Dirk Pitt18-Black Wind

by Cussler, Clive

  Primitive vaccinations were finally discovered in the early nineteenth

  century, using a related cowpox virus, which eventually provided some

  measure of control against the disease. Sporadic outbreaks and Cold

  War fears prompted routine smallpox vaccinations in the United States

  up until the nineteen seventies. In large part due to the World Health

  Organization's successful global battle against the disease, smallpox

  was declared completely eradicated in 1977. Save for a small research

  sample at the U.S. Centers for Disease Control, and an unknown quantity

  developed for military applications in the former Soviet Union,

  remaining worldwide stocks of the virus were completely destroyed.

  Smallpox was nearly a forgotten disease until the terrorist attacks in

  the early years of the new century raised the fear that a contagious

  virulent outbreak of any form was again a threat to be reckoned with.

  The historical ravages of smallpox were of little concern to Irv Fowler

  at the moment. After mustering the strength to drive himself to the

  Alaska Regional Hospital emergency room, his only hopes were for a

  quiet room and an attractive nurse to help him recuperate from whatever

  form of killer flu was knocking him out. Even when a parade of

  somber-looking medical professionals kept marching by to have a look at

  him and then insisted he be wheeled into quarantine, he was feeling too

  weak to be alarmed. Only when a pair of masked doctors finally

  informed him that he had tested positive for smallpox did his mind

  begin to whir. Two thoughts came to mind before delirium washed over

  his brain again: Could he defy the thirty percent mortality rate? And

  who else had he infected?

  Dirk, I have some terrifying news." The fear in Sarah's voice was

  palpable, even over the telephone.

  "What's wrong?"

  "It's Irv. He's sick in the hospital in Anchorage. The doctors say

  that he has contracted smallpox. I just can't believe it."

  "Smallpox? I thought that had all but been eliminated."

  "Practically speaking, it has. If the doctors are correct with the

  diagnosis, it will be the first documented case in the United States in

  thirty years. The medical authorities are keeping it quiet, though the

  CDC is rushing vaccination supplies to Alaska in case an outbreak

  develops."

  "How's he holding up?"

  "He's at a critical juncture," Sarah replied, nearly choking on the

  words. "The next two or three days will be crucial to his outcome.

  He's in quarantine at Alaska Regional Hospital in Anchorage, along with

  three other people he has had close contact with."

  "I'm sorry to hear that," Dirk said with genuine concern in his voice.

  "Irv's a tough old bird, I'm sure he'll sail through without a hitch.

  Have you any idea how on earth he contracted smallpox?"

  "Well," Sarah replied, swallowing hard, "the incubation period is

  approximately fourteen days. That would mean he became infected about

  the time we were on Yunaska ... and aboard the Deep Endeavor!"

  "He may have contracted it on our ship?" Dirk asked incredulously.

  "I don't know. It was either on the ship or on the island, but it

  matters little now. The smallpox virus is remarkably contagious. We

  need to work fast to check everyone who was onboard the Deep Endeavor

  and isolate those infected. Time is critical."

  "What about you and Sandy? You were working and living together with

  Irv. Are you all right?"

  "As CDC employees, Sandy and I were both vaccinated two years ago after

  concerns were first raised about smallpox as a potential bioterrorist

  threat. Irv was on loan to us from the state of Alaska's Department of

  Epidemiology and had not yet received his vaccination."

  "Can the crew of the Deep Endeavor still be vaccinated?"

  "Unfortunately, it would do no good. The vaccine can be effective

  within a couple of days of exposure but becomes useless thereafter.

  It's a terrible disease, as once you've contracted it there is nothing

  that can be done to combat it until it has run its course."

  "I'll contact Captain Burch and we'll check on all the crew members as

  soon as possible."

  "I will be back from Spokane this evening. If you can assemble the

  crew, I can help the ship's doctor check each man for symptoms in the

  morning."

  "Consider it done. Sarah, I could use another favor from you as well.

  Okay if I pick you up in the morning?"

  "Sure, that would be fine. And, Dirk ... I pray that you are not

  infected."

  "Don't you worry," he replied confidently. "There's way too much rum

  in my blood to keep any bugs alive."

  Dirk immediately called Captain Burch, and, with Leo Del-| gado's help,

  quickly contacted each crew member who had sailed on the Deep Endeavor.

  To their relief, none of the men reported signs of illness, and all

  appeared at the NUMA field office the next morning

  As promised, Dirk picked up Sarah at her apartment early in the:

  morning, electing to drive the big '58 Chrysler.

  "My word, this is an enormous car," Sarah declared as she climbed into

  the finned behemoth.

  "It's the original definition of heavy metal," Dirk grinned as he

  stoked the car out of the parking lot and drove toward the NUMA

  building.

