Free Resurrection Day by Glenn Meade

Research Laboratory, Tom Murphy had moved to the privacy of Professor Fredericks' office, two floors underground and swamped in harsh neon light.
    Murphy put through the call to the White House at 9.05. Within moments he was connected to Douglas Stevens in the situation room. Now Murphy turned to the bemused Fredericks, held out the phone. 'My boss would like you to explain your findings to someone, Professor.'
    'Explain to whom?'
    'The President of the United States.'
    The call had been switched to the speakerphone on the centre of the table, so that everyone could hear the conversation. The President addressed Fredericks. 'Professor, I believe you have completed your tests?'
    The voice filtering through the speaker had an unreal, metallic quality, and seemed awed. 'Yes ... yes, sir, Mr President.'
    'Would you care to tell us what the vial contains?'
    'A minute trace of liquid chemical. Quite an incredible solution really. We examined the component parts to determine — '
    'Excuse me, Professor Fredericks, I don't mean to be rude, but we're all laymen here, not chemists. In simple terms, what is the liquid?'
    'A variation of a deadly chemical agent known as VX, sir. As I'm sure you're well aware, VX is a nerve gas. One of the most lethal known to man. But this sample we've analysed is even deadlier.'
    'How so?'
    'The basic VX chemical formula has been altered to greatly enhance the toxicity of the nerve agent.' Fredericks sighed in frustration. 'It's kind of difficult to explain in layman's terms, Mr President, without going into technical details. But if I were to try to put it simply, think of our sample as a kind of concentrated form of VX nerve gas. Which means you get a far more fatal effect for a smaller amount of the nerve gas. More death for your dollar, if you like. It's really quite amazing. A brilliant feat of chemistry.'
    The President paused, couldn't fail to discern the hint of professional excitement in Fredericks' voice. 'I'd like to ask you a question, Professor. Could a chemical like this wipe out the population of a city the size of Washington?'
    Before Fredericks' voice replied he paused for a moment, as if to register his alarm at the question. 'Mr President, the power of this chemical is simply way beyond anything you can imagine. To give an example, the amount of VX you could fit on a pinhead is enough to kill a human being. The chemical we've analysed, in my estimate, could do the same job with one tenth of that amount. But to answer your question I'd have to assume there's a very large quantity of this nerve gas and it could be effectively dispersed over the capital.'
    'Then assume both if you must.' There was another pause, then Fredericks' voice came back, tainted with fear. 'Sir, if that's the case, then I'd have to say yes, it could easily wipe out Washington's entire population.'
     
    'Where to, lady?'
    'Dupont Circle.'
    Two blocks from the apartment building, Karla Sharif hailed a passing cab. The middle-aged, driver smiled, shot her an appraising look. 'For you, lady, anywhere.'
    As the cab merged with the traffic, Karla saw the driver glance at her appreciatively in the rear-view mirror. She avoided meeting his eyes, turned her face away, stared out of the window. They drove past the Pentagon and across the Roosevelt Bridge, heading towards DC and New Hampshire Avenue. Washington had been her home for the last ten weeks, and she had been surprised by its beauty.
    When she'd arrived it was September, and still hot, the white stone buildings shimmering in the sweltering heat. In the following weeks she had helped Rashid set up the safe houses, assemble the equipment, and scour the city looking for suitable warehouses and storage facilities where they could stash the deadly cargo. But that first week, Rashid had made her take him on a guided tour in her car to familiarise him with the city, pointing out places and buildings of interest: Washington Harbour, the White House, the Smithsonian