“And what could that possibly be?”
“You might think that the president is the most powerful man in the world, but in this specific instance, that’s not the case. Watch this…”
Aeolus pressed a button and called Jitsuko.
“Jitsuko, I want you to track down a man named Andreas Pocock for me. He’s probably in his house on Martha’s Vineyard.”
“Yes he is. I have him on speed dial. I send him gifts from you each year for his birthday and Christmas, you know. I am putting you through.”
After six rings, a voice answered in a coarse whisper, “Yes, this is Andreas.” It was the voice of someone suffering from late stage emphysema.
“Mr. Pocock, this is Aeolus Pentecost Hughes.”
“Aeolus! What a joy. You call me far too seldom. And you can drop the Mr. Pocock nonsense. I am, after all, your godfather.”
“Yes, Mr. Pocock, you are…”
Mr. Pocock chuckled in a slow Santa Claus like way. It didn’t last more than a second, though, before a violent cough took over.
Aeolus waited until he heard the hissing of his godfather sucking oxygen from his breathing mask. After three deep inhalations, Aeolus continued.
“…but that’s not why I am calling. I need your advice. You were my father’s most, if not only, trusted mentor. He held your skills and integrity as second to none.”
“Flattery is always a good way to start when asking a favor, Aeolus. What’s on your mind? Big Pharma?”
“Yes. We’ve come up with a rapid test for this new influenza and it’s critical we move to full global production as soon as possible. The major pharmaceutical companies are proving difficult to deal with.”
“They want to ‘negotiate the proper terms’ first?”
“Yes, that is actually a very accurate description of the situation we’re in.”
“Those cretins! This isn’t how it used to be, you know? I mean, I have no problem with greed. Greed is good. Greed is what makes the system work. But when I ran Goldman Sachs, in the old days, before they went public, there was also something else. There were values. We all wanted to make money, but there were limits to what we would do to get it.
“I’m going to do more than give you advice, Aeolus. I’m going to fix this for you.”
“I could never ask that of you.”
“Oh, drop it Aeolus. I’m your godfather and you’ve never asked me for a favor, not even when you were tussling with these same CEOs on the vaccines against the regular seasonal flu. I do read the papers, you know. And I never miss a story about you. I’m dying, Aeolus, I won’t be around for long, and I’d be happy to do you this one favor. Your father was a good man. One of the best I’ve ever known. I owe you this, because I owe him this.
“Also, to be honest, I’ve been waiting for an opportunity to teach those sons of bitches a lesson in true capitalism, the old-school way. I have to ask you one thing though, Aeolus. The trick I’m going to pull only works once. I can’t do it again. You’re sure this is the time?”
“Yes, Mr. Pocock, this is the time. The stakes could not be higher. I am ‘all in’ for this pot”
Andreas chuckled again, a cough followed, then another series of whistling deep breaths. He concluded the conversation by saying: “It’s done. They’ll be falling over each other to offer you their production lines within twelve hours.”
As Aeolus was about to hang up, Richard pushed him a piece of paper on which he’d written a question. Aeolus read it and said, “Sorry, Mr. Pocock, but you’re on speaker with a close advisor to the president who wonders what it is you’ll do.” Aeolus winked at Richard, mouthing, “You are going to like this.”
“Well, you can tell this advisor of the president, that if I told him, he might be charged in criminal court as an accessary before the fact’. I can, however, tell him what will happen. During the course of the next hours, the stock price of these companies will plummet below their five-year low. Their credit ratings will drop a couple of notches, increasing the cost of their debt. And to top it off, the CEOs will get calls from their largest shareholders threatening to ask them for their resignation. This is the only language these simpletons understand!”
“I might be an old man, but I still have some friends, and some pull, on the Street. Find a Bloomberg monitor and watch what happens. Schadenfreude is, after all, the purest form of joy in life.”
Richard frowned. He didn’t seem convinced just yet. He leaned forward.
