The Viral Epiphany

by Richard McSheehy

  “What do you mean?” the Captain said. Charlie could see his eyes narrow in concern.

  “Captain, Roche’s Point was the last place that the Titanic ever dropped anchor. It sailed from there in 1912 and sank a couple days later in the North Atlantic. If you ask me, I’d rather take my chances and dock at Cobh.”

  Captain Andrews only laughed. “Charlie, you’re one of the best navigators I’ve known, but you’re just too damned superstitious!”

  Charlie looked at the Captain very seriously and whispered, “No, sir. It’s not just superstition. There’s something funny here – the way things are going. I don’t know…I felt something earlier, when we passed Clonakilty. I’m not sure what, something that kind of gave me goose bumps, you know? And then, just a few minutes after that, we passed directly over the Lusitania! Did you know that? Right over it! So now, if we drop anchor at Titanic’s last anchorage at Roche’s point, that would be three in a row, sir!”

  “Three what?” the Captain replied with a very skeptical frown on his forehead.

  Charlie saw his look and said nothing for a few moments. Then he said, “I don’t know, Captain…I get these uneasy feelings sometimes. I just think it’s unlucky, that’s all. Three in a row, you know?”

  Captain Andrews patted him on the shoulder, “Don’t worry, Charlie. This is the new Navy now, and we’re not leaving anything to chance or superstition. Seawolf can handle anything in the sea. We’ll be fine. Now, plot us a course for Roche’s Point!”

  T – 1 hour and ten minutes.

  SSN Seawolf slowed to a full stop and quietly surfaced in the light fog that was now beginning to shroud the coast. With its anchor dropped two hundred yards east of the Roche’s Point lighthouse and its decks awash it waited for the planned rendezvous with Dan and Sheila. After Captain Andrews had decided to anchor at Roche’s Point President Cranston had called Dan and the meeting had been set to take place as soon as they arrived.

  While the submarine’s inflatable boat gently slid into the water, Dan and Sheila drove Brendan’s old Renault past the half dozen houses that lined the lighthouse road. The misty fog and the early winter darkness had turned the bright and cheery blue and yellow houses into a row of shadowy gray sentinels. They drove downward, as quietly as they could, to the paved landing at the foot of the hill on which the lighthouse was built. For several minutes, as the fog thickened and the cold damp began to coat the rocks below, they stood and looked out to sea and listened for the sound of an approaching boat.

  “Listen!” Dan suddenly whispered to Sheila, “I think I hear something.” Sheila held her breath and listened intently and then she too heard the muffled sound of a single small engine mixed with the noise of the breaking waves at the landing’s edge. Seconds later a black-clothed sailor secured the inflatable craft to one of the rocks and President Cranston, entirely alone, clambered over the rocks and stood before them on the pavement.

  “Are you Doctor Quinn?” the President asked.

  “Yes, sir. I am,” Dan replied, surprised to see the President without any escorts, “and this is my associate Doctor Sheila O’Neill. I’m sorry that my student Brendan MacDonnell couldn’t be here to meet you also. He would have been very excited; however, he is very busy with vaccine distribution efforts right now.”

  “I understand.” the President said, looking at Sheila then back at Dan in the dim darkness. Dan was younger than he had expected and, perhaps a bit too handsome for a doctor, he thought. He had a sudden doubt about the vaccine’s effectiveness. “My congratulations to you and your team, and, of course, my deepest gratitude. Your vaccine is the only hope for everyone on board our submarine. I hope it works!”

  Dan smiled in reassurance. “We have every reason to believe it will be very effective, sir.”

  The President nodded but said nothing as he turned back to Sheila for a moment. There was something disconcerting about her. It’s her eyes, he thought. It’s like she’s looking right through me. He looked back at Dan who was now holding out a small package to him. “Is this the vaccine?” he asked.

  “Yes,” Dan said as he handed it to him. “There’s enough vaccine in the package for one hundred and fifty people. I’ve also included instructions of how to administer it. Do you have a doctor on the Seawolf?”

  “I believe we have a medical corpsman on board.”

