Biowar (29 page)

“That was the best time of my life. And the worst. They killed her. Changed everything for me,” said Kegan.

“Yeah,” said Dean. He knew what Kegan was talking about—and yet the exact memory stayed out of reach, back in his brain.

“You’d be amazed. These people had none of the basic medicines, nothing. We trained some good nurses, though,” said Keys. “She was one of the best.”

“Who?” said Dean.

“They killed her, though.”

“Who?”

53

By the time Rubens returned to his office, Hadash had called over twice for an update. Rubens began to pick up the phone but was interrupted by a knock on his door. Only one person in the agency would knock on his door without an appointment—Rubens looked up and saw Vice Admiral Brown, the Director.

“George Hadash has been calling over,” said Brown. “He wants you to update the President.”

“Okay,” said Rubens.

“They want you to do it in person.”

“It’s not a particularly good time to do that,” said Rubens. He wanted to check with the medical people, find out about the autopsies, push the researchers to make the link between Dean’s captors and UKD—or the Russians, or anyone.

“It may be worse in a few hours,” said Brown. “Apparently the
Post
has caught wind of some of the disease cases. Update me as well. There’s a helicopter en route.”

Rubens wanted to ask Brown about the Secretary of State, but the admiral spent the entire flight on the phone. They landed on the White House lawn, hustling inside quickly and walking briskly to the President’s office in the West Wing, where President Jeffrey Marcke was meeting with Secretary of Health, Education and Welfare Debra Jodelin, Surgeon General Peirs Fenimore—and Secretary of State James Lincoln.

“Admiral, very good of you to come,” said Marcke, who leaned back in his chair. “Billy, I’m glad you’re here—you can answer some pressing questions for us.”

Stifling his displeasure at being called Billy in front of the others, Rubens took a seat. Westhoven from the FBI and a CDC official Rubens didn’t know very well came in almost on his heels; Westhoven kept his eyes pasted on the carpet, seemingly resigned to being made the scapegoat.

Rubens took over the meeting, very briefly laying out the most obvious points: they were trying to track down a doctor who had disappeared who was somehow involved in the manufacture—the possible manufacture—of a synthetic bacteria.

“A killer bug,” said Dr. Fenimore, the Surgeon General.

Jodelin winced.

“That may be an overstatement,” said Rubens.

“There are a hundred people sick with it in New York already,” said Fenimore.

“I took the liberty of updating myself on the way over,” said Rubens. “We have only twelve confirmed cases.”

“That’s not what the newspaper reporter told me,” said Fenimore.

“Well, with all due respect to the fourth estate ...” Rubens began. He paused as the President laughed. “... they do tend to exaggerate. We are confident of those diagnoses. There are a large number of cases that have to be checked, but so far it’s been running less than one out of ten confirmed. And they can all be traced back to Athens, New York, and the doctor in question in some way.”

“I’ve spoken to Dr. Lester,” said Jodelin. “There are a cluster of cases in New York City with similar symptoms and no clear connection, and he is very concerned.”

“As am I,” said Rubens. “Nonetheless, I’m sure he told you the cases there have not been confirmed.”

“How long will that take?” asked the President.

“It’s ongoing. The hospitals are following a very strict protocol,” said Jodelin.

“Why is Dr. Lester en route to Vienna?” asked the Secretary of State.

Rubens glanced at the President before correcting Lincoln, saying that Lester was going to consult with agency personnel in Germany.

“Consult? I understand they’re in quarantine,” said Fenimore.

“A precaution,” said Rubens. “We try to err on the side of prudence.”

There was a knock on the door; George Hadash entered—with Sandra Marshall in tow.

Looking as beautiful as ever, unfortunately.

They all exchanged greetings. Hadash and Marshall had apparently spent the last half hour trying to gauge how much the Post knew about the case, and whether they were serious about printing a story.

The answers were “not much” and “very.”

“Panic in the streets,” said Fenimore.

“They’ll look foolish if they print a story along those lines,” said Rubens.

“They don’t think so,” said Marshall. “And frankly, the facts may bear them out.”

“Any sort of publicity like that may jeopardize our people,” said Rubens. “And prevent us from getting a cure for this.”

