Arriving in the DFAC, the Sergeant and Corporals immediately broke left, heading towards the serving line to get their food.
“Where are you going?” Doctor Chang asked, looking at them quizzically.
Sergeant Mason looked back at him, then pointed towards the serving line. “We get our food over there.”
“Not today. We need to discuss our work over our meal.”
“I don’t think that’s authorized.”
“I’m authorizing it. Come with me.” Chang strode into the officers and senior enlisted eating area, the sergeant and corporals close behind, followed by Bowman and Reed. Those eating in the room turned and looked, surprised by the presence of the junior enlisted personnel in uniform. Seeing the three Doctors, they recognized them immediately and knew not to question the presence of the unauthorized diners.
Sitting at a large booth, the six of them took turns using the pens to circle the items listed on the slips of paper. A young woman in a polo shirt and black slacks came by and took their menu choices, pausing at the sight of the enlisted personnel sitting at the booth.
Handing his slip of paper to the woman, Andrew smiled. “They’re with me.”
The woman nodded, taking his order, as well as those from the others at the table before turning and walking away.
The group made small talk for a while, needing a break from the monotony of focusing on only one thing hour after hour. Eventually, inevitably, the conversation made its way back to the topic that was never far from their minds. They had to find an answer. People were dying.
Poking at his pork chop with his fork, Reed muttered, “No white blood cells. It makes no sense.”
Chang looked over. “Did you say no white blood cells? That’s impossible. Those people were clearly infected with a virus.”
“I reviewed each one. Nothing. All of the doctors made a specific note about how odd it was.”
Bowman spoke up. “Extreme inflammation in the brain. It actually killed off the Frontal Lobes.”
“Killed? As in, that part of the brain is dead?”
“One hundred percent.”
Chang turned his head, thinking. “That would explain the irrational behavior.” His appetite had left him. He wished he’d instituted a ‘no shop talk’ policy before they’d sat down, but he couldn’t blame them. He looked at his chocolate cake. He still wanted it, but not right at that moment. He called the young woman over and asked her to wrap up some desserts for the team to take with them, to include his cake. She readily agreed to do so, took his plate, and went off to pack things up.
The team managed to hold off any other work talk as they waited, finishing their drinks and standing when the young lady returned with a large bag, which Corporal Johnson took. Thanking her, the team headed back to the lab.
Once there, they split into their groups and got back to work. Doctor Chang reviewed the autopsy reports, hoping that somehow the doctors who’d performed them had been wrong. Unfortunately, he found no evidence to back up that hope.
Next, he looked over the brain autopsy reports with Doctor Bowman. As she’d described the entire frontal cortex was dead on each of the infected people. She also pointed out the inflammation in the rear of the brain, at the cerebral cortex.
Strange.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
President Jessica Martinez was tired. It was six a.m., and she wanted nothing more than to go back to sleep, but there was simply too much to do.
Rising from her bed in the Presidential Bedroom, she stretched, trying to work some of the kinks out of her back.
The previous night’s discussion, followed by the long ride back to D.C. had been exhausting, even though she’d slept the majority of the ride in the back of the armored Chevy Suburban (does anyone sleep well in a car/truck?). The discussion with her family had not gone well.
Their protests were immediate and fierce.
“Absolutely not.” Tony stood in front of her, hands on his hips. At 52 years old, he was still a lean 185 pounds, made possible by his strict diet, which Gregory, their personal chef, helped him maintain, and from his continued dedication to weight lifting and hours on his high-end stationary bike.
“Honey, this is the right thing to do. The people need to know that I haven’t abandoned them.” Moving around him, she stepped to the bed, where her suitcase was open. Placing clothes in carefully to maximize its carrying capacity, she averted her eyes from his. The sorrow she saw there was painful to see.
“You can give public addresses from here. They have all the equipment. There’s no need for you to put yourself at risk.” Tony stepped to her, grabbing hold of her hand. “Look at me.” When her eyes once again met his, he told her, “You can lead this country without being reckless. You don’t have to be a hero.”
