"You mean he didn't like a young upstart grazing on his turf." Spinner uncrossed her arms and began to pace around the table.
She was wrong, but it was as close to the truth as anyone would get. "I'll re-evaluate Williams-and more importantly, Adams-as the investigation progresses and we trace their movements. Meantime we're running against the clock. We need to know where this demonstration will take place. Background checks on Williams won't tell us that. So, Dr Spinner, I'll ask you again. Where would you run an outdoor experiment?"
He turned to the map. "It will be a small-scale event, but it must parallel the effect on a major US city. I'd considered a group of nomadic herdsmen, a remote mountain resort, maybe, except there are too many wildcards; a lost Cub-Scout group, a hunter or Fisheries and Wildlife officer. Cruise ships are also out. They have a common water and food supply, either of which could be blamed."
"The delivery system would most likely be an aircraft." Susan leaned over the table and began gathering her things together, apparently due at another meeting. "That requires a well-equipped infrastructure and budget."
"Not necessarily." Wilson reached for the coffee pot, then thought better of it. "A crop-duster would do."
"No, that's no good." Spinner shook her head. "It wouldn't have the range. The Australian government lost control of a rabbit haemorrhagic virus recently. The CSIRO were experimenting with it on an island not far offshore. A storm came in and drove insects carrying the virus to the mainland. They insects bred and spread the virus hundreds of miles inland within weeks. If this attack is going to take place on an island, it would have to be very isolated."
"The Aleutians?" Susan ventured, closing her laptop.
"Good choice." Chuck Long nodded. "Limited access, especially this time of year. Some of those islands can only be reached by boat and can go months between visits."
Turning to Spinner, Wilson asked, "How would the cold affect such an organism?"
Before she replied, Brant said, "Somewhere warmer, then. Maybe the Bahamas?"
"Too accessible." Long shook his head. "I'd go for the Indian Ocean, maybe the Andaman and Nicobar Islands. Or the South Pacific. Lot of small islands out there, some damned near impossible to reach, and prevailing winds would have to carry the organism thousands of miles before it made landfall."
"What about Johnson Atoll?" Spinner stopped pacing and came across to the map again.
"All the inhabitants were evacuated after nuclear tests in the 1960s," Susan replied, pickup her jacket and pulling it on. "It's not a good experimental area anyway; too easy to blame a disease on radioactive elements or old biological test organisms in the soil, water or food chain. No, it's gotta be clean. Hell, there are dozens out there." She had finished collecting her things was considering the map once more. "The smaller islands around Tonga, Samoa, Tokelau; take your pick."
This was getting nowhere. Frustration gnawing at him, McCabe said, "We're not going to stop it."
"C'mon, Josh." Susan placed a hand on his arm. "We can begin by tracing any unusual movements of military aircraft-"
Without pulling away from her, he snapped, "Which means we're already too late."
"So we line up the assets that we have based on the most likely locations," Wilson said. "If it's the South Pacific, then we have personnel and equipment that can deal with a Level 4 organism, and long range aircraft in Christchurch, New Zealand."
Turning on her heel to face the DIA agent, Spinner demanded, "Why?"
Wilson smiled, shrugged, and began doodling on a note pad. "Nothing nefarious. Several countries use New Zealand as a major staging area for Antarctic bases. It's summer down there now, lot of movement going on."
"No, I mean why do you have assets there to deal with a Level 4 organism?" Her voice was hard and full of suspicion. What buttons had Wilson just pressed? Or was Spinner oversensitive about her obvious ignorance?
"Standard precaution." Susan glanced at her watch and then picked up her laptop. "They're isolated. An infectious pathogen could cut an entire base down in days. More importantly they're bringing up ice core samples and finding new species-particularly on the microbial level-almost daily. A prehistoric, infectious pathogen is not out of the question. Something inactive in extreme cold, like a flu virus that hasn't evolved with the human ecology, could become very dangerous very quickly when brought to room temperature."
Everyone else began collecting their things, and Chuck Long said to Spinner, "We're meeting with the Marine Corps and FEMA teams in a few minutes, to begin drawing up immediate response plans. Care to join us?"
