by Jeff Rovin
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
The Oval Office, The White House
November 11, 4:01 P.M.
“How is that possible?” Harward asked.
The national security advisor, President Midkiff, Matt Berry, and Angie Brunner had listened to the recording of the call to the East London police station. There was an advisory that followed by exactly seven minutes, stating that triangulation of the call, pinpointing the number, and identifying the owner had proven fruitless.
The call was being analyzed by every intelligence agency to which the material had been sent. That was Europe and the United States to start, followed by Russia, China, and the rest of Asia.
“It is possible,” Berry said, “if you buy a prepaid phone, purchase minutes using another phone, and activate them. That buys you thirty days till they expire.”
“But activation leaves a trail, doesn’t it?” the president asked.
“To nowhere,” Berry replied. “You call a number, usually somewhere in India, and provide the IMEI number from the burner phone. You also give the operator your name.”
“Your actual name,” the president asked.
“The name on the existing account,” Berry replied. “That one is fake. The account is typically paid for with stolen credit card information. That data is hacked moments before the transfer is done. Hacks like that are done in time zones where people are likely asleep. By the time it’s discovered, the minutes have already been transferred to the unknown burner.”
“How the hell did we keep inventing technology without built-in safeguards?” Midkiff wondered.
“Mr. President,” Harward said, returning to the reason they had gathered, “what about this Chinese presence our ships and satellites are watching?”
“They went right to Prince Edward, not to Marion Island where the plane came down,” Berry said.
Midkiff regarded him. “Beijing may have had the same intelligence you did.”
“Did I miss something?” Harward asked.
“My gemologist talked about light being emitted from a point on the island,” Berry reminded him.
“Something no one else reported,” Harward said.
“When you’re looking for and at navies, you may miss geologic phenomena, Trevor.”
“And the Chinese did see it? With what satellites? What ships? They had no eyes on that tactically insignificant nature sanctuary.”
Before the conversation could continue, Dr. Rajini jumped into the meeting by phone.
“What have you got?” the president asked.
“Two things,” she said. “The South African Navy dispatched a medical team to Marion Island, which just arrived. A patrol helicopter set down earlier when the pilot became ill near a location called Ship Rock on Prince Edward Island.”
Harward looked at his map. “Northern coast. Where there’s been recent sea traffic.”
Dr. Rajini did not have security clearance to let her know about the Chinese ship.
“Ill but still alive?” Berry asked.
“We believe so, along with a passenger who was apparently uninfected. Wind currents and proximity may have blunted the impact—we do not have enough information to say.”
“What’s the other news?” Midkiff asked.
“The helicopter that came down in East London was feeding video to the Department of Energy,” the science advisor said. “The camera missed whatever ‘vehicle zero’ might have been but the incidents definitely spread west along the bridge while rising: cars not yet on the bridge were not affected but the helicopter was.”
“Lifted by thermal currents,” Harward said.
“It would seem so. The government immediately ordered the skyways cleared along the path the air currents were moving. But what we are trying to ascertain is whether this contagion has an expiration date once released.”
“Which you’ll only know if someone accidentally gets in the way,” the president said.
“There’s nothing but mountains for some two hundred miles heading west,” she said. “Radios, TV, and social media are warning people to stay indoors, close windows, turn off any air conditioners or fans, and cover their mouths with anything they have. The military is dispatching helicopters with protected pilots to get up there and warn residents—and assess casualties, if any.”
“Is there a shelf life for these things in general?” Harward asked.
“That’s a good question and I’ve had my staff focusing on it,” she replied. “Bacteria that we sneeze or cough out won’t last an hour. Outside the body. The consensus is that this strain—and we still don’t know exactly what it is, bacteria or virus or still, possibly, chemical—we hope it wasn’t somehow bioengineered to have a longer life span.”
“Though we can’t rule that out,” the president said.
The men did not mention what their shared looks told them. If the Chinese ship was anchored offshore, it suggested the crew was safe, that the disease did not in fact live for very long in the atmosphere.
“Anything from the surgeon general?” the president asked.
“Dr. Young and the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention are in contact with their counterparts at the South African CDC to try and find out whether this microbe is natural or came from a lab.”
“Dr. Rajini, do you still think there’s a possibility that this is a natural phenomenon tied to the geology down there?” the president asked.
“It cannot be ruled out,” she said.
“Why?” Midkiff asked.
Harward answered, “Because the virulence and speed and cruelty of what it does has the stink of a military bioweapon program.”
“The South Africans are not known to have conducted bioweapon research,” Berry pointed out.
“With respect, Matt, we are looking into the apartheid era,” Dr. Rajini said, adding gravely, “There were rumors of using disease for domestic intervention.”
Midkiff thanked her and terminated the call.
“The old Pretoria-created-AIDS canard,” Berry scoffed.
“True or not, there is apparently a South African who isn’t afraid to use this thing,” Midkiff pointed out.
