Deadly Savage

by Dave Edlund

  Everyone in the intelligence community knew that Russia was behind the military actions, including using Russian special ops soldiers dressed as so-called pro-Russian militia, supposedly civilians rising against their central governments. With the aggression largely unchecked, civil unrest was spreading throughout Eastern Europe; pro-Russian civilians versus pro-independence nationalists.

  For now at least, the conflict in Latvia had been quelled, but in private conversations, military analysts admitted that Georgia was likely to be annexed by Russia unless the U.S. and Europe forcefully intervened—not a political possibility for President Taylor. Memories of the Iraq and Afghanistan wars were still potent in the public’s mind.

  For his part, President Vladimir Pushkin had played his hand brilliantly, correctly interpreting the vulnerability of Europe by virtue of dependence upon Russian energy supplies—which would serve to mitigate implementation of harsh economic sanctions—as well as U.S. reluctance to enter into yet another far-away conflict that would cost thousands of American lives and trillions of dollars.

  As Commander Nicolaou read further, his ebony eyebrows pinched together. He pressed a button on his desk phone, and two seconds later the speaker came to life.

  “Lacey,” the voice said.

  “Lieutenant, gather up everything you have on this possible plague outbreak in Georgia. I want a detailed briefing in one hour, conference room A.”

  “Yes, sir.” Lieutenant Ellen Lacey was a veteran of SGIT, a loyal team player who led the group of analysts, all recruited from the DIA, NSA and Office of Naval Intelligence—all extremely bright and accomplished.

  Lacey was of Irish decent with red hair and a well-proportioned figure. In the civilian world she had many want-to-be suitors, but she had yet to find any man who held her intellectual interest for more than a couple weeks. With few outside distractions, Lacey dedicated her talents—brilliant logical reasoning and savvy reading of human and political behavior—to her work at SGIT.

  Jim hunched over the report, rubbing his index fingers against his temples. He knew as well as anyone that President Taylor was unlikely to commit to military intervention unless a NATO country was overtly attacked by Russia. The problem was that Pushkin had been stirring up trouble under the guise of civilian Russian sympathizers. These civilians were usually armed with sophisticated weaponry, including advanced long-range guided missiles, and they wore Russian military uniforms lacking unit designation or nationality patches. It was a thin disguise, but the frequent media reports referring to the aggressors as civilian militia served to reinforce a reluctance of the American people to get involved.

  He turned to his computer and entered a search phrase. The firewalls between SGIT’s super computer—named MOTHER—would ensure security even when using the most popular search engines.

  Jim quickly scanned through the first five hits and followed the links. Scanning more than reading, he scrolled through the documents.

  What he read worried him, and he absent-mindedly rubbed his chin in a gesture that had become his tell. Closing the file and moving back to the search hits, he clicked on a PDF document published by the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention in Atlanta. The document was ten years old, but the report was timeless. As he read the five pages and studied the color photos, he felt a wave of nausea. Pushing back from his desk, he rose and filled his mug from the carafe resting on the credenza at the side of his office. The hot coffee settled his stomach, if only a bit.

  Jim Nicolaou, former SEAL and veteran of innumerable missions, nearly every one of them off the record, was no stranger to death and destruction. He was a warrior, an experienced killer.

  Yet, the sight of children suffering from horrendous injuries and ailments—all the product of armed conflicts that were often rooted in power struggles or ideology, still bothered him deeply. It was one thing to take the life of another man doing his damnedest to end yours, but in Jim’s code of honor there was no room for harming innocents, especially children.

  Jim looked across his office at the computer monitor and the printed intelligence report, his hand-written notes in the margins.

  If Pushkin is behind this, perhaps he has finally gone too far, he thought. With coffee mug in hand, he left his office for Lacey’s briefing.

  Chapter 4

  Sacramento, California

  LIEUTENANT ELLEN LACEY was already seated at the conference table when Jim walked through the door. She was flanked by two of her analysts, Mona Stephens and Beth Ross. Ross had provided pivotal insight into many SGIT assignments over the past five years, including the Venezuelan affair when civilian scientists were targeted by terrorists on U.S. soil.

