Containment Failure (A Special Agent Dylan Kane Thriller, Book #2)

by J. Robert Kennedy

  Even if it meant ending his career at LSU.

  Office of Public Health Preparedness and Response

  Centers for Disease Control and Prevention (CDC), Atlanta, Georgia

  Dr. Katherine Best took a too large bite of her six inch Subway ham sandwich—not toasted. She didn’t understand the appeal. Subway should be a nice, cool, refreshing sandwich. Lots of lettuce, tomatoes, cucumbers and olives, with lite mayo. And American cheese if she were feeling indulgent, the firmer texture of the cheese more to her liking than the other choices.

  To die for.

  Healthy, tasty, filling, and cool.

  Born and raised in Fargo, North Dakota, this time of year was supposed to be cold. When she had left, she never thought she would miss it, but the past five years in Atlanta had cured her of that, and now she found every day at least warm, which meant a lot of cooler meals, especially lunches. Salads and cold subs.

  And nothing was worse than greasy fingers with ketchup and mustard surging outside the bun while eating a hamburger when you were trying to read email at your desk. An email caught her attention and she opened it immediately, her mouth, at first rapidly chewing her latest bite, slowed until it reached a full stop, still full.

  She grabbed the phone and quickly dialed an extension rarely used before she remembered her full mouth. Quickly chewing, she managed to swallow just in time.

  “Rapid Response Team.”

  “This is Dr. Best. We have a possible outbreak in New Orleans. Unknown viral agent, at least seven dead in less than twenty-four hours.”

  “Seven in twenty four hours? Why haven’t we heard of it?”

  She could understand the shock at the other end of the line. It matched her own, but the email was from a med school friend who she trusted. These weren’t official channels, but according to the email, those channels wouldn’t be informed until tomorrow morning.

  When it could very well be too late.

  Sofitel Marseille Vieux Port Hotel, Marseilles, France

  Dr. Hermann Kapp reached forward to kill the feed from the now adjourned virtual meeting when the Chairman suddenly spoke.

  “Wait a minute!”

  Kapp’s finger remained suspended in midair, then he slowly eased back in his chair as he saw Chairman Schreiber read a piece of paper he had just been handed. He shook his head, removing his glasses, and stared at the camera.

  “The CDC has been made aware of an outbreak in New Orleans. Viral, at least seven dead, dozens infected. This could be our outbreak.”

  “When are we supposed to hear from him?”

  Schreiber looked at his watch.

  “Not for another twenty one hours.”

  “What do we do?” asked Kapp. “Nobody has ever known about the outbreaks before. There’s no hiding it now that the CDC is involved.” Kapp’s eyes flicked over to the icon with their brilliant researcher. “Dr. Hyatt, is it possible for them to trace this back to us?”

  Hyatt nodded. “We’ve applied for patents on our methods. If they really wanted to, they could put two and two together.”

  “How likely do you think that is?”

  “Very. These are smart people, and if there are over fifty people infected already, and previous experience suggest they will all die, there is no way the CDC will let this go.”

  Everyone was silent as this sank in.

  “I think we need to get ahead of it,” said Kapp. “Go to the CDC, come clean, and maybe with their resources we can find him. We’ve got six months before the next attack and we shouldn’t waste a minute of it.”

  There were a few nods, but most heads remained still.

  Schreiber finally sighed and nodded.

  “Kapp, I want you to run with this.”

  Kapp felt his heart leap into his throat.

  “Me?”

  “Yes. You’re our best speaker, best public relations guy. I want you to be the face of the company if and when this hits the news. Use whoever you need, but try to minimize the damage to the company. We’ll cooperate fully. I don’t want the next outbreak on my conscience—I already can’t sleep at night, and this is only getting worse.”

  Kapp felt the tightness in his chest, the sweat above his lip, the moisture oozing from his palms, for he knew what this meant.

  As the public face of the company on this matter, if things went awry, he’d be the first to go down.

  And the first to go to prison.

  Cafeteria, Interim LSU Public Hospital, New Orleans, Louisiana

  Dr. Douglas Corkery sat in the cafeteria, his head on the table, his coffee and lunch forgotten. He was exhausted and was due to leave, but couldn’t bring himself to do it. He had patients. Scared patients, sick patients. Dying patients.

  And so far he had been powerless to stop anything.

  Fifteen dead already. He had just ordered all female nurses and doctors out of the Isolation Ward, since it seemed to only be targeting women, and had ordered triage to deal with women first, immediately isolating any with cold or flu symptoms.

  The only good news was that the arrivals seemed to be slowing down; only one in the last hour.

  Whatever they were dealing with seemed to have hit everyone at nearly the same time, with most of the patients arriving within the past twelve hours. He had called colleagues at several other hospitals in the area and they all had cases, but those were few. It seemed the epicenter was here, and it had him wondering.

  What was unique about this part of the city?

  The Superdome!