“Which brings up the obvious question,” Harward said. “Why wasn’t there a warning before the attack on the jetliner?”
“The two incidents may not be related,” Berry suggested.
The others considered this.
“Separate perpetrators?” Midkiff asked. “Multiple specimens out there?”
“That or someone, somehow, got a sample from the jetliner and is exploiting the damn thing.”
“The caller didn’t ask for anything,” Midkiff pointed out.
“Yet. Unless he’s a complete sociopath—which we cannot rule out—there is more to come.”
“Getting back to the Chinese,” the president said, “they may not know what to look for, or where, but there are South African naval officers on the islands who do. Beijing will find it before long.”
Berry rose. “I’m going to my office to make some calls, see what I can find out. There’s nothing I can add about China—they’re doing what China does.”
“We should do one better,” Harward said.
“What’s that?” the president asked.
“Blast Prince Edward with a sea-whiz barrage from the Carl Vinson. Let the Chinese know that the South African government has requested our assistance.”
The Phalanx CIWS was a radar-guided 20mm Vulcan cannon used primarily against antiship projectiles.
“Do you disagree?” the president asked Berry. After eight years with the man, he already knew the answer.
“Apart from the provocative nature of that action, I’m all for letting Beijing take the risks with something this deadly. If they get something, we’ll know it.”
“You don’t care if they control the source, the spigot?” Harward asked.
“Not if we can figure out what this is and find a way to lick it.”
Both the president and Berry
knew there was another reason.
Angie Brunner, who had been silent the entire time, seemed to catch the look the men shared.
The deputy national security advisor left to go to his small office down the hall. There was no reason for Harward to know that Op-Center had something hopefully more effective than a Chinese landing party on route. He wanted to brief Williams about that and also tell him to lean hard on this Barbara Niekerk.
He had a feeling, an instinct that she knew something more about this, given that she suggested a “time frame” in her call to Australia. If that referred to potency rather than air currents, she definitely knew what this was.
As he walked past his secretary’s cubicle and opened the office door, a text to the men at the meeting arrived from Dr. Rajini:
Medical chopper overdue PE Is. SAN checking.
“Matt, the president wants to see you for a minute,” his secretary said as he was shutting the door.
Berry turned back and passed Harward in the corridor. The men did not speak. There was nothing to say. Angie was with him, though she was busy texting—probably President-elect Wright, wanting to brief him.
The president’s executive secretary shooed Berry in. The president was behind his desk. He motioned for the deputy national security advisor to shut the door.
“The NRO just informed us the SAN helicopter landed at Marion,” Midkiff said. “There’s also a Chinese launch moored there.”
“That would explain the silence,” Berry said.
“Matt, I’m not inclined to disagree with Trevor on this sea-whiz approach. We can’t let them land and stay where and however long they wish. But I don’t want to do that if Op-Center can do it cleaner and quieter.”
“We’ve still got at least eight hours till boots are on the ground.”
“Which worries me,” Midkiff admitted. “I don’t get the impression that even South African Command knows what’s going on out there. If the Chinese are the only ones who figure this out, that’s a lot of catch-up for us to do. And a lot of damage they can do—with clean hands.”
“Mr. President, we don’t know that. The Chinese may have been behind this, using the islands as a staging area. They’ve been pushing the territorial envelope there.”
“Naval intelligence considered that,” Midkiff said. “Communications suggest they were as surprised as everyone else.”
“Good cover, if they pull that off.”
“C’mon, Matt. The Chinese are some of the worst bluffers on the planet. If the Indian Ocean were a poker table, they’d have been busted before I was elected. No,” the president went on, “I don’t think it’s them and I don’t think it’s the Russians. We know all their bioweapons programs.”
“Who’s got eyes on the islands?”
“NRO, NASA, DNI—the fleet is listening. But now that everyone’s deep in the game, no one’s going to say anything of value. Which is the problem and why I’m back at the sea-whiz scenario. The Chinese may have a clear path to success here.”
“Unless Op-Center can stop them.”
“I prefer ‘until,’” Midkiff said. “If we see some sign of the Chinese moving in on that northern location, I’m going to give the attack order.”
“If that’s the mission, sir, the sea-whiz is not the best weapon for that job—”
“I’m aware of that. Can’t put planes in that area until we know more about the toxin,” Midkiff replied. “And I can’t risk the Chinese taking a shot at one, because then we’re in a shooting war.”
“Mr. President, I just want to point out that we don’t even know if that will work. It could make things worse, blasting particles of whatever-this-is into the ocean.”
“It’s lethal where it is, and we cannot risk any more of it getting out. The Chinese must not have it.”
Berry did not pursue the discussion further. He told the president he would emphasize all of this to Chase Williams and advise him of any developments on that end.
There was just one thing that concerned him beyond the deadline the president had just set. Unlike during their mission in Yemen, the Black Wasp unit was being sent into the eye of an ongoing storm with scrutiny from every nation in the region.