  Stephens was a relative newcomer, and Lacey appreciated her analytical reasoning skills fed by a voracious appetite for reading everything from major international newspapers to intelligence briefings. Her petite frame and blonde hair may have given the opposite sex the impression that she was all looks and no brains, but that could not have been further from the truth. She was intelligent, ambitious, and not about to sit by quietly if she wanted to make a point.

  Jim nodded to Lacey. “Good morning.”

  “Stephens and Ross have been following the events in the former Soviet Bloc countries of Eastern Europe. I asked them to participate, if you don’t mind, sir.”

  “Of course.” Jim looked over the three faces. “What do you have?”

  “Well, sir,” Lacey began, “in addition to the daily briefings you see, there have been three reports, all classified secret, from the DIA relating to disease victims in Georgia. I’ve uploaded the reports onto MOTHER. Over the past five days, hospitals in Tbilisi have been inundated—mostly civilians, but also Georgian military. Three hospitals ran out of rooms and have taken to parking patients on gurneys in the hallways. The first cases were reported twelve days ago, and the numbers have been steadily increasing. The reported symptoms include fever, headache, chills, nausea, vomiting, malaise and fatigue, and purple to red lesions over the patient’s body.”

  “That’s what it says in the briefings,” Jim said, “and why I called this meeting. These symptoms are consistent with smallpox or Ebola.”

  “Yes sir, that’s mostly correct. What was omitted from the general briefings, but captured in the classified reports, is that bleeding from the nose and mouth is also reported in later stages of the disease.”

  “Mortality rate?”

  “About 80 percent to 90 percent of the patients have died.”

  “That was also omitted from the general briefing.”

  “And so far the extraordinarily high death rate has not been reported by the major wire services either.”

  “Okay, so someone is keeping a lid on this. Cause?” Jim asked.

  Stephens replied without hesitation. “The symptoms are consistent with hemorrhagic smallpox, a rare form of the virus.”

  “Are you sure?” Jim asked.

  Stephens nodded. “The bleeding and high fatality rate differentiates hemorrhagic smallpox from the more common form known as variola major in the medical community. Cowpox is much less severe, typically with limited but painful rashes that fade after two to three weeks. Monkeypox causes swelling of the lymph nodes, so far that hasn’t been a reported symptom. Monkeypox and cowpox are seldom fatal.”

  “How can you be confident it’s not Ebola or Marburg virus?”

  “Without laboratory confirmation of cultures, I can’t be absolutely certain. However, we’ve been in contact with doctors at the CDC. They’ve explained that Ebola and Marburg result in rapid onset of severe flu-like symptoms, including diarrhea, which is absent in the outbreak victims. But more significant is that the victims suffer from bleeding under the skin that appears as a red or purplish rash beneath small lumps.”

  “According to the experts, these are text-book symptoms of hemorrhagic smallpox,” Lacey added.

  Stephens glanced at Lacey and Ross, before returning her attention to Jim. “It’s the most logical
conclusion, the only one that fits the symptoms. A majority of analysts at DIA also concur…” her voice trailed off, and Jim sensed that there was more to it. But before he could ask, Lacey jumped in.

  “There is an inconsistency.”

  “Go on.”

  “Hemorrhagic smallpox was extremely rare prior to the eradication of the disease in the late 70s.”

  “How rare?” Jim said.

  “Only about 2% of smallpox cases were of the hemorrhagic variety. And since 1977 there have been no reported natural infections of smallpox of any variety.”

  “It’s extremely unlikely that a smallpox outbreak of the magnitude reported in Tbilisi would be due to a naturally occurring infection,” Stephens offered.

  “Probabilities can be misleading. Smallpox vaccination hasn’t been carried out for decades. Why wouldn’t we expect the disease to reappear?”

