Ahmed stood in a peaceful room, reflecting on the day's work.  He was feeling very poorly now.  Manual labor was not his strong suit and adding the ache of the flu-like symptoms he was battling, it was all in all a good thing they were nearly done.

He looked out the big windows to a breathtaking view of a carefully manicured lawn.  The room that he stood in resonated its historic importance.  Once a president had married here to the sounds of John Philip Sousa and a Marine Band.  He gently touched the marble-top center table beneath the French chandelier, pondering if this room would be the genesis of his mission.

Tempted to sit down, he knew that he needed to move on ... one more installation, one more hour.  Soon it would all be complete.  He walked back out into the corridors, passing a couple of staffers -- a man and a woman -- who were intensely debating the merits of Irving Berlin.

------------------

"Donna, why are we still talking about this?" Josh said with exasperation.

"Because our other option is to debate the Bartlet legacy of flushing toilets, Josh!  Did you know that in spite of Thomas Crapper being the logical choice for originator of the modern toilet, it is possible that it was an invention of a nameless Minoan who lived ... "

"Donna!  How can this possibly be relevant or even related to Jed Bartlet's legacy.  Maybe we should go back to discussing if there is a deep-seated dislike of Irving Berlin in the Muslim world."  Josh saw one of the plumbers walking down the corridor towards them.

"Excuse me ... I have a question that you are uniquely qualified to answer.  Is there a Muslim objection to Irving Berlin music?"

Ahmed looked at the man with a sense of suddenly being in a parallel world.  "You mean other than his name being Israel and he was Jewish?  Not really.  Personally, my favorite song is There's No Business Like Show Business.

Josh and Donna both looked startled.

"Have a nice day,"  Ahmed smiled and shook Josh's hand.

"Umm.  Josh.  Let's go back to talking about the Bartlet legacy," said Donna.

------------------

"We'll walk around on the terraces mostly.  I'm sorry you won't see much of the game. "

"Why are they singing?"

"It's what supporters do.  They'll do it all game."

"Are we getting to the story?"  Danny said with some insistence.

"As you know, I'm not welcome in the US right now.  But I'd like to go back.  My brother is there.  We're close and I never see him.  I left a woman there, quite literally, at the altar.  I'd like to go back, but not to prison.  I've been moving money for various highly placed Saudis for about six months. Everyone gets paid, but no one can really figure out who's paying whom.  Most of the transactions haven't been big money, until recently.  Someone had a big transaction, 50 million.  Truthfully, I'd been hoping to get involved with the funding of terrorist groups."  Jerry paused for a moment at how bad that probably sounded.

"I thought if I had something valuable to trade, the US government would make me a deal.  The dollar figure alone was enticing, so I decided to bug the place when I went to the meeting.  Let's just say I got more than I bargained for."

It took Jerry nearly the entire first half, 45 minutes, to lay out the entire story.  Suddenly, the already boisterous crowd began to yell "Shoot! Shoot!"  Jerry whirled around to watch the action.  Danny ignored the play and sat in quiet shock.  A player nearly 40 yards out from goal, ran the ball forward 15 yards past two defenders and sent a bending ball to the back of net.  The crowd erupted.  Jerry jumped a good three feet off the ground.  "Did you see that? Do you believe that, mate?"  Jerry shouted.

Danny didn't know if the desired answer was yes or no.  He said, "Nice shot."

"That was Freund, the guy whose jersey you're wearing.  It's his first goal ever.  They all yell for him to shoot. They do it every game, whenever he has the ball.  Tonight he did and he scored.  It's a good omen."

Danny thought to himself.  "Iım involved in trying to stop a major terrorist operation against the White House with a guy that believes soccer goals are omens."

"This is really good.  Every successful operation begins at a football match--ah, soccer game."

Danny and Jerry had bangers and beer at half-time like everyone else.  They stopped long enough to eat, but mostly kept moving.

