by Julie Rowe
“I’m not a doctor,” Henry added. “You’re going to have a lot of questions I can’t answer, but Dr. Rodrigues can.” He looked at her. “I want to take some samples and talk to some of the care teams before I go back to Atlanta.”
Henry-speak for I’m going to tear apart this virus until I figure out how to create a vaccine.
“Carry on.”
He nodded at DS, then turned and limped out of the tent.
Rawley stared after him. “What happened to him?”
“You mean why is he limping?” DS asked. “IED in Afghanistan. Tough bastard. He nearly bled out, but he put tourniquets on both legs before he passed out and was rescued by combat medics. He kept one but lost the other.”
Chapter Eighteen
Monday, April 7, 11:16 a.m.
Dozer watched Carmen explain Henry’s findings and their significance and kept his mouth shut.
Both Rawley and the Guard commander reacted to the news that the virus was manmade in America and had been stolen from the CDC vault with equal parts disgust, horror, and anger.
Rawley was the first one to bring up the issue of security. “Just how easy is it to get into your vault, doctor?”
“It’s not,” she replied. “Access is tightly controlled, but no one could have foreseen Dr. Halverson, or anyone else with access, stealing a viable pathogen from the vault.”
“You said he was fired,” the Guard commander said. “Why?”
“His random drug screening came back positive for cocaine. The current Surgeon General had just been sworn in, and he has a dim view of drug use. Zero tolerance for it. He personally fired Dr. Halverson. Used him as an example, I think.”
“What kind of security measures do you have?”
“You know what Cheyenne Mountain looks like?”
“Not personally,” Rawley said. “But I’ve seen pictures.”
“Well, it’s kind of like that. It’s deep underground and built to survive almost any kind of attack, other than a nuclear bomb. The entrance isn’t just a complicated set of combination locks. You also have to provide fingerprint and retina scans. They’re updated on a random schedule.”
“You have proof it was Dr. Halverson?” Rawley asked.
“No, but he had the means and a possible motive. He’s also the only person with access who’s been let go in the last two years.”
“So, he’s your number one suspect, but not your only suspect?” Rawley pressed.
“We don’t have any other suspects,” she said. “Because if it isn’t Halverson, someone working for the CDC right now is smuggling lethal pathogens out of the vault and either selling them or giving them away.”
“Shit,” Rawley said, slashing the air with one hand. “What should we do about it?”
Carmen said, “We need to bring Dr. Halverson in and ask him some questions, search his house, and find out if he has a new job.”
The Guard commander shifted. “We have other news. The first confirmed cases have been reported in several cities outside the south and east coast in the past few hours.”
“Los Angeles, New York, Houston, Seattle, and San Diego,” Rawley said. “The media is calling it a national outbreak, and the number of reporters asking questions has doubled in the last hour.”
Carmen’s expression went from dismayed to determined. “Please inform the press I’ll give a statement in thirty minutes. I need to make some calls first.”
“Can I suggest controlling the number of reporters by holding the press conference in a smaller, contained area?” Dozer asked.
Rawley nodded, pulled out his phone, and walked a few feet away before he made his first call.
Carmen called the CDC director first. They discussed the content of the press conference and wording, then their next steps.
“You’re on your way to Los Angeles?” she asked, concerned, making eye contact with Dozer. She nodded at whatever her boss had to say. “Yes, sir… I’ll arrange transport and make our case. Hopefully, he’ll listen. He’s always been reasonable, and he respects what we do.” She hung up.
“So?” Dozer asked.
“So, we’re going to Washington. I have to convince the Surgeon General to issue a nationwide shelter-in-place order. Until then, I can only recommend it at the press conference.”
“Mention how many people are infected and dead,” he said, unable to keep the doom out of his voice. “That ought to convince some people. The public likes people who shoot from the hip. Trying to make it sound better than it is is a form of lying the public expects from politicians. You’re a doctor. Deliver the diagnosis and projected outcomes.”
She gave him a wan smile. “Thanks for the pep talk, coach.”
“You’re my star player,” he told her, putting his hand over hers. “Go get ’em.”
She strode over to update the staff on the outbreak’s statistics.
Dozer called an old buddy who was still in the Army and would probably stay in until he retired. “Monty, it’s Dozer. I need a favor.”
Twenty-five minutes later, Dozer escorted Carmen to a makeshift stage and podium. Several microphones perched at about the right height for her to speak into them comfortably.
The faces of the press, what he could see of them above their surgical masks, looked concerned, anxious, and, in some cases, angry.
Carmen explained the standard vaccine didn’t offer direct protection from the virus variant. She explained how contagious it was, how easy it was to become infected, and recommended people stay home and away from public places.
“Why aren’t you instituting a quarantine order?” one reporter shouted.
“The criteria for quarantine have not yet been met,” she answered. “If they are met, the order will go out.”
“What are you doing about the cases in L.A., New York, and other cities?” another reporter asked.
