It was 12:30 p.m. when we got to the First Trust bank. The parking lot was jammed. A bunch of angry people were standing around the locked front door, yelling at a guard on the other side. I pulled out my cell and called Travis.
“Is there something going on with the banks that I should know about?” I asked him.
“There was a run this morning on the Core Union Bank in Philadelphia after the stock market shut down. It’s a small-time operation that serves one of the poorest areas of the city. They got the okay to close their doors about a half hour ago.”
I looked over at the bank where a guy was pounding on the glass, shouting, “You have to let us in. We want our money.” A cop car pulled up and two officers got out.
“What about the other banks?” I said.
“As far as I know, it’s business as usual, sir.”
“You might want to check on that.”
I hung up and called the garage to tell my friend I’d need a couple days to come up with the cash. He wasn’t happy, but he didn’t have much choice in the matter.
“So, can I still hitch a ride with you?” I asked Izzy.
She just looked at me.
“You’re mad at me, aren’t you?” I said.
“Why would I be mad?”
In woman-talk, that means yes.
“I’m sorry,” I said. “I guess I figured it would be easier for you without me tagging along.”
“No, you didn’t. You don’t want me around when you meet Carmine tonight. You’re afraid I’ll get hurt.”
“He said to come alone.”
“You never go into a situation without backup. You should know that.”
“You’re quoting Police 101 to me?”
“Someone has to.”
I hate being wrong, but being dead is worse.
“You’re right,” I said. “I made the decision without asking you. That’s no way to treat your partner. It won’t happen again.”
“And now, you think we’re partners?”
She tried to hide her smile but failed miserably.
“I guess we both do,” I said.
We had some time on the ride in, so we talked through our strategy for the midnight meeting with Carmine. I called Tim, hung up, and he called me right back from London.
“How are things in jolly old England?” I asked.
“All’s quiet at Number 10,” he said. “Did you bozos ever figure out how Anonymous found you and hacked in?”
“I don’t know. Does it make any difference at this point?”
“Probably not, but if you’re interested you should ask Jerry Plummer about it. He’s in the IT department at City Hall. He likes to use his cell to make calls to particular individuals on a certain watch list maintained by Homeland’s Cyber Crimes Unit.”
“Thanks. I’ll make a note of that if phone surveillance without a warrant ever becomes legal.”
“Since when did you care about laws that get in the way of justice?”
“Good point.”
“What can I do for you, Bam?”
“I need your help with a little problem…”
I told Tim what I wanted. He thought it sounded like fun but way too dangerous. I told him I wasn’t worried. I had backup.
When we got to the Six, there was extra security outside the Federal Reserve across the street. I mentioned it to Travis when we got down to the situation room.
“We were told it’s just a precaution,” he said. “There’s been some trouble at a few of the smaller area banks that didn’t have the cash on hand to keep their depositors happy. The Fed is guaranteeing all of them and shipping the cash as needed. The bigger banks are required to have more in reserve, and so far, they’re doing okay.”
“What about the hospitals? How are they holding up?”
“FEMA is handling things as best they can, but you know how that goes. As soon as it gets dark, all hell will break loose.”
“Where’s Fink?”
“Over at the Ritz Carlton.”
“Good.”
“He’s pissed, sir.”
“Even better. We missed the president’s speech. What did he say?”
“Pretty much what his advisor said he would. I think it went over well. At least, that’s what the polls are showing.”
“That’s the best news I’ve had all day. How about I play waiter today and make us some coffee?”
“Thank you, sir.”
We sat around drinking coffee and watching TV. Night had fallen in Europe. Travis was right. That’s when all hell breaks loose. There were riots in Paris, London, Madrid, and Frankfurt. Martial law had been declared in Greece after a bank had been blown up in Athens. It wasn’t just about Ebola anymore. Now, it was about something near and dear to everyone’s heart — money. Governments were trying their best to knock out the Ebola panic, but fear was working a different angle and counterpunching like a heavyweight champ.
Around dinnertime, Tom Stalter called another CDC meeting. There was someone with him this time who sat in the background while Tom did the talking. Tom seemed more subdued than usual. He told us that the number of confirmed cases had doubled. So had the number of deaths. Another U.N. delegate had died, this time from Eastern Europe. They’d gotten in touch with fifty more of the delegates. Eighty-five were now reporting symptoms. The American ambassador was one of them. The other group members gave their reports. There were confirmed cases and deaths on every continent, and the dots connected them all to the U.N.
“We’ve isolated the virus,” Tom said. “It’s not an iteration of the Ebola spreading through Africa right now. It’s a different strain of Zaire.”
“Is that a good or bad thing?” I asked.
“It’s a very bad thing,” the guy with Tom said, sliding his chair forward.
It’s funny about first impressions. I didn’t like the way he chewed on his glasses. I didn’t like his nasal voice. I didn’t like him.
“This is Dr. Donald Champion,” Tom said. “He’s heading up the U.N. response now.”
“Nice to meet you, Doc,” I said. “So, tell me. Why is it such a bad thing?”