In light of that, there were three things he prayed: that the team was successful, that they got out safely … and that they got out unseen.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Marion Island, South Africa
November 11, 11:20 P.M.
The Chinese had waited for the early moon to settle into the darkness before moving. They knew the Americans and the Russians would be watching from space. They did not need to make the job easy for them by operating in any kind of light.
A few minutes earlier, they patched the outpost radio through to a live broadcast from East London. Lieutenant Colonel Raeburn had listened to the report from Batting Bridge with rising anger and nausea.
You did this, he said over and over to himself.
His motives did not matter. His reasons for putting the Exodus bug here did not matter. Only that he had been responsible for hundreds of deaths in just a few hours.
But the idea that someone had taken the microbe from here and used it strengthened his resolve to see that the Chinese did not get it, that no one did. Whatever had been taken was not an unlimited supply. Save for the germs that had been incinerated in the plane crash, the bacteria that had already killed would return to the air. In a quarantined area, they were unlikely to find another host and would perish. At the very least they would weaken in the air, as they had apparently done in the case of Lieutenant Mabuza.
When the report was finished, and with the leader of the landing party still holding his pistol on Raeburn, Command Master Chief Petty Officer Kar-Yung Cheung, onboard the Shangaro, addressed the South African again.
“I am authorized to make an alternate suggestion,” the seaman said.
“Mr. Cheung, this thing has to be stopped! How can you even discuss ‘suggestions’ after what you just heard?”
“That makes it easy. You and I are agreed on the need to find a cure. That is why it would be better for us all, I think—for humanity as a whole—if you were to cooperate. But you will come with us, in any case.”
Raeburn did not expect that, nor did he believe it. The Exodus bug would no doubt be weaponized. But the prospect of being free to openly seek a remedy would go a long way toward satisfying his conscience. That was something he would not be able to do in South Africa, at least not from prison if his part in this became known.
Prison or worse, he thought, if Krummeck were at risk of being implicated.
“I presume you have appropriate gear for this expedition?” Raeburn said.
“The full hazmat suits are onboard the patrol boat.”
“For the crew of the boat as well?”
“Of course.”
“You left port with them,” Raeburn said. “Before all of this.”
“We do a good deal of spray painting. The antarctic and subantarctic weather is hard on our hull.”
There was that, Raeburn admitted. There was also the sinister reality that the Chinese handled biotoxins onboard as a matter of course.
“Officer Cheung, I will take your team to the source of this contagion,” Raeburn said. He was surprised at the strength of his voice given the weakness he felt from his ankles to his gut.
“I will tell them to follow your directions,” the Chinese seaman said. “Be certain you work directly and honestly.”
“I want this stopped.”
“I’m glad to hear this. Your three comrades will remain at the outpost with four armed guards. Show any sign of treachery or delay and they will be sent one by one into the sea.”
“One thing,” Raeburn said. “The civilian investigators will be arriving off these shores in a very short while. They may radio or come to the outpost.”
“Your man will warn them that it is infected,” Cheung said. “I will be listening.”
Raeburn looked at S
isula. “Best to do it, Ensign,” the lieutenant colonel said quietly. “That’s an order.”
“Thank you, Doctor—sir.”
Having been told to do it would go a long way to absolving the man of any complicity. Coming from a medical officer in a health crisis, the command would naturally carry even more weight.
Raeburn zipped his parka and pulled his gloves on. He regarded the man with the gun.
“Officer Cheung, if the civilian investigators see your ships and radio South Africa—”
“Your outpost will be grateful for our offer of assistance,” Cheung said.
Sisula looked beaten. Raeburn forced a smile. The prodding was ineffectual as the ensign, shamed, looked away. The doctor understood. The man had no doubt grown up hearing tales of the struggle to radically alter South Africa, to achieve racial parity. Others had sacrificed so much so that his could be the first generation to hold the new torch.
He clearly felt he was dropping it.
They left the building and headed east along the rocky ledge, away from the direction of the helipad. The gravel path began some fifty feet above the sea and terminated at a natural cover of large boulders that sheltered both the waters and the complex of bird nests. The smell of dung was overpowering when they were low enough for the rocks to block the wind.
It was worse than he had remembered over on Prince Edward Island. But then, everything was.
The crew of the aluminum patrol boat had remained onboard. Two men came on deck from the bridge, both armed with raised 5.8mm assault rifles. The vessel was smaller than the Houbei-class missile boats, but Raeburn did not recognize the design. Despite being in the navy he was impartial to the sea. He had grown up in Simon’s Town and the navy afforded him the chance to be close to his family.
The men kept their cold-weather wear on as they donned their oversized yellow hazmat suits, the gloves included. Their protection consisted of fully sealed coveralls, shoe covers that zipped to the cuffs to create a seal, and gloves that did the same with the sleeves. There was a full-face respirator with a large, clear visor that afforded peripheral vision.