by Doug Raber
“The military? Are you saying they brought in the National Guard?”
“No sir,” said Jake. “I interacted with some of the troops, and they were from a unit that’s normally based in Fort Bliss, Texas. I didn’t get any serious information, other than learning that their commander was a Colonel Bradshaw. I don’t know much about the insignia they wore, but the uniforms were U.S. Army.”
“The military isn’t supposed to be used for civilian operations, not unless there’s some sort of insurrection. You’ve heard of the Posse Comitatus Act?* Even the new domestic security outfits have to abide by that. I don’t like this. Go on, Jake.”
They had gotten through to him.
“The only thing I can really add is from a conversation I overheard among the military commanders. It sounded like they were discussing a retaliatory strike on Iran. One of them said the Iranians had launched a smallpox attack against us.”
“That’s not an unreasonable conclusion, Jake. It’s official policy. Maybe not Iran, but that it was terrorism. After all, natural occurrence of smallpox is impossible. The disease was eliminated a couple of decades ago.”
“That’s what we thought. But we analyzed the Farmington virus—that’s what we’ve called it—and we compared it to other strains from the U.S. labs and even from the Russian labs. All the genetic evidence points to a virus that predates any other known sample. In other words, it was something that was probably lying around undiscovered for a very long time.”
“You’re saying it wasn’t terrorism? That you have evidence?”
“Yes sir. And we’re pretty sure that we know exactly where it came from—from a family doctor in New York City who treated smallpox victims in the 1940s. He saved his medical specimens, and some of the microscope slides wound up in Farmington.”
“If you knew all this, why didn’t you tell your people in New Mexico? And how the hell did you get here, anyway? How did you get to Washington, D.C., if Farmington is still sealed off?”
“We came out the same way Sarah went in. With the help of some Navajos from the area. They believe the government has betrayed them. Nothing new about that. And I did try to tell my superiors. They wouldn’t listen. I tried to send an e-mail message directly back to Atlanta, and someone blocked it. I know it sounds crazy, but it almost seems like a military coup.”
Jennings didn’t say a word. He stood up and walked slowly across the kitchen, Jake and Sarah watching his every move. When he reached the sink, he picked up an empty glass and filled it with water from the tap. Then he turned around and stared at his two visitors. He continued staring at them silently, as he raised the glass to his mouth and drank the water, looking at them over the rim of the glass. When he had drained the glass, he set it down carefully and, again walking slowly, returned to the table. He folded his hands and placed them on the table before he spoke again. “I believe you’re telling me the truth, or at least what you believe is the truth. But it’s not enough. I need real proof if you’re going to get any help from me.”
“How about this?” Sarah had turned on her cell phone, and she gave it to Jake, who then handed it to Jennings with the picture of Jack Redhouse’s dead body showing on the screen.
“This is the father of the little boy who died. I previously confirmed the smallpox diagnosis for the boy, and the authorities reached the father’s body shortly after we left Farmington. As far as we know, these are the only two fatalities. At least so far. I haven’t heard that the CDC team officially confirmed this case as smallpox, but there’s no question from that photograph.”
“You’re telling me that you took the photograph, but the other people on your team didn’t know about the body?”
Sarah answered the question. “Not exactly, Mr. Jennings. I went with a Navajo man who was helping me, and we found the body. The dead man was Jack Redhouse, the man guiding me was one of his relatives. We were trying to find him to see if he could help us learn how the outbreak started.”
Jake took over the explanation. “The Navajos aren’t being treated very well by the military, which has destroyed any desire to cooperate. Some of the enlisted men seem sympathetic, but up the chain of command the Navajos are being viewed as the enemy. Despite the fact that a lot of them have been in the service. Redhouse, the dead man, fought in the first Gulf War and again in Iraq.”
“So tell me again. Why exactly did you leave Farmington?”
“Because we have evidence that it wasn’t terrorism. That it was an accidental exposure from an old smallpox sample. But the military command wouldn’t listen to me, and they blocked my efforts to communicate with my superiors at CDC.”
