"Different government."
Well, good to see some things were a constant. Vanuatu changed Prime Ministers as regularly as other people changed underwear-generally for the same reasons. "I can't keep up."
"How's it going, Jordan, really? I mean, after the execution."
She closed her eyes. Timothy McVeigh's execution in June had brought some closure, but the men behind him were still alive, still free, and hundreds of other victims had fallen prey to terrorism in the intervening years: US civilians and embassy officials, soldiers and sailors, Tanzanian and Kenyan civilians, dead or shockingly mutilated from bombs eerily reminiscent of Oklahoma.
"Jordan?"
"Sorry, Nate. You got me out of the bathtub and I'm dripping everywhere."
"Are you naked?" he asked seductively.
"What would Annie think, you asking questions like that?" she scolded.
Laughing, he said, "I'm coming to Canberra for the weekend. What about dinner Friday night?"
She and Brian had spent the last week going through Gran's things, packing most of the big items and tossing the rest. The old farmhouse was already a very different place to the one she remembered. Brian had agreed to share the cost of restoring it before it was auctioned off. They should have finished sorting and packing everything by the weekend.
"Where will you be staying?"
Nate told her the name of the hotel. Then she returned to the bathroom, closed the door, and climbed back into the tub.
*
On Friday afternoon, Jordan drove her brother to the airport, then checked into Nate's hotel. An hour later she was sitting with Sturgess at a booth in the hotel bar. It was early, two businessmen talked over a beer, a few backbench politicians congratulated each other on some minor coup, and a newspaper journalist was trying to get a story out of a nervous looking, acne-ridden political aide.
Their talk drifted to the last days of UNSCOM. "When Richard Butler's contract finished," she said, "they should have given him a medal. Instead, many, too many, now look back on UNSCOM as a sad, sick joke."
In the end, she wasn't entirely sure who was worse; the sadistic, megalomaniacal Iraqi regime, the Western governments who had continued with the BW programme despite signing the BWC treaty, or the Consortium who had allowed her son to die in Oklahoma, then seeded Mathew Island with the chimera to prove how dangerous the weapons they developed were. All of them had had reasons for wanting UNSCOM to fail in its attempt to uncover the many layers of truth.
"So you transferred to the FBI's anti-terrorism unit…and then resigned. Why?"
"When Clinton was in office, he had something called the Hart-Rudman Commission evaluate the post-Cold War changes in threats to the national security of the US."
"You mean things like terrorist organisations?"
"As well as rogue nations, and individuals like Qadaffi, Hussein, bin Laden and so forth. The Commission didn't complete the final draft until Bush came to power. Titled, 'Road Map for National Security: Imperative for Change'. The report predicted that the United States would be attacked by terrorists using a weapon of mass destruction, either nuclear, chemical or biological, within the next few years. They stated categorically that casualties would be in the order of thousands, possibly tens of thousands. The Commission presented the report to Bush Junior five months ago."
"And?" Nate sat forward. "He knows about Mathew, doesn't he?"
"He dismissed the findings as a 'Clintonesque fantasy' and that Operation Desert Fox, the one to destroy the last of Hussein's stash of bioweapons, was a Wag the Dog fictional war to draw attention from Monicagate." Jordan's lips thinned. "We, and I mean the ex-weapons inspectors and the military and intelligence personnel, were staggered. Bush is dismantling every antiterrorist system that Clinton put in place, simply because Clinton believed they were vital. And on the one hand, while claiming Desert Fox was a fictional war, he simultaneously claims that it and UNSCOM pulled Saddam's BW teeth, so he can now walk into Iraq with impunity. One way or another, he intends to pick a fight with Hussein."
"Is he out of his fucking mind?" Nate had put his drink down, and was staring at her, eyes wide with disbelief. "Don't they understand the genie's out of the bottle and-" He stopped and visibly brought himself under control.
Jordan picked up a her wine. "There's no such thing as partisan politics in DC, Nate. It's scorched earth politics."