  Many of the Deep Endeavor's crew greeted Sarah warmly when she arrived

  before the assembled group, and she noted to herself how the entire

  crew behaved more like close family members than coworkers.

  "It is great to see my NUMA friends again," she said, addressing the

  crew. "As you may know, my associate Irv Fowler, who was on the ship

  with us, has been diagnosed with smallpox. The smallpox virus is

  highly contagious and it is critical that those infected be quickly

  isolated. I will need to know if any of you have suffered from the

  following symptoms since Irv, Sandy, and I left the Deep Endeavor,

  fever, headache, backache, severe abdominal pain, malaise, delirium, or

  rashes on the face, arms, or legs."

  One by one, she examined the apprehensive crew, taking temperatures and

  grilling each man or woman on signs of the deadly disease. Even Dirk

  and Captain Burch were subject to her checkup, after which Sarah gave a

  noticeable sigh of relief.

  "Captain, just three of your crewmen are showing minor flu like signs

  of illness, which may or may not be preliminary symptoms of the virus.

  I request that these men remain isolated until we can complete their

  blood tests. Your remaining crew should avoid large public venues for

  at least a few more days. I would like to do a follow-up check at the

  end of the week, but it appears promising there has been nO outbreak

  among the ship's crew."

  "That is good news," Burch replied with audible relief. "Seems odd to

  me that the virus did not spread easily through a confined ship."

  "Patients are most infectious after the onset of rash, which typically

  occurs twelve to fourteen days after exposure. Irv was well off the

  boat and working in Anchorage when he reached that stage, so it's

  possible that the virus had n
ot spread while we were aboard. Captain,

  I would ensure that his stateroom on the Deep Endeavor is thoroughly

  sanitized, along with all linen and dining ware aboard the ship, just

  to be safe."

  "I'll see that it's taken care of right away."

  "It would appear that the source of the smallpox outbreak was on

  Yunaska," Dirk speculated.

  "I think so," Sarah replied. "It's a wonder that you and Jack were not

  exposed when you picked us up off the island."

  "Our protective gear may have saved us."

  "Thank God," she said gratefully.

  "It would seem that our mysterious friends on the fishing boat may have

  been dabbling with something even nastier than cyanide. Which reminds

  me ... the favor I asked?"

  Dirk led Sarah to the Chrysler, where he popped open the large trunk

  lid. Inside was the porcelain bomb canister from the I-403, carefully

  wrapped inside a milk crate. Sarah inspected the item with a quizzical

  look on her face.

  "Okay, I give up. What is it?"

  Dirk briefly explained his trip to Fort Stevens and the dive on the

  Japanese submarine.

  Can you have your lab identify any remaining residue? I have a hunch

  there may be something to it."

  Sarah stood silent a moment before speaking.

  "Yes, we can have it examined," she said in a serious tone. "But it

  will cost you lunch," she said, finally breaking into a wry smile.

  Dirk drove Sarah to the state Public Health Lab on Fir-crest Campus,

  where they carefully transferred the fragmented bomb casing into a

  small working lab room. After some chiding for bringing an explosive

  into the building, a jovial, slightly balding research scientist named

  Hal agreed to examine the fragment after the conclusion of a staff

  meeting.

  "Looks like a long lunch is in order. Where shall we go?" Sarah

  asked.

  "I know a quiet spot with a nice water view," Dirk replied with a

  mischievous grin.

  "Then take me away in the green machine," she laughed, climbing into

  the turquoise Chrysler.

  Dirk drove the car out of the laboratory's narrow parking lot, easing

  past a familiar-looking black Cadillac CTS that sat with its engine

  running. Exiting the campus grounds, he drove south past Seattle's

  st ling downtown, then turned west, following a road sign to

  Fauntleroy. Reaching the water's edge of Puget Sound, Dirk turned to

  the Fauntleroy Ferry Terminal, then steered the Chrysler up a loading

  ramp and onto the car deck of a waiting automobile ferry. As he parked

  the Chrysler amid several rows of tightly packed commuter cars Sarah

  reached over and squeezed his hand tightly.

  "A ferryboat snack bar Donuts and coffee?" she inquired.

  "I think we can do better than that. Let's go upstairs and look at the

  view."

  Sarah followed him up a stairwell that emptied onto the open upper

  deck, where they found a vacant bench facing the northern expanse of

  Puget Sound. A loud blast from the ferry's horn and a gentle nudge

  beneath their feet told them they were on their way, as two

  2,500-horsepower diesel engines gently pushed the 328-foot vessel away

  from the dock.