  His eyes shot open and he sat up as his mind raced, his hands shoveling food into his mouth, the fries and club sandwich going unnoticed, their purpose merely fuel for the fire he would need if he were to last the night. As he swallowed each bite, his theory continued to expand. There were events at the Superdome all the time. Football games, concerts, celebrations.

  Could they have all been exposed at the Superdome?

  But if something this serious had been going around at the Superdome, there should be hundreds if not thousands of victims.

  And why only women?

  And some of the women he had to admit didn’t strike him as football fans. But it could have been a concert. He’d have to check what events there had been then begin to question the patients.

  Shoving the last wedge of sandwich into his mouth, he wiped his face and headed back to the Isolation Ward to try and find that missing link between them all.

  Outside the Interim LSU Public Hospital, New Orleans, Louisiana

  Dr. Katherine Best barely waited for the skids to hit the ground before she jumped out of the chopper that had brought her from the airport. The scene presented to her was one of near panic. Police were everywhere, and as per protocol, all patients not exhibiting symptoms of the outbreak were being redirected to other hospitals in the city, and those already at other hospitals were being transported here if they were healthy enough.

  Most weren’t.

  All new patients in the city would arrive here, which would help contain the research and treatment, the numbers of new patients dwindling rapidly as the day went by.

  It makes no sense!

  For the numbers to occur like they did, it implied a near simultaneous infection. It was as if there was no Patient Zero, which to her meant several terrifying things. One, there was a Patient Zero out there, who infected the rest somehow, and was most likely now dead, his, or more likely her, death chalked up to pneumonia and buried somewhere, their secrets probably locked in a grave or cremated, never to be discovered.

  If that were the case, it indicated an incredibly virulent virus to infect so many so quickly, which was terrifying. Could this be just the first wave? Patient Zero infects them at a movie theatre or some other public venue, then after an incubation period, those infected begin to exhibit symptoms, and begin arriving at the hospital today?

  And how long was that period?

  And worse, how many others did they infect while going about their daily lives in the ci
ty?

  The first wave was around one hundred people. The second wave could be massive, easily in the thousands or tens of thousands.

  Then there was the other possibility that had occurred to her.

  Terrorism.

  A virus that acted like no other, nearly 100% fatal, with a sudden mass infection.

  She prayed that wasn’t the case. If it were, they likely had no chance of preventing it from being used all over the country.

  She saw the CDC vehicles parked to the left, near a side entrance, an isolation tube already set up leading from a large temporary sealed tent where the doctors would suit up and decontaminate themselves when leaving. If her instructions had been followed, which she was certain they were, that isolation tube would lead all the way to the Isolation Unit of the hospital, and join another temporary working area that would isolate that entire ward from the rest of the hospital. Those inside would not leave until they had been screened and cleared, and as of yet, they didn’t even know what to look for.

  One of her colleagues based in New Orleans waved and ran toward her. As was her habit, she made certain her right hand was occupied to prevent the natural instinct of shaking hands, and her colleague, equally well briefed on protocols, smiled as he approached, his own right hand occupied by a tablet computer.

  “Good to see you, Doctor. Pleasant flight?”

  Katherine nodded at Dr. Barry Johnston, an experienced infectious diseases specialist who had been with the CDC when she was just a teenager, his own upward mobility halted by his desire to remain on the front lines and not push paper. “Good to see you too, Doctor.” She glanced over her shoulder at the departing chopper. “I guess you get used to it,” she replied as she began to walk toward the decontamination area, Johnston at her side. “Sit rep?”

  “One hundred and four are now in isolation. Thirty eight are dead and isolated in a special area we’ve set up in the morgue. Toxicology has already begun. We should have the first results coming back within the hour.”

  “Any idea of what they all have in common besides being women?”

  “As a matter of fact, yes. Oh, and it’s no longer just women.”

  Katherine’s heart almost stopped as quickly as her feet brought her to a halt. She looked at Johnston, certain the fear she felt was written all over her face.

  “What?”

  “We have one man, brought in thirty minutes ago from another hospital. He has all the same symptoms, but at this point we don’t know if it’s the same strain, so we have him isolated from the others.”

  “Could it be a mutation?”

  Johnston shrugged his shoulders. “We won’t know until we can isolate the virus and begin analyzing it, but…” His voice trailed off, and she knew why. Neither of them wanted to state the obvious.

  If this virus can mutate this quickly, it might already be too late to prevent its spread.

  “Any signs of improvements in the patients?” she asked instead.

  “None. From what we can tell, from initial symptoms to death is anywhere from twenty four to forty eight hours.”

  “That could be what saves us.”

  Johnston nodded his understanding. “Assuming the incubation period is short.”

  “And we have no idea on that?”

  “Actually, we might. Let’s get you suited up and inside so you can talk to the doctor himself who might have figured it out.”

  She nodded as she stepped inside the plastic bubble meant to protect them all from the spread of the disease. On autopilot, she suited up as her mind raced. If the disease killed its victims within forty-eight hours, and the incubation period was short enough, it could flame out before it spread too far. There might just be hope to stop this, but it was going to be nasty, and time was of the essence.