  “That’s fine. He should be able to have everyone on board immunized within half an hour.”

  A look of relief swept over President Cranston’s face. “Well, this is wonderful,” he said patting the box, “Wonderful.” He looked at his watch and then turned back to Dan, “I’m afraid I have to leave very soon, but tell me, how are your efforts going here? Are you making much progress in fighting the disease?”

  “Oh, very much, sir. Our pharmaceutical companies are now producing massive amounts of vaccine now and we expect to have the entire country vaccinated very soon. We have already distributed the vaccine throughout West Cork – that’s the only place that we have had any evidence of the disease – and I think the outbreak has been contained here.”

  “Amazing,” President Cranston said, clearly surprised. “I wish our own pharmaceutical companies were doing the same!”

  “Oh, but they are sir. I spoke with the head of your CDC, and we have provided them with all the computer codes necessary to produce the vaccine synthetically. I understand that they have begun a massive program producing the vaccine.”

  “Really?” the President said, his eyes wide in surprise, “You spoke with Harry Fields? I didn’t know about that.”

  “Yes, I would estimate they must have made many millions of doses by now.”

  “That’s incred… Well, yes, of course. I suppose they have,” President Cranston said recovering quickly, “We have quite a large capability there. It’s too bad the distribution process is so slow.”

  “You mean the process of inoculating individuals?”

  “Yes.”

  “Mmmm. Yes, that is true.” Dan said, “However, I believe it is still better than doing nothing.”

  President Cranston stared at him but said nothing for several moments as he considered his remark. Then he replied, “Yes…yes. Of course I agree.” Then he looked back at the three sailors who had accompanied him. They were still standing near the boat, about fifteen feet away. “Well, Doctor Quinn and Doctor O’Neill,” he said as he turned back to them, “let me thank you again for your help. Now, I really must be going. I have to get this vaccine to the crew and our boat has other very important obligations to keep.” President Cranston nodded to each of them and turned to leave.

  “Certainly, sir. God bless you.” Dan said.

  President Cranston stopped for a moment and turned back to him. He had a slightly surprised expression on his face and it looked as if he were about to say something in reply, but he didn’t. He only nodded, a bit uncomfortably, and then walked over to the waiting inflatable boat. Thirty seconds later he and the boat had disappeared into the fog and darkness, and soon even the sound of the motor was lost in the splashing of the waves.

  “I don’t have a good feeling about him, Dan” Sheila said as they walked back to the car.

  “What do you mean?”

  “He’s hiding something. I don’t know what, but it’s not good. It’s not good at all.”

  Dan looked at her and her eyes met his. He didn’t say anything, but kept his silence as they got into the car. He hadn’t felt right about the President either.

  T minus fifty-five minutes

  “OK, Captain,” President Cranston said as soon as he entered the control room, “Do what you need to do! I’ve got the vaccine!”

  “Helm!” the Captain shouted immediately, “Set course to one eight zero degrees true. Set depth to one hundred feet. All ahead emergency speed!” He then took up the microphone for the P.A. system and announced, “Attention all hands. This is the Captain. We have taken on board a supply of vaccine. This vaccine will be distributed immed
iately to every one on the boat. Meanwhile we have an important mission to perform, all hands man your battle stations! We are at T minus fifty-five minutes and counting.”

  “Alan!” Grace said as President Cranston entered their room, “Why did the Captain say, ‘battle stations’? Is someone shooting at us?”

  “Oh, no, dear,” he said looking at her as she sat in a chair where she had been reading. She looked so much better to him now, so much more at peace. It was very strange, he thought. “Don’t worry, you’ll be fine. It’s just that the men have to be at their battle stations to fire the cruise missiles.”

  Grace looked at him and he saw an expression in her eyes that he had never seen there before. It reminded him of how Sheila had looked at him. “Alan, Doctor Quinn just gave you enough vaccine to save everyone on this boat and now you are going to blow up their cities? How can you do that?”

  “Grace, I thought we’ve been through this. We have to.”

