Immortality (33 page)

Kathy walked into a large room where almost a hundred people were seated in metal chairs. A movie was playing on a big screen television. There were free snack machines with the money slots taped over. Coffee and trays of food were laid out on tables. A few eyes glanced up as she walked in, but most remained glued to the movie. There was a group of children in the front who were sharing a bowl of caramel corn. Dr. Estevez offered her a sheepish smile.

“We’ve set up a table and chairs in this side room. I’ll bring the patients to you one at a time.”

Kathy was impressed that he considered all these people his patients. They were all physically healthy, no signs of illness or damage from the plague. The man seemed to hold himself responsible for everyone in the camp.

“I was told you have a large number of severely emotionally disturbed cases here,” said Kathy.

“I’ve done a lot of work with that subgroup of patients. Some of them are so severely disturbed they’re comatose and can no longer manage simple bodily functions. We are doing what we can for them.”

Kathy looked down at the table. She had no idea how to respond.

“This entire interview process makes me feel terrible,” she said. “I feel like an elitist, slumming to ease my conscience. I should be here working closely with these people to comfort them and not here to play some clinical game of Q and A.”

“That’s ridiculous, Dr. Morrison. It’s you and people like you that have the best chance of saving us all. Anyone with half a brain will realize that; and if they don’t, if you’ll excuse my Latin, cluck ’em.”

Dr. Estevez left to bring in the first of the three patients. Kathy found herself thinking the man was a gifted healer. In a few minutes of conversation, he had repaired a gaping wound in her heart.

General McKafferty had flown into Andrews AFB in Maryland on one of the Presidential Jets. There had been no intended honor, just luck that it had been at Nellis Air Force Base getting refitted with new avionics. He’d hitched a ride to Washington on it, saving taxpayer money. The overstocked bar, video entertainment system, and full bedrooms had nothing to do with his decision.

McKafferty was waiting in an antechamber just outside the Situation Room in the White House. He hated waiting and lit up a cigarette. The
No Smoking
sign on the table was a cut crystal stand that had been engraved with gold colored lettering. He stared at it for a moment, then drew in a chest full of smoke and exhaled it toward the sign. A smoke-free White House born from the smoke filled backrooms of politics. What a concept, thought McKafferty. Too bad we couldn’t have a politician-free White House and Congress. Now there was something that would improve the health of everyone in the country.

A female aide came in to usher McKafferty into the meeting. He noticed she was young, maybe thirty, and had a nice little figure. She stared at his cigarette. He looked around for an ashtray. There was none. He snubbed it out in a potted plant. The aide looked like she was about to say something but withered as McKafferty rose from the couch. He could tell this was the first time she’d set eyes on a man who was a flesh-and-blood war machine. He turned his man-in-the-moon face at an angle that accentuated its size and then smiled. The woman gave him a wide berth as she held the door for him.

“McKafferty, you old warrior, how have you been?” said Admiral Burk.

The Joint Chief of Naval Operations was acting warmly. McKafferty immediately suspected something was rotten. The JC was not one of McKafferty’s biggest supporters.

“The president will be arriving in about fifteen minutes,” said the Admiral. “We all wanted to get a preview of your briefing.”

McKafferty glanced around the table. He knew everyone there. Heads nodded. All the military representatives were present. The civilians had yet to arrive, late as usual. McKafferty took a deep breath and began.

Forty minutes later, the double doors opened and in walked the President. The National Security Advisor Eric Volloski and the Chief of Staff Martin Ross accompanied him. The officers rose to attention.

“Sit down, gentlemen,” said the President. “I’m running late so let’s cut to the meat of it. General McKafferty, I’d like to start with your report.”

McKafferty got up and took the podium. He had brought a few visuals with him. He knew the President responded to that kind of information. The first image came up on the giant flat screen behind him. The image was a map showing all the kill zones, color keyed by death counts.

“The agent is definitely biological, not chemical. I’ll get to those details later. Right now I want to emphasize that there’s no intel that this is anything other than a naturally occurring microbe. This was not an engineered weapon, but its effects are better than anything we have in our arsenal. Close proximity kill ratios are near a hundred percent. Some of the BARDCOM scientists believe we are looking at an agent that kills in seconds; but scientists being what they are, they’re squirming out of providing hard intel.

