“Said it’s a humanitarian one, and the Mexican President said there are a significant number of people beginning to migrate already.”
Garland said, “This is trouble. My suggestion is to reconvene this meeting at one p.m. in the Situation Room.”
***
As the Situation Room meeting began to fill up, the first religious leader was finishing his address to the throngs at the Washington Mall. Reverend Martin, an activist and head of the largest black Protestant church, was charging the administration with racism. Martin wove his narrative that the upper class was largely white and was likely to buy access to the miracle God had sent. He said it was just another form of oppression.
Garland watched the live broadcast in his office and felt queasy. As he hurried to the meeting, he knew the racism charges were disconnected from reality but noted the cheering crowds had swallowed it whole. His queasiness hardened into fear.
The chief of staff was the last to arrive and pointed at the live feed of Martin being hugged by others on the stage.
“What a crock of shit that was,” Vice President Johnson said.
“Amen, but that’s what we’re up against,” Garland said.
“Capital police estimate the crowd could be over three million by the time it’s over.”
Johnson said, “We’ve got to get ahead of this or we’re gonna drown. Let’s get going.” He pointed to Greg Hopper, the secretary of state. “Why don’t you kick it off?”
Hopper said. “I’ve pleaded with Pineda to control his border, but he’s steadfast. I’ve dispatched the ambassador to see him, but I don’t think it’ll be successful. If he holds his position, the floodgates are gonna open.”
“Cut off the goddamn aid the bastard gets!” Johnson demanded.
“The next tranche of aid isn’t slated for another six months. By then we’ll all be eating salsa,” Hopper said, smiling broadly to soften the slur. “Take a look at this.” The secretary fingered a remote.
“This is northern Mexico. The red, triangular areas are thermal images of masses of people.” Hopper zoomed out. “That mass is heading to the Texas border.”
Garland asked, “Any estimate on the number of people?”
Hopper said, “Between nine hundred thousand and a million and a half.”
Johnson said, “Can’t we get the National Guard to defend the border?”
Defense Chief Rogers said, “Its two thousand miles long. Putting enough soldiers to protect the border would require six hundred thousand servicemen. We simply don’t have the manpower without exposing ourselves.”
Hopper said, “How ironic. Here we have what seems to be a cure for death, and yet we’re facing problem after problem.”
Garland sighed. “Be careful what you wish for.”
Baxter said, “Why not take it to the UN? This is an egregious violation of our sovereign borders.”
Johnson said, “The UN? They’ll still be talking as we’re run out of town.”
Baxter said, “What do you think, Greg?”
“No promises, but it’s worth seeing if there’s anything to bargain with. Look, while we’re on the subject, in speaking with the ambassador earlier, she said there’s substantial chatter from Russia and China over access to the meteorite. They seem to be implying they’re going to take it to the Security Council.”
Baxter turned red. “Security Council? What does that have to do with anything?”
Garland said, “This meteorite is a global story. There are demonstrations in Moscow and Beijing as well. Their people are doing the same as ours—demanding access to its benefits.”
Baxter stated, “Not before every last American, I can assure you.”
Rogers said, “And even then, Mr. President, I wouldn’t be so quick to give up the meteorite. It’s potentially a stronger weapon than a hydrogen bomb.”
The president held up a hand. “Nobody’s getting control. If and when we decide to share it, it will be under the control and custody of our military.”
Garland said, “I don’t want to discount the global picture, but it’s critical we settle on a domestic plan.”
Rogers said, “Kinda hard to ignore. Check out monitor three.”
The video feeds showed split images of huge protests in Tehran and Cairo. The anti-American sentiment was punctuated by several burning effigies of the president.
“It’s a bit more peaceful in Rio, but they’re burning the Stars and Stripes down there as well.”
“Look, we’ll deal with the international community. I have a feeling what we do here will work abroad,” Chief of Staff Garland said.
Baxter said, “Pete’s right. One thing at a time.”
“I don’t think the time for the address is going to work. We’ve got to have details to give the people and the media, otherwise they’ll eat us alive again,” Garland said.
“Are you sure, Pete? Another delay will kill whatever credibility I have left.”
“I know, sir, but I have an idea for that. Meanwhile, shall we get to work on a plan?”
Chief of Staff Garland slipped out of the Situation Room and into a study off the Oval Office as the merits of using drones versus vehicles were debated. The chief of staff was pleased that an outline of a plan combining sites where the meteorite would be exhibited with a traveling caravan was coming together.
***
Jack and Laura were mesmerized by the news flow.
“This is snowballing. I’ve got to keep revising.”
“People are starting to panic. It’s moving fast.”
“You know what, print media just doesn’t cut it with a fast-moving story like this.”
“I’m getting scared, Jack.”
“Don’t worry, everything’s gonna be okay, honey. I got to check on Grams. Make sure she made it back okay.”
As Jack dug out his phone, it began to buzz.
“Jack Amato.”
