by Davis Bunn
Avery’s father was an astronomer specializing in black holes. His mother had been assistant chief librarian of the Baltimore municipal system. Growing up, Avery had been spared the horrors of being a loner in a normal Baltimore school, one dominated by jocks and gangs. At nine, he had tested off the charts and enrolled in the Governor’s School for the Gifted. Among the elite who attended, the school’s initials, GSG, stood for Geeks and Super Geeks.
At fifteen, Avery entered Duke and graduated summa cum laude two years and one semester later. This was followed by a master’s and doc and postdoc at Johns Hopkins, one of the nation’s top schools for microbiology. Avery would have happily stayed put in the university labs until retirement. He would have been content to spend years investigating a new micro-bug, putting out the occasional book or article read only by other GSGs, and making his underpaid student assistants suffer.
Until the day Bishop Pharmaceuticals, world leaders in vaccines and rising stars in immunotherapy, had come calling.
Of course, there were the rumors about how Kenneth Bishop, the company’s CEO, had made his fortune riding the opioid wave. Which only meant he paid far above the odds to draw in the best.
As Claudia had put it, she had no problem whatsoever with the waterfront Annapolis home, his and her Lexus SUVs, stock options, and the private school for their kids.
Of course, nobody at Bishop Pharma had mentioned the downside.
Which was, getting a midnight phone call from the man himself. Kenneth Bishop. Telling Avery to leave his lab and his wife and his two daughters. Not asking. Ordering. As in, leave in two hours.
Leading him to this point. Sitting at his desk, staring at two pages of data, with millions of lives hanging in the balance.
The standing lamp between his chair and the side window formed an island of illumination amid the dark. When they first bought the Annapolis home, Avery had argued with his wife over her purchasing the antique mahogany desk, the brass chandelier with matching lamps, the heavy leather sofa set, the artwork. He had complained that he was a scientist, and a scientist didn’t fit inside an Englishman’s club. But Claudia had insisted, and now Avery loved every aspect of her choices. The home office was just that, part of their home. A haven away from the lab’s stresses. Or so it had remained, until now.
He stared at Dr. Lanica’s two sheets of paper, but what he saw was how these events had completely altered his world.
When he had joined Bishop Pharma, Avery had traded the carefully defined world of university research for the safe confines of a corporate lab. The troubles and distress and hardship caused by the diseases he studied were all kept at a distance. His new state-of-the-art lab remained cut off. Far more than the protective suit and gloves and lab protocol shielded him.
No longer.
Once the federal agents had released them, Theo had accompanied Avery and Della up to where the Washington attorney had a limo waiting. He had given Avery the pages from Dr. Lanica and asked what they meant. Avery had not responded then, mostly because he was exhausted and emotionally strung out from everything that had happened. But as he fell asleep, the numbers danced inside his closed eyelids, and now he was fairly certain he knew what the pages represented.
The agents had also wanted to know about the numbers. When they were dissatisfied with Theo’s answer—they were part of initial research from a clinic his brother was funding—the agents had threatened to keep the pages for further analysis. The attorney had scalded them with her fury and refused to allow them to make copies. One of the agents had photographed the pages with her phone just the same. Now that he studied the sheets, Avery was not overly concerned. He doubted anyone else would understand their significance. He had always had a head for numbers. It was people that gave him so much trouble.
There were neither headings to the columns of figures, nor explanations, nor conclusions. Clearly, whoever had put this data together wanted to hide in plain sight.
He reached over and adjusted the desk lamp. The numbers leaped up at him. The first line read:
2/10/18 4.6245 7.6331 ?/?/18 141 776 0
The first and fourth columns were clearly dates. Avery assumed the first represented the date of visual inspection. He turned to his computer and ran a search on the second and third numbers. Just as he suspected, they were latitude and longitude. The map centered on the Nigerian village of Ikot-Abasi, situated on the river delta between the oil fields and the Atlantic. It confirmed what Lanica had told them back in Bissau, that this represented the first known instance of what could possibly be . . .
An outbreak. Of a new global pandemic.
Avery rubbed his eyes. The numbers were a threat to the safe world he had made for himself. Kenneth Bishop had not sent him across the Atlantic because of a possible new outbreak thousands of miles away. Somehow Bishop had reached the conclusion that the Lupa disease was coming their way.
Avery had learned long ago to trust his gut feelings. He would spend days, weeks, sometimes years formulating such kernels into well-defined theories. Then he would take even longer designing and carrying out experiments. In very few instances, his certainty was so great that Avery carried this conviction from the first moment to the final report. Such an approach held enormous risk of bias. As a scientist, he had to be extremely careful not to design a test that would simply reveal what he wanted.
Not this time.
The fourth column had question marks in the place of month and day. Avery assumed this represented the date of outbreak. The question marks were made clear because of the seventh column. This final column remained the same on both pages.
Zero.
Avery knew this represented the number of survivors. Which meant the researchers had found it necessary to search the surrounding areas, trying to find someone who had witnessed the outbreak or heard firsthand from someone who had survived. In regions where communication was spotty and villages remained cut off for much of the year, this would have been extremely difficult.