The offer seemed to have mollified her somewhat, for a trace of a smile touched her lips. "Yes, I think I would."
-Chapter 10-
Mathew Island
Dispersal: Plus 52 hours
"Chicken pox!" Nate barked a short laugh. "That's impossible; chicken pox takes two to three weeks. These symptoms have come on too fast and hit too many people at once."
"Nate," Katie countered, "I've had three children and a sister-in-law who came down with it. I'm telling you, this looks like chicken pox: a mild fever with cold-like symptoms and the start of a pox-like rash, mostly on the trunk. And the adults, well, it's normal for chicken pox to hit them harder."
Standing at the cracked enamel sink, washing his hands for the third time that morning, Nate shook his head dismissively. "No. Haemorrhagic dengue has the same symptoms. Maybe it came from mosquitoes hiding in the damned plane, probably in the banana leaves. They must have bitten everyone at the airport literally the moment we arrived." He went to grab the towel, but he'd already used it twice.
"Stop administering paracetamol or aspirin," he said to Judi, who was jamming some dog-eared files into a metal cabinet. "And give them acetaminophen instead."
"I'm not leaving." Katie folded her arms determinedly.
He was not going to let Katie do this. She'd been on Mathew Island for the best part of a year. "That rainstorm was a warning. If you don't get out today, you could be stuck here until well into the New Year."
"If this is haemorrhagic dengue, you're going to need all the help you can get!" Katie pulled the used towel from the rack and tossed it into the laundry bag. "Judi, grab a fresh towel, will you?"
The screen door banged open and all three turned to see Michael Warner walk in. "'Morning, all."
Katie looked at him, appalled. "Mike, what is it about you and mud?"
Wiping his filthy hands on his even filthier trousers, he replied, "I've cancelled the flight."
Alarmed, Nate blurted, "What about our supplies?"
"You seen the airport this morning? You could set up a health spa with the number of hot mud pools popping out all over the place. It took me damned near half an hour to drive there and back. I've called the 'chopper to come get me instead."
"I suppose it did rain some last night," Katie said thoughtfully.
"Some!" Warner barked. "I was seriously considering getting out a SCUBA bottle to wade through the runway to the sensor station-which is on the fritz, by the way. Somehow water got in and…well, it doesn't matter, I have the data. Even if I didn't have to get back to Seattle, I'd have called the 'chopper." He glanced out through the screen door to the volcano. "No way I'm gonna get up to the lava lake until April next year." His expression turned calculating and he added, "There's room for one more on the chopper."
"I'm not leaving," Katie replied belligerently. "I can't. Half the village is down with this bug."
"Twenty-two people is not half," Judi corrected, handing Nate a towel.
"That we know of. What if you get sick too?"
Drying his hands, Nate said, "No one else came to the clinic during the night so I think it's peaked. With the supplies I've ordered from Vila, and, with Alice, Emily and Nettie to help, Judi and I can look after twenty-two."
Katie pushed her damp hair from her forehead. "Nettie is fourteen months pregnant and Emily is babysitting most of the younger kids. Both teachers called in sick
this morning."
"How sick?" Nate tried to contain a growing sense of alarm. "Did you include them in your twenty-two?"
"Yeah, I saw them a little while ago. They're not bad, just headachy. I know, I know!" Katie tossed her hands in the air. "Dengue doesn't affect most people badly; we've only got four nasties on our hands. But Nate, that's four more than we should have."
"Well," said Warner, opening the door. "You guys figure it out while I get cleaned up. If we make Port Vila by 1330, we can catch the flight to Fiji, overnight there, and grab a direct flight to Seattle by tomorrow night. It's cold," he added shrewdly. "There's snow."
Glaring at him, Katie countered, "I wouldn't be able to alter my flight schedule in time."
Warner motioned to the cottage. "Satellite uplink is still active. Get online and change your reservations."
"I understand your reluctance," Nate said to her. "But you owe it to yourself and to your family. You've worked miracles here, Katie, but if it wasn't this, you'd find some other excuse to not leave. You need to get out." He gently tapped her sweat-dampened shoulder. "Before you take root-or turn into a mushroom."