  Suited up, she stepped through into the decontamination area, received a blast of air to loosen any foreign substances that might be on the suit so as to prevent any new toxins from entering, then stepped into the long tube after checking that her independent oxygen supply was functioning.

  She followed Johnston and within minutes was in the isolation ward being introduced to an exhausted young doctor named Corkery.

  “Dr. Katherine Best, pleased to meet you. I understand you may have figured out the common link?”

  Corkery nodded his head, his eyes drooping, black circles threatening to bore into his skull as he sat back down, Katherine and Johnston pulling chairs out to face him.

  “We interviewed everyone we could, and after a couple of dozen I realized that several worked at the Superdome, then it all clicked.”

  “What?” asked Katherine, her heart already racing as she realized how large the exposure might be.

  “Almost every single person here was at the Saints game ten days ago.”

  “Oh no!” she whispered, her head spinning toward Johnston. “That means it could be across the country already!”

  Johnston shook his head, his frown deep. “Forget the country. NFL games are tourist destinations. They attract visitors from around the entire world. This thing could already be global.”

  Isolation Ward, Interim LSU Public Hospital, New Orleans, Louisiana

  Tammy could barely feel the hand holding hers, her body so weak she had no idea how long she had been here, and could hardly remember where she was. Like the others around her, she had taken to muttering, with occasional bouts of lucidity that could last mere seconds, or minutes. But never long.

  “I have to get to work tomorrow otherwise I’ll be fired.”

  She could see the doctor’s eyes smiling down at her as his face mask crinkled from the grin underneath.

  “Don’t you worry about that. I’ll personally talk to your boss.”

  She forced a smile which immediately collapsed back into a frown.

  “I’m not going to make it, am I?”

  The doctor squeezed her hand a little tighter.

  “The CDC is here now. We’ve got the best doctors in the world looking into this. They’ll have a cure before you know it.”

  “You’re lying. We’re all dying. Fast. I figured I’d die young from breast cancer like my grandmothers. My mother beat it, but she’s stronger than I am.”

  The doctor’s eyes narrowed slightly.

  “You have a lot of breast cancer in the family?”

  She nodded.

  “Mother, grandmothers, a few aunts. It’s like both sides of our family are cursed.”

  The doctor nodded slowly, then she felt a stabbing pain in her chest. She gasped, her back arching, then she collapsed into the bed, unable to see or say anything, her world rapidly dimming, her mind presenting her with one last image, that of her son, sitting beside her happily as they watched Monsters Inc. 3D at the theatre just a few weeks before, sharing popcorn and a large Diet Coke.

  Her last thoughts brought a smile to her face, as she could hear shouts in the far distance on the other side of the darkness, then a steady tone as her body finally gave up, leaving a six year old son alone, with no parents to love and care for him.

  Isolation Ward, Interim LSU Public Hospital, New Orleans, Louisiana

  Dr. Corkery watched as the mother and son of his latest patient to succumb to the virus were escorted out. They would have to remain in isolation until they knew how to test for the virus, but his mind was already somewhere else.

  Breast cancer.

  These were all women save one, and men could get breast cancer, it just wasn’t common. His patient’s dying words had struck him because he had noted that several of those sick had been former breast cancer patients, and one had mentioned she had just received her biopsy results, positive for cancer just two days before.

  That was just too big a coincidence.

  He turned to look for Dr. Best, it a little difficult to spot her since everyone was in green hazmat suits. The hospital staff working in the ward were allowed to continue using their basic procedures, the thinking that they were already exposed, so there was no po
int in taking any further precautions than having them isolated within the ward and the expanded zone set up by the CDC.

  “Dr. Best?” he called out to the room, and a figure turned and waved. He smiled and approached.

  “Dr. Corkery. When’s the last time you had some sleep? I want you to go get a minimum three hours sleep. Just go and don’t set an alarm. You’ll be far more valuable to us if you’re well rested than you are now.”

  Corkery knew she was right, and he would follow her orders after he had delivered his message, a message which was already becoming foggy with the mere thought of sleep already overwhelming him.

  He yawned and felt his chin drop as sleep took over.

  His head popped up, a slight surge of adrenaline giving him just enough.

  “I think these women all have or have had breast cancer.”

  “What?”

  “You heard me. Screen them. Check their histories. I think they all have breast cancer.”

  And finally he could stand no longer, dropping into Dr. Best’s arms as she called for help. He could feel hands on him, holding him up, and he had little flashes of being carried to a ward with beds.

  Then nothing, sleep completely taking over.

  Isolation Ward, Interim LSU Public Hospital, New Orleans, Louisiana

  Outbreak Day #11

  The idea was crazy. Breast cancer! How would a virus target only patients who had experienced breast cancer? But this Dr. Corkery was smart. Very smart, and she decided it was best not to ignore him. The canvassing had gone quickly, patients asked directly, families consulted, medical records scanned. And in the end the results had proven shocking.

  Over one third of the women had fought breast cancer at some point in their life, and over ninety percent had a history of breast cancer in the family. The chance of that being a coincidence was statistically impossible.