The fifth column was where most outsiders would have been stumped.
When the SARS virus erupted, scientists working in a number of different countries came up against the fact that their national systems of medical coding made working together almost impossible. So they began building a universal medical coding system. This new classification was known only by specialists working in the field of global health. The aim was to transform descriptions of medical diagnoses and procedures into instantly recognizable numbers.
The ICD numbers 100 through 199 covered the deadliest African diseases. A cluster of thirty numbers was set aside for illnesses that had yet to be identified. The fifth number in the first line, 141, represented pertussis or whooping cough.
Avery used the number in the sixth column to confirm his analysis was correct. He searched through online Nigerian census data to determine the number of inhabitants in Ikot-Abasi and came up with 40,000. A nice round number, suggesting the census takers had not even bothered to visit the region.
He logged in to his corporate account and checked the company’s online data for the whooping cough’s mortality rate. This statistic was vital when dealing with most infectious diseases, because a key rating method for new vaccines was reducing the number of deaths. Pertussis had a global mortality rate of 17 out of 100.
Until now.
He turned off the desk lamp and sat staring at the room’s shadows. Earlier he had checked in with his company’s office and learned that officials from the FDA had been snooping around his lab, asking questions of his associates. Everyone was nervous, especially since they all knew the company’s CEO had sent him off on a secret expedition. To Africa. And then Kenneth Bishop had testified before a closed Senate hearing. Three times. And now Bishop was in jail.
Avery looked down at the pages on his desk. The numbers were indistinct in the dim light. But he did not need to see them again to know they represented a life choice. If he took this any further, it would threaten everything.
Lying
next to the pages was a new cell phone. Before escorting him and Della from the terminal, Theo had purchased three phones at the gift shop and loaded them with a thousand minutes each. It would be so easy to call Theo right now and back out. Say he’d had enough, done enough, risked more than enough. Now was the time to turn away. Declare he was through, throw away the phone, and return to his safe and well-defined life.
And yet, sitting here in the dark, he knew Claudia had been right. He could not turn away. He didn’t know if he had the strength to complete this quest, but he had to try. Because the threat was real. He did not need to have all the answers to know something huge loomed out there, masked in shadows, waiting to pounce. The blue-jacketed agents who had hauled them off the plane might think they knew what was going on, but they were little more than puppets being manipulated by global pressures. And if Avery took this step, he would risk being caught by these same shadowy figures. And destroyed.
That was the risk. But turning away carried an even greater danger. Knowing there was a threat on the horizon, and doing nothing, was no longer possible.
“Avery?”
He looked up to find his wife standing in the doorway. “Hi.”
“Is everything all right?”
He rose to his feet and rounded the desk. “We need to talk.”
twenty
Theo paid three hundred ninety dollars for a one-way, last-minute economy seat on the evening flight to Asheville. He then called Harper and detailed several next steps with his attorney and best friend. When that was completed, Theo sat for a while, cradling the phone between his hands.
Next he called his home.
The phone rang four times before a young boy answered, “Bishop residence.”
“Hi. Is this Josh?”
“No, I’m Clint. Who is this?”
“This is your uncle Theo.”
“Oh. Hi.”
A woman’s voice called from some distance, “I told you never to answer that.”
“You were in the shower and it kept ringing.”
There was a rustling sound, and the woman said, “Go finish your dinner. Hello?”
“Amelia, it’s Theo.”
There was silence, then, “Now isn’t a good time.”
“I understand.”
“Do you? Do you really?”
Theo stretched out his legs and stared at his reflection in the night-darkened window. “Yes.”
“I wish I could be sure of that.”
“Amelia, when you talk with Kenny, tell him he was right to send me. Tell him I needed to see the hospital.”
“The hospital?”
“Yes. In Bissau. It was absolutely vital. Even though we were almost arrested when we landed in Washington.”
She went quiet a second time. “You really do understand, don’t you?”
“I do. Yes.”
“Then you will also understand when I say that you should never call here again.”
“All right. If that’s what you want.”
“What I want is for all this to go away.”
“But that’s not happening.”
She sighed. “No. It’s not.”
“So your biggest concern is keeping the children safe,” Theo said.
She spaced out each word. “That’s how it has to be.”
“Of course.”
“I’m grateful for the use of your home. I really am. It’s lovely, but . . .”
“Don’t worry, Amelia. I won’t call again. Do you want my number?”
“No.” Her voice was very soft. “Good-bye, Theo.”
He rose to his feet, as this next conversation required him to be on full alert. Theo took the card from his pocket, the one handed to him by the man in the windowless cubicle, and placed the call.
Martin Thorpe answered with, “I was thinking you might need a little more time to land yourself in trouble.”
“I’m hoping you might be able to help me avoid that,” Theo replied.
“Hang on a second.” There was the sound of footsteps across a hardwood floor, then a door closed. “Okay, let’s hear it.”
As Theo detailed what he had in mind, a trio of warning lights flashed beyond his window. They framed his reflection, illuminating the weary tension in his features. Theo hoped it was not a harbinger of bad things to come.