"It was all for nothing?"
The Consortium thought the same, so they'd been planning another 'demonstration'-this one more convincing. Only they would never see it carried out. McCabe had been right; it had taken the FBI years to put everything together. They now had a watertight case, and the US Justice Department was ready to swoop. Congressmen, high ranking military officers, FBI Assistant Directors, and CIA, DIA-hell half the federal agencies in the US-and, most shocking of all, senior White House officials would soon be indicted; the charges beginning with treason and conspiracy and ending with genocide.
The cynic in her knew that many would cut a deal. Like the Iran-Contra affair, underlings would take the fall and the rest would disappear into obscurity, only to reappear a few years later running on some Congressional ticket or other. To circumvent that scenario, the FBI had decided against individual arrests and timed the operation to hit the key players in the Consortium when they met in New York a few weeks from now.
Jordan didn't know the details. After she'd handed over the files that Douglas had burned on the still missing CD, the FBI, in the form of McCabe, Brant, and Reynold, had thanked her very much and told her to back off. Brant had even asked her to resign. When she'd tried to call McCabe, he'd become conspicuously unavailable and remained so ever since.
Ostensibly, her resignation and his reassignment were to lull the Consortium into a sense of false security. Publicly, it was because the antiterrorism units within the FBI were being downsized, the result of Bush's 1980s mentality of making the world a safer place with ballistic missiles and Star Wars 'defensive' programmes. Once the Consortium was in custody, the current administration would crap itself, and Jordan would officially be asked to return-or so Brant had said. Question was, did she want to?
Money wasn't an issue. The Gibraltar account was from legitimate offshore, tax-free contract payments through a company named Halibern that had worked in Iraq in the 1980s. If Doug had been blackmailing anyone, the money either had never been paid or was in yet an untraceable account, the details of which had been buried with him.
But money couldn't buy the world's safety against people like bin Laden. It was only a matter of time before he struck again, and next time, it would likely be something nastier than a hole in the USS Cole .
Her mobile phone rang. She put her glass down, reached into her bag, and scowled at the number. Valiantly resisting the temptation to drop the phone on the floor and grind it under her heel, she snapped, "McCabe. So, suddenly you've become available again. How nice-"
"You following the situation in Fiji?"
Jordan paused. "Their latest coup? Eighteen have been reported killed and the international airport is closed. Why?" She noticed that Nate was looking at her oddly.
"Turn on CNN."
Nate's phone began ringing. When he answered it, all colour drained from his face.
A cold, sick feeling clawed out of Jordan's stomach and constricted her throat.
-Chapter 43-
Sydney, Australia August 18, 2001
"The leader of the rebellion, Stephen Kato, is threatening to kill the remainder of the hostages unless his demands are met. Since most of the military is supporting him, he may get his way."
"What exactly are his demands?" Colonel Susan Broadwater asked the Australian diplomatic attaché briefing them.
Susan had been sent to head up the twenty-three-member response team. Many of the faces were familiar to Jordan; they had been part of the Mathew Island group. This time, they would get to see the outbreak, and there would be no volcanic eruptions to clean up the me
ss; Fiji had already erupted-politically.
"New elections guaranteeing a Melanesian Prime Minister and autonomous Fijian rule over the land," replied the attaché. "From what we understand, Kato has not personally killed or tortured any of his hostages, nor has he ordered or condoned such actions. In fact, he's condemning it. Those who know him-he was educated at Melbourne's Monash University-say he is honestly appalled that it's come to this. Unfortunately, lower echelon bullies, particularly enlisted soldiers, were responsible for the initial casualties, most of whom were native Fijians. It's the usual opportunistic lawlessness and anarchy that results any time there's a breakdown in the political structure of a country, something Kato's teachers said he should have prepared for.
