PROLOGUE

ATTENTION FREEDOM BROTHERS:

BVI A.M. DB / SARIN CAMEL-COP OP

DARK WEB ONLY

―SUPREME WHITE KNIGHT

Noah Thompson rushed into the office of Captain Jack Dylan and handed him the message, direct from a search of the dark web.

“Sarin in Dearborn? Are you shitting me?” Jack pounded his desk; his morning coffee spilled all over the burglary file he had been studying. Coffee was everywhere, flowing across the desk and dripping onto the floor. Jack didn’t notice; he was staring at the two-sentence message.

“What do we know, Noah?”

“We don’t have any details, Jack,” replied Noah, Jack’s and the Dearborn Police Department’s technology guru. “What you see is all we have. We’ve decided that DB, together with ‘camel-cop’ means that Dearborn, cops, and Muslims are the principal targets; this is probably some sort of revenge plot for the Blaine situation.”

“We can’t take this lightly, Noah. We need to gather the team immediately.”

PART ONE—TERROR

Chapter One

The men around the table became quiet as they absorbed the news. They were an elite unit of Dearborn Michigan police officers; a task force that had achieved some notoriety for bringing down a group of white supremacists after one member had bombed the local mosque and an Islamic museum. In the process, the task force exonerated and rescued Arya Khan, a young Muslim woman falsely accused of murdering the mosque bomber and who had, later, been held hostage by these homegrown terrorists. 

Their leader was Benjamin Blaine, head of the “The Conservative Council” and an icon/exemplar for numerous, similar groups. After their capture, trials, and various plea bargains, Blaine and seventeen others were now serving multiple life sentences in a Michigan prison.

“What do we know about Sarin gas? How is it released? What kind of damage does it cause?” Jack Dylan’s mind was racing as he addressed his elite group of cops.

“According to my limited internet research, Sarin was developed by the Germans in 1938. No surprise there, I guess,” replied Noah.

“Go on…”

“It has been associated with acts of terror in the past, as you probably know. There was the Japan subway attack in 1995, twelve deaths, fifty injuries, and five thousand afflicted with temporary blindness of some sort.”

“Keep going, Noah,” said Shaheed Ali, Jack Dylan’s right-hand man. Shaheed was lieutenant on the task force and its only Muslim. He and Arya Khan had become “an item” following her rescue. Their relationship was the talk of the task force. Shaheed refused to provide the level of prurient detail that his nosy and obnoxious colleagues were interested in, which caused them to be more curious and more obnoxious. Such was life in the brotherhood in blue.

“It was used more recently in Syria last April, where more than ninety civilians were killed by the Syrian air force rockets of Bashar al-Assad. United Nations weapons inspectors have confirmed this incident. This stuff is lethal, guys. Sarin is a clear, colorless, tasteless liquid; exposure to as little as a couple of drops of it in liquid form might cause death. It is extremely volatile, turns to gas at room temperature and can penetrate the skin. It attacks the nervous system, over-stimulating nerves that control muscle and gland functions. Sarin is almost thirty times deadlier than cyanide, if you can believe that.

“A victim might inhale or ingest it or might be exposed to it through skin or eye contact. It can remain on an affected person’s clothing for thirty minutes or so, which will not only expose that person but all the people he or she comes in contact with for that period.” Noah stopped and surveyed the room. His colleagues were digesting the information, in stunned disbelief.

“What happens to someone who is exposed?” Shaheed asked.

“The victim will first experience a runny nose, chest tightness, and eye problems. After those initial symptoms, the person becomes nauseous and begins to drool as he or she loses muscle control in the mouth and throat. The next progression is full-fledged vomiting, loss of body functions, perhaps twitching, shaking, and jerking. Finally, the victim chokes, convulses, and dies from asphyxiation. The whole thing is over within minutes of exposure,” replied Noah.

Jack rose and began to pace around the room, thinking, indifferent to the presence of the others, virtually ignoring them, muttering to himself. He was a distinguished-looking middle-aged man who was graying at the temples. Being a no-nonsense cop, he took this threat very seriously. Because of Arya Khan, Shaheed Ali, and the events of last year, Jack had become a better cop, someone more aware of racism and bigotry in his community, and someone who the citizens well respected. Suddenly, he stopped pacing and sat down at the head of the table, eyeballing his colleagues.

“These internet ramblings are obviously not enough to do anything with at the moment.” Turning to Noah, he said, “Noah, you and your team continue to monitor all internet activity. We need more detail. Shaheed, I want you to investigate all white supremacist or nationalist groups in the area. I know the activity among such groups has been increasing over the past year. Look for which groups are most active in the Detroit Metropolitan area and which have close ties with Blaine and The Conservative Council. We are still recovering from the last incident. We have to stop this plot if that’s what it is; we have to stop it cold before it gains any traction.”

“Got it, boss,” replied Shaheed.

“And by the way, Shaheed, get together with Noah and investigate whether or not the threat may be foreign rather than domestic. Sarin may have been invented in Germany, but its recent use has been limited to Middle Eastern countries and Islamic terrorists. The noise on the web could be a smokescreen for all we know. Better to be safe than sorry.”

“Understood.”

Jack turned from his men and gazed out onto Michigan Avenue. It was a dreary spring day. The nasty weather mirrored how he was feeling after hearing the news of another potential terrorist attack in his beloved city.

The leaves on the trees were in bloom. Dark clouds still blanketed the sky; a storm had only just passed. Jack could hear an occasional angry horn as drivers weaved in and out of stop-and-go traffic.

Commuters with their morning cups of coffee hurried along the sidewalks and streets of the city. The enveloping fog was eerie, like a tightening vice, given the possibility of a Sarin gas attack in Dearborn proper. Was the fog a sign of evil about to descend on the city? Jack was startled out of his intense, trancelike state by Shaheed Ali.

“Boss? Jack? Earth to Jack?” Shaheed said, amused.

Jack shook himself back into the meeting and immediately turned to Andy Toller, a new cop on the task force. His primary talent was research and operational planning. Andy had replaced Asher Granger, once a good cop and a trusted friend. Granger, it turned out, was more invested in the white nationalist agenda than being a loyal officer of the law. Ultimately, Benjamin Blaine had killed him after Asher attempted to betray Blaine.

“Andy,” Jack continued, “I need you to get me everything you can on a black-market distribution of chemicals. If someone wanted to smuggle Sarin gas into the city, how would they do it? Where are the obvious and less obvious points of entry? How would they weaponize it? Talk to narcotics officers in all local police departments. Talk to undercover operatives and snitches. I want to get a handle on the situation before making any decisions involving the Feds and Homeland Security. Got it?” Jack was determined, all business.

“Got it, boss. Glad to be here; glad to be of service,” said Andy, pleased to be seeing some action and excited to prove himself to Jack and the others.

“Anybody have anything to add?” Jack asked, looking around the room. Silence.

“Then let’s get to work. Sarin…shit! We must stop these guys…again.”

The men nodded, stone-faced. Was it really déjà vu all over again?