“You said this Alomari was high-ranking,” stated Paul Jackson, the president’s National Security Advisor. “How high-ranking are we talking about?”

“Alomari is bin Laden’s protégé-handpicked to handle only the most sensitive assignments. It’s exceptionally concerning that we’ve attached him to what happened in Asalaam because Alomari’s main responsibility for al-Qaeda is to help conceptualize and orchestrate the most devastating attacks he can think of against the United States. He’s the only person in al-Qaeda said to hate America even more than bin Laden himself.”

“But how do we know Alomari and those dead scientists are connected to what happened in this village?” asked Secretary Driehaus.

“Because, besides probably being killed by Alomari, the scientists were all working on a highly secretive project for something called the Islamic Institute for Science and Technology in Bangladesh. Its mission statement is to improve the lives of Muslims worldwide through advancements in science and technology, but we’ve suspected for some time those aren’t their true marching orders.”

“Why is that?”

“They get paid lots of visits by scientists from Islamic countries we believe are involved with covert chemical, biological, or nuclear weapons programs. One of the institute’s directors, in fact, is especially fond of quoting Dr. Shiro Ishii, the head of Japan ’s bioweapons program during World War II. Ishii was the one who said that if a weapon is important enough to be prohibited, it must be worth having in one’s arsenal.”

The secretary of state, Jennifer Staley, replied, “Director Vaile, do we have any hard evidence connecting this institute with any covert weapons programs?”

“Yes, we do.”

“What’s the connection?”

“Jamal Mehmood.”

“Who is Jamal Mehmood?” asked Driehaus.

Vaile looked to the president, and when Rutledge nodded his head, Vaile explained, “He’s a Pakistani nuclear scientist. A couple of years ago, we found the schematics he designed for an anthrax-spreading device in an al-Qaeda training camp. The CIA was part of the team that helped track him down and detain him outside of Karachi. We were never able to substantiate his claims that the designs had been stolen.”

“I still don’t see the connection.”

“Both Mehmood and A.Q. Khan-the father of the Islamic bomb, who sold nuclear secrets to Iran and Libya-have not only been visiting professors but major fundraisers for the Islamic Institute for Science and Technology.”

The secretary of state held out her hands in front of her, as if balancing what she’d been listening to, and said, “So we have a serious mystery illness seen only in some remote Iraqi village on one hand and a high-ranking al-Qaeda operative who killed a bunch of scientists tied to some Islamic research group on the other. I’m still not seeing any connection here.”

General Currutt advanced to the next slide on his laptop and responded, “A few days before the people in Asalaam started becoming sick, Khalid Sheik Alomari was spotted crossing the Iraqi-Syrian border less than forty-five kilometers from the village. We believe Asalaam was a live test site for the virus.”

That was all it took. There wasn’t a single person in the situation room who could ignore the al-Qaeda link.

“So that’s it then,” said Jackson. “Al-Qaeda is now actively in the biowarfare game.”

Currutt brought up an organizational chart for al-Qaeda. Those who had been killed or captured either had either a slash or a red X through their photo. “Unfortunately, it would seem so. We’ve inflicted such significant damage on them that they’re growing desperate. In a sense, we’ve forced them to branch out in drastic new directions, one of which happens to be in the realm of chemical and biological weapons. They’re using Iraq and Afghanistan as justification for employing whatever weapons they can get their hands on to drive us from all Muslim lands.”

“Jesus,” responded Driehaus. “Talk about blowback. Every single move we make, whether successful or not, seems to come back to bite us in the ass twice as hard.”

It was exactly what everyone around the table was thinking.

“The good we’re doing over there far outweighs the bad,” said the secretary of state.

“I hope so,” responded Driehaus, “but I have to be honest. I’m worried our losses may soon overshadow whatever gains we might make.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means that for better or worse, I’m more concerned with the welfare of the American people than I am with the Iraqis or anyone else over in that part of the world.”

“So what? We’re supposed to just bury our heads in the sand and hope that the terrorism problem will just go away? Because we all know that’s not going to happen.”

“All right,” interjected the president. “I respect that we’ve got a wide range of opinions in the room, but let’s all try to settle down and focus on the matter at hand.”

After several moments of awkward silence, the surgeon general said, “I suppose that if we don’t know what we’re dealing with, it’s pointless to ask if there’s a cure.”

“Pretty much,” said Colonel Tranberg, relieved to get back on track.

“How about the fatality rate? What can you tell us about that?”

“Well, that all depends upon on how you interpret the data. If you look at the village of Asalaam, one out of every two people died, which gives us a fifty percent fatality rate, which is extremely serious.”

“If the village is our only benchmark,” asked Plaisier, “then how else could you be looking at this?”

“We’re looking at the village, of course, but more importantly, we’re looking at the one out of every two villagers who died. You see, the area around Mosul is one of the largest Christian enclaves in the entire country. It isn’t unusual for Christians and Muslims to live side by side there. Asalaam was a perfect example of this. So perfect, in fact, that it was about fifty-two percent Muslim and forty-eight percent Christian.”

“And when you look at the deaths by religious affiliations?” asked the surgeon general.

Tranberg shook his head slowly. “Only the Muslims survived. If you weren’t Muslim, the illness was one hundred percent lethal.”

NINE

ALBANTOWERS APARTMENTS

GEORGETOWN

Helen Carmichael didn’t have to sleep with the young CIA analyst-the promise of a position in her cabinet would have been enough in itself, but the sex was a nice bonus. It wasn’t only powerful male politicians who attracted good-looking, hard-bodied young things. Powerful female politicians did as well, although they tended to be a lot more discreet about it.

Carmichael reached for the half-empty bottle of Montrachet in the ice bucket next to the bed and filled their two glasses. As she handed the sandy-haired twenty-five-year-old his wine, she said, “Tell me about work.”

Brian Turner knew it was part of the deal, but just once he wished they could talk about something else. “I have a friend who keeps a sailboat on the eastern shore of the Chesapeake who said I could use it any time I wanted, “He said, changing the subject. “How about this weekend?”

“Brian, you know I’m not a big fan of boats,” replied the senator.

“That doesn’t matter. It’s supposed to rain anyway. We’ll just keep it in the slip and stay below deck. There’s a DVD player on board. We can rent a bunch of movies and stock up at Dean amp; DeLuca on the way. We’ll get those lobster rolls you like so much. I’ll bring along a case of wine. It’ll be perfect.”

For a moment, Carmichael was tempted. She couldn’t remember the last time she had dropped everything to run off on a carefree, romantic weekend. There might have been one or two in the beginning of her marriage, but that was so long ago she couldn’t really be sure if they’d happened or if she was just inventing them in her mind to make herself feel better.