by Earl Merkel
“So?”
“So we’ve been recruiting among the same people for years,” Carson said. “Malenkov knows that, and knows FSB is compromised at least to some extent. All right—so he pulls in a suspect and puts him through the wringer. A plausible scenario is that Malenkov discovers this Davidovich used to work down the hall from him at Number Two Lubyanskaya. Perhaps Davidovich was RIF’ed out of the spook business during one of the Russian financial crises and ended up taking whatever work he could get. With Aum—maybewith us, and that might be what Malenkov is trying to get you to confirm.”
“We don’t have time for this spy-versus-spy nonsense,” Beck said. “The Russians are as frightened as we are about this virus. Good God—you know what Putin intends to do; I don’t know, it may have already started by now. Theywant to cooperate; weneed them to cooperate, and that means the Russians have to trust what I say. Is Davidovich CIA?”
He had to wait for the reply. When it came, it was in measured tones without a trace of concession.
“Yes,” Carson said. “He’s a contract agent. We recruited him a year ago—rather, he came to us. By trade, he’s a journalist. The product he gave us was strictly routine—interviews with politicians, economic reports, production statistics.”
“What about the Aum connection?”
“We had no idea he was associated with Aum in any way. If it’s true, we need to know the specifics. I already have our people interviewing his case officer: either he dropped the ball when he missed Davidovich’s Aum relationship, or Malenkov is misleading you. We’re also backtracking the other details—including who was involved in approving Davidovich’s recruitment. Tell Malenkov he’ll have what we find later today.”
“What are you going to do about Davidovich? You can’t simply leave him in a torture chamber.”
There was silence on the line for a moment. When he spoke, Carson’s voice was patient—almost, but not quite, solicitous.
“Beck, I understand how you feel,” he said. “God knows, you have good reasons for it. But if Davidovich is involved with the virus—well, it doesn’t matter what else he is or is not. He’s the enemy. We need every piece of information we can get, any way we can get it. Right now, that includes Malenkov’s way.”
“For God’s sake, Carson,” Beck argued, “a person will say damn well anything when he’s being tortured. We’re acting as if weknow this Aum group released the virus. What if we’re wrong?”
“We’re working to confirm that now,” Carson replied. “Hold on.” There was a muffled conversation that Beck could not decipher, then Carson came back on the line. “The President already has reached out to the Japanese—he’s spoken directly to their prime minister. I’m informed that we’ve been promised full cooperation. They will direct their security forces to raid the known Aum facilities immediately. The prime minister assured the President that his forces will exercise all due restraint, consistent with the situation. It appears that they have not forgotten the Aum nerve gas attack in their country.”
Beck frowned. “What does that mean?”
“It means,” Carson said, and the tone in his voice raised the hairs on Beck’s neck, “that they’ll try to take them alive. At least, the important ones.”
Chapter 15
The White House
Washington, D.C.
July 22
TRANSCRIPT, POTUS ADDRESS TO NATION
Network feed/pool camera.
White House Press Office.
FOR IMMEDIATE RELEASE—NO EMBARGO ON AM OR PM OUTLETS
* * * * * * * * * * * * * *
TO: ACCREDITED WHITE HOUSE CORRESPONDENTS
FROM:NEWS OFFICE/DIRECTOR OF COMMUNICATIONS
(The following is a transcript of remarks made by the President of the United States and televised from the Oval Office 10:30 AM EDT, 7/22.
NOTE: Media briefing is scheduled for 11:00 AM EDT in the Press Room. POTUS will be present for questions.)
“Good morning, my fellow Americans.
“In the history of our country, we have often faced challenges that have, in the final analysis, only made us stronger as a nation. Today I come before you to speak of another challenge that has arisen, and which as a nation we must now address.
“I have been informed by the Department of Health and Human Services that a number of persons in the state of Florida have become ill as a result of an influenza outbreak. This flu has been severe enough to have caused several of those afflicted to succumb to respiratory failure. I am further informed that some cases of this flu have been reported in the Russian Federation, and that its leaders too are treating the matter as a potentially serious situation.
“As all of us know, influenza is a contagious disease. It spreads between individuals through close contact. We’ve all picked up a case of the flu because we’ve exposed ourselves to someone else who had it.
“This influenza comes at a time of year when many of us are taking well-deserved vacations. That’s unfortunate, because it makes it harder to keep from picking up this bug. At the same time, it makes it much easier for the virus to move around. In addition, the timing creates difficulties for our pharmaceutical companies. Flu season is usually in the fall and winter months, which allows drug manufacturers more time to prepare and make available the vaccines we’ve all become accustomed to having on hand.
“I won’t mislead you—for all these reasons, this influenza is potentially quite a serious health threat. It is a strain we have not seen for a number of years, and that means that more people are susceptible to it. It is prudent to do whatever can be done to limit the spread of this influenza.
“For that reason, I have been advised to declare a public health emergency. This morning, I signed an executive order to that effect.
