Plague

by Victor Methos

  “Our most important goal for this contagion is determining its T score, containing it, and if possible, destroying it.” He adjusted his glasses again. “I see many worried looks in the audience. I myself am not taken to panic and I apologize if I seem too relaxed in discussing this subject. But please do not misinterpret my calm for a lack of concern. To put it bluntly, we are looking at an extinction-level event. At least, for mankind.”

  CHAPTER 11

  Wilson sat down after the Q & A and a general took his place to begin talking about logistics. Sam noticed that there were no reporters asking questions, just a news crew taking video and audio.

  When the general was done speaking, everybody stood and mingled a bit before filing out of the room. Duncan remained seated and sipped his drink as he stared off into space.

  “You look worried,” Sam said.

  “About possibly the deadliest disease known to man popping its head up? What’s there to worry about?” He wiped his lips with a napkin. “Sorry, that was a smart-ass thing to say. It’s actually not so much that. I work with stuff almost as dangerous every day.”

  “Then what is it?”

  “It doesn’t make sense. Smallpox is abolished. It doesn’t exist except in those two laboratories. Why would nature just ‘spring’ it on us? And here of all places?”

  “I don’t think it was here. I’ve been tracking down the index patient’s history and he was a tour guide in South America.”

  “Even if it originated in South America, it’s an extinct organism. We wiped it from the face of the earth. It can’t just come back.”

  “So what do you think’s going on?”

  “I don’t know. I don’t even know why I feel uneasy about it. Do you know there’s a type of moth that only lives for twenty-four hours? It’s born without a mouth so it doesn’t eat. It does have a full digestive system and could produce excrement if it could eat. It just doesn’t have a mouth. Sometimes nature is random and cruel. Who am I to think this disease wasn’t just waiting in the jungle for us somewhere and has decided to come out of hiding now? But still, I’m uneasy about it.”

  “I think your point is a good one. I thought the same thing when I was told it was black pox. It shouldn’t exist. And the region the tour guide was exposed to is a place he’s been probably dozens of times before. It doesn’t make sense that if the virus were living in some host there that only now we would be seeing the beginnings of an epidemic.”

  He looked up, his eyes in bewilderment. “Holy crap, is that really what we have now? An epidemic? I never thought I would actually live to see one. I mean a real one, not the swine flu BS. An actual Book of Revelation epidemic.”

  She bent down and took one of the bagels. “You almost sound excited saying that. I wouldn’t be.”

  Samantha sat in her hotel room through the morning and into the afternoon, running through medical charts for all the patients admitted to Queen’s Medical with black pox-like symptoms. There were now over a hundred; forty had been added since last night.

  Samantha stretched her neck and stared out the window. In epidemics, like in anything that had an outward spreading force, you would hit a tipping point and there would be no turning back. If every patient infected only one other patient, the disease would actually be in decline. Without hitting that tipping point, it would simply run its course and die out. But if it hit the tipping point, it would grow exponentially, and the point itself is unpredictable. The difference could be a half of one person infectibility rate among the population. If every person infected 1.1 instead of just 1 person, that could cause the epidemic to grow beyond control.

  Sam rose from her bed and began pacing the room. The thoughts darting in and out of her mind going back to her CDC training courses. The CDC’s procedure in a situation like this was clear: isolate, isolate, isolate. Any patient with even a hint of the disease was not allowed anywhere near the general public. Medical staff never made contact with them and anyone that had direct contact was quarantined. Even those that did not have direct contact were observed closely.

  She thought of the families; it was always a painful process for families. They would have to watch loved ones through glass and plastic, and that was if they were lucky. Many times families would be unable to see their loved ones for weeks and then one day Sam or another field agent would call to notify the family of the death. It tore Sam’s heart out every time she had to place one of those calls.

  A simple flu in 1918 had killed off millions of people. With an agent as deadly as this, Sam truly felt that not just the community, but the species might be teetering on the brink of extinction.

  CHAPTER 12

  Two men sat in a café and wiped the sweat from their brows with silk handkerchiefs. This time of the season Bangkok was sweltering; it felt like an oven that had been left on too long. It was also the tourist season and the sidewalks and streets were packed to the point that you couldn’t walk more than a foot in front of you without bumping into somebody else.

  “I fucking hate this place,” Conrad Moore said. “It’s too hot and the food is awful.”

  Tyrone Booth finished the last gulp of his Tsing Tao beer and waved to the waitress for another. He took a piece of his spicy chicken and reached below the table, letting his Pomeranian finish it off before licking his fingers.

  “I love the food. You never got to liking spicy food. If you did, you wouldn’t be knockin’ Thai food at all.”

  “It’s spicy ‘cause there’s not much sanitation here and the spices kill the bacteria. It has nothing to do with flavor.”

  Conrad sighed and looked out the windows onto the busy street. They were seated in a corner booth away from the rest of the public in the restaurant, a place that was supposed to give them privacy but instead made their waitress ignore them.