  Ross nodded. “We’ve thought about that. There are other examples, such as measles and polio, diseases that are causing more infections annually as a result of lax immunization programs. But if that was the case here, regular smallpox—variola major and variola minor—should have been the strain to reappear.”

  Lacey continued. “Hemorrhagic smallpox is rare, so rare that little is reported about the symptoms and progress of the disease.”

  “Perhaps Ebola or Marburg has mutated, giving symptoms that are confused for this variety of smallpox?” Jim said.

  “Without cultures and a full DNA sequencing, that remains a possibility.” Lacey said.

  “There is one other possibility, sir.” Stephens spoke in a low, confident voice. Lacey glanced at her, and nodded subtly.

  “I think I know what you are going to suggest, but go on.” Jim’s dark brown eyes were steady, his expression firm as he waited several seconds for Stephens’ reply. She took her time, collecting her thoughts, perhaps judging the possible reaction to the hypothesis she was determined to share.

  And then she answered. “Weaponized virus—from U.S. or Russian stores.”

  Jim eased back in his chair, his eyes shifting between Lacey, Stephens, and Ross. “A Russian release of the virus was my suspicion after reading the briefings, and you’ve independently confirmed that. But why do you suggest the source could be U.S. stores? Aren’t all smallpox cultures secured at the CDC?”

  “We’re looking into that sir. So far, I’m not getting any useful information. The CDC simply repeats the standard policy that smallpox and other hazardous category A pathogens are stored safely and with limited access. They insist there has never been a breach in security.” Lacey said.

  Jim leaned forward placing his fists against the conference table for support. He recalled the color photographs in the CDC report he read a short while earlier showing angry raised red lesions on arms and legs, patches of darkly colored skin, the surrounding tissue red and inflamed. The clinical description, virtually sterile and devoid of emotion, proclaimed how the infected persons suffered high fever, their bodies racked with pain and convulsions. And then he thought of the women and children causalities mentioned in the intelligence briefing, and the barbaric suffering they were subjected to. His stomach began to tighten again.

  Pushing off the table, Jim straightened and focused on Lacey. “What is being done to contain the outbreak?”

  “The Russian Ministry of Healthcare was quick to respond with vaccine and medical personnel to administer it. They’ve said they plan to vaccinate the entire population of Tbilisi. That, combined with a city-wide quarantine implemented by the Georgian government, is expected to contain the virus and stop the spread.”

  “It sounds as if the Ministry of Healthcare was well prepared.”

  “Like they knew it was coming,” Ross said.

  Jim considered the comment. “Assuming for the moment that you are correct, what is the motive? What would Pushkin gain by releasing such a dangerous virus?”

  “Demoralize the civilian population, kill Georgian soldiers, destabilize the government,” Ross replied without hesitation.

  “Maybe, but we have to be certain. Could this be a natural outbreak? Contaminated water or something?”

  Lieutenant Lacey pursed her lips. “Unlikely. Smallpox was eradicated globally by 1977. Vaccination has not been carried out in the U.S. since 1972.”

  “The outbreak is localized and massive,” Ross added. “These facts are not at all consistent with a natural outbreak, and suggest a targeted release of weaponized smallpox. This conclusion is supported by the rarity of the virus strain based on reported symptoms. However, without samples for DNA testing, we have no proof, only speculation.”

  Lacey drew in a breath and exhaled. “The World Health Organization has requested permission to enter Tbilisi and collect samples from patients, as well as environmental samples from around the capital. So far, the Georgian government has been very cooperative but President Pushkin’s government is objecting, accusing the U.S. and NATO of a plot to plant evidence and blame Russia. The situation is complicated by the fact that the Georgian military cannot guarantee protection to a WHO field team. Consequently, the WHO is backing down and suggesting a delay until the situation in Georgia stabilizes and the quarantine is lifted. The UN Secretary General is supporting their recommendation.”

  “This all plays into Pushkin’s agenda,” Jim said. He frowned and began pacing back and forth, his frustration contributing to the tension in the conference room.

  “Has President Taylor taken a position?” Jim said.