“Every hospital that reports a suspected case of measles will receive prompt assistance from the CDC. With additional frontline health-care staff, nurses, and doctors to start. If the number of cases is beyond the capacity of the hospital, we’ll set up temporary triage and care wards, like we’ve done here.”
“Are you afraid of another bombing by the FAFO?”
Dozer zeroed in on the reporter who asked that question, a man dressed in more casual clothing than most. He wore a mask and the standard press credentials hanging on a lanyard around his neck.
“I’m afraid of a lot of things. Getting blown up is only one of them.” She scanned the group in a quick sweep. “Thank you. That’s all for now.” She stepped back and hopped down onto the pavement.
Dozer put his hand against her back and rushed her out before the reporters shouting questions could catch up with them. Armed National Guard members held the throng back.
“Where to?” he asked her.
“The tent. The Deputy Director for Infectious Diseases is coming here to take over coordination of our response while you and I go to Washington. The Surgeon General wants a firsthand account from someone who can answer questions. The Director of FEMA will also be there, in case his agency is activated in response. Which seems likely.” She leaned closer and said in a quieter voice, “I need to arrange transportation.”
“I’ve got it ready and waiting. I called in a favor and got a ride on a military plane. We’re on the manifest as two pieces of heavy equipment.”
They were whisked away in a military jeep. A transport plane sat on the tarmac, its engines set on a contained roar, its rear ramp still open and receiving passengers and cargo. The driver dropped them off right in front of the ramp, then left with nothing more than a casual wave.
A uniformed soldier wearing a surgical mask looked at his clipboard, then at them. “Dozer one and two?” he asked, deadpan.
“With our engines idling,” Dozer said.
“Get inside and into position, then turn your engines off. No exhaust allowed in the cargo area.”
It was full of heavy equipment. Real doze
rs, caterpillars, backhoes, and several forklifts.
Once they’d finished buckling themselves in, Carmen said to him, “So we’re just another couple of bulldozers on this flight? You’re creative. I’ll give you that.” She studied him. “You’re afraid the FAFO is going to try to kill me, aren’t you?”
She asked the question like she was asking what he wanted to do this afternoon. “I don’t know if it’s them, or Dr. Halverson, or someone else, but someone has attacked the CDC indirectly several times now. I don’t think they’re going to stop unless someone else makes them stop.”
“Those are some ominous words.”
“We’re living in ominous times.” His brain went straight back to nine years ago, like a memory bomb had gone off inside his head. The explosion, the screaming, and the ensuing silence that hurt worse than the blast had. The running, the hiding, and the killing of anyone who got between him and getting Carmen out of there alive and unharmed.
It turned out he’d done all the harming.
“Never mind.” Carmen’s voice contained so much regret. Her eyes and skin had lost their color. Her mouth drooped in the corners.
She knew what was going through his head. She’d been there.
He was an asshole.
“One of these days I’ll learn to think before I speak.”
“No,” she said immediately. “It was not talking and keeping things to yourself that got you into trouble.” She poked his shoulder. “Honest communication can’t happen if you’re censoring yourself constantly.” She paused. “At least with me.”
They were met outside the plane by a man dressed in a dark suit and tie driving a black SUV. Leon Aster.
Dozer made the introductions, then asked him, “What’s the mood like?”
“Nervous,” Aster said. “A lot of people are working from home today.”
“Good,” Carmen said.
“The president and his family were moved to Camp David about an hour ago on a…” He paused to put air quotes around his next word. “Vacation.”
“Traffic is a bit light for this time of day,” Dozer said as they drove.
“All government employees were offered the option to stay home today.” He sighed. “That hasn’t stopped the protestors, though.”
“Protestors?” Carmen asked.
“Several hundred outside the White House, protesting big pharma. Some news media are reporting there’s anti-viral treatment available but the FDA is refusing to okay it for sale. Even if it does get permission to be used, the cost has ballooned.”
“Viruses aren’t like bacteria, and you can’t just kill them off with antibiotics.”
“Well, the media is reporting that you can.”
“Who is telling the media that?”
“They’re just saying they have an anonymous source.”
“So it could be anyone? And they don’t check the veracity of the information they’re given?”
“Supposedly they do. A couple of hours ago, the media began saying this isn’t a regional outbreak but an international one.”
“They’re going to start a panic.”
“The panic started when the reports of cases in California, Washington state, and New York hit the news.” Aster glanced at Dozer. “I’m dropping you into a…messy situation.”
Aster drove past the White House to give them a chance to see the protestors and get a read on what the public knew or didn’t know.
Some of the protestors’ signs were interesting:
Thanks to Big Pharma, I’m planning my big, fat funeral!
To afford medication I’d have to sell a kidney!
To pay off my medical bills I have to mortgage three generations.
Carmen didn’t say a thing until Aster pulled up to the entrance of the U.S. Department of Health and Human Services building. It housed the Surgeon General’s office, as well as several other leaders in public health for the federal government.
Aster took them up to the SG’s office and left them with reception. Before they even had a chance to sit down in the nice waiting-area chairs, they were directed into a large office containing a big mahogany desk and a man dressed in a naval uniform.