“This order puts into effect a number of steps. They include:
“First, throughout the country I am asking for a voluntary, temporary suspension of all large public gatherings. This includes sporting and entertainment events, public meetings and gatherings.
“Now, if you’re a baseball fan—as I am—please do not worry. We do not anticipate more than a few days’ suspension of games, and I intend to ask the commissioner of baseball to extend the season. I’m certain he will agree, and that all games will be played. But at least for a while it is wise for people to remain close to the comfort of their own homes.
“Second, I am asking for all Americans to temporarily postpone any vacation plans that involve travel outside their immediate home communities. We want to limit any opportunities for this influenza to spread before we have completely assessed the situation and determined a full course of action. To this end, effective immediately, I have ordered a suspension of operation by most public carriers—airlines, rail and bus.
“In addition, gasoline supplies are being placed on a temporary rationing system. The final details of this program—which, I again stress, is temporary in nature—are being hammered out now. They will be announced in the next day or so, but until then I have ordered all private gasoline sales be suspended, except in cases of demonstrated emergencies.
“Third, I am placing under federal control all National Guard and state militia units to assist as necessary throughout this period.
“And finally, I am ordering the creation of what we have designated the Florida Quarantine Region, an area currently limited to northwest Florida adjacent to Alabama and Georgia. This is where the influenza has been reported, and it is here that we will focus much of our activity. My intention is to ensure that health care and related services are not hindered unnecessarily until we can finish our assessments. Effective immediately, all travel into and out of this area will be restricted.
“My fellow Americans, it would be unwise indeed to minimize the serious nature of this situation. But at the same time, I do not want to create undue concern. The situation is being vigorously addressed by your government.
“Within a few days, I am confident that we will know much
more. We may well find that we have overreacted. If so, as your president I will have no apology to make. If we err, I want to err on the side of caution.
“I will be briefing the media after I speak to you, where I will try to provide whatever additional information I can. I assure you, my fellow citizens, that I will do my best to see that your questions and concerns are fully addressed, as information becomes available.
“For now, thank you. May God bless our country.”
—end transcript—
Jason Sorenson, White House correspondent for NBC, had, like the rest of the journalists waiting in the briefing room, read the transcript a dozen times in the quarter hour since it had been broadcast to the nation. Like his brethren, he had scribbled notes and questions—his, onto the canary yellow legal pad he preferred over the more compact notebooks carried by the majority of the White House press corps.
It was partly for show, but mostly for necessity—Sorenson was more than moderately nearsighted and had never been able to tolerate contact lenses. When the cameras were on, he invariably slipped his wire-frame glasses into a pocket. Only the dimensions of his notepad and the proportional size of his precise handwriting allowed him to see the questions he always prepared.
This morning’s presidential address had taken the news corps by surprise. The formal request for air time had been made only an hour before the scheduled broadcast time, making all of them scramble. The usual press secretary backgrounder was conspicuous in its absence, and neither threats nor cajoling shook anything loose from their usual sources in the executive branch.
And now it’s time for the cattle call,he thought sourly.
Unlike many of those who covered the White House, Sorenson detested the press conferences that were so much a staple of the beat. For one thing, he was far more driven than was considered seemly in a TV journalist; competitive by nature, he gauged his success on the job by the number of times he had scooped not only his electronic-media cohorts, but trounced the more rough-and-tumble newshounds of the print side. This approach required an aggressive tenacity that had given NBC both headaches and plaudits during Sorenson’s tenure at 1600 Pennsylvania; wisely, the president of NBC News considered the former a fair price for the latter.
But today, it availed the journalist nothing. If anybody knew more about this flu outbreak, they were not talking to Sorenson. It had been embarrassing to admit, but they had the lid clamped tight on this one. And now broadcasting alive press with no time for the newspeople to properly prepare their questions: few of the news pundits would relish looking as if they didn’t already know the details, which virtually ensured a session that would be fast and relatively tame. The White House press people were professionals—manipulative, devious, truth-twisting bastards,Sorenson thought,most of ’em. But clearly professionals.
He had just settled into his seat near the front of the room—TV jocks, many of them minicelebrities in their own right, got the prime seats and the best camera angles—when his cellular phone vibrated. The built-in caller ID showed an extension number at NBC News’s Manhattan headquarters. It could only be one person.
“Talk to me, Dara,” Sorenson said, without preamble.
“Did they start yet? No, don’t talk—just listen.” It was the voice of Dara Chadwick, a former on-camera talent until she succumbed to the enticements of a network V.P.’s title. Now she managed international news operations—as much,Sorenson thought,as anyone could supervise that bunch of hard-news cowboys.
“You won’t believe what we have,” Dara said, stuttering slightly in her excitement. “Or how much we’re paying for it. We just took the satellite download from Moscow. We havetape, Jase. The quality’s for shit, but that just makes it more effective. God, Jase. It’skiller television—”
“Take a deep breath,” Sorenson said. “Then start over, slower.”
“The President—he mentioned Russia has this flu? Well, he’s gotthat right, Jase. And you won’t believe what the cold-blooded bastards did about it this morning.”