“You’ve got more evidence than just this photo?”
“Yes we do. We’re waiting for final confirmation. Probably later today.”
“In other words, you don’t want to tell me.”
“Respectfully, sir—we can’t. We’re trying to trust you, but we really don’t know for sure that you won’t turn us over to the Army when we try to leave here.”
Jennings stared at Jake for several second before answering. “Fair enough. I understand your position. But you need to give me something concrete to work with. I need a copy of that photo.” His eyes locked with Sarah’s.
“I can send it from my phone, if you’ll give me a number to send it to.”
Jennings gave her a number and watched as she keyed it in. Then he left the room, motioning that Sarah and Jake should stay put. When he returned moments later, he was holding a ringing cell phone. He pushed several buttons. “I’ve got it. Let me do some checking with what we have so far. Can you come back here this evening? Let’s say 8:00 p.m. My wife will be at her church auxiliary until 10:00, so that will give us adequate time to discuss our business in private.”
Without further discussion, Jennings walked them to the door. After he shut the door behind them, he closed his eyes as he leaned back against the door frame and shook his head slowly. Dear God, don’t let this be true.
* * *
Day 33: DCA
“Christ, that was one hell of a conversation, Jake.”
“No shit. Somehow, telling him about the troops from Fort Bliss changed his mind. I’m not sure why, but it did, thank God. Now we have to link up with Charles. What time is his flight?”
“He leaves at just about noon. That means he’ll go through security by 11:00, so we’ve got less than an hour.”
“If we go down Massachusetts Avenue and get on Rock Creek Parkway, we can make it in 20 minutes.”
Sarah was startled by the ringing. It was her cell phone. “Oh, fuck, fuck, fuck!” She grabbed the phone, looked at the name on the caller ID, and flipped the phone open. It was Susan Parkinson. “Hi Sue.”
“Sarah, what’s going on? You haven’t called in since Friday. My sources at CDC and CIA wouldn’t tell me a thing, and that’s enough to make me think they’re stonewalling. So, this storyline you told me about is dynamite. But you haven’t given us anything. We need details. And we need hard proof. I can’t even go to the senior editors until you give me more. So I repeat, what the hell is going on?”
“I’ll have more by tomorrow. I’m sending you a photograph now, and if this doesn’t convince you, I might as well quit. I’ll call you tomorrow.” Hanging up abruptly, Sarah sent the picture of Jack Redhouse with a simple message. “More to come.”
They reached the end of Rock Creek Parkway and were driving along the Potomac, passing the Watergate Complex on the left. “Get into the left lane, Jake. We need to take a detour.”
They drove beneath the Arlington Memorial Bridge onto Ohio Drive. “Over there, Jake. By that group of tourists. There’s a parking place. Take it.”
“What’s going on, Sarah?”
“We may not have much time. Just get out and walk with me for a bit. Now!” As she talked, Sarah worked furiously with her phone. “I’ve gotten rid of the important stuff. Okay … over there. Do you see the people getting into that car? The blue one … wi
th the New Jersey license plates. Go up to the man and ask him if he knows how to get to the Air and Space Museum at the Smithsonian. He’s probably been there, so pretend to listen to the directions he gives.”
The man’s directions weren’t very clear, because he was only a casual visitor to Washington. But he did his best, as he pointed and waved his hands. His wife did her best to help.
While Jake provided a distraction, Sarah reached into the front passenger seat of the car. Then she nodded to Jake.
“Okay, I think I’ve got it. Thank you very much for the help. Are you off to see more sights?”
“Unfortunately, no. Our weekend is about over, and we have a long drive back to New Jersey this afternoon. You folks enjoy your trip to the museum.”
Jake and Sarah walked back to the truck. “What was all that about? Ever since you talked to Sue on the phone, you’ve been acting a little crazy. And why were you even talking with her? I thought you didn’t want to use the phone.”
“That’s why I’m so freaked out. I never turned the damn thing off after I sent the photograph to Jennings. Someone could have been tracking our location ever since we left his house. Even worse, they would know from phone records that we’ve talked with Jennings.”
