Jigs and raised a red and white bag. Guess what your aunt Sammy brought you?

As Jigs began a dance in and out and then around Sammy's ankles, Merlin turned and walked away from the door. You're spoiling that cat. He sat down in the chair as he heard Sammy close the door.

Sammy headed for Merlin's kitchen. I always spoil my friends. Especially the ones that like chicken. She laughed as Jigs become more animated at her simply mentioning the word.

The cell phone buzzed and vibrated on the table.

Still ignoring it, Merlin sipped at his coffee.

Sammy called from the kitchen. Laurent told me it would take a while before you answered.

Aubrey Laurent was a Director with the International Criminal Police Organization and the man Merlin worked for. Then why did he bother trying?

There was no answer.

A few minutes later, Sammy emerged from the kitchen, dropped her police cap next to the vibrating cell phone, and walked to the window. She stood there, watching the birds, looking out over the city. And waiting.

The cell phone buzzed one more time. And then sat mute on the table.

Merlin wrapped his hands around the cup, feeling the heat as he sipped. He wasn't sure if it was depression or anger...or anger leading to the depression that was affecting him...but losing Jaimee Hartman hurt. He blamed his job...and that assignment for creating the problem. Without the assignment and the job and everyone involved, maybe it would have been different. Turned out differently. Deep inside he knew that was...not true...but it offered a salve. Merlin pushed himself from his thoughts, changing the subject. How are Laurent and O'Toole these days?  Evelyn O'Toole and Director Aubrey Laurent had been hospitalized for some time in Ireland, recovering from an assassin trying to kill them using a nerve agent developed by the Soviet Union decades ago. It was part of a plot to get Merlin—Interpol's one and only Stopper, tasked with stopping the bad guys by any means necessary—to come out of the shadows so they could kill him. Merlin had killed the plotters instead.

They're both doing well. Not well enough to fly yet–.

Glancing at her over the cup, Merlin found that unsettling. Are there complications?

Yes and no. O'Toole was having a problem with kidney stones because of some physiological changes due to the poison. But they put her on medication to help. She has to take fifteen pills a day and she's a little pissed at that but she says it's better than the alternative. But the doctors just want to be cautious with everything else. Both of them are still feeling some muscular weakness. Some of the slow progress—as far as their constitution is concerned—is age-related. Sammy laughed. "They're not that old but O'Toole wasn't happy with the doctor's age-related diagnosis."

Merlin couldn't help but let a smile cross his lips. O'Toole had been feisty from the day they met. Then the anger and depression crept in again. Maybe if he had done things differently with a previous case, O'Toole—and Laurent—wouldn't be suffering.

Sammy held a finger up over her shoulder without turning. However, both of them wanted to get back to work. And they found it easy to take the short boat ride to England and then travel by train through the Chunnel to Interpol headquarters in Lyon, France. They're working out of there.

And I take it the Director is sending me on a case?

Turning, Sammy shrugged, I have no idea. I'm not in the loop, remember?

Then why are you here?

To take care of my buddy. And no, it's not you.

Merlin didn't offer a reaction. He sipped at his coffee.

Sammy put her hands on her hips. Look. I've been given an assignment. Just like before, Jigs will have a 24-hour guard from a member of the Bear Island Police Service. If you don't want me here, just say so, and I'll leave.

As she stood there, waiting for an answer, the cell phone buzzed and vibrated on the table again.

Not sure why—maybe it was guilt and a feeling he owed Laurent—or just to give him something to do to forget Jaimie Hartman, Merlin set the coffee down, and grabbed the cell phone, checking it. A text message spelled it out plainly. You have an assignment. The car is waiting outside. If you decide to. He rolled the phone in his hand for a moment, then stood up. Okay. Do you need to go get your stuff if you're staying over–?

No. O'Toole has another female officer at my place packing a suitcase. I told her I didn't want Jigs to be alone for a single minute.

That's nice of you. But it sounds more like you were ordered to take this assignment.

Crossing her arms, Sammy frowned. Hey, that hurts. I didn't have to do it, you know?