"We need to stay until the end of the game, leave with the crowd.  I don't want the Asian woman or anyone else following us." At this point, Danny understood why.   "We'll take the metro back to the apartment where I'm staying." Jerry withdrew a cell phone from his pocket. "I'll need to know your decision then, Danny."  It was the first time he used his first name.  "You can take the story as it is now and head back to Washington.  I'm asking for three days to try to get the antidote. After that you can publish it.  Or you can come with me to Saudi Arabia. Be my ticket into the Ministry of Health building and help me try to get this antidote.  It's your chance to be in the game instead of just writing from the sidelines.  I'll need your decision when we get back."

"I've already made it.  I'm going."

Jerry handed Danny the phone.  "Good."  He paused and gave Danny a brief solemn look.  He was gaining a respect for this reporter who'd made the decision, without deliberation, to head toward danger.  "After the game, you can call CJ Cregg and give her the specific details she needs to complete the press credentials for the meetings in Riyadh and Jeddah.  When you're done, you know how to dispose of the phone."

Jerry and Danny actually watched the remainder of the game, both quietly reflecting on what was lost, what was possible, what was frightening, and what had to be done now that the story was told and the decisions made. Even so, Jerry did celebrate each of the goals with gusto.  Spurs won the London derby 3-nil.  Danny wasn't sure if it was a omen; but in truth, it couldn't be bad that Jerry thought it was. Well hidden in plain site among a crowd of boisterous fans, they made their way to the metro.

Outside the stadium, the Asian women waited until the last fan left, but Jerry and Danny were long gone by then.  Frustrated, she placed a call to report in and pass off the pursuit to her colleague.

------------------

Having finished the last of the ground floor bathrooms, Ahmed wandered across the hallway into the Map Room.  He had read about this room and was curious, as he had always liked the Chippendale furniture that his pretentious stepmother had brought to Riyadh.  The elaborately carved Chippendale furniture, an oil portrait of Ben Franklin, a landscape painting entitled Tending Cows and Sheep ... it was all as he had read.

Finally, he sighed.  It was time.  His work was done.  Now he could return to the warmth of home.  Stepping out in the corridor, he walked slowly behind two staffers.  Listening in on their conversation, he wondered if terrorism was this frequent of a subject or if this was a sign.

"The U.S. is one of five countries on earth that puts to death people who were under the age 18 when they committed their crime" Sam Seaborn said.

"Nigeria?"

"Pakistan."

"Saudi Arabia and Iraq?" Charlie stated.

"Yeah, so that's a list we definitely want to be on."

Ahmed walked on to the exit and followed the very tall woman with the goldfish in her office out the building.  He vaguely considered following her to see where she was going to carry out another part of his mission, but decided that he should stick with the rest of the Fast Flow crew.  He turned to the van.

------------------

Danny called CJ at the Indian restaurant at the agreed upon time. For two people to whom trust didn't come easily, they had both made big gestures today.  She had told him earlier that she trusted him.  He trusted her.  He'd think about the implications of all that later, but he was relatively sure that Jerry wouldnıt like how much information he was about to give her.

"I'm going to paraphrase to keep this short. A man named Jerry Jacks has discovered a bioterrorism action against the United States.  He is charged with money laundering and Ricoh violations in the US, jumped bail.  He returned to his former line of work, internationally, most recently in Saudi Arabia. He became involved in an unusually large transaction and decided to take the initiative to bug his employer's office. A group of high tech thieves in France had stolen certain bioterrorism technology, an offshoot of legitimate gene therapy research.  They offered it for sale.  Three men in Saudi Arabia decided to buy it -- a virologist, an official in the Ministry of Health, and an unknown man with lots and lots of money."

"Jerry has no names.  He believes the virologist works at an animal health lab in Jeddah.  That man has the technical information, the cookbook for how to make the bug.  It's based on the gene therapy they use to correct a genetic immune system disease.  You know the problem that creates a 'boy in the bubble.'  They put a copy of the missing gene into a virus to carry it inside human cells where it becomes a part of the DNA.  Following me?"

"Yes."  CJ was making quick notes, wondering where all this was leading.