Sorenson listened to her description, scribbling fiercely all the time.
“How many?” He waited impatiently. “Then an estimate, damn it.” Another pause, longer. “Holy shit,” he breathed. “And we’ve got all this on tape?”
There was a sudden movement as, around him, the assembled journalists rose to their feet in a gesture of respect, if not to the incumbent, then to the traditions of the room. Automatically, Sorenson whipped off his glasses and rose with them.
On the raised dais, in front of an ornate backdrop that readTHE WHITE HOUSE , the President of the United States walked with a purposeful stride to the lectern. He nodded to the senior journalist from the Associated Press, and the session began.
“Cue it up,” Sorenson muttered to Dara, ignoring the frowns this breach of etiquette elicited from the reporters seated on his either side. “Just make sure it’s ready. You’ll know when. Be set to roll when he calls on me.” He listened for a moment. “Good. Uh-huh. Stand by.”
He raised his hand, waited impatiently as the President instead chose the CNN reporter, raised his hand again. Finally, after several cycles, the President nodded to him.
“Sir, I have a question about the severity of this outbreak, here and in Russia,” Sorenson said. “Particularly as to the options open to both countries.”
“Jason, I’ve already responded that we’re still assessing the situation,” the President said smoothly. “President Putin and I are in agreement that we act vigorously, but I can’t yet comment on the specific steps we’ll take in our two countries.”
He started to call on another reporter, but Sorenson’s voice rose.
“A follow-up, Mr. President,” he said, still standing.
For once, let New York be on the ball,he prayed silently.
“Mr. President, at this very moment, viewers tuned to NBC are watching videotape shot this morning in Moscow. It shows Russian helicopters releasing what appears to be nerve gas on a crowd there. These people had been cordoned off earlier by armed troops—because, we are told, a deadly disease was raging in this section of the city.”
There was a sound as if an entire roomful of people had suddenly inhaled. Then the assembled journalists began to murmur, a buzz rising around the briefing room. Only Sorenson was silent, his eyes locked on the man at the lectern.
“I—I don’t know that I can—”
Sorenson’s voice overrode the suddenly ashen President.
“Our analysts have reviewed the videotape, Mr. President. They project that on the tape, sir, atminimum tens of thousands of people are being subjected to a lethal gas. Tens of thousands dead or dying, on the streets of Moscow.
“And my question, Mr. President, is this: What made the Russians decide they had to murder their own people? More to the point, sir—exactly how bad is this influenza virus?”
Chapter 16
Kamikuishiki Village, Yamanashi Prefecture
Central Japan
July 22
More than two hundred specially trained members of the Kôan Chôsachô, the agency of Japan’s national law enforcement responsible for public security, surrounded the walled Aum compound in the postmidnight blackness. They moved, quietly but quickly, through the light undergrowth that was, aside from the dark night, their only cover.
Group Lieutenant Hideo Hayakawa felt on his forehead the cool tang of the air that flowed from the heights of Mount Fuji. It was the only part of his body not covered by Kevlar, ballistic nylon or the heavy black twill of his assault coveralls. Even his hands were covered by tight black gloves. Unconsciously, the index finger of his right hand tapped lightly against the trigger guard of a Heckler & Koch MP5 submachine pistol strapped across his chest. Two flash-bangs—small explosive bombs designed to disorient defenders with their intensity of noise and light—were clipped to his belt.
Through his earpiece, clear as if the man were standing beside him, Hideo heard his unit commander’s voice.
“Thirty seconds.”
Hideo lifted his hand from his weapon and tapped twice against the side of his head; the earpiece doubled as an induction microphone, picking up the vibrations and sending a wordless response that acknowledged the command. His left hand held the detonator, and a hair-thin wire leading from it to the puttylike substance pressed against the hinges of the compound gate.
It was not the policeman’s first visit to the Kamikuishiki compound. The previous had come several years before, two days after the fanatics inside had attacked the Tokyo subway system with poison gas. It had been a night raid then, too, and Hideo remembered the way the crickets had filled the air with their ceaseless, ancient melodies.
Then as now, the police units were accompanied by biochemical-warfare experts from the Japanese military. The sight of the soldiers, whose protective gear appeared to be far more cumbersome than the body armor Hideo and his team wore, was not reassuring to the policeman. If anything, it was an unnecessary reminder of what they might indeed face in the next few minutes.
In their briefing, the Kôan Chôsachô assault teams had been told of the urgency of the situation. The Americans, they were informed, had made their request to the highest level of the Japanese government. They required all information on the Aum without delay; even more desperately, they needed information that only Aum leaders could be expected to have—particularly the person, or possibly group of persons, who might be called sensei. And they needed the information immediately.
It was not necessary to provide details of whatever dilemma the Americans faced; as professionals, the Kôan Chôsachô needed none. But they were also policemen and trained in both investigation and assessing motive. Nor had Hideo and his compatriots forgotten the incident in the Tokyo subways. Without fanfare, the more curious among them immediately began to tap into the network of mentors, protégés and other contacts that exists in every law enforcement operation.