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Human Services, Department of Energy, and the Department of the Environment.
    The last item on the agenda led to a sobering discussion on the vulnerability of the East Coast's water reservoirs to tampering, one of the committee's favorite topics. And with good reason.
    Clive Graves pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose again and sorted through the notes in front of him. "It would not necessarily involve a significant amount of the botulism toxin either. If they could push the water concentration to a level in the neighborhood of one nannogram per milliliter, we are talking about thousands, potentially hundreds of thousands, of fatalities," he said in a delivery so flat that he managed to make one of Gwen's greatest fears sound tedious.
    Moira Roberts nodded somberly. "We can only provide so much security for every reservoir in the country," she said. "This is another example of why it is so vital that we have better information on terrorist activity abroad."
    "Of course, Moira, if only the CIA did our job better we would be worry-free." Clayton laughed facetiously. "Let's not forget how long the last batch of terrorists was operating on our soil before they acted," he said calmly.
    Roberts eyed him coolly. "There's no reason to finger-point, Mr. Clayton. I am merely suggesting that local security alone will not remove the threat."
    "And I am telling you," Clayton said, matching her clipped tone, "that the CIA cannot track every person on the planet with a petri dish and a hate-on for the States."
    Rubbing her temples, Savard sat back and allowed the heated debate to rage on concerning the level of security at water reservoirs. While Clayton and Roberts squared off, the rest of the group fractured into its usual factions--the scientific and environmental types on one side, the security and military types on the other.
    After about fifteen circular minutes, Savard reluctantly cut Clayton off in midsnipe at Roberts. "We've only got a few minutes left for roundtable discussion," Gwen said.
    Clockwise, they went around the long oval table. After allowing each of the fifteen members to raise issues and concerns, which in most cases led to venting about budgetary limitations and overstretched resources, Gwen spoke up. "We spend most of our time and energy at this table anticipating terrorist threats from laboratory-generated or artificially acquired agents."
    Gwen scanned the table and noticed several no-shit expressions, but a few faces creased with curiosity. "The most devastating of these pathogens--smallpox, Ebola, and so on--are secured in a very few select labs," she pointed out. "Moreover, they're fastidious agents, exceedingly difficult to work with. Now granted, it's not difficult to get your hands on some of the other organisms in quesdon--anthrax, for example. But those agents are not person-to-person transmissible. And thus far, the distribution methods have been, thankfully, primitive and limited."
    Gwen noticed Roberts fidgeting with the papers in front of her. Clayton leaned back in his chair with hands folded behind his head, but his half smile suggested he might step in with a "get to the point" comment at any moment.
    "The recent SARS epidemic got me thinking," Gwen said. "If I were a terrorist, why would I go to the effort--in most cases futile--of trying to breach lab security?"
    "Oh?" said Roberts, skeptically. "What would you as a terrorist do, Dr. Savard?"
    She scanned every face at the table before answering. "During the SARS outbreak, imagine how easy it would have been to go to Hong Kong, infect yourself, and then intentionally spread it elsewhere." She paused before turning to the FBI Deputy Director. "Man-made propagation of a natural epidemic. That, Ms. Roberts, is where I think the terrorists will get the best bang for their buck."

CHAPTER 3

DOWNTOWN CAIRO, EGYPT

    Hazzir Al Kabaal sat in his thirty-second-floor office, gazing out the window. The smog was less of a factor than usual and the Nile