  It was a crystal clear day on the Sound, the kind that reminded local

  residents of why they endure the long, drizzly Pacific Northwest

  winters to call the area home. In the distance, the Cascade and

  Olympic mountain ranges sparkled along the horizon, almost shimmering

  against an azure blue sky so intense it felt close enough to touch. The

  Seattle downtown cut the skyline in a brilliant reflection of steel and

  glass, with the landmark Space Needle rising like a futuristic monolith

  from a George Jetson cartoon. Dirk pointed out a half-dozen other

  ferries plying their human cargoes about the harbor and watched as they

  dodged large freighters that cruised along the international shipping

  lanes.

  It was only a fifteen-minute ride to their destination of Vashon

  Island, and when the boat's captain began aligning the ferry to dock

  Dirk and Sarah made their way back down to the Chrysler. As he held

  the door open for Sarah to climb into the passenger seat, Dirk glanced

  down the row of cars parked behind him. Sitting four spaces behind

  them, a black Cadillac sedan caught his eye. The same black Cadillac

  that had been parked with the motor running at the Public Health Lab.

  And, he now recalled, the same Cadillac that he had seen during his |

  drive around Fort Stevens.

  "I think I see a friend parked behind us," Dirk said calmly to Sarah.

  "Think I'll go back and say hello. I'll be right back."

  Strolling casually down the row of cars, he observed two Asian men

  sitting in the Cadillac staring directly at him. As he approached the

  driver's-side door, he suddenly leaned down and stuck his face into the

  open window.

  "Excuse me, fellas, do you happen to know where the restroom is?" Dirk

  asked in a hick voice.

  The driver, a heavyset goon with a bad crew cut, looked straight ahead,

  refusing to make eye contact, and slowly shook his head. Dirk looked

  for, and found, a slight protrusion under the man's coat near his left

  armpit, the telltale sign of a holstered weapon. Across the car's

  interior, the accomplice in the passenger seat showed none of the

  shyness of the driver. A skinny man with long hair and a stringy

  goatee glared back at Dirk with a menacing grin, a half-smoked

  cigarette dangling from his lips. On the floorboard between his feet

  was a large leather case, which concealed something more than a

  calculator and cell phone, Dirk surmised.

  "Find your friend?" Sarah asked when he returned to the Chrysler.

  "No," Dirk replied, shaking his head. "I was quite mistaken."

  A long blast from the ship's horn followed by two short blasts

  announced that the ferry was docking and moments later Dirk drove the

  Chrysler out of the covered car deck and into the bright sunshine.

  Crossing over the ferry ramp, he drove down a long pier, then turned

  out of the ferry complex and onto Vashon Island.

  Situated on the lower end of Puget Sound, Vashon Island is a

  thirty-seven-square-mile scenic haven located just minutes from the

  congested hubbub of Seattle and Tacoma. Reachable only by boat, the

  island has maintained a quiet, rural tranquility far removed from

  metropolitan neighbors. Strawberry and raspberry fields dot the lush

  wooded landscape, which is inhabited by a bohemian mix of writers and

  computer intellectuals seeking a slower pace than that of city life.

  Lowering the convertible top so that they could better enjoy the sights

  and smells of the landscape, Dirk drove south along the Vashon Highway,

  away from the ferry terminal at the northern tip of the island.

  Observing in his rearview mirror, he watched the black Cadillac exit

  the ferry terminal and fall in line behind him, maintaining a half-mile

  cushion behind the old car. They continued motoring south for several

  miles, past quaint cabins and farmhouses interspersed among thick

  groves of pine trees.

  "This feels m
arvelous," Sarah gushed, stretching her arms above her

  head and feeling the cool wind rush through her fingers. Dirk smiled

  to himself, having known too many women who despised riding in a

  convertible because it mussed up their hair. For him, driving fast in

  a convertible was like riding a storm out at sea or diving on an

  unexplored wreck. It was a little added serving of adventure that made

  life more fun.

  Spotting a road sign marked burton, Dirk slowed and turned east off the

  highway, backtracking a short distance on a small side road that led to

  the tiny hamlet. They meandered past a small group of houses until the

  road petered out at the drive of a quaint Victorian inn situated right

  on the water. Built as a summer estate for a Seattle newspaper tycoon

  at the turn of the century, the three-story structure was agleam in

  pastel shades of green and lavender. Bright flowers sprouted in large

  pots and flower boxes were wedged everywhere, throwing a vast array of

  colors to the eye.

  "Dirk, it's beautiful here," Sarah beamed as he parked the car next to

  an ornate gazebo. "How did you discover this place?"

  "One of our scientists has a summer home on the island. Claims they

  have the best king salmon in the state here and I aim to find out."

  Dirk led Sarah to an intimate restaurant at one end of the lodge that

  continued the Victorian decor theme. Finding it nearly empty, they

  took a table next to a large picture window that faced east across the