  “But Alan, if they already have a vaccine maybe they can save themselves! How do you know they can’t?”

  “You don’t understand, Grace. The people at Omega have access to all sorts of intelligence information. I know that Doctor Quinn thinks he can save Ireland, and I’m sure he thinks he is right. But who am I to believe? Some doctor who probably has almost no access to accurate information, or our top experts with all their satellites and communications intercept capabilities, not to mention their computers and all of the analysts? Think about it, Grace. The fact that the Omega computers have already targeted Dublin and Cork already tells us that the disease is out of control there. He just doesn’t know how bad things are. By doing this we’ll save the people in the rural areas anyway.”

  “Maybe you should check one more time with the Omega people, Alan,” Grace pleaded. “Maybe they have new information or something. Please, Alan. Do it for me!”

  Before he could reply there was a knock on the door. It was Captain Andrews. “I’m sorry, Mr. President, but it’s urgent. Could you come to the control room right away?”

  President Cranston turned back to Grace and said, “I’ll be right back, dear. OK? We’ll talk about it then.” Without waiting for an answer he followed the Captain to the control room where all the positions were now fully manned. Every operator looked exceptionally alert.

  “What is it?” the President asked.

  “We’re getting no response from the torpedo room,” Captain Andrews replied. “My guess is that the other two weapons operators in there have died too. That makes three of the Seawolf’s crew now dead from the disease.”

  Charlie Murray overheard the Captain but he didn’t look over. He simply muttered under his breath, “Hah…three dead sailors, and all in the weapons launch room… it figures. The signs were all there. This is bad business we’re about. Bad business. In Celtic waters too. We’re screwed.”

  “What about the medic?” President Cranston asked, “Isn’t he in there with them too?”

  “No, sir. I released him when you were at the lighthouse. I thought we would need him for the vaccine distribution. He seems to be OK. He’s just about done giving out the vaccine.”

  “So those two other men…?”

  “Yes, they must have died during the last few minutes, after the medic left them.”

  “How long before the vaccine takes effect?” President Cranston asked, “Didn’t Doctor Quinn say it took effect immediately?”

  “I don’t know sir.” Captain Andrews replied. President Cranston had taken his dose of the vaccine even before he reboarded the Seawolf. Now he could feel his pulse beginning to race.

  “What do you need from me, Captain?”

  “Sir, we can get some of the other crew to enter the torpedo room. The men are all cross-trained, but it might be a death sentence. They’ve only received their vaccine a few minutes ago and I don’t know if that is enough protection. I need to know something, sir, if I am going to order some men into that room.”

  “What’s that, Captain?”

  “Are we really going to fire these missiles, sir? Is there any chance that you might change your mind?”

  Charlie couldn’t restrain himself as he continued to listen to their conversation. He turned away from his navigator display and looked directly at the President. President Cranston looked at the countdown clock. It now read T minus forty-five minutes. He stood there and watched the seconds tick away for a few seconds, remembering Grace’s words, and then turned back to the Captain. “I need to make a quick phone call to Omega, Captain,” he said after taking a deep breath, “Let’s double check on these targets.” He looked around the control room and Charlie quickly turned back to his display. “Meanwhile, the countdown keeps going. Right?”

  “Yes, sir. Aye, aye, sir.” the Captain said as President Cranston hurried to his room.

  Thirty-Eight

  T minus forty-three minutes

  An hour earlier, a light dusting of dry snow had fallen onto the frost-hardened ground around Missile Silo Foxtrot-Twelve. Now, a biting north wind was blowing over the North Dakota plains. It picked up the fallen flakes and toyed with them, sending them in soft, white swirls that ineffectually lashed against the gray, concrete and steel silo covers, and then dropped them into cold, shadowy corners – crisp, forlorn piles of shining crystals.