“Mr. Pocock, I can assure you that I speak for the president when I say there will be no legal repercussions against you for the actions you are going to undertake. We’re thankful for your help.”
“Young man, I don’t care about legal repercussions. I’m way too old for that. God’s laws supersede the decrees of men, as my grandfather used to say. When you’re on your death bed, you too will realize how true that is.”
“Okay, that’s one problem solved,” said Aeolus after Andreas Pocock hung up. “Time for the next order of business. I want you to put the kibosh on the exception to the quarantine for military transports.”
“That might not be so easy. The president wants to get American soldiers out of the danger zones. He’s pulling all troops from our overseas bases. He feels confident that a case of infection in the military can be easily contained, so it should pose little risk.”
“That’s all great, but my concern isn’t the infection breaking loose from a military camp, even if that, by the way, is by no means impossible. My concern is the public reaction if people start dying in droves at Fort Bragg and it becomes clear how little the president can do about it. The military is supposed to symbolize security. If it’s shown to be impotent, people get scared. And if you want to know what happens when people become scared, you can ask Hank. I’m sure he’ll be able to talk for hours about the consequences of fear and panic.”
“I’ll take it to the president, but I promise you nothing,” answered Richard.
“Well, I will take that if that is the best we can do for now,” said Aeolus and rose, leaning on his cane as he took off to the mess for a coffee.
AUGUST 21ST, 10 A.M., H1N1 WAR ROOM, OLD EXECUTIVE OFFICE BUILDING, WASHINGTON D.C.
Aeolus had decided to stay in the United States to be close to the president. The Western hemisphere was indeed his first priority. Not everyone liked that set of priorities, as Stan kept reminding him, but it was the right thing to do.
The press described the situation in Europe as catastrophic. Aeolus did not agree. It could have been a lot worse. True, the infection had spread to the majority of the European countries, but most of the major cities had been properly isolated and, with the exception of Paris and Athens, the quarantines were holding. This was actually surprising, and was a testament to the quality of the work Ed and Kevin were doing.
The president had formed a special taskforce to manage the crisis. It consisted of Aeolus, Richard Lane, Hank Wiley, Albert Michener from USAMRIID, representatives of the departments of State, Defense and Homeland Security as well as an admiral representing the Joint Chiefs. The committee was headed by the National Security Advisor, who synthesized the conclusions and was responsible for ultimately bringing a recommendation to the president.
Aeolus thought some of the members were incompetent, and none more so than that fraction of a man Albert Michener. But he was also relieved to be able to debate the issues without the president around. The president’s presence cramped his style.
This group was currently in session, in a conference room barely large enough to hold them all. True to the standards of the offices in the OEOB, the whiteboard could not be used as someone had drawn some slogans on it that, judging by the content, must have belonged to the previous administration – and used a non-erasablemarker.
Their first order of business was the documented case that had arrived the night before on an Air Bulgaria flight from Sofia to Orlando; before the quarantine against NATO allies came into effect. Hank w
as boasting how well the case had been handled.
“At 20.00 hours yesterday Flight FB461 from Sofia landed at Orlando International Airport. While passing through the temperature monitors, a passenger was screened out as having a high fever. The emergency protocols were immediately activated. All passengers and the crew, as well as the medical personnel at the screening station, were quarantined. As far as we can tell, no other passenger carries the infection. To be sure, we’re going to hold the entire lot in isolation for a week.”
“You were lucky with this one,” said Aeolus.
“No, Aeolus,” replied Hank, “we were not lucky. We were well prepared. I keep trying to tell you this isn’t Papua New Guinea. This is the United States of America. We have the best medical system in the world. We have the most competent and well-equipped staff. We can handle these things.”
“And what if it had been an asymptomatic carrier?” asked Aeolus.
“Then we would have caught the first case and traced it back,” answered Hank.
Aeolus rolled his eyes in exasperation, but said nothing.