“Because, Agent Matthews, this is a strain of the virus capable of rapid mutation after it has been transmitted to a new host. We’ve only seen it twice before. In the most recent outbreak, when I was assigned as U.N. coordinator, the mutated form became, in a small percentage of cases, airborne. We believe that is what is happening now.”
“Define small.”
“When the team arrived on the scene to contain that outbreak, they found thirty people infected. Test results showed that one had the airborne version of the virus.”
“That’s not so bad, is it? One in thirty?”
“Three days later, everyone in the village was dead, including our entire team.”
“But not you.”
“I was managing the operation from New York.”
“Lucky you. There’s nothing on your site or any other Internet site about an airborne Ebola. Everyone says it’s not possible. When and where did these other outbreaks happen, and why were they covered up?”
You can always tell when a man has something to hide by the way he adjusts his tie before answering a question.
“I’m afraid that information is classified, Agent Matthews,” Champion said. “The important point is that we are dealing with a virus that is capable of spreading through the air. That much is obvious from the speed at which it is propagating. This will require additional quarantine measures on everyone’s part, and it is crucial that these measures be implemented immediately. We’re going to need everyone in this room’s full cooperation with getting their respective countries on board if we’re to have any hope of stopping this.”
“So, you think you can stop it?” Izzy said.
“We stopped it before, and I am confident we can stop it again. This one’s a particularly nasty bug. That works in our favor. From the time of the first expression of symptoms until death is approxima
tely two days. That’s an extremely limited window of opportunity for transmission.”
“Did anyone survive either of those outbreaks?” I asked. “Can you at least tell us that?”
“In both, the mortality rate was one hundred percent.”
Champion waited until the hubbub from the others died down, and then he laid out the steps as he saw them.
N95 masks and gloves were to be issued to all law enforcement officers, first responders, and healthcare workers. These were to be worn at all times while on duty. Doctors and nurses caring directly for the infected were to wear full protective gear and disinfect themselves, their gear, and their instruments regularly with hydrogen peroxide. No exceptions. As I found out from Tom later, an N95 mask was one that met the NIOSH standard for removing ninety-five percent of airborne particulates, including viruses. Apparently, removing the other five was left to God.
Every town and city where outbreaks occurred was to set up a holding area where the infected could be housed and treated. It had to be indoors. Any person found exhibiting symptoms was to be taken to that holding area. Hospitals would no longer handle Ebola cases. They would be reserved for routine services. Champion suggested suspending classes and converting college dormitories to house the infected. I told him there were over ninety colleges in the Philly area. He thought that might be enough.
When someone asked him about the treatment, he compared it to hospice care. Keep them comfortable. Treat the symptoms, he said. That’s all you can do. Quick disposal of bodies was critical to containing the epidemic. Incineration was the preferred method, but religious objections could be allowed as long as the casket was sealed and burial occurred on the day of death.
It was a brutal, hard sell, and by the time Champion had gone through his checklist, I felt like puking. We signed off, Travis went home, and Izzy and I walked the four or five blocks down to Chinatown. We had dinner at Ling’s, a little hole-in-the-wall place where the soup was good, they didn’t skimp on the spices, and they still took credit cards. Jimmy Barnes checked in when we were on our way back to the Six.
“How’re you doing?” he said.
“I don’t know. You tell me.”
“Your boss isn’t too happy with you. He says you talk too much.”
“He’s not my boss. He’s just higher up the food chain.”
“Yeah, well he put in a request to have you reassigned to our group. He’s not a fan of your freelancing with the CDC.”
“Anything else?”
“Not much. Our boys in the 26th responded to a domestic disturbance call on Girard Avenue about two hours ago. They found a dead guy in the bedroom. The ME on the scene said it could be Ebola. Everyone who was there is being held at the station. Other than that, it’s disaster as usual.”
I told him about our meeting.
“Shit. When were they going to let us know?” he said.
“They just found out themselves, Jimmy. Apparently, the right hand doesn’t talk to the left.”
“All right. I’d better let our group know. We need one of our people in their meetings from now on. We need to get those masks and gloves out now, and we need to set up that holding area ASAP. How’s Izzy doing?”
I looked at her and she smiled.
“She’s fine,” I said. “I’m taking her out for Belgian Waffles later.”
I hung up.
“You do know that what you call Belgian Waffles is an American invention?” she said.
“Does that mean you don’t want one, maybe with some ice cream and strawberries on it?”
She took my hand and we continued walking. “I’ll think about it.”
We stopped at Franklin Square Park, found a bench, and talked about nothing for about an hour.
“How the hell did we ever get here?” I said, when the conversation died.
“What do you mean, Bam?”
“Think about it. What are the chances of your pal, Birot, catching Ebola, let alone a strain that’s so rare no one else has even heard of it? He wasn’t in Africa, and as far as we know, he wasn’t with sleeping with an African hooker. Where the hell did the whoring bastard get it?”
“You shouldn’t talk about François like that. He had his faults, but he was a good man.”
“You’re defending him?”
“You didn’t know him, Bam, not like I did.”
“You’re right. I was out of line, as usual. I’m sorry.”