"Chopper'll be here soon. Snow," Warner drawled. The screen door banged shut behind him. "Blazing log fires, eggnog-should be a white Christmas!"
Katie chewed her lip, then turned to Nate and said, "If there's only room for one more, it should be you. I can't see the WHO footing a three thousand dollar charter flight just to airlift you off this rock."
"You and Mike run off to Seattle together." Nate grinned and put his arm around Judi's shoulder. "We'll stay here and have a torrid affair."
Judi blushed but made no attempt to withdraw.
Hesitating a moment longer, Katie said, "Oh, all right."
When she'd gone, Nate's genial smile vanished. Dropping his arm from Judi's shoulder, he said in a low voice, "Implement full sterile procedures immediately. Make certain Alice understands exactly what's involved: masks, gowns and gloves at all times, fans in all the rooms-plenty of ventilation, and bleach everything. Get the kids organised to go around and check the village for anything that will allow mosquitoes to breed. I know they've already done that," he added at the look on her face. "Do it again."
"You think it's going to get worse?" A worried frown marred Judi's features.
"I don't know, but I'm not taking any chances, especially with Katie leaving. And I'm not having her stay. Once the supplies arrive, we can manage with Alice's help."
The helicopter came in low across the water and landed on the grass knoll directly behind the clinic. A few children ran up from the beach, but the crowds that normally flocked to the aircraft were glaringly absent. The pilot, Gary Teocle, filled in his log while the machine was shutting down, then he stepped out and motioned for Warner and Sturgess to approach.
"Nate, Mike, where is everyone?" Teocle opened the rear door and began passing out boxes of pharmaceutical supplies.
"Half the village is down with some bug," Nate replied.
Teocle groaned. "Not that damned flu that's going around Vila. Knocked me for six a few weeks back. Thought I was coming down with dengue again."
"I think maybe," Nate replied thoughtfully. "I've been in New Caledonia the last two months, but I'd heard about it."
"Got room for another passenger?" Warner asked.
"How we doing for weight?" Teocle glanced at the vulcanologist's bags. When Warner told him, the pilot nodded. "I'll need to stop at Aneityum Island for fuel. I've got a couple of forty-four gallon drums with a hand pump stashed there."
Nate lifted the last carton from the rear seat, glad to see it labelled 'sterile masks and gowns'. He carried it to the shed at the rear of the clinic, where a handful of villagers crowded Katie.
"I'll be back in April!" she promised everyone, carefully maintaining her distance.
"Here, put this on." Warner handed her a pair of coveralls. "And tie your hair back."
"Why? I'll broil."
"Only one door on the helicopter," he explained. "The side where the baggage will be. It can get mighty chilly during the flight, even in hot weather. Comfort stop at Aneityum."
Next, Warner clasped Nate's hand and said, "I'll be back around April too."
"Hope you make the flight in time for your volcano," Nate replied, walking with them to the helicopter.
"I remember once, years ago, abusing airline staff in Seattle because I'd missed a flight." Warner hauled himself into the front seat. "If I'd made it, I would have been at Coldwater II with David Johnston when Saint Helens blew. Never worried about missed flights since."
Fifteen minutes later, skimming low across the placid surface of the Pacific, Warner swore. "Ah crap, I left a laptop and satellite dish behind."
"You want to go back?" Teocle asked.
Warner hesitated; they were already cutting it close. Despite what he'd said to Nate, if Rainier really was about to go, he wanted to be there. "Nah, all of my notes are on the other computer." He smiled at the pilot. "If Nate gets stuck down there for a few weeks at least he has Internet access."
-Chapter 11-
Quantico
Dispersal: Plus 55 hours
It had been a long time since Jordan had felt part of a team. Isolated by her loss and grief, plagued by self-doubt, she'd come to DC fully expecting to be fired. No matter how the psychologists had packaged it, right down to that boringly inadequate label, survivor guilt, she was a professional liability, and she knew it.