“How close are we to a cure?” asked Lincoln.

“We’re not sure,” said Rubens. “We have some circumstantial evidence about what the cure may be, but we haven’t quite found it.”

“What is it?” asked Fenimore. “A drug?”

“A type of fungus that acts like penicillin. Apparently the disease was bred to be resistant to regular penicillin. Well, we don’t actually know that yet,” Rubens said quickly. “We’re speculating.”

“This wasn’t in the earlier report,” said the Surgeon General.

Rubens emphasized that he was only guessing that it was penicillin-resistant. “It’s only been a day and a half. The doctors are not yet in a position to really know that much about the disease.” He looked at Jodelin. “They’ve done an excellent job, under the circumstances.”

“The problem is,” said Jodelin, “excellent may not be enough.”

Westhoven shifted in his seat but didn’t say anything. Rubens decided to throw him a bone, on the off-chance that the FBI man survived the fallout.

“The FBI has been heavily involved,” said Rubens. “Doing a lot of work.”

“Anything new, Bill?” asked the President.

Westhoven shook his head. “Mr. Rubens covered it.”

How come he’s Bill and I’m Billy?
wondered Rubens.

“The information the NSA has must be shared,” said the Surgeon General.

“The CDC has been with us every step of the way,” said Rubens, deciding not to get into the difference between Desk Three and the NSA. “Every step of the way.”

“That’s correct,” said Vice Admiral Brown. “Given that the matter only came to light a few days ago,” he added, sticking up for his agency, “we’ve done a remarkable job just to get this far.”

Rubens glanced at Marshall. She had a bit of a smirk on her face.

“So how do we handle the press without jeopardizing Billy’s mission here?” said the President. “Because, really, if Desk Three can’t break this very quickly, we’re all in a lot of trouble.”

The Surgeon General suggested they tell the news media everything they knew.

Really, thought Rubens. How did someone so naive get into government in the first place?

“I think that’s out of the question,” said Marshall. “On the other hand, they do know a good deal. I would say as soon as the
Post
puts this on their Web site, New York will be crawling with reporters.”

Rubens indulged in a long glance at her face, his eyes trailing down to her crisp blue suit jacket.

Enough, he warned himself.

“Depending on how it’s spread, within a day we may have a thousand cases,” said Jodelin. “In that case, we’ll be lambasted not only for not dealing with it but also for not leveling with the American public. Remember the furor over anthrax? And that was just a few cases.”

“The situation now is different,” said Rubens.

“Sure. It’s worse.”

“Potentially, yes,” said Rubens. “That’s why the operation has to receive priority.”

“Maybe Homeland Security rather than CDC should take the public lead on this,” suggested President Marcke. “While still emphasizing that we believe it’s a natural outbreak, or rather, emphasizing that we don’t exactly know what is,” added the President, correcting himself, “we could still make it clear that we’re taking it very seriously. Then no matter what happens, we can’t be roasted.”

Rubens watched Marshall closely as she replied, saying that the Director was still in Texas on his retreat, but if necessary she would be happy to deal with the media.

After conferring with Billy, of course.

Billy.
God, there was no escaping it now.

“We can arrange something,” said Rubens. “Mr. Westhoven might want to be present as well.”

“How much more time do you need before you solve this?” asked Marcke.

“We’re analyzing a lot of data right now. But whether that’s going to lead to a cure, I don’t know.” Rubens looked at the Surgeon General. “Potentially, if this germ really is resistant to penicillin and there’s no other cure—”

“Depending on how it’s spread, it would be a true disaster,” said Fenimore. “An incurable epidemic—it would make AIDS look like an outbreak of food poisoning.”

“Let’s move then,” said the President. “Billy, Bill, work this out with Ms. Marshall. In the meantime, I want worst-and best-case scenarios.”

Lincoln and Hadash made no move to get up as the others filed out. Marcke asked Brown to stay as well. Rubens couldn’t help but think they would be discussing the Secretary of State’s plans—but of course there was no way to ask.

“What’s this about Internet DNA?” asked Jodelin after Rubens had carefully delineated the minuscule amount of information Marshall could share with the media.