“I’m not trying to be a hero. Believe me, I’d rather be here with you and the kids.” She reached up with her hand and held the side of his face. Being 5’8”, she was above average height for a woman, but his six foot frame required her to reach upward to do so. Like so many times before, she felt her heart warm when they were so close. “I don’t want to go, but the country needs to know I’m there, fighting with them, not hiding and waiting for it to be over.”
He pulled away. “But that’s what you’re having us do: hide and wait ‘til it's over.”
“I need to know you’re safe so that I can focus on what I have to do.”
“Screw that. If you’re going, I’m coming with you.” Tony went to the closet and began grabbing clothes as well.
“Honey, you can’t. Someone needs to stay with the children.”
“They’ll be perfectly safe here. They’ve got Gregory to feed them, and Mrs. Mallory to take care of everything else. And with security….”
Jessica stopped and stared at him, waiting until he returned her gaze. “They’ll be scared. One of us needs to be with them. As I said, the country needs me, so I can’t stay. And, if something does happen, at least they’ll have one of their parents.”
His eyes widened in concern. “See, that’s just it! ‘If something happens.’ You need to stay here, where it’s safe.” He crossed his arms, indicating he was done listening.
She, however, was not done. “You know I can’t do that.” She reached out and took his hands, opening his arms so that she could slide inside them and embrace him. “You know I’m right.”
At first, he let his arms drop to his sides, unwilling to return the hug, but eventually, as she continued to hold him, his arms came up and enveloped her. He held her tightly, whispering, “Be safe. Come back to us, Madam President.”
“I will, First Husband.” The title was an amusement to them, one which showed how antiquated the traditions of the government could be.
The discussions with the children had been twice as hard. Robert, their 12 year-old son, had gotten a little too good at giving the silent treatment and acting like he didn’t care. Jessica couldn’t let things stay like that, not if there was a chance of her not seeing them again. She’d gently prodded and pleaded, asking him to understand, but he’d refused to budge.
“OK, fine. Go.” Was all he’d say, looking at the wall of his room, which was adorned with a generic screen printed painting of mountains.
Finally, after 45 minutes, when her tears had already come and gone through sheer exhaustion, he’d simply turned to her and hugged her fiercely. “I love you, Mom.”
“I love you, too, Robert. Please take care of yourself.”
“Okay, but you have to, too.” He pulled back from her, looking into her eyes. “How are you going to tell Lizzie?”
“I have no idea.”
Lizzie had cried, falling on her bed and sobbing uncontrollably, unwilling to look at her mother. At nine years old, Elizabeth was already difficult without being faced with a separation like this. Every single attempt Jessica made to explain the situation was met with a simple (but effective) ‘No!’
Reason was rejected.
Pleading was rejected.
Forcefulness was rejected.
Unable to get through to the child, her body had somehow found more tears to shed, which somehow got through to her eventually. Lizzie had looked at her, matching tears in her eyes. “I’m scared, Mommy.”
“Me too, sweetie, me too.”
The President realized that in addition to the emotional toll, the tears she shed probably contributed to the exhaustion she felt now. Reaching for the bottle of Smartwater on her nightstand, she uncapped it and drank deeply before heading to the bathroom to get ready for the day.
Her rise to the highest office in the land was widely characterized as meteoric. From humble beginnings, her exceptional grades and near-perfect SAT scores earned her a scholarship to Stanford, where she double majored in Political Science and Criminal Justice, maintaining a 4.00 GPA and graduating as class Valedictorian.
During the commencement ceremony, she used her speech to highlight the value of immigrants and the poor treatment they typically received. She pointed out how often right-wing media cast immigrants as the bad guys, blaming them for the struggles of the poor and middle-class while ignoring the extensive lobbying major corporations did to prevent wage increases.