“I set up a parallel investigation using the CDC and had one of my aides recruit a top molecular biologist who is the expert on Chromatium Omri. The expert is convinced the killer is a virus-like object found inside a strain of Chromatium Omri that has remained unchanged for three billion years. The man’s won a Nobel Prize for his work on this very creature. So I’m buying into his story for now and for as long as my gut tells me he’s on track.”

“Excuse me, General,” said Chief of Staff Ross. “I want to back up a bit. How can you be so convinced this isn’t a covert attack of some kind?”

“I never said this wasn’t an attack. I said this was not an engineered bio-weapon. The two are not always mutually exclusive. At this point, every major country has been hit by at least one kill zone. The intelligence geeks are having a hard time coming up with a list of suspect states.”

“Fine, what about a Middle Eastern terrorist group?” said Ross.

“I wouldn’t rule anything out at this point,” said McKafferty.

“I’ll rule something out,” croaked National Security Advisor Volloski. His voice was the harsh whisper of a chain smoker. “My best analysts are saying this is not an attack. Case closed.”

“Please continue your report, General McKafferty.” said the President. The topic was being shelved for now, but McKafferty was not quite ready to drop it. He had an opening to make a point and he was going to use it.

“It is my opinion that it’s foolish for us to only focus on the eradication of this microbe,” said McKafferty. “We need to learn how to detect it and weaponize it as much as we need to learn how to destroy it. It could take decades to eradicate in the wild. Smallpox took that long to wipe out and it can still be brought back, and so could this little bastard. If this bug can be used as a weapon, someone will put it to that use sooner or later. Gentlemen, do not fool yourselves. Right now, every religious fanatic in the world is thinking about this microbe. Can you imagine
mullah whoever
with a beaker of God’s Wrath in his fist? We need to keep countermeasures a high priority; we need to know how to recognize a weapon because once these nut-jobs know what to look for, it will only take a dollar-fifty mason jar to start harvesting this bug. Think about it. Step right up. Yard sale, weapons of mass destruction. Get your jar of concentrated death, only thirty-six virgins plus shipping and handling. They could sell this horror on the Internet. This is a self-replicating weapon. Once you have the bacterium, it doesn’t get any cheaper to manufacture than this.

“You have made your point, General.” said the President. “I will take it under serious consideration.”

“Very well, Sir; I’ll move on. I have a team monitoring the progress of the CDC group. I am allowing no information exchange between the CDC and BARDCOM teams until confirmable breakthroughs occur. The CDC team does not even know of the existence of the BARDCOM team. This will ensure we keep each think-tank free of the Estelburg effect.”

“The Estelburg effect?” asked Chief of Staff Ross.

“The negative effect of two research teams locked in a heated competition and, as a result, pursuing each other’s leads, which may be dead ends, instead of pursing fresh ideas,” said the President.

McKafferty was impressed with the President’s knowledge. A few heads were nodding. He moved on to the list of scientific findings. He discussed clustered kill zones, described how the seeds were discovered inside COBIC, and the observed quasi-intelligent behaviors of COBIC. His knowledge about the teams’ results was encyclopedic. He discussed possible countermeasures and the difficulties of searching for a vaccine.

“The CDC is running experiments to observe seed reproduction and infection of neighboring bacteria,” said McKafferty. “While that intel will be very useful, we in the military are a little more practical. BARDCOM has come up with a way of recording the bacteria in the act of killing. We have set up experiments in every major city located near water. An outbreak in any of these cities will give us hard information on how this thing ticks and, from that, how to control it. I like to think that while the civilians are trying to spy on it fucking, we are watching it to see how it kills.”

McKafferty noticed the National Security Advisor checking his watch. He was taken aback and stopped talking. The room was silent for some time; then, National Security Advisor Volloski started speaking. His damaged voice was soft. McKafferty had to listen closely to hear what he was saying.