"As bad as it sounds," continued the attaché, "the situation in Fiji is a bloody side less dangerous than say, Bougainville or Aceh." At the blank looks on some faces, he added, "Fiji is an internal squabble. Both sides have gone out of their way to avoid hurting tourists or expatriates. It may seem paradoxical, but this is their problem; they want everyone to keep away until they've fixed it. Kato's biggest concern is that we-Australia-will send in our military to restore order. But while he has most of the government, including the current Prime Minister, under lock and key, that's not a risk we're prepared to take."
"Does Kato understand what's going on in Nadi hospital?" asked Nate.
"For sure. The hospital's chief surgeon, an Australian named Dr Glenn Morris, spoke to Kato, who actually came down to the hospital to see for himself. Kato's no dummy, he immediately grasped the implications, and he's deeply concerned that the initial outbreak occurred within the Indian community. Despite his politics, Kato's bloody scared that this may exacerbate racial tensions. He wants a solution, not a massacre. He's told Morris to do whatever is necessary. Having said that, Kato remains determined, he's not letting this stop him having his coup."
"I'm not attempting to downplay the political situation," said Susan. "But the coup is actually working to our advantage. With the international airport and sea ports shut down, we have a closed system, and the guy in nominal control of the country wants help and is actively asking for it."
"What about the media?"
"It's being described as an outbreak of haemorrhagic dengue, but the place is crawling with journalists, mostly Australian, and all of them have satellite phones," replied the attaché. "It's been almost six years since the outbreak of that haemorrhagic dengue on Mathew Island, and the volcano overshadowed that event because the eruption and subsequent tsunamis killed a hell of a lot more. Almost everyone has forgotten about the disease. However, if-when-some journalist sees the people in hospital; well, the lesions are nothing like haemorrhagic dengue." The attaché stared at Nate thoughtfully.
Like everyone else, Jordan's initial reaction had been to assume that the Consortium had struck again. However, the epidemiology said otherwise; the pattern of infection followed that of a natural outbreak.
"Great!" Nate growled. "Instead of containing a virus that's ninety eight percent contagious and one hundred percent fatal, it means we only have to contain a virus that's ninety eight percent contagious and one hundred percent fatal."
Susan sent him an exasperated look.
"Okay." He shrugged. "This time, the index case is one person, not half an island."
"Take us through the epidemiology," Susan said to the attaché.
"A Fijian Indian businessman was admitted to hospital on the morning of August Six with extreme haemorrhagic dengue-like symptoms. Tashi Singh was a known AIDS sufferer and medical staff had assumed that he'd contracted an aggressive dengue. The distinctive pustules led them to believe that he had also contracted a rampant form of sarcoma. Knowing Singh's immune system was already compromised, no one was surprised when he died that night. His status in the community was such that he'd been placed into a private room. Members of his family sat with him the entire time, but despite their stoicism, they were horrified by the way he bled out in the end. The room had literally been sprayed with blood and body fluids.
"The nurses refused to go anywhere near him or the room, so it was left to the family; his nephews, sister, and wife, to wrap his body and remove it from the hospital in preparation for the traditional Hindu cremation. Tashi's sister, Miriam Singh, took it upon herself to clean the room. Fortunately, she appears to have been very thorough. She used the disinfectants and bleach provided by her airport employers."
The attaché picked up a glass of water and took a few sips before continuing. "Dr Glenn Morris had been at a conference in Suva at the time. When he got back, he was informed of Tashi's death, and checked out the room. He found an extremely bloodied mattress-which he ordered burned-but no sign of the horror the nurses had described. Like everyone else, Morris had assumed that Tashi's AIDS had exacerbated what he hoped was an isolated incidence of haemorrhagic dengue, and that the rest was just exaggeration fuelled by racial tensions and a general air of uneasiness amongst Fijians and Indians.
"The following day, August Eight, friends and family helped build the funeral pyre, and, less than twelve hours after he had died, Tashi was cremated."
"Why so fast?" Chuck Long asked.
"It's the tropics. Hundreds attended, but the only people known to have had any physical contact with Tashi's body were his wife, sister, two nephews and eldest son, all of who remained sequestered in Miriam's house after the funeral.