  Lacey sighed. “No sir, not yet.”

  “So that most likely means that neither the U.S. nor Europe are willing to put troops on the ground to secure the WHO team while they collect evidence of a possible biological weapon attack.” Jim continued his pacing.

  Jim stopped, and turned to face his team. “If this is weaponized smallpox, how was it deployed?”

  Lacey frowned. “The DIA isn’t speculating. But, despite the cease-fire, five artillery shells are reported to have been fired on Tbilisi 15 days ago by the pro-Russian militia. One or more of those shells could have contained the virus.”

  “It’s also possible that a few dozen infected persons entered Tbilisi about that same time,” Ross observed. “Smallpox is highly contagious and is easily spread from person to person by inhalation, direct contact, or contact with clothing and linens that are contaminated.”

  As Jim listened to the timeline, he felt something was missing. “You’re suggesting the initial infection occurred only a few days—three to be exact—before the first report of diseased victims. Isn’t that a bit fast even for smallpox?”

  Lacey and Stephens exchanged a glance before Lacey cleared her throat. “No sir, not this strain. However, we must acknowledge that if this is a weaponized virus, it may have been genetically altered.”

  Jim held Lacey’s stare while he absorbed the implications. “If our theories are correct, and there is another outbreak somewhere else, what’s to stop it?”

  “Short of a mass vaccination program within the first three days of the virus being released, nothing. And if the disease spreads beyond a small geographical area…”

  Jim finished her statement. “A global pandemic with a 90 percent fatality rate.”

  “It would take too long to manufacture and administer sufficient vaccine to curb the spread,” Stephens said.

  Jim considered the implications. Just one infected traveler on an international flight could spark a chain reaction. With the virus burning through an unprotected population at an exponential pace, how many would die before the disease extinguished itself? Hundreds of millions… maybe billions.

  “Anything else to add?”

  “No sir, that’s the extent of our briefing,” Lacey said.

  “Have a summary report in my inbox by end of day. I’m going to forward it to Colonel Pierson. Maybe there’s a role for SGIT to play in getting those samples.”

  Chapter 5

  Minsk

  June 15

  TH
E BUILDINGS OF THE PRESTIGIOUS Belarussian State University surrounded a large park-like commons, with the science wing to the right of the main entrance. After climbing the stairs to the second floor of the chemistry building, Peter turned into the long hallway flooded with natural light from the row of windows on the left. He was closely followed by his two children, Ethan and Joanna, and good friend, Gary.

  Peter strode to the nearest door opposite the wall of windows. It was stained dark brown, perhaps the color of years of accumulated patina. The nameplate on the door read ‘Professor Ian Savage’. Peter knocked and then opened it cautiously, peeking around the edge of the door, not wanting to disturb the inhabitant. He had nothing to fear since the office was empty. Closing the door, he took a step back into the hall and examined the door again. It’s the right name.

  “No one home?” Gary said. Ethan and Joanna stood back while their father conducted his search.

  Dressed casually in blue jeans and polo shirt, Ethan equaled his father in height, but was 15 pounds lighter. His light-brown hair was straight and slightly unkempt; obscuring any evidence of prior combing. Jo was a few years older than her brother, and she loved everything related to drawing regardless of the medium; pastel, pencil, crayon, but especially digital. Her straight brown hair, with a subtle tint of red, extended to the middle of her back. Like her brother, she had blue eyes that reminded Peter very much of their mother.

  Peter looked to the next door and saw the name-plate at eye level: ‘Professor Dmitri Kaspar’.

  He knocked again, and didn’t have to wait long before it opened.

  “Peter!” Ian Savage greeted his son. “How are you?”

  “I’m fine, Dad.” Peter wrapped his father’s slim frame in a hug, then stepped back, his entire face smiling as he greeted his father. Professor Savage showed a twinkle in his eyes at the sight of his only son. The moment passed too quickly, the unspoken emotion receding once again.

  “We arrived last night, exhausted of course, so we slept in this morning.”