“Does anyone realize what the implications are if we can inoculate for this plague or in some way protect our people from it?” said Volloski. “If we’re slow to share our new found countermeasure and we let the global situation continue for awhile, some of our less hospitable neighbors in the Middle East and Asia could be removed from the game in a very convenient way.”

The National Security Advisor’s remarks registered on everyone. The President, the officers, all eyes were focused on Volloski. McKafferty felt a lump in his throat that was more like a jagged rock. Volloski was a dangerous man.

“Enough,” said the President. “That topic is closed.”

The President turned toward McKafferty. “How is BARDCOM going to capture this bacterium in the act of killing?”

“With all due respect, Sir” said McKafferty. “I believe you need plausible deniability on that topic. It’s better if I say nothing more on methods.”

McKafferty was grimly nodding his head. He knew his face, which was normally ugly would now look almost sinister. The men and woman around the table involuntarily looked down or away. The President stared for several long seconds into McKafferty’s eyes, as if taking a measure of him. Finally the President nodded. McKafferty’s respect for this President was growing.

“Very well, General. I’ll accept your reason for secrecy for now. Next question. Why is the CDC not involved in the search for countermeasures while BARDCOM is expending half their resources on that track?”

McKafferty cleared his throat. “At BARDCOM,” said McKafferty, “we have world class experts on toxicology and weaponization, and we have Harold N. who is the only verified survivor of a kill zone. The CDC team has no expertise in this area and no guinea pig. CDC scientists are the ones who will figure out how to track this bacterium and control its spread. I want them to focus on that. It’s what they are good at. Military training teaches us to deploy our warriors in positions where they can have the greatest effect.”

“Do you have anything promising in countermeasure research?” asked Admiral Burk.

“Right now, Admiral, all we have are theories.”

“There is a potential problem in all this,” said Volloski. “Once we do come up with a countermeasure and start protecting our people with it, other countries might think that we came up with a solution a little too fast. Maybe they’ll think we’re the ones that released this killer in the first place. Maybe they’ll retaliate. The Russians still have a sizable nuclear arsenal and there is no shortage of Russian paranoia. When we get a solution, we need to time its distribution very carefully. Better to lose a few thousand of our civilians than start a war.”

“Sir, I have to interrupt,” said McKafferty. “The Russians aren’t going to nuke their salvation. If we’re the ones with the magic pill, they’ll want to take good care of us and not blow us up in some crazy mutual-suicide play. I realize we’re just blue-skying this issue, but can’t we keep it a little closer to the boots on the ground?”

The President looked as if he might be smiling to himself. The National Security Advisor was glaring at McKafferty. The room was again silent. McKafferty wondered if he’d just scuttled or advanced his promotion from brigadier to two stars.

Circles

They had been cleared for takeoff. The whine of the four jet engines cut through Mark’s head like a band saw. The rpm kept increasing. He felt a dull but commanding pain whose roots were in too many days of emotional hurt and alcohol and valium. Kathy smiled at him. Mark thought it pleased her to see him in pain instead of mildly sedated. She’d lectured him the other day on guilt and that medication was no way to cope. What the hell did she know about the emptiness he was feeling, about the guilt that was eating away at his soul? How had she shown her empathy – by first medicating him with Valium and then taking it away; typical doctor obsessed with the ailment instead of the patient.

The Air Force cargo jet lifted off the ground in a mild climb and then without warning veered upward with a surge of power. Mark felt blood draining from his head. His duffel bag slid along the cabin floor into the empty cavern behind him. He clenched his teeth as his stomach balled into a knot. He hated flying. This pilot was a sadist.

The jet was a brand new supersonic cargo hauler sprinting back empty to Dobbins Air Force Base in Atlanta. The only thing in the cargo hold besides him and Kathy was a single pallet with eight well secured stainless steel drums. Inside the drums was the latest round of water samples collected using Mark’s traps. The flight would take three and a half hours. There was no heat in the cargo hold. They wore heavy parkas courtesy of the Air Force. Regulations prevented them from occupying the flight deck, which was the only heated space on the craft. Wool blankets were tucked under the seats if the coats proved inadequate.