She whispered in my ear, “You can make it up to me later.”
Without a doubt, that girl had me wrapped around her little finger.
“The missing piece of this puzzle is how Birot got Ebola in the first place. I need to know more about those outbreaks Champion didn’t want to talk about.”
“You do know how to kill the mood, don’t you?” Izzy said.
“It’s another of my hobbies.”
“How could his infection be connected to a previous outbreak?”
“I don’t know, but it’s a coincidence, and I don’t like coincidences.”
I dialed Tim again, and hung up. He called back from Pittsburgh.
“Who’s in Pittsburgh,” I said.
“No one. That’s the point. What’s up big brother?”
“I need your help breaking a few more laws.”
I filled him in about what was going on. Then I told him about the previous classified outbreaks and how I thought there might be a connection.
“This might take a while, Bam. Ebola goes back to the seventies. That information might not even be in digital form.”
“Just do your best.”
“Yep. Gotta go. Talk to you later.”
“He could get in a lot of trouble for that,” Izzy said after I hung up.
“I know. Come on. Let’s head back.”
Except for the guards, the Six was deserted when we got back. We had a couple hours to kill until the meet and greet with Carmine, so I called my son in Montana. All things being equal, the middle of nowhere was probably the best place to be, given what was happening. I asked him how things were, asked if he kept in touch with his mother, told him that I loved him and was proud of him, and said good-bye. I called my daughter next, but my ex-wife answered. She told me that Peggy had found a boyfriend and moved out. She wouldn’t give me her number. I asked her to tell Peggy I’d called, told her that I hoped everything was good with her, and hung up.
I poked around the Internet for a while. The lead story was a shootout in a bar in West Philly. It seemed a local gang decided to rob the place and everyone in it, but the everyone in it turned out to be a rival gang. By the time police arrived on the scene, four were dead and the bar was on fire. The blaze took down half a block of row homes before the fire department put it out. I shut down the computer and we headed out.
That’s when Dr. Williamson called.
“What can I do for you, Doc?”
“I just wanted you to know how much I appreciate all the help and support you gave during Mr. Driscoll’s time here,” he said.
“Doc, are you all right?”
I knew the answer to my question before the words came out of his mouth.
“I have symptoms.”
“Shit. What can I do?”
“Nothing, Bam. There’s nothing anyone can do.”
“Look, I’ll stop by. I’ll bring you a burger. Best you’ve ever had. We’ll figure out something.”
“Don’t. You don’t want to come anywhere near this place. Good-bye, Bam. Pray for us.”
He hung up.
I’m a grown man. I’m a hard-ass. I’m an FBI agent, for God’s sake. So, why the hell was I crying?
I told Izzy about the call. I told her to keep driving. I pulled myself together.
The intersection of Front and Christian Streets was in a section of Philly called Queen Village, about ten minutes from the Six and a stone’s throw from the river. Izzy pulled over on Front, a block up from Christian and in sight of the meeting place. I left her my phone with the
tracking app running. If the Caddy moved, she was to follow. If it looked like I needed help, she was to call in the cavalry. That was the plan.
I walked down to the intersection and checked it out. A few couples were standing around talking outside a restaurant on the corner. The Caddy was parked with its engine running a few hundred feet away on Christian under the I-95 overpass behind some other cars. I lit a cigarette, went over and tapped on the back window. Carmine rolled it down.
“Other side,” he said.
He was alone in the back seat. Two of his goons were up front. The third one in his little gang was MIA. I walked around to the other side of the car. The thug in the passenger seat got out and stopped me.
“Your piece,” he said, with his hand out.
“Ain’t happening, chief.”
“Then, we got ourselves a problem.”
It looked like the meet was about to turn sour, but Carmine nodded to him, and he let it go. He took out a handheld device that I recognized as an electronic bug checker.
“I’m not wearing a wire,” I said.
“Like I believe you, cop.” He turned the thing on, wanded me, and said, “He’s clean, boss. No wire. No phone.”
Carmine told me to get in, so I did. He nodded to the driver and we pulled out, turning right on Columbus Boulevard, heading south along the river past the upscale places, beyond the regentrification to where the piers and warehouses were abandoned.
The guy in front leaned around his seat and pointed his gun at me. “Hand it over. Nice and easy.”
I handed him my .38, butt first. “I want that back when we’re done, punk.”
Carmine lit up a cigar. “You wanted to talk, so talk.”
“I like your flower,” I said, pointing to the carnation in his lapel.
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Your flower. Like the one you were wearing when you whacked Gyro. You know, the one you left on his body as a little going away present? That’s right. We have surveillance video of you before the murder wearing that flower, and of you not wearing it afterwards.”
“That’s your evidence? A flower? That’s bullshit.”
“Don’t you remember that swab they took from you during booking? DNA’s a funny thing, Carmine. Just one little speck of it is enough to place you at the scene of the crime. With that, we’ve got motive, opportunity, and evidence. That’s murder one. And this isn’t New York. Pennsylvania has a death penalty.”
The Blacker Death: An Ebola Thriller Page 14