“Hello Mr. Amato. This is the White House calling. The president’s chief of staff would like to talk to you.”
“Yeah, right. Is that you, Linda?” Jack assumed it was his comedic colleague from the Iowan.
“This is not a joke, Mr. Amato. I’m going to pass you to Mr. Garland. Please hold.”
Jack put his hand over the receiver.
“They said it’s the White House. Could it be?”
Laura mouthed ‘Oh, my God.’ Jack shrugged.
“Hi, Jack, this is Pete Garland. I’m the COS for President Baxter.”
“Uh, hi. Yes, of course, I know who you are.”
“Good, listen, I wanted to talk with you. As you know, the president is taking a lot of heat about the release of the meteorite, some of it from you.”
“I’m sorry but—”
“Don’t worry, frankly, some of it is probably deserved. As you know, things are moving extremely fast. I hope you’re open to helping.”
“As an American, yes, but as a reporter I’d need to understand what you mean.”
“Perfect. I think my proposal works on both levels. So, I want to provide you with advance information on the president’s plan.”
“You’re going to leak the plan to me? Before his address? How can I be sure it’s real?”
“Gotta tell you, I really hate that word leak. It sounds sinister. But, look, the address is going to be delayed again as the plan gets fully vetted. So, we believe getting the information out will help the public deal with the delay and get them comfortable that there is a plan, and it’s going to be rolled out.”
“Why me?”
“Let’s face it, kid, with all the stories you’ve broken, you have a boatload of credibility.”
“Am I getting an exclusive on it?”
“Not quite. I think we need a couple of sources out there to do the job, but I’ll tell you what I’ll do, I’ll give you a couple of hours’ lead. How do you like that?”
“Fair enough, thanks.”
“Okay, but before I tell you, you can’t quote me, otherwise that’ll be the
end of our cooperation.”
“Sure, I’ll refer to a source inside the White House, close to the president. So what do you have?”
Jack told Laura what the call was about and called Manny at the AP.
“Manny, I got a sizzler, but we gotta act fast here. Who do you have that can get me on a network within the hour?”
“TV? What’s going on?”
“I’ve got a short lead time on an exclusive. If we wait for the papers to come out it will be old news. I gotta get on TV with it.”
“But you’ll give it to us, right?”
“Of course, as soon as you get me on air, you’ll have the whole enchilada.”
“You’ve got to give some details, or nobody’s gonna be buying. You want to hang on?”
“Sure, hey, Manny, after you book the network, I need a radio contact.”
Feeling lightheaded, Jack sat as he said, “Laura, don’t forget we gotta tell Grams to watch this.”
Chapter Eleven
Jack was escorted from the lobby of the curved structure that housed the Centers for Disease Control to Dr. Cincola’s office. The researcher was wearing a lab coat and an absent look when Jack was introduced. Sitting behind a desk stacked with files, Cincola said, “Oh, I’d half-forgotten you were coming.”
“I know you’re busy, I’ll try to make it quick.”
Cincola waved to a chair and Jack settled into it, saying, “I’m interested in what the CDC believes is behind the meteorite’s effects on death.”
“As I think I made clear in our telephone call, there are a number of ongoing research efforts attempting to discover the answer.”
“I understand there’s a field emanating from it.”
“Yes, a force of some type is radiating. At this point, the source or type of force remains unknown.”
“But we can safely assume it is responsible for the cessation of death.”
“Though there’s a lack of definitive proof, it is the only plausible explanation.”
Jack checked his notes and said, “I’d really like to explore how this force does its magic.”
“We don’t deal in magic here, Mr. Amato. What we’re engaged in is a pursuit for physical evidence, such as a mutation or some kind of interruption in the biological process that is responsible for the phenomenon.”
“Has the search revealed any clues?”
“There are a couple of avenues to pursue. The most promising, in my view, is cell senescent.”
There was a knock on the door and a woman popped in, telling Cincola he was needed in laboratory six. The doctor stood up.
“I must get going.”
“Can I tag along? Please. I’ll be invisible.”
Cincola’s eyes bored into Jack. “Only if you promise to stay out of the way and don’t touch anything.”
“Scout’s honor.”
Jack followed Cincola into the hallway and said, “You were mentioning something called senescent.”
“When a cell ages it stops dividing and becomes dysfunctional. They’re called senescent cells, and the presence of such cells is linked to age-dependent diseases.”
Cincola stopped in front of a pair of doors and swiped a card to gain entry. They stepped into a vestibule and the doctor opened a drawer and handed a packet to Jack, telling him to wash up before putting the clothing on.
Outfitted in lab coats, gloves, and hair caps, Jack followed Cincola through a second set of doors into the sterile setting known as Laboratory Six. The windowless room had twenty small counters on one side where researchers worked quietly over microscopes. On the opposite wall others worked at a bank of stations whose tops were enclosed in glass. Jack thought there was more chrome and tile than Miami in 1970.
The woman who had summoned Cincola met the pair at the entrance and escorted them to an electron microscope station.