Merlin headed for his bedroom where he changed into a Canadian tuxedo; a denim shirt, blue jeans, and a jean jacket. The shirt pocket held three items. A credit card and a debit card for any expenses during the assignment. The other was a Shomer-Tec Carbon Fiber Ventilator. It was made of ultra-stiff hollow carbon fiber tubing and looked like a standard cheap black pen with a standard pen cap and a pocket clip. But concealed under the cap was a sharp point cut on a bias. The other end was covered with a slightly tacky material to enhance the grip. His first, and only, attempt to use it as a last-ditch weapon had failed. But it added to his tools and enhanced his chances of survival in a tight situation.

The jean jacket covered the conceal holster in the waistband of the pants over his back right pocket. The holster held his special, 9mm Beretta PX4 Storm Subcompact handgun. Made from carbon fiber, it could pass through metal detectors without a problem. It also had Smart Gun technology—the grip had an internal scan of Merlin's palm print and the weapon couldn't be fired by anyone else. He slipped his cell phone into the jacket's right pocket along with his 999 key—also called a bump key that can be used to open 90% of all cylindrical locks.

Andre's Custom Boots had created a new pair of boots for him from a modified pair of the standard seven-hole leather police boots he made for the local forces. They had a secret compartment in each heel. Merlin stashed a second credit card in one, and a second debit card in the other, along with several waterproof matches, and water-purification tablets—he never knew where he might end up. The ends of the shoelaces on each boot had blacked-brass tips and one tip on each lace was actually a boot-lace handcuff key. The design had been created for covert units of the U.S army that had a high possibility of being captured by the enemy.

His 'escape belt' was made of 1.5" nylon webbing, completely non-metallic, and was part of the field kit used by some of Canada's elite forces. The inside of the belt buckle itself held a non-metallic handcuff key and a ceramic razor blade held in place by a Kevlar lanyard. The inside of the belt webbing had dozens of elasticized compartments containing another non-metallic handcuff key, 4.5 feet of Kevlar survival cord, the Escape Stick by Shomer-Tec, a 4-piece, titanium lock-picking kit, a round half-inch telescopic diamond-tipped glass cutter that extended from one inch to three that he had just added, and an American Liberty nickel. You turned the nickel to heads-up, slid a fingernail clockwise along the edge, and a small blade of hardened stainless steel rotated out. All you had to do was slip it into your pocket and it was doubtful anyone patting you down would be concerned with a small coin if they even detected it. Around his wrist, he wore a Pyro-Band bracelet. It had an integral ferrocerium rod that served as a connector as well as a fire source. Rapidly scraping the rod with a sharp edge, such as a knife blade, would send out a shower of sparks to ignite tinder to start a fire.

The go-bag he pulled from his closet contained his Interpol badge, his credentials, another shirt, and a change of socks and underwear. He left his bedroom and headed for the front door. Opening it, he heard Sammy's voice from across the floor.

You said before I was a friend. You don't hurt friends. Not if you want to keep them.

Merlin opened his mouth but no words came out. He was almost afraid he didn't have the ability to smooth things over and he would only make it worse. He'd already lost one person in his life, he didn't have many more.

Chapter 3

THE ARMORED LIMOUSINE waiting outside his apartment drove Merlin to the private and secure area at the Ottawa Macdonald–Cartier International Airport where the business jet used for his assignments was waiting. But as he jumped out and the limousine drove away, he stopped in his tracks. That wasn't his Global 8000 parked on the tarmac. Instead, he saw a massive 230-foot long airliner. The top half was painted white and the bottom half was red. There were no letters, numbers, or names visible anywhere. Not even a tail number. And—more importantly—no stairs to climb on-board. The smell of aviation fuel hung heavy in the air which suggested it had been refueled recently.