"Genes are turned on and off in the body.  The thing that turns a gene on is called a promoter.  For the gene therapy to work, they need it to be turned on some, but not too much.  What's been created here is a super promoter.  The gene is turned on all the time.  Essentially the immune cells get so much signal from the product of the gene, it doesn't just restore the immune system, it causes leukemia.  You know, like that disease in cats, feline leukemia virus.  Only in this case, it's worse, because it only takes about three weeks for the virus to cause leukemia, sometimes a little more, sometimes a little less.  The beauty from a weapons perspective is that it is spread like the common cold.  In fact, initially, that is how it appears ... coughing, fever, aches."

CJ continued to scribble when the events of the day played back in slow motion in her head.  The plumber.  The bathrooms.  She felt the weight of fear come over her, but she let him finish.

"But there's an antidote of sorts.  It's called antisense.  It's a thing that goes into the cells and blocks the promoter and turns the gene off.  That's why Jerry and I are going to Saudi Arabia.  We need to get the information on how to make antisense before the terrorists start infecting people.  Jerry believes the White House is the first target."  

"Danny, it has already been done.  The White House is infected. You know I mentioned the new toilets.  It was one of the plumbers.  He was sick.  And his behavior was odd.  When I was at the press briefing and Carol had stepped away from her desk, he went in my office.  He was touching my desk and objects on it...and the door handles even though the door was open.  He gave a story that he came in to tell me he'd completed the work in the ladies' room I'd tried to use earlier that day and that he was in awe of the White House.  He was spreading the virus."

This was bad enough and CJ's news had made it worse. 

"CJ, here's what you need to do now.  Disinfect the phone you're using if you can -- if you have virus on your hands, we have just increased the effectiveness of the terrorists exponentially.  Ten percent bleach is best or really any cleaner will kill it -- even soap and water. When you get back to the White House, you'll need to try to minimize the damage.  Anything that man touched or sneezed or coughed on will be covered in virus for up to 24 hours.  If you can kill it, you'll decrease the number of people that he's able to infect. Clean everything you think he might have touched that others will touch." 

He paused to let CJ come to grips with the fact that she'd likely already been infected with a virus that could give her leukemia in under a month. 

Danny made an effort to use a reassuring tone.  "CJ, I really do believe that Jerry has a good plan and good chance to find the antidote for this -- the antisense.  But our only chance is if the people involved don't get any hints that anyone knows.  You're just going to have do the containment very, very quietly."

"But, Danny, don't we have to lock down the White House?"

"They'll have to do that when people start getting sick, but no one is infectious yet. People who've been infected should get fevers on Thursday, Friday, maybe Saturday.  At that point, they'll be shedding virus. I think that's when the terrorists will make their demands known -- as soon as they can verify that people in the White House are getting sick.  That'll trigger the lock down.  It's true, CJ, that some infected people may leave and non-infected people enter on Thursday or Friday while all that is happening.  But if the terrorists find out that there is an antidote, no one will find it, at least not in time.  Our only chance is the next two or three days while they don't think anyone's looking."

Danny closed his eyes and willed CJ to let him finish, to let him have this chance to save her.

"Now CJ, I need to give you the details on our cover story so the White House can arrange the appropriate meetings with the appropriate people in Jeddah."  He went on to explain about the Associate Program, the American doctors and the British epidemiologists. 

CJ told him about Dr. Akin at APHIS and that Rift Valley Fever was exactly what they'd prepped for the press request.

"Danny when will you know -- be able to call?

"Thursday morning I hope -- I guess that'll be late Wednesday where you are.  Lord John Marbury will have a copy of the whole story. He's flying to DC tomorrow.  If he hasn't heard from us by 9:00 pm Wednesday Washington time, then he's to deliver the story to you.  By then, whether successful or not, the terrorists will know we've been there.  If we can't get the antisense formula, we'll have to hope the scientists can synthesize it within several months.  And whatever and however you decide to release the story, please make sure the Post gets it first.  Kiss for luck?"

CJ made a kiss into the receiver.  "Danny, Godspeed."

TBC