“Well, by luck or skill, I’m sure we can all agree it’s a relief the situation in Florida is under control,” said the National Security Advisor. “This brings us to the second point of order, how to enforce the quarantine in South America. Opinions?”
“As I’ve stated before,” Aeolus said, “A collaborative containment zone around the entire American continents.”
“I disagree,” said Albert Michener, “that spreads our resources too thin and won’t stop people from crossing the border. Given the state of the health system in Mexico, I wouldn’t be surprised if they had cases already.”
“First of all,” Aeolus returned, “the Mexicans have actually been more restrictive with their isolation measures than you. Second, I have good sources in Mexico. I’d know if there were cases. Third, you can’t stop people from crossing the Rio Grande even if you put your entire army and air force on it…”
Michener had risen and was pacing around the room, his hands clutched tightly behind his back. When he passed Aeolus, the powerful scent of his cologne hit Aeolus like a club. The vulgar, overwhelming, Fahrenheit was reserved for only the most unrefined of tastes. Aeolus found it disturbing in small doses, in large amounts unbearable. And Michener had applied it by the gallon. Why any man would do something like that was beyond Aeolus. Unless… Yes, there it was. Behind the wall of honeysuckle, hawthorn and bergamot there was definitively a hint of juniper. Juniper was not an ingredient in Fahrenheit, but it was in gin. Aeolus couldn’t believe it. The man was lit at ten o’ clock in the morning at a meeting of the presidential advisory board. That must be why he was clutching his hands so forcefully, to prevent them from shaking visibly. As impossible as it would have seen before the meeting the man had managed to hit a new low in the world of militarized medicine.
“Hmm…” Aeolus exhaled hard in an attempt to expel the stench from his nostrils. “I’d also like to add, if the South American continent is still uninfected, we’re talking about 350 million lives at stake. They don’t have the military capacity to enforce quarantine themselves. They need your help.”
The Defense representative cut in. “Well, that’s their problem, not ours.”
The man from Homeland Security took over. “My concern with a national quarantine is how we’re going to prevent illegal immigrants? I mean our ability to stop the speed boats bringing in tons of cocaine doesn’t exactly inspire confidence.”
“We can deal with the speed boats,” said the Admiral. “The Coast Guard might be great guys, but they ain’t the fucking Navy. I can promise you that much. If we concentrate our resources on a blockade that goes around Cuba and up to Panama, I’m pretty sure we can make it hold. We can move units from the north if we don’t have to worry about the Atlantic. Any ship with enough speed to be a threat, we can pick up on radar. As for smaller vessels, it takes three weeks to cross from Europe so that’s not a problem for a while. I agree with Dr. Hughes, the real problem is the border with Mexico. The troop levels required would be massive, and this is the coyotes’ game. I say we should collaborate with Central America and put the quarantine point at Panama. I think we can commit to holding that line from our side.”
“Lieutenant Lane?” asked the National Security Advisor.
“As the sea blockade is a naval issue, and protecting the Mexican border is a task for the army, I don’t see why we can’t do both.”
“Dr. Hughes, how certain are you that the infection is not currently present north of Panama?” the National Security Advisor asked.
“I’m very confident on Mexico and Panama. I have limited access to Nicaragua and Cuba. That said, if the infection was present in Central America, the probability that it would be in Nicaragua and not Mexico is miniscule, due to geographical math. Also, Cuba enforced a total quarantine very early on, so I don’t see how anything could be there.”
“Okay, I’m gonna go with Lieutenant Lane on this,” concluded the National Security Advisor. “Admiral, please prepare a brief for this operation. This meeting is over. We reconvene at 17.00 hours for an update, unless something happens in the meantime.”
Something did happen in the meantime.
AUGUST 21ST, 2 P.M., AEOLUS’S TEMPORARY OFFICE, OLD EXECUTIVE OFFICE BUILDING, WASHINGTON D.C.