Crawling across the floor with Giovanni, reading accounts of BW experiments had come as a rude shock to Jordan. Her lack of knowledge had also shocked her, and reinforced her doubts about her ability to work. Then along came McCabe and promptly kicked her butt. The FBI had every right to expect her to be a contributing member of the investigation. Her skills might be rusty, but, if Brant was right and McVeigh was a pawn, she'd been given the opportunity to bring Douglas and Jamie's butchers to justice. She wasn't going to lose that.
Something else beside a sense of purpose was also awakening in her-a sense of outrage. There was a yawning chasm between the mandate of US national security systems and that of the Justice Department. And that chasm was geared to let the guilty to go free.
While national security agencies aimed to protect the US from attack, the Justice Department was capable only of prosecuting individuals, not foreign governments that sponsored such attacks. Ramzi Yousef had been found guilty of bombing the World Trade Centre. Blame one person, neatly dismiss the problem in the form of jail or death sentence. Blame a state, and suddenly, you were talking about war-a little outside the Justice Department's terms of reference. Even preventing a terrorist attack was problematic. The best the Justice Department could do was slap a conspiracy charge on individuals.
Oklahoma, it seemed, was shaping up to be the same. Blame McVeigh, conveniently ignore or destroy any evidence that might interfere with his conviction, problem packaged and disposed of.
Jordan was upstairs in yet another briefing, fuming over the problem, only half listening to Brant, Wilson, Broadwater, McCabe and Chuck Long discuss possible suspects, when the words 'bubonic plague' caught her attention. "Plague?" she said, looking up.
"Williams would never have associated with a screwball like Benson," McCabe continued, ignoring her outburst.
" Bubonic plague?" Jordan repeated. She looked around the table expectantly.
"The ATCC-the American Type Culture Centre-sent it to Garry Wade Benson in the mail." McCabe was slouching back in his chair, looking bored and frustrated.
"They what ?" she demanded, incredulous. "And why is it that every psycho in the FBI's files has three names?"
"Lee Harvey Oswald set the trend," he replied, deadpan. "It's the first feature profilers look for after childhood bedwetting."
A few chuckles erupted. Jordan blinked. Hilarious. Turning to Brant, she asked, "How?"
Exhaling noisily, he replied, "Benson used a genuine EPA registration number from the lab where he worked to p
lace the order. It was only after the stuff was mailed to him that the ATCC became suspicious. They called the CDC, who suffered a collective stroke when they learned that bubonic plague had been delivered to Benson's home. They immediately informed the local Health Department."
"Who informed the police," Broadwater added, eyeing off a tray of sugarcoated carbohydrate bombs on the table. "And that's when it hit them. Nobody knew what in hell to do. The Health Department had a hard time trying to convince people that it wasn't a hoax, and the fire departments of two counties had no idea how to respond. They'd been trained in industrial hazards, not biological terrorism. Eventually, they contacted us and the FBI." She poked at a donut, then, nose wrinkling in regret, looked away.
"That's what Presidential Directive 39 is trying to overcome; I got that much," said Jordan. "But who's Benson?"
"He's on the governing board of the National Alliance," Wilson replied, trying to suppress a yawn.
Jordan froze. Acutely aware that McCabe was watching her, she asked in a measured tone, "Isn't that William Piece's neo-Nazi organization?"
"The very same William Piece who wrote The Turner Diaries," McCabe said. "Supposedly inspiring McVeigh to act as he did."
"Did Benson and McVeigh know one another?" she demanded.
"No." Brant shook his head. "Benson is a white supremacist. He's convinced Iraq has smuggled agents into the United States as sleepers who will one day be ordered to use a weapon of mass destruction to attack New York. Benson figured if he salted New York's subways with plague, Iraq would be blamed and the US government would be forced to retaliate, presumably pre-empting deadlier attacks in the future."
"Wasn't that Williams' agenda?" Jordan pressed. "Sacrifice hundreds to save millions?"
"Hundreds yeah, not millions," McCabe said dismissively. He stood and began pacing the room, caged and restless.
Jordan understood that feeling well, she'd been doing a lot of pacing of late.
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