Page 20 of Dead Drift

“Seriously?” Declan said.

“I’m afraid so.” Luke swallowed. “For those of you who don’t know, Operation Paperclip was a decades-long covert program of the Joint Intelligence Objectives Agency. The program brought more than sixteen hundred German scientists, engineers, and technicians—mostly of the Nazi party—along with their families, to the U.S. in anticipation of the Cold War with the Soviet Union. One was Dr. Kurt Blome, who developed offensive and defensive capabilities to counter Soviet biowarfare activities. He had previously committed heinous human biowarfare and germ warfare experiments on concentration camp victims at Auschwitz, including injecting the victims with plague vaccines and exposing them to sarin gas. His right-hand man was Abel Bedan.”

“Isaiah Bedan’s grandfather?”

“Correct.”

With a perplexed expression, the blond agent continued. “How does the Muslim connection fit in if Isaiah Bedan came from Nazi heritage?”

“His maternal grandmother was the daughter of Haj Amin al-Husseini, a mufti in Jerusalem. Al-Husseini lived in Germany from 1941 to 1945 before moving to Egypt. During that time, Abel fell in love with al-Husseini’s eldest daughter, Ayla. They married and had Erich Bedan, who married Eva Shahid, a distant relative of Ayla’s, and they had Isaiah, who has remained unmarried, fortunately. I pray that family line of death and destruction ends with him.”

“I’m sorry,” the young agent said, confusion marring his brow. “I still don’t understand the Nazi-Muslim connection.”

“Haj al-Husseini admired Hitler’s beliefs and protocol, and in turn provided soldiers to Hitler. They were part of the Waffen-SS division Handschar, which was the German word for scimitar—the swords the Muslim soldiers used to fight for Hitler.

“Our greatest concern is that Abel Bedan was responsible for the disappearance of biological weapon research notes when Operation Paperclip ended.”

“Excuse me?” another agent said, the possible magnitude of the result of such a theory clearly shaking him.

“Yes, though it is known by only a few key individuals, on a need-to-know basis, biowarfare research notes went missing after Operation Paperclip wrapped up.”

“And you believe Isaiah Bedan is in possession of the research notes Abel took?”

“That is correct.” Luke pulled up a stool and sat, propping his shoes on the rungs underneath. “Isaiah Bedan is brilliant, naturally gifted in all STEM fields, highly adaptable, and his knowledge of biowarfare is frightening. His research appears to be very similar to what the Nazi scientists were barbarically working on using the Jews as guinea pigs in concentration camps.”

An even younger agent—Luke was betting not long out of Quantico—raised his hand.

“Yes?” Luke said.

“So the Nazis did experiments with anthrax using concentration camp victims?”

“Absolutely.”

The agent shook his head. “I’d heard about Mengele’s experiments and most of what you just shared. . . .” He swallowed, his pronounced Adam’s apple dipping. “But I had no clue the Nazis worked with anthrax.”

“Yes, but as bad as the Nazis’ experiments with anthrax are, the country most infamous for their work with anthrax was Japan. Japanese Unit 731 was a covert biological and chemical warfare research-and-development unit of the Imperial Japanese Army. They undertook deadly human experiments during the war, primarily with anthrax. The unit was responsible for some of the most atrocious war crimes carried out during World War II, but the Nazis had access to the same diabolical research.”

“And Dr. Isaiah Bedan, who now has access to an extremely lethal amount of anthrax, has specific records and research notes of these Nazi biowarfare experiments via his grandfather’s stolen papers from Operation Paperclip?” the young man asked, looking rather peaked.

“I’m afraid that is correct.”

“Based on that terrifying knowledge, where do you suspect Bedan might attack? From on top of another building here in Baltimore, or in D.C., perhaps?”

“I’m afraid Bedan has a far wider-reaching plan in mind.”

9

Special Agent Thornton, I’m Detective Griffin McCray, and this is my wife, Dr. Finley Scott-McCray. You and I spoke on the phone.”

“Right.” Thornton dropped his files on the desk and pushed back in his rolling chair, interlocking his fingers over his abdomen. “You flew all the way here to discuss Chelsea Miller’s cold case.”

“Hers and the other women like hers.”

Thornton shook his head, pushed up on his armrests with a sigh, and stood. “Look, I know Burke was all bent out of shape over the theory of some serial killer—”

“Seven women across three states have been killed in a similar fashion over the past decade. I’d say that makes a pretty convincing starting point for an investigation into a common killer,” Griffin said.

“And you’re welcome to investigate all you like on your time and dime, but I’ve got a pile of active cases that I need to devote my time, energy, and the Bureau’s resources to. I hate that those women’s cases were never solved, but they have been deemed cold—even with what Burke brought to the table.”