Aeolus was flipping through the detailed backup sheets of the daily alert from Geneva when his phone beeped. It was a message forwarded by Walt. It read: “ALERT – PHILADELPHIA – NEW CASE CONFIRMED.” Aeolus instantly grabbed his cane and headed to the War Room. Had he been the type of man who ran, he would have, but Aeolus never ran. Partly because of his strong aversion to any form of physical activity, but mostly because he didn’t think it was dignified. Grown men should not run, unless competing in a sport. Hank met him from the other end of the corridor, gasping to suck down enough oxygen to plug the deficit he had accumulated during the walk. They arrived at the room at the same time.
Richard was already setting up the video-link to the CDC headquarters.
“What do we have?” Hank asked as his team came on.
“A new case,” answered some staffer. “It’s at Pennsylvania Hospital, an Afro-American male in his mid-thirties. Came in about an hour ago. They don’t have the tests yet but from visual examination, the doctor says he’s almost certain. We agree. The patient has all the symptoms.”
“Is he quarantined?”
“Yes.”
“And the hospital?”
“The affected wards have been cordoned off.”
“Okay, good. What’s the patient’s story?”
“That’s the problem, sir. They don’t know.”
“What do you mean, they don’t know!?”
“He doesn’t speak English, sir.”
“So get an interpreter!”
Hank was breathing harder. The veins on his forehead were clearly visible.
“Unfortunately, it seems to be a bit more complicated than that. No one knows what language he speaks. The staff interpreters have never heard it before. They think it African, but have no idea of the actual language.”
“I can’t believe this…” Hank exhaled.
Aeolus could follow Hank’s heart rate from the pulsation of the blood vessels around his temples.
“So we got a linguist from Penn State on the phone and the only thing he could say is that he thought the language might be Afro-asiatic in origin…”
“Great,” said Aeolus, “That’s just fantastic. So we’ve narrowed it down to 375, or so, languages. Of which, by the way, only a very few have speakers outside the Horn of Africa.”
“…but we’re having trouble locating someone who can speak these languages. We’re working on it though. We think the State Department might have someone but that’s yet to be confirmed.”
“I highly doubt it,” Aeolus mumbled. No point in twisting the knife further. Hank was about to bleed out anyway.
“So what do we kno
w?” asked Hank. “What’s his nationality? Does he have a passport or a driver’s license? Where did he come from?”
“Negative on the first two, sir. As to where he came from, a young white male dropped him off by car. He said he’d found him lying shivering in an alley.”
“Which alley? Where?” Hank demanded incredulously.
“We don’t know. The young man left the hospital after dropping off the patient, before they got a handle on things down there.”
Hank fell back in his chair and moaned, “Oh Lord…”
“How do you think that back-tracing plan of yours is looking right now?” Aeolus asked.
Hank sat immobile, overcome by consternation, as Aeolus summarized the situation for Richard.
“Here’s my guess. Given the language group and his skin color he’s most likely from Somalia, Ethiopia or Sudan. It doesn’t really matter. He came here with a promise of a great life, but was forced to work as a slave in one of the illegal sweatshops run by Nigerians. They took his passport. He fell ill. They didn’t want attention drawn to their operation and killing him was a more of risk than just dropping him on the street. They figured he wouldn’t be able to tell his story to anyone before he died. Which means his language is so rare that State doesn’t have a speaker. The man will be dead, or at least so incapacitated that he can’t speak, well before we find an interpreter.”
“Sounds plausible enough. But how did he get into the country?” asked Richard. “We haven’t accepted flights from Africa for a week. Even if he came via another country, he wouldn’t have gotten in with a Somali passport.”
“That’s because he didn’t come during the last week. He’s been here a long time. He’s not the index patient. Someone else infected him, someone who is now walking around Philadelphia asymptomatic. If the person had symptoms I am sure we’d have heard about him, or her.
“Richard, the Maluku virus is now live in the United States.”
Hank, staring blankly ahead, moaned “This can’t be happening...”
The Nightmare Scenario Page 27