He came forward and shook their hands. “Thank you for coming, Dr. Rodrigues, Agent Dozer.” He studied them for a moment, then went back behind his desk and picked up a phone. “Stacie, could you grab two high-protein meals and some coffee for my guests? Thank you.”
The SG scrolled through something on his tablet. “I just received the latest numbers on the outbreak. Twelve thousand people hospitalized across the country, with the majority of those in Florida. Five hundred and thirty-three dead, another one hundred and sixty-eight in comas. Twenty-eight thousand, one hundred and twelve confirmed infected?” He looked up and stared at Carmen. “Am I reading this correctly?”
Chapter Nineteen
3:02 p.m.
Carmen didn’t blame the Surgeon General for the disbelief on his face. If she hadn’t seen it with her own eyes, she might not believe the numbers, either. “Yes, sir, I’m afraid you are.”
“I’d be concerned if this was the flu, but this is measles.” He fell silent for a moment. “The situation has worsened since you left Florida. It isn’t just about infection rates and how many are dead, although that’s bad enough on its own. The media has used this story to whip the public into a panic. The District of Columbia, California, and six other states just declared states of emergency. Ten minutes before you arrived, I got off the phone with about the tenth congressman or senator demanding anti-virals be issued to every man, woman, and child in the country.”
“Do they know anti-virals can’t cure people? Nothing we’ve tried made any difference.”
“I tried to explain, but I don’t think they care. What they want is to be seen doing something. Then, they can say they did all they could.”
“Sir?” she said diffidently. “I’d like to make some recommendations.”
That got his attention. “Please do.”
“We need to do something similar to the avian flu response in 2006. I suggest recommending to the Director of Homeland Security that a nationwide curfew be instituted—no one allowed to congregate anywhere. Not at work, malls, movie theaters, places of worship, schools, doctor’s offices, nowhere. People need to stay home and shelter in place.”
“It’s probably too late for that to have much of an effect. With this many people presenting in hospitals, you know there are thousands more out there infecting even more people without knowing it. Until they, too, fall sick.”
“We have to try.”
“I’ll issue the orders I can issue and recommend what I can’t, but I think our proverbial barn has already burned to the ground.”
“Sir,” Dozer said. “We’d like to locate a possible suspect. Dr. Halverson.”
“Halverson?” The SG snorted. “You think he’s behind this?”
“He’s the only one who could have taken the virus out of the CDC vault who has any motive.”
“Halverson was having some personal issues, but nothing in his file would indicate he’d commit murder on any kind of scale.”
“He got fired,” Dozer said. “Then what? Has he gotten another job?”
“I don’t know.” The SG picked up his phone. “But I can find out.”
As the SG got to his feet and moved away, the door to the office opened, and a middle-aged woman brought in a tray with two plates, cutlery, and two cups of coffee. She set them on a low table facing a small sofa.
The SG waved at them to eat, so they fell on the food. Real food, not MREs. Real coffee, not the instant stuff. A cold chill stole its way over Carmen’s skin as it occurred to her that distance made the outbreak seem less dangerous. Less real.
That, in itself, was a precarious perspective. She was supposed to remove the emotional part of the equation when making decisions, but if she did, would she make the right decision? There was a fine line between the right thing, the easy thing,
and the mathematically correct thing.
She’d always hated math.
The SG, still on the phone, picked up a remote sitting on his desk and turned on a flat screen TV hanging on the wall facing them. A panel of three people, their images taking up most of the space, sat above a rolling ticker tape of information labeled breaking news.
Carmen continued to eat, her attention only partially on the television. Until someone said “CDC.” Her fork paused halfway between her plate and her mouth.
“The CDC has completely mishandled this outbreak of measles,” one of the panel members, a woman, said. “They didn’t mobilize fast enough, didn’t bring enough staff or equipment, and didn’t provide any anti-viral medication to any of those who’d fallen ill. It’s a travesty.”
Another panelist, a balding male, snorted and said, “How do you think they’re going to get there? Borrow a starship transporter? Unlike watching the news on your phone, no one can cross four hundred and fifty miles in an instant.”
“Anti-viral medications are available right now,” the woman said, her body held so rigid she shook. “Why aren’t the CDC and every hospital, doctor’s office, and pharmacy handing them out?”
“They ran out,” the third panelist, another younger man, said. “Within hours of the first reports from Orlando in the national news, anti-virals across the country were sold out. People who weren’t sick bought them, because the sick were too ill to get into their car and race to the drugstore.”
“Which meant the sick didn’t get very many of those drugs.”
“Like I said.” The first panelist wore disgust around her nose and mouth like a Rottweiler right before it bit you. “Mismanaged. The wrong responses at the wrong time. There are new anti-virals available. The government can’t just hoard or refuse to approve them. We need them now.”
“No one is hoarding anything,” the second panelist retorted. “We can’t allow medications that haven’t been through the proper tests and studies to be made available. If we do and there are significant side effects, who’s going to pay for those medical bills? The pharmaceutical companies?”