Merlin turned in a circle, go-bag in hand, trying to figure out what had happened. He could hear the normal sounds of the busy airport, baggage haulers rumbling across the tarmac in the distance, the fading sound of another aircraft climbing into the sky but nothing that indicated he should be somewhere else. The whir of hydraulic equipment going to work caught his attention. He turned slowly, looking at the plane and wondering—a brushed-stainless-steel box began to drop slowly from the belly of the airliner. It settled softly on the tarmac and two doors whispered open like an elevator car. Hesitating at first, Merlin crossed the hot tarmac, still trying to figure out what he was seeing. The stainless box was eight-foot-tall, four-foot-wide, six-feet deep, and he hesitated once more before cautiously stepping inside. The doors closed behind him and the box began moving smoothly back up inside the airliner. Merlin was impressed by the rich-looking interior, gold and brown colors trimmed with teak and mahogany. A keypad to the left of the closed doors had touch-screen buttons labeled Open, Close, 1,2, and T, which he assumed to mean Tarmac.  The box came to a soft stop. The doors opened, followed by a second set of etched glass doors that opened to reveal Captain Charity Sherrell, the pilot, and her co-pilot, Captain Faith Saab. They were two serving members of the Canadian military and the normal permanent crew that flew him to his assignments. Except this still wasn't his plane.

Captain Sherrell smiled. Welcome aboard Air Dragon, sir.

Merlin gave her a slight shake of his head as he stepped out of the box. Air Dragon? Really–? He was taken aback by the luxurious gold and brown interior of the small space they were in.  What exactly is going on?

This is your new ride, Saab told him. A Boeing BBJ 777-200ER—the BBJ stands for Boeing Business Jet—it's a wide-body airliner that normally seats over 300 passengers.

Merlin whistled and asked, How many more crew...?

Sherrell shook her head. Nope. No other crew members. Despite the size, and due to the amazing flight deck, it only requires a minimum of two crew members.

Seriously?

Saab nodded confirmation. Seriously. She gestured to the outline of a door in the side of the aircraft behind her. "That is the airliner doorway you would normally use. But this thing is too big to have a built-in, clam-shell stairway like the last one. So you need to have an airport crew put a mobile staircase in place before you can enter or exit. Which is exactly what our military aviation systems technicians did to perform the maintenance work they completed two hours ago. But the way you work, waiting for a mobile staircase to be put in place doesn't work well. She gestured to the box  Instead, you just came up in the elevator car. It's called an Aerolift and it will allow us to continue working as a two-person crew while you can come and go without any delay."

Merlin nodded as he glanced back at the closed glass doors. I have to admit that Aerolift thing is slick.

Sherrell beamed brightly. This whole plane is slick. It's the most efficient twin-engine jet in the world. It features GE90 engines, the biggest turbine engine in the world, new composite wings with folding wingtips—they give the craft an extra 23 feet in span to maximize fuel efficiency—and a 9,380 nautical-mile range. That's halfway around the world, without stopping.

It uses intelligent, digital LED lighting throughout the cabin, Saab added, as well as OLED and advanced smart glass technology on all the windows. They can be dimmed or allow virtual curtains or window shades to be displayed. There are also physical internal blinds that can be brought down to cover the windows if you want instead. The plane is even equipped with a machine that uses different scent cartridges to send allergen-free aromas throughout the cabin. We've tried a few. There's...black orchid, a lush green floral fragrance...there's lemongrass, vanilla bean, chocolate–.

Sherrell raised a finger in emphasis. My favorite is the freshly baked bread with a hint of warm butter one. You'll love it.

I'll take your word for it, Merlin said. But...what gives? Why the change? Any idea?

Saab nodded. Yes. Director Laurent reached out to us and asked us to work on this project with some of the air force's military flight design engineers and an interior plane designer from Switzerland. She leaned her head forward. He hinted that some assignment that involved a foreign adversarial country allowed our local Interpol office to suck in a couple of billion dollars to use in our international crime-fighting ventures?

Merlin shook his head. I wouldn't know anything about that.

Uh-huh.

Sherrell smiled. Well, however it happened, we've been able to add some new features that will help everyone in the long run. Which includes a new area with bunks and galley for the two of us right behind the flight deck so we can spell each other a lot easier on long flights.

Saab gestured to the left. And you'll find a high-tech computerized workspace and communications center right there. It's leaps and bound beyond what we had before.

Pointing to the right, Sherrell added, You'll find an area we call the lounge beyond that sliding pocket door, then a galley and eating area, a bedroom, and then your own private suite at the back. The lounge still has a number of regular airplane seats but we're working on a different design for that space.