“A bold initiative to increase Internet security,” said Marshall so quickly it could have been a setup.

“The President seems in favor of it,” said Fenimore.

“He mentioned it to you, too?”

“Yes. There might be some benefits vis-a-vis medical information,” started the Surgeon General, segueing into a pet project of his, on-line medical records instantly accessible to patient, doctor, and emergency room.

Vice Admiral Brown knocked on the door. Rubens gave his regrets and started to leave. As he reached the hallway he heard Marshall telling the others that the proposal was almost ready for the President.

“Only Billy is opposed,” she said. Rubens pretended not to hear.

“Marshall’s a real climber, isn’t she?” said Brown on the helicopter ride back.

“Ambitious,” answered Rubens, looking for a way to turn the conversation toward the Secretary of State.

“You know what her boss Johnson is doing, don’t you?”

Rubens replied that it was a rather poorly kept secret that he was rounding up support—and donations—for a run at the Texas governorship.

“Yes. Good riddance, I would say,” added Brown.

“You think Marshall will succeed him?” asked Rubens.

“Of course. And she’ll be just as bad,” said Brown. “But at least pleasant to look at.”

Pleasant or not, Rubens thought Marshall would be a much more formidable problem than Johnson, especially if she remained close to Hadash and Marcke.

“I’ve heard the Secretary of State was thinking of leaving,” he said as the helicopter began to descend. He hated to be so blunt, but it was clear that he had to take his shot now.

“Who told you that?” asked Brown.

Rubens couldn’t tell whether Brown was being evasive or not.

“There are rumors.”

“Well, keep them to yourself,” said Brown.

“They’re true?”

Brown didn’t answer. Rubens had no choice but to drop it as the helicopter touched down.

54

“I’m not saying there’s no fig trees here, but if there are, I can’t find them,” Karr told Chafetz as he walked through the camp.

“Kite packed away?”

“Yup.”

“Have you killed all the pigs?”

“All but the one we’re taking back.” He’d also taken blood and tissue samples from each for analysis.

“Buried ’em?”

“You know, you’re starting to sound a little like my mom before going on a camping trip.”

“I’ m just tired.”

“Hey, that was a compliment,” said Karr. He could definitely sympathize with her. He hadn’t slept now for more than twenty-four hours. His normally robust body was turning against him, weighing him down so badly his fatigue felt like a physical thing clamped over his head and chest.

Sourin and his men were waiting at the far end of the camp, near where they had launched the assault. The Thai major had gotten over his earlier crankiness and hadn’t objected to the burial of the men and pigs they’d found.

The promise of an unspecified “burial bonus” might have had something to do with his heightened spirits, but Karr preferred always to look on the brighter side of human nature, and put it down to the fact that the major and his men were glad to be going back to camp with the satisfaction of a job well done.

“Your helicopter’s en route. It’s a replacement—the Special Forces units had to punch over east,” added Chafetz. “Things are heating up over near Cambodia. Replacement is a Thai military helicopter. Sorry.”

“Not a problem,” said Karr. “As long as it comes.”

“It will.”

Sourin ran scouting parties and had teams flanking them as they walked to the landing zone. Karr tried looking for fig trees, though it was becoming a struggle to keep his eyes open. He felt incredibly cold—odd, because the others were stripping off their vests and seemed to be sweating.

“What do you think about a pig roast when we get back?” asked Gidrey.

“I’d love to, but not with that pig,” said Karr.

“Why not?”

“Doctors want to see if it’s growing bacteria or a virus or something,” said Karr.

“You don’t think the guerrillas kept it around for food?”

“Doesn’t matter what I think. It’s what they think that counts.” Tommy smiled at the Marine.

“Who is ‘they’ anyway?”

“The Big They,” said Tommy. “The They above all other Theys. They.”

“You ever stop joking around?”

“When I’m sleeping. Which I hope will be pretty soon.” Karr could hear the harsh beat of the Chinook as it chomped through the air. “Here comes our taxi.”

Karr slid down into a crouch as they waited at the edge of the clearing.

“Tired?” asked Foster.

“Yeah, I guess so.”

“You don’t look that good.”

“Just tired. It’s cold for the jungle.”