  He’d been to Bangkok before, at least three or four times. The prostitutes were some of the best in the world in his opinion. Not that he really needed to hire prostitutes. He’d learned that flashing enough cash can get you just about any woman you wanted—at least the type of women that he wanted. He’d go to bars and pick up some nice twenty-three-year-old. They’d take his limo straight to his Gulfstream and fly to the Caribbean or Mexico for a weekend. He would do what he wished however many times he wanted and then drop them back off at the airport.

  But prostitutes were much better. They knew they were whores and they would get into what fantasies he wanted for that night. Plus, there was no need for the pretense of telling them he was going to see them again or having to talk about himself. There was a whorehouse not two blocks from here, one of the best in the city, and he wished like hell he was there right now.

  “Where’s your man?” Conrad said.

  “He’ll be here.”

  “He’s an hour late.”

  “So?”

  “So I have places to be.”

  “You’re a private contractor, C. Where do you think you gotta be right now?”

  “I don’t know, maybe getting drunk with some Thai whore instead of watching you slurp down eel soup.”

  “He’ll be here,” Tyrone said, remembering the soup in front of him and taking a sip from the bowl before wiping his mouth on his hand. He fed another piece of chicken to his dog.

  It was another ten minutes before either of them spoke again. Tyrone finally said, “He’s here.”

  Conrad saw a man in a black suit and a black button-down shirt walk into the restaurant. He wore aviator sunglasses and his hair appeared wind-swept, like he’d ridden a motorcycle here. The man looked over the restaurant before finally spotting Tyrone. He smiled and walked over.

  Tyrone stood up and they shook hands. “How you doin’, Robert?”

  “Good good.” The man reached down and petted the dog. “Glorious day, gentlemen. How’s business?”

  “Good. This is the man I was telling you about, Conrad Moore.”

  “Pleasure,” the man said, shaking hands. “Robert Greyjoy.”

/>   “Nice to meet you,” Conrad said. “I’ve heard a lot of good things.”

  “None of them true, I assure you.”

  Conrad gave a forced smile and reached for his water. He took a sip, hoping that Robert would speak first, but he just stood there with a pleasant expression on his face and stared at him. Despite the fact that he was impeccably dressed and perfectly pleasant, something about him creeped Conrad out. His calm, Conrad figured. This was a multi-million dollar deal; he should at least be a little nervous.

  “I was just watching television in the hotel,” Robert said.

  “Oh yeah?” Tyrone said. “I don’t think this Asian TV is too good. All game shows.”

  “No, I was watching Sesame Street on satellite.”

  Conrad looked to Tyrone and then back. “The kids show?”

  “Oh yes yes yes,” Robert said. “I learn more from Sesame Street than I ever do reading Foreign Affairs or the New York Times. Sesame Street is a kind of…cultural barometer. In the sixties, they were using research to educate children. The moon landing had just occurred and science was on the forefront of everybody’s mind. America had been told we needed more scientists. In the seventies, with Vietnam and Watergate and the recession, Sesame Street became more pessimistic and began teaching practical skills for children to enter into the workfield. The eighties had more businessmen and celebrities than any other era. By the end of the eighties, with the Savings & Loan and the stock market crash, businessmen were replaced by civic heroes likes cops and firefighters.

  “You could even break it down by year and see the evolution of America that way. It, like America, became more and more diverse. Now, however, it’s a different story. They’re teaching extremely basic skills, things that children that age should already know. And the characters are more extravagant but lacking in depth. It’s a reflection of ourselves with all this celebrity worship and a disdain for all things intellectual. I think Sesame Street will predict the fall of our nation much better than any media outlet. They’ll begin to have characters, as they’re starting to now, that are homeless, or socialists, or felons. Then they’ll give up and begin teaching children just enough to get by. How to be manual laborers or soldiers or whatever else the dominant profession of a declining society will be.”

  Conrad stared at him without saying anything and was relieved when the waitress finally came over and Robert ordered a Tonight or Never, one of the strongest mixed drinks there were. Conrad, for whatever reason, felt uneasy with that too.

  “So,” Conrad began, “Ty was telling me you’re in mergers and acquisitions.”

  “Among other things.”

  “And you work for who again?”

  “I didn’t say.”

  “I’m sorry, I don’t understand.”

  “You ended that sentence with ‘again’ but I never told you who I work for in the first place.”

  Tyrone fed some more chicken to his dog and said, “See, I told you he was all secretive.”

  “Secretive I can appreciate,” Conrad said, “but mysterious I can’t. Clearly I’ll need to know a lot more about you before I broker this deal. We’re talking primo government contracts; easily worth ten million. I’m not just handing them over to the first schmuck that Ty refers.”

  “There’s no need to be rude, C.”

  “I’m not being rude. You want me to give the subcontracts to this ‘guy’ that you somehow know but you won’t tell me how and now he’s sitting here telling me he won’t tell me what company he works for.”

  “You don’t require the contracts any longer,” Robert said. “Within the year you’ll be banned from bidding on all government contracts due to ethical violations. That’s why you need to get rid of them. It has nothing to do with charity and you’re not doing me any favors. If anything, I am doing you and your company a favor by taking them off your hands while they’re still worth something.”