She told the audience about how her mother had worked cleaning hotel rooms, day after day, making next to nothing without ever complaining, only to be spit on by so-called ‘patriots’ on the bus as she took the hour-long commute home at the end of the day.
She told them of how her father had worked in construction, paid under the table even though he had legally immigrated, denied pay increases or health coverage; health coverage that would have helped when his foot had been crushed during an accident on the job site.
She spoke of the workers in the fields who spent day after day on their hands and knees, bent over as they picked strawberries for a pittance, allowing the farm owners to sell their crops cheaply.
She implored people to choose compassion, to open their hearts, and to consider the reality of an unfair system that somehow convinced those who were struggling that the poor around them were the problem, not the stagnant wages that fell further and further behind the cost of living
In the end, she left the crowd with one request: when faced with choosing love over hate, that they choose love.
Her speech was a tremendous success, and within hours it had gone viral on social media, gathering hundreds of thousands of views.
Two weeks after her graduation, while she was enjoying her summer off before heading to Harvard on a full scholarship, she was approached by a man who worked for the campaign of Senator Patel, one of the state’s two Democratic Senators. When he offered her a well-paid internship to work for two months over the summer, she was taken back. She’d never considered being in politics before, but she was well-aware of Senator Patel’s views on immigration, healthcare, increasing the minimum wage, and equality. She asked for a few days to consider the offer, and called back the next morning to accept. Over the next two months, she fully immersed herself in the world of politics learning about outreach, target audiences, messaging, and the value of kept promises. She’d also had to learn the darker side of politics, as she watched the senator’s campaign combat vicious attack ads that accused him of being everything from a terrorist to a Muslim intent on bringing Sharia Law to the United States (he was a devout Christian, in actuality). She watched how he handled these attacks with dignity, refusing to stoop to the level of his Republican opponent. Instead he pointed out his opponent’s positions against any form of gun regulation, any form of healthcare for all, and any attempt at increasing wages, all under the supposed mantra of ‘less government.’
At the end of the summer, she’d hated leaving the campaign, but did so, flying across the country to Boston to begin her studies at Harvard Business School. That November, she watched the midterm elections closely and cheered when Senator Patel won re-election. During the two years it took her to earn her Master’s in Economics, she was active in student government and maintained frequent communication with Senator Patel and his staff. Before she’d finished her degree, she’d already received several attractive offers from major finance firms. Instead, she accepted a position working for the Senator, where she continued to learn and grow as a possible career politician.
Over the next 12 years, she made her way up the ladder, from Deputy Chief Of Staff, to Chief of Staff for the Senator, before striking out on her own, winning election as a Congresswoman.
In late 2010, Senator Patel’s office contacted hers, requesting to meet over dinner. Upon receiving word she’d quickly accepted, clearing her calendar to accommodate him.
At dinner, after catching up briefly, the Senator leaned forward, somberly. “I’m retiring, Jess. I’m going to finish out this term, and then I’m out.”
Taken aback, then Congresswoman Martinez stared at him in stunned disbelief. The Senator was still young, only 52 years old and in good health.
“I don’t understand. Why? The party needs you.”
“Right now, Sharon needs me. She has cancer.”
For the second time in less than a minute, Jessica Martinez was left speechless. Sharon Patel was a wonderful woman; compassionate and caring, active in the community, and very supportive of her husband’s career. She had also been blessed with incredible beauty, having worked as a model in her twenties, before she became busy in her role, first as a full-time mother to their children, then as a Senator’s role model wife.
Tears formed in her eyes. “I’m so sorry.”
The Senator could only nod in response. “The doctors say it can be beat, but it will take everything she’s got. I intend to be there with her, fighting it tooth and nail.”
“I understand.”
“That’s where you come in.”
“How so?”
“I want you to run for my seat. I’ve discussed this with party leadership, and they were unanimous in agreement that you’re the perfect choice.”
It did seem like the next logical step for her, but she wondered if she was ready. “I don’t know, Rajesh.”