Okay.

She turned and pointed at a locker on the wall next to the entry door. The courier set a briefcase in there for you. The locker opens with a scan of your right eye. If you want to retrieve your orders, you can buckle in. She gave him a salute, And with that quick verbal tour, we're headed for the flight deck to perform our final check. Our orders are to take off once you arrive, sir. 

When Merlin returned the salute, Sherrell headed for the flight deck.

Saab gave him a salute and then headed for the flight deck as well, looking back over her shoulder, There's an intercom in each room if you need us for anything, sir.

Like sending out a search party if I get lost?

Saab's laughter echoed off the fancy walls as she disappeared.

Merlin set his go-bag down next to the locker and placed his eye against the scanner. The locker opened with a click and he pulled out a hefty briefcase. With the go-bag under his arm, he slid the pocket door open and stepped into the main area. The luxurious decor was amazing, and almost overwhelming, decorated in those same soothing gold and brown tones. But the scent Sherrell had mentioned, freshly baked bread with a hint of warm butter, hung in the air and made you feel at home.

Merlin headed for a seat to the left that faced the nose of the plane and had a table he could use. Setting the go-bag on the floor, and the briefcase on the table, he sat down and buckled up as he took in the sofa and easy chairs, the mounted flat-screen televisions, and an area on the left that appeared to have a self-serving bar. Sherrell was right, this thing had some new features.

The turbine engines came to life, the steady whine building and sending a sense of immense power through the cabin and his seat.

Merlin checked his cell phone and found a secure message with the code for the briefcase. Unlocking it, he slid out four folders, each containing a number of files, onto the table. Knowing the Director, these would probably be unconnected events that Laurent's instincts deemed part of a bigger puzzle. It would be Merlin's job to figure out how they fit. A hard task considering they usually didn't have those edge pieces or corners that gave you a start.

As the airliner began its movement to get in position for takeoff, Merlin looked through the files in the first folder, dumping the contents on the table. He picked up the top envelope labeled FINTRAC; Case #585756. The acronym FINTRAC stood for The Financial Transactions and Reports Analysis Centre of Canada. The organization was Canada's financial intelligence unit. Its mandate was simple but complex at the same time; the organization was to facilitate the detection, prevention, and deterrence of money-laundering, and the financing of terrorist activities.

In this case, FINTRAC had turned over some information to the Royal Canadian Mounted Police in Edmonton, Alberta regarding a charity in the province that was a front for financing terrorism. Gracious Givers Incorporated had turned out to be a phony front. A foreign financial intelligence unit (FIU) advised FINTRAC of a money-laundering investigation of two individuals, and a business involved in the wiring of funds from the Bank of China to its Subsidiary in Calgary and into the accounts of L&S Trading, an import/export business. The two accounts were opened several years ago and were relatively dormant at the start. From there, the dollar value of wire transfers received into the two business accounts had steadily increased. An investigation showed seven million dollars were wired through BoC to the accounts held by this business with no rationale as to why the increase occurred. The bulk of the money was then transferred from L&S Trading to Gracious Givers, where they further laundered the money by buying cryptocurrencies from Internet-based exchanges, converting that back to US dollars, and using wire transfers to send it to individuals and shell entities that were suspected fronts for ISIS—the Islamic State of Iraq and Syria—in Pakistan, China, and Turkey. These suspected fronts would then funnel the money to ISIS in Syria.

The other files were financial records that revealed the accounts in China and Canada, as well as the trading business, and the charity were all owned by two Canadians, Liam Allan Paquet, and William Jacob Sloane. Paquet and Sloane were part of a loose network of ISIS sympathizers in Alberta. But the last file was a police report that showed both Paquet and Sloane had been arrested a week ago by the RCMP. They were presently sitting in Spy Hill Jail in Calgary, awaiting trial and trying to broker some kind of plea deal. So what am I supposed to do if they're in custody and the money-laundering scheme was broken up?