  Far below the surface, in the warm and comfortable, if somewhat cramped, launch control room, U.S. Air Force Lieutenant Colonel Robert Walker had noticed a new message that had appeared on his missile system status display. The Minuteman III missile that occupied this silo was armed with three independently targetable nuclear warheads. It had been built over twenty years ago, and was certainly state-of-the-art at that time. However, it had been upgraded several times over the years because of problems that had been identified as the result of tests at Kwajalein Missile Range. Like some of the other Minuteman III missiles, this missile, serial number BC18735G, had not yet received a critical software update to its guidance system, although it had been scheduled for installation over a month ago. Lt. Colonel Walker read the warning message:

  GUIDANCE SYSTEM ERROR: SEVERITY CODE ALPHA. TARGET LONGITUDE OR TIMING SYSTEM ERROR. UPDATE REQUIRED. PRE-LAUNCH. FAILURE TO UPDATE WILL RESULT IN TARGET MISS DISTANCE GREATER THAN 500 METERS. NON-FATAL ERROR. PROGRAM EXECUTION CONTINUES.

  Damn, he said to himself. He looked up at the countdown clock. It now read

  T-00:40:29. There’s no time to fix this now, he thought. Then after another moment he concluded, Hell, five hundred meters won’t make any difference anyway.

  “Sir,” Lieutenant Waverly said, “we’re coming up to a major decision.”

  “Roger, Tim,” he replied as he watched the clock tick off the seconds. He glanced at the clock and waited, feeling his heart pounding in his chest, then he simply announced, “Switching over from the electrical grid to battery power on the bird.”

  “Roger, switching to batteries,” Tim said and then a few seconds later he called out, “Missile successfully transitioned to battery power, sir!”

  “Roger. Battery power. We are now at commit. There will be no holds from now until launch. Repeat – no holds from now until launch.”

  “Roger, sir. Check off item twenty-nine. No holds until launch.”

  The men in Silo Foxtrot Twelve sat up a little straighter in their comfortably cushioned, red-fabric, executive style chairs and watched their control room console more intently, and each of them were now quiet with their own thoughts. They had never actually switched over to batteries in all their training drills, and the simple act of switching the missile to battery power had suddenly made them aware of the devastation they were about to unleash.

  In each Minuteman and Peacekeeper missile silo around the country, on board each of the nuclear submarines that lay quietly and secretly on the floor of all the world’s oceans, and aboard every long-range B-52 and B-2 bomber that was now nearing its destination, launch crews and bombardiers switched their switches at the same, precise
instant. Then, to a man, each sat back for a brief, heart-stopping moment and reflected, for they had now crossed a point that had never been crossed before.

  President Cranston sat at the desk in his stateroom on board the Seawolf, holding the secure phone in his hand, and listened with a growing feeling of concern and impatience. It had been ringing for three minutes, yet no one at the underground Alaska headquarters of Project Omega had answered it. He turned to Grace and saw the look of despair on her face.

  “They’re not answering, Grace,” he said, “they must be very busy now. I don’t know if we’ll be able to get through.” He looked down at his watch and then at her, but said nothing more.

  “Alan, please,” she said, “Keep trying. You have to talk with them and find out for sure!” He looked at her for a long moment and slowly shook his head. She could read the feeling of resignation on his face.

  “Grace, I don’t think they are going to answer now. They must be very busy up there. The launch countdown is a very complex and coordinated process and they are probably responding to all sorts of real time problems. I think the Seawolf must be already behind in the countdown. I’m going to have to…Hello… Hello…? General Baker?” He smiled at Grace and put his hand on the telephone mouthpiece, “I have him!”

  “Yes, sir, Mister President, this is General Baker.”

  “General, I’ve been trying and trying to get through. What’s happening there?”

  “I’m sorry for the delay in answering, sir. We’ve just gone through a major milestone in the worldwide countdown. All missile systems are now on battery power. We are now fully committed.”

  President Cranston glanced over at Grace for a few moments but said nothing to her.

  “OK,” President Cranston finally said. “I understand.” He turned away from Grace and spoke more softly into the phone. “Listen, General, I need to know something about your choice of targets in Ireland, and, of course, we don’t have much time. Specifically, how sure are you that these cities you’ve targeted are really infected with the virus? I mean, could there be a mistake of some kind about the Irish targets?”