  “How the hell did you know—”

  “They say you’re not a true arms dealer unless you’ve sold weapons to the enemies of your own country. Until your bullets and bombs have killed your kin. How many of your kin did your weapon shipments kill, Mr. Moore? A hundred? Two? A thousand?”

  Rage bubbled in Conrad’s gut and his face turned a bright red. He threw his napkin on the table and rose. “I don’t know what kind of information you and this other bastard have, but I never did anything illegal. And I don’t appreciate you inferring that I did.”

  “Implying,” Robert said. “I implied that you did and you inferred that I have inside information about you.”

  Conrad looked to Tyrone, bewildered. “Who the hell is this guy?”

  Tyrone sat, looking from one man to the next. “I’ve clearly lost control of this meeting so I’d like to start again.”

  “Tyrone,” Robert said, a slight smile on his lips, “you’ve done well in setting up this little party. But you’ve no more use to me. I suggest you keep quiet while I calm your friend down.”

  “Hey,” Tyrone said, his brow furrowing in frustration. “I’ve done everything you asked and not asked a lot in return.”

  “Oh, right,” Robert said, looking to Conrad. “You see, Ty here was going to get a percentage of the contracts. That’s why he’s pushing so hard for me to receive them. But we weren’t supposed to tell you that.”

  Conrad looked to him, unable to hold back the disgust. “You son of a bitch! I trusted you.”

  “C, it’s me, man. Calm down, all right. That’s not how it played out.”

  “You’ve been to my house, you cocksucker! You ate my wife’s dinner.”

  “C, I’m telling you, that’s not how it played out. Sit down and let me explain.”

  Robert took a piece of chicken off Conrad’s plate and placed it gently in his mouth. “I’d love to stay and see how this plays out but I simply have to be going. I’m catching a flight in thirty minutes and the police will be looking for me.”

  “Police?” Tyrone said. “For what?”

  “Murder.”

  The spit of the silenced Ruger .22 caliber could barely be heard over the din of the restaurant, even by the men at the table. When Conrad saw the blood pouring from a small wound on Tyrone’s chest, he knew what had happened. He thought it odd that it wasn’t like in the movies—a ping with a waft of smoke rising in the air. There was no sound, no drama. It had sucked Tyrone’s life away quietly and without fuss.

  “Oh sh—”

  Conrad felt his lungs tighten as if a fist had grabbed them and squeezed. He couldn’t speak and he couldn’t suck in air. There was just this horrible nothingness as his mind raced and he stared wide-eyed into the face of the man who had just shot him.

  He watched as Robert stood up, calmly put on his glasses, and looked to the dog under the table. He bent down to where Conrad couldn’t see and after a yelp from the dog followed by silence, Robert stood and walked out of the restaurant.

  Conrad looked over to his waitress who was helping another table. He tried to gasp, but nothing came. Instead, he fell to the floor, pulling the tablecloth and all their dishes with them. As the floor rushed toward his face, he felt the sweet release of his soul lifting from his body and he wished he’d had time to tell his wife goodbye.

  CHAPTER 13

  Samantha sat in the corridor of Queen’s Medical and watched journalists from every newspaper, magazine, blog, and website stream into the hospital and go straight to the media room that had been set up in another building just behind the ER. The hospital’s main floor had been cleared with the exception of the staff. They had been asked, politely, to remain on hospital premises for a short period of time to see if any of them had been infected. When they were asked, national guardsmen with rifles stood behind their supervisors. There wasn’t a lot of room for debate.

  Samantha was one of the few people allowed to move freely. Technically, she would by right be under observation as well. But in an emergency situation when they faced a hot agent as deadly as black pox, it
was all hands on deck.

  She noticed the man from the prior meeting in the Depeche Mode T-shirt walking by with a Diet Coke in his hand and he smiled to her and came over.

  “Hey,” he said.

  “Hey.”

  “Are you going to the press conference?”

  “Yes.”

  “So what lab are you with again?”

  “I’m with the CDC.”

  “Oh, man. So this is your press conference. Are you going to be sitting up there?”

  “They like to fill the long tables during these things so if there’s space they’ll ask me.”

  “That’s so cool.”

  “Not really.”

  He shrugged. “It is to me. I’m stuck in a nine-by-nine room twelve hours a day and when I do anything important my supervisor takes the credit.”

  “The CDC can always use good field agents.”

  “Maybe I’ll take you up on that.” He took a sip of his drink and she could tell he was thinking of what to say next. “If that guy you mentioned, the index patient, if he did pick it up in South America, that probably means someone’s going to have to go down there and snoop around, right?”

  “It’ll take time to clear it with our two governments, but yes. We’ll send down a team to all the locations he visited.”

  “And try and hunt down a virus. Man, I’m telling you, your job puts mine to shame.”

  “It’s rewarding work. But it’s hard to have time for everything that you want. I travel so much I sometimes feel like a stranger in my home town.”