“You’re ready, Jess. Your time is now. Take the opportunity.”
Still she hesitated, considering the challenges she’d face during the campaign and, if she won, in the job itself. “How would it even work?”
“Look, the Republicans don’t even have a halfway decent candidate, and they know nothing about my upcoming retirement. You work with your current campaign staff and prepare them for this quietly. Make sure they keep in low-key. Swear them to secrecy. In the Spring we make the announcements near-simultaneously, with me going first, of course. Before the Republicans can mount an offensive, it will be summer. At that point I’ll endorse you and you’ll be nearly unbeatable.”
Considering all that he’d said, she couldn’t help but agree. There would be no better opportunity than this one. She was known and respected in the state and the U.S, having been featured in Time magazine’s “100 Most Influential People.” She’d also have the powerful endorsement of the Senator, as well as that of Senator Nagley, the other Democratic Senator in the state and her personal mentor.
Nodding, she met his gaze confidently.
“I’ll do it.”
They raised their glasses in a toast, commemorating the occasion.
The road to the Senate had been a relatively easy one. As Senator Patel had predicted, the announcement of his retirement coupled with her announcement of her campaign for the position, shortly after followed by the endorsement from both Senators, left the state Republicans grasping at straws as they tried to nominate a candidate that would contend. Some cried foul, going on the right wing ‘news’ channel, but the assertion that it was somehow unfair for Democrats in the state to strategize was widely panned as whining.
Once in the job, Senator Martinez worked tirelessly to make a difference, championing bills for things such as capping student loan interest rates, expanding and improving VA coverage, and increasing 401K contribution limits.
Her popularity grew steadily, both positively and negatively. Mainstream and liberal media found her ideas and efforts refreshing and inspirational. Right wing media painted her efforts as socialist and ‘anti-American.’ By and large, though, citizens liked her, making her a star of the Democratic Party.
Six years ago, when a loud-mouthed, abrasive, conspiracy theory-oriented candidate had surprisingly won the presidency, the Democratic Party was left reeling. How had a man who most considered bigoted, thin-skinned, and childishly stubborn, won?
The party began strategizing to determine how to a) deal with this challenging man while he occupied the White House, and b) defeat him in the next Presidential election. The first part seemed to get harder with every passing day, and as a result the Party found themselves more and more focused on the second part.
By and large, the response from center and left-leaning voters was that it was time for a change from the typical older white male presidential candidate. The lone exception was President Obama some years ago, but that seemed like a distant memory.
It was time for a change.
Three years ago, party leadership had approached then Senator Martinez about a possible Presidential run. After initially balking at the idea, she began to warm to it. The man in the White House was focused on painting immigrants as villains, responsible for all the challenges struggling Americans faced, from low wages (which were a result of Republican opposition to Federal Minimum Wage increases) to insufficient Social Assistance Programs (increases to which were frequently opposed by Republicans in Congress). And yet, he convinced his supporters that it was the fault of the immigrants. More specifically, immigrants of color. Being a child of immigrants, she took personal offense to this mischaracterization.
After consulting with her advisors and her mentor, Senator Patel, she agreed to run. The announcement was made on July 5th, sixteen months before the primary election. The message was clear: when the country was born, it was founded as a place for freedom, a better way of life, free from oppression. Jennifer Martinez would guide the country back towards those beliefs. Her campaign slogan? ‘This Land is OUR Land’ - a message that the U.S.A. was a land of inclusion, not division. She campaigned on equal rights, equal pay, a renewed emphasis on freedom of religion, and, most importantly, health care reform. While the other points were important to voters, her health care plan was widely regarded as visionary. The concept was simple: Everyone had access to health care through their wages. Those who didn’t work would be covered by the government. Rates were based on percentage of income: 2% for individuals, 5% for families. Enrollment was optional, but health insurance was required. By requiring insurance for all taxpayers, the program would fund itself.
Surviving Rage | Book 1 Page 13