“Then why did we stop? Turn off the phone, and let’s get out of here.”
“I’ve already gone one step better than that. Anybody tracking that phone … Even better, anybody following that phone, is going to wind up in New Jersey.”
“You mean that couple …?”
“You got it. I slipped the phone under the front passenger seat. I deleted my contacts list and recent calls before we even stopped. The photo of Jack, too. So that nice couple will just be a little confused when they find the phone—or when some cop finds them.”
“We’d better get down to the airport. We lost about 10 minutes here.”
“Don’t drive to the airport, Jake. If they’ve been tracking us, they could be waiting for us. We’d be sitting ducks.”
“If we don’t go, we’ll miss Charles. We’ve got to get him those slides.”
“There’s a way. Go across the 14th Street Bridge, just past the Jefferson Memorial. That will get us to Crystal City. I’ll meet Charles, and you wait for me. If I get caught, you can work with Jennings using what you already have. The photo of Jack’s body says a lot, and Jennings certainly will have found out that there’s some sort of cover-up going on.”
“Stop here, Jake. At the Metro Station.”
“You’re going to use the Metro to get to the airport? That seems like a sure way to get trapped. The airport Metro station is the first place they’d stake out.”
“There’s a better way. People don’t know about it, but there’s a tunnel right behind us that goes underneath the railroad tracks. The airport’s only a few hundred yards in that direction, and my bike is right over there in that bicycle rack. I’ll get in and out of the airport, and nobody will even see me.”
Sarah climbed out of the truck. “Wish me luck, Jake. Keep your cell handy. If I’m not back here by one o’clock, get the hell out. If something goes really wrong, and I can’t get back here in time, I’ll try to meet you at Jennings’ house tonight. And if that doesn’t happen, you’ll have to do the rest of this yourself.”
“Just be careful, Sarah.”
Sarah unlocked her bike, put on her helmet, gave Jake a thumbs-up signal, and began riding toward the airport. She went through the underpass and followed the bike path along the side of the airport. A spur off the bike path led to a construction area. It’s Sunday, nobody’s going to be around.
On the far side of the construction area was the entrance to a tunnel beneath the airport entrance road. Here goes nothing. Riding quickly through the tunnel, Sarah emerged at the rear side of the airport parking garage. She set the bike down in a grassy area, walked through the garage, and crossed over to the terminal building.
She checked her watch and saw that it was almost 11:15. I need to get moving.
She entered near the Delta counter and went directly to one of the self-service kiosks. Here’s hoping that there aren’t any alerts out on Sarah Wallingford. The prepaid credit card seemed to work, and the departures board showed a flight to Cincinnati departing at noon from the gate next to Charles’s flight. Perfect.
She selected a return exactly two days later. Just enough to keep them off the track. Boarding pass in hand, she headed for the security lines.
The first official hardly gave her a second look, only checking to make sure her boarding pass matched her photo I.D. When she reached the carry-on screening lines, she realized she hadn’t checked out the contents of her small pack. Too late now. But no alarms went off, and she reached for the pack as it emerged from the x-ray detector.
“Excuse me, Miss. We’d like to take a closer look at your carry-on baggage.”
Oh, shit. I’m totally screwed. What did I forget?
“You have a lot of electronics here Miss. We just need to take a quick look, if it’s okay.”
“Of course.” She thought her reply sounded more like a wheeze than a normal statement. Keep calm!
“I was off on a hiking trip last week, and I’m bringing this gear back to my parents.” Not too much information. It would sound like I’m making excuses. God, it’s amazing how quickly—how easily—the lies are coming now.
As the screener removed the transceiver from the backpack, a small paper-wrapped package fell onto the counter next to it. It was the package containing the slides. “Well look at that.”
Oh, fuck! I should run. Sarah looked over her shoulder. By sheer force of will, or maybe just from fear, she stayed where she was.