Moving aside those files, Merlin opened the second folder. The first file was a printout from George Washington University that was labeled; Travelers, American Jihadists in Syria and Iraq. The report was on American jihadist sympathizers and how they had traveled to jihadist-held territory in Syria and Iraq to help the Islamic State of Iraq fight against American troops and some of the local forces they backed—the Kurdish People's Protection Units, the Free Syrian Army, Umar ibn al-Khattab, Umayyad al-Sham, and the Syrian Democratic Forces. Some had traveled alone, while others had been part of a network that helped them 'travel'. Merlin knew Canadians and others from Europe had done the same thing. So how were the terrorist financing information and the American Travelers document related?

The next file showed him they weren't. Except as background information that might or might not help him. The Canadian Security Intelligence Service had detected 'chatter' between Syrian based sources and other suspected supporters in Canada regarding an imminent terrorist attack. The chatter indicated a number of those 'travelers' were in the process of returning to their home countries—not just Canada but the U.S., the U.K., and Europe as well—to participate in some coordinated event. What that would be was unknown. As was the identity of every returning traveler. Merlin could understand the heightened fear, so much was unknown. How could you stop an attack if you didn't know when or where, and only had a partial how with the return of those travelers? His mind went back to the 'loose network' in Alberta that Paquet and Sloane were part of. He scanned back through the files but didn't see any connection to returning travelers mentioned. He moved on.

The third folder contained several files on the chatter gathered from confidential informants, infiltrated online forums, intercepted phone calls, e-mails, and even faxes between terrorists or suspected terrorists. A narrative had been pieced together by the United Kingdom's MI5 Military Intelligence, MI6, the Secret Intelligence Service, Defence Intelligence, and the Government Communications Headquarters. Millions of dollars had been moved from Syria to fund a project at an underground biological laboratory in Libya. The working theory was the lab was trying to weaponize yersinia pestis, a naturally occurring bacterium. But Yersinia pestis is also the disease-causing bacteria that causes all three forms of plague—bubonic, septicemic, and pneumonic. The bubonic plague was widely known as the disease behind the devastating Black Death of the European Middle Ages that killed up to 60 percent of the European population. The lab was working to weaponize the pneumonic plague version—the most life-threatening manifestation of Yersinia pestis infection—in aerosol form as a terrorist weapon. The infection centered in the lungs and came from the inhalation of infectious respiratory droplets. If patients were not treated with 48 hours, the fatality rate would be close to 100 percent. So how were the money-laundering and financing terrorism, the returning travelers, and this underground lab connected?

Merlin moved everything aside and opened the fourth folder—several eight-by-ten pictures slid out, plopping onto his lap—he looked down and felt the blood chill in his veins.

Chapter 4

IT TOOK A MOMENT before Merlin could reach down and pick up one of the pictures to look closer. The movement of the airliner over a rough patch of tarmac caused the image to shake but there was no mistaking what he was looking at. A dozen bodies were piled on top of another. They lay on scrubby grass between two mud-brick huts with thatched roofs. He looked through the other pictures. More of the same, a pile of bodies laying on worn footpaths between mud-brick huts, other bodies lying in grotesque poses on rickety beds inside huts. Several of the dead had open mouths, frozen in agony, dried blood coating the tongue and painting the lips in a macabre fashion statement. Some had blackened fingers and toes. There was no doubt all had died in extreme physical and mental distress.

The folder had an official file from the World Health Organization. The pictures had been taken in the village of Rumbok in the South Sudan and the deaths were caused by—Merlin had to read it twice—they had died from the pneumonic plague. Area-based health workers indicated the first known plague victim—a thirteen-year-old male—had been found on the road leading from Rumbok to a larger village nearby with a clinic. This teenager was still living when they found him and he told the doctors he had been approached by a man in a jeep. The man was wearing a white vest with a red cross on it, the same thing he has seen at the clinic in the next village. This man had taken an aerosol spray bottle filled with a liquid from a sealed package and paid the teenager a large sum of money to spray it in Rumbok. It was supposed to be a new experimental vaccine and the villagers wouldn't have to travel to the clinic to get it. When the villagers began to get sick and he started feeling bad, he panicked and tried to make it to that clinic for help. Merlin sifted through the papers. It was obvious that the doctors didn't believe the teenager because there was no statement or conclusion they had ever determined how the outbreak had started.

The airliner was turning slowly