by Ken Ward
“I think everyone's worried,” Rick said, “and they should be.”
“If we can't get a handle on this IGNA thing, we can forget my second term. Isn't that right?”
“We'd have to survive that long first,” Rick said and started laughing. Howell laughed too.
“That's a good point, I guess.”
“A strong response,” Rick said, “that's what's needed.”
“How strong?”
“I don't think any options are off the table, frankly.”
“I've been thinking that as well. We may have to take drastic measures with that plane. If it comes to it.”
“No argument here, Mr. President. You know Governor Travers will be on board with whatever you decide. The Cabinet too for that matter.”
“Alright,” Howell said. “I'm convinced. Call the Joint Chiefs. It's time we get serious.”
CHAPTER 20
UNITED ROYAL TRUST BANK – BOSTON, DOWNTOWN – BRANCH # 23
Kathy walked cautiously up to the double glass doors and tapped lightly before poking her head into the boardroom. All three men seated at the long table turned their heads in unison, not one of them had a friendly expression. Kathy smiled awkwardly. “You wanted to see me?” She squeaked.
“Yes,” said a man in a navy suit with a red tie. “Come in.”
Kathy looked down at the blue and gold carpet, carefully putting one foot in front of the other as she made her way over to a large black chair.
“Have a seat,” said the man. Kathy recognized him as Ted Trotter, the branch manager. She sat down and sunk into the chair's cushion padding and watched the surface of the table rise in front of her, making her feel like a child amongst grown-ups.
Ted turned toward Kathy with his hands clasped in front of him. The other two gray-haired men glared at her as he spoke. “Now, Kathy, the reason we've called you in here is because we are quite concerned