When he was done, Martin Thorpe remained silent for a long moment, then said, “You were right to call.”
“Can you do it?”
“Probably.”
“Probably doesn’t cut it.”
“There aren’t any certainties in this business. As you should already know.”
“I’m putting my life on the line here,” Theo pointed out. “Not to mention the other people involved.”
“I am well aware of that. Give me until tomorrow morning. If you don’t hear back, it means everything is in place.”
“I guess that will have to do.”
“You guess right. Anything else?”
“Can I ask who you work for?”
“Absolutely.”
“Will you tell me?”
“Absolutely not.”
Theo grinned as he ended the call and moved to join the throng boarding his flight. It was a strange reason to be smiling. But just then he would take his humor wherever he could.
Harper was there at the airport to greet him. She hugged him tightly enough for Theo to complain, “Ow. Careful. You’re handling damaged goods.”
“You aren’t yet, but you will be soon.” She swiped at his shoulder. “Shame on you for not answering my calls. And texts. And emails.”
“I told you. I lost my computer and phone.”
“Where at?”
“Casamance. Southern Senegal.”
She took hold of his arm and steered him toward the exit. “I hear a story coming.”
“Not tonight,” Theo replied. “I’m beat.”
She drove him to the Fairview estate. Harper chatted at first, then realized Theo wasn’t listening and went quiet. When they arrived, Harper entered the code to open the front gate, then drove up the winding lane to the pool house. “All the doors to this place are electronic. The code to the pool house is the same as the front gate and main residence. You sure you don’t want to go sleep in the hilltop palace?”
“This place will do me just fine.” Theo sat there a moment, listening to the summer night through his open window. He forced himself to focus. “Were you able to arrange the meeting for tomorrow?”
“All set for nine-thirty.”
“Can you join us?”
“Of course I’ll be there.” She parked next to his Jeep, which she had brought up with a friend, then inspected him intently. “It was bad, wasn’t it? What you saw in Africa.”
“It was, yes.”
“Are you glad you went?”
Glad wasn’t the right word, but Theo couldn’t think of a better one. So he said, “Yes.”
The pool house contained a large kitchen-living-dining area, and a bedroom that overlooked the darkened lawn. Everything still smelled vaguely of fresh paint and cleaner. His boxes had been piled against a wall, almost blocking the window. Theo stumbled through the bedroom, shedding clothes as he walked. He took a long shower, half asleep under the spray. Then he dried off and set his phone’s alarm and fell into bed and was gone.
When his phone chimed at 5:30 a.m., Theo had difficulty remembering where he was. Harper had thoughtfully set out his coffeemaker, a bag of ground Starbucks, and a mug. While the coffee brewed he sifted through the boxes until he found a jacket and shirt and matching trousers, a tie and pair of loafers. He packed these into the shopping bag that had formerly held his coffee, then dressed in jeans and a sweatshirt and the same canvas hiking boots he’d been wearing since forever. He shaved carefully, finished his mug of coffee, and left carrying the bag and his phone.
Theo’s actual home was the last property on a dead-end road overlooking Beaver Lake. Asheville’s hilly terrain meant few
roads ran straight. Theo’s lane was no exception. His property was bordered by steep forest on two sides.
Hunters loved this time of day, and for good reason. Shadows shifted constantly, reforming as the light strengthened. The night animals were weary and slow on the uptake. Body clocks ticked at the day’s slowest rhythm. Theo left his Jeep on Lakeshore Drive and hiked a trail the neighborhood kids had shaped through thick brush. He was breathing hard by the time he made the rise above his home. He crouched at the base of a blooming dogwood and scouted. He assumed there was security in place, probably with regular foot patrols around his property. Then he spotted what he was looking for. A shadow by his home’s rear corner shifted slightly. As quietly as he could, Theo threaded his way down the ridge.
When Theo reached the rusting fence marking the back of his property, he coughed. Again. Then he took his time climbing over. And when he straightened, he felt something cold and hard press against his temple.
A man’s voice whispered, “Are you armed?”
“No.”
“Place your hands on the fence. Step back, lean forward, and put your weight on your arms. Okay.” There was a click, then, “We’ve got an intruder by the rear perimeter.”
Ninety seconds passed before a second voice asked, “You search him?”
“Waiting for you.”
Brisk hands gave him a thorough pat-down. “Okay, let’s have it.”
“My name is Theo Bishop,” he replied, “and I hope you’ve been expecting me.”
twenty-one
Ten more minutes passed. The sentries let Theo stand upright again but ordered him to keep his hands where they could be seen. Finally, the guard touched his ear, lifted his wrist to his mouth, and said, “Copy.” He slipped his gun back into its holster. “All right, let’s go.”
Theo had no idea what it would be like to see Amelia after all these years. He expected himself to be nervous. But as they crossed the rear lawn and climbed the stairs, he could not say he felt much of anything. Perhaps the travel fatigue carried its own version of emotional Novocain.
Another guard was stationed by the kitchen door. He opened it and motioned Theo inside.