“That’s really a nice radio, Miss. Just be sure you keep it turned off while you’re in the air. You should remove the batteries, just to be sure. You want to stay on the good side of the TSA, remember.”
“Okay, sure, I’ll do that.” She choked out the words and tried to smile. As the inspector replaced the radio, Sarah reached over and picked up the packet with the slides. She managed a sickly smile. “Thanks, have a nice day.”
She put the pack over her shoulder and walked toward the departure gates. I’m not sure how much more of this I can take.
Charles’s flight was listed for Gate 15, and it was scheduled to depart on time. Sarah took a seat by the adjacent gate, where she could see the passengers as they lined up to board the aircraft. Charles isn’t here! Damn, I hope he’s not already on the plane. No, they haven’t started boarding. And he wouldn’t do that. He knows I need to see him.
She wrote a message in her notebook and ripped out the page. “Need sequence on samples. Partial sequence OK. Start with ‘R. Hamilton, variola positive.’ Send output ASAP to [email protected]—critical by 8 p.m. today.” She wrapped the note around the packet that now held two slides. She had removed the third slide, wrapped it in another piece of paper, and put it in her backpack. Her note had all the information that Charles needed.
Making another scan of the waiting area, Sarah spotted Charles as he edged up to a small group of people at Gate 15. She walked in his direction, stopping just behind him, out of his line of sight. Then she turned suddenly and stepped directly into him, nearly knocking him down. “Oh, excuse me!” She grabbed Charles by the arm as though she were trying to keep him from falling, and she pressed the packet into his hand. After looking him directly in the eye to be sure that he recognized her, she walked quickly away, turning to add, “I’m really sorry. I just wasn’t paying attention.”
Sarah returned to the security area, but she went through the exit lane with other arriving passengers. She began walking directly toward the passageway to the parking garage. Well done, Sarah! We’ll get through this after all.
She paused and turned her head when she heard someone shouting on the upper level of the terminal. “There she is! Down there, coming out of security for the Delta gates.”
* * *
Day 33: Airport Departure
Sarah didn’t know who was shouting. She only knew that they’d found her, so she started running. She reached the walkway between the terminal and the parking garage and sprinted as hard as she could.
Somewhere behind her, she heard the voice again. “The passageway—quick! She’s headed for the garage.”
As soon as she reached the end of the walkway, Sarah ran past the elevators and into the garage. She didn’t hear any footsteps yet, so whoever was pursuing her hadn’t reached the end of the passageway. They wouldn’t know for sure what level she was on. Thank God I have my running shoes on.
She quickly reached the end of the garage and continued through the open doorway onto a path toward the rental car building. But she didn’t stay on that path, darting instead into a grassy area that appeared to be a small park. It was the remains of the Abingdon plantation, on which National Airport had been built nearly a century earlier. She ducked behind a small hill and ran the last 50 yards at a crouch so nobody inside the garage would be able to see her. Finally, she reached the end of the grassy area and dropped to the ground by her bike. On her hands and knees, her chest heaving, she tried to catch her breath and think about what to do next. She yanked her cell phone from her pocket and keyed the speed dial to call Jake. “Start the engine, Jake. Get ready to move.”
Her next decision was made for her, when she heard the voice again. It seemed to be coming from directly above her. “She’s either got a car or she’s doubling back to the Metro station. Call Kupper and Nichols and tell them to cover the Metro entrance. I’m going down to ground level. Get the car and be ready to move.”
Sarah got on her bike and started pedaling as hard as she could. Then there was another cry. “Steele—I see her. She’s on a bike. She’s headed toward the parkway. There’s a bike path. Take the car around the north end of the garage!”
Sarah turned the corner. He probably can’t see me now. It was less than a hundred yards before the long building behind the parking structure would hide her completely. Then she would be in the tunnel under the airport access road. Just as she slowed to turn into the tunnel entrance, she glanced over her shoulder and saw a man run out from the corner of the parking garage. She made her turn, thinking she was clear. She heard the loud noise behind her. Not quite an explosion, more of a ‘crack.’ No! I don’t believe it. It can’t be …