"On the morning of August Nine, Miriam woke feeling ill. Her sons and nephew also complained of stomach cramps and general malaise, but put it down to bad food. We know this only because she mentioned it to a family visitor. Since the Singhs were to remain at home house day-it was part of the mourning period-the friend thought nothing of it. The day after, everyone, including Tashi's wife, were either too ill to leave to go for help or were already dead. In different circumstances someone might have missed them and gone to investigate, but everyone assumed they were in mourning. On August Eleven, neighbours went to the house and discovered what they thought was a massacre. Assuming the worst-Stephen Kato had picked that morning to stage his coup-they believed they would all be butchered in their beds, so they made no attempt to notify the mostly Melanesian Fijian authorities. Most of them made themselves scarce by running off to what they hoped would be safer, rural areas.
"We do know," continued the aide, "that the Singh family were cremated in a very low-key ceremony on August Twelve. From what Dr Morris has been able to piece together, an unknown number of people came into contact with the bodies or handled the bedding in the house. Ten men came down with similar symptoms on August Fourteen. Despite the coup, their families eventually took all of these blokes to the hospital; their symptoms were just too extreme to deal with at home. All were dead by the following day, Thursday. Worse, by now some hospital staff had begun complaining of dengue-like symptoms.
"After the coup, Morris parked himself in the hospital to deal with injuries in the riots. He didn't see the first victims of this bug until late in the evening of August Fifteen. He reckons he knew straight away that it wasn't dengue, but he had the presence of mind to warn his staff that as far as family members and journalists were concerned, it was ."
"Why didn't Morris notify the CDC immediately?" someone called.
"Kato has complete control of the country's communications systems: radio, phone, even Internet. Morris could have told any journalist with a satellite phone, but he wasn't prepared to do that until he had informed the man in nominal control of the country-Stephen Kato. I haven't talked to Kato, of course, but Morris says that he knows the bloke quite well, and that Kato was prepared to listen when Morris drove directly to parliament house and demanded to see him. Kato didn't go down to the hospital until the next morning-yesterday-but what he saw scared the living daylights our of him. Kato allowed Morris to call the CDC and send digital photos via the Internet. That's when we were also informed."
Beside her, Spinner felt Nate's tension. More than anyone there, Nate un
derstood that the attaché's succinct, somewhat bland briefing belied a hideous nightmare that had only just begun. Although she, indeed, many of the team members, had dealt with this horror in the lab and seen its effects on the United Airlines passengers, to Nate it was very, very personal.
"Morris immediately implemented barrier nursing procedures and refused to release the bodies of victims to their families for burial. Still, the latest updates have twenty-six people symptomatic," the attaché continued, reading from a clipboard. "Eight hospital staff, ten patients who were already in hospital for other complaints, two soldiers who helped remove the first victims' bodies, and four new patients who knew, or had some contact with, the first hospitalized victims.
Looking up again, he finished with, "As you are aware, there was some suggestion at the outset that Stephen Kato must release his hostages, stand down, and allow the civil servants to return to work before the international community would be willing to assist. No surprise he's rejected this proposal, reiterated his demands, and added that, since he has control of the military, most of the roads, the infrastructure and local radio and television stations, he can guarantee any arriving team safe passage and tight security. If we refuse, his only option is to allow foreign journalists to enter the hospital and beam the images to the rest of the world. He also added that, if he steps down now, the military would have absolutely no control over people moving in and out of the area or removing the deceased from the hospital. So far, he's taken Morris' advice and placed a cordon sanitaire around the hospital, the Singh's neighbourhood and the neighbourhoods of other people who have caught the disease. He's trying to isolate it. He steps down, we lose that."
"All right everybody," said Susan, standing. "Let's get moving."
Jordan boarded the chartered aircraft in silence. Around them, people chattered, reviewing well-rehearsed scenarios and discussing optional plans. She smiled and shook everyone's hand, fielded polite questions about how she'd been doing and what she'd been up to since UNSCOM had disbanded.
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