“What’s the concern, Dr. Bennet?”
When the biochemist looked at Jack, Cincola said, “He’s working with me.”
“Well, the fungus has reappeared in eight of the sample lots.”
“You used the Autoclave?”
“Yes, we put everything that even remotely had a chance to be contaminated into the sterilizer.”
“Were you able to identify the strain?”
“Not yet.”
“Let me take a look.”
The researcher unscrewed a glass dish and put it under the high-powered microscope. Cincola bent over and studied the specimen.
“There are similarities to both Conidia and Aspergillus.” Cincola pulled away from the scope. “It also appears the specimen is comingled. Did you notice that?”
“Frankly, I didn’t know what to make of this. I checked the registry, but there were no known matches. That’s why I asked you to come.”
Jack inched toward the microscope but Cincola ignored him and said, “Put it in the centrifuge and let me know if it separates into two. Make sure to distribute the images on the intranet. You never know who might have seen this.”
“Shall we order a complete scrub of the lab?”
“Again? No, I don’t think so, not at this time anyway.”
Cincola led the way back out and Jack waited till they were taking off the protective gear before asking, “This fungus, it sounds unusual. Do you have any thoughts on how it may be related to the meteorite?”
“There are a number of reasons that samples and environments can become contaminated despite all the precautionary measures we have in place.”
“But you’ve never seen this type of fungus before.”
“There are over seventy thousand known fungi species and estimates of a million and half others yet to be identified. So, yes, I have not seen this strain, but that doesn’t mean it came from somewhere out in space.”
Sitting in Cincola’s office, the doctor explained, “At this point it is unknown how this phenomenon is occurring, but the science of aging leads me to think it is related to the absence of senescent cells. Healthy cells keep dividing, and these new growths serve as a sort of protective shield. It’s the senescent cells, which are dysfunctional, that open the door to disease.”
“What would cause the absence?”
“There’s has been a fair amount of research by the longevity community in this area. Cells divide about sixty times before reaching their limit. At that point, the cell stops dividing and becomes senescent. There are cells that defy this biological law, such as embryonic stem cells, which divide repeatedly. It should be noted that this same unbridled growth is a signature of cancer cells. In those cases Telomerase replaces the ends of DNA strands and allows them continue dividing.”
“Telomerase?”
“It’s a ribonucleoprotein.”
“Wow. It sounds like if this thing didn’t crash into Earth we were gonna have it figured out anyway.”
“Not quite.”
Jack checked his notebook and said, “None of the samples you’ve examined had these dysfunctional cells?”
“About half did.”
“How do you explain that?”
“At this moment I can’t. It’s why we are continuing our work.”
“Are there any other theories you think might be responsible?”
“There are a lot of possibilities, but most likely it’s the lack of senescent cells.”
“What about the possibility it is Syndrome X?”
Cincola grimaced. “Where did you get that idea?”
“During my visit to the Mayo Clinic.”
“Really? That is an extremely rare condition. I wonder why they would believe that.”
“They said they’d uncovered evidence of the failure of central control genes.”
“That may be true, but I find that insufficient evidence as central control genes, as their name implies, ensure the even aging of the total organism. A failure of such control results in an uneven aging, say a brain that develops normally while the body does not. It would not slow or halt aging evenly.”
Jack said, “But if this central control was, I don’t know, suspended somehow.”
“That’s not how it’s designed. It’s not protocol for that mechanism.”
“I think we can all agree protocol has gone out the window.”
Jack finished his interview with Dr. Cincola and penned a piece on the scientific subject that was widely distributed.
Chapter Twelve
Jack paged through the readership results of his article and said, “I can’t believe the public’s lack of interest in how the meteorite does what it does.”
Laura said, “Why do you say that?”
“Not a single letter to an editor or comment in any of the over two hundred papers the article ran in.”
“You ask me, I think people are almost afraid to know.”
“They think there could be some negative consequence?”
“No, not that. I think they’d rather shut things out, hoping it continues. If somebody was dropping money in your mailbox every day, you wouldn’t want to say anything, lest it stop.”
Jack said, “This is different.”
“I don’t think so, why question good fortune? It doesn’t jive with the way we’re wired.”
“I guess that’s where, don’t look a gift horse in the mouth, came from. But I still think people would want to know.”
Laura said, “About half of us think God is responsible. We’ve heard how much God loves us and can easily make the association that this is a manifestation of God’s love for us.”
“Do you believe this emanates from God?”
“For me this is a concrete example of a God, a higher power. What else could it be?”
“I don’t know what the heck is in outer space. No one does.”
“So if it’s not a God, a higher power of some sort, what is it?”
“If we could only understand what’s actually taking place.”
“What does it matter? If we find out, I don’t know, that say cells keep dividing like that doctor said in the article, what difference would it make? We still wouldn’t know about the source.”
“You may be right, but I believe understanding how it works would shine some light on it, and I’m going to keep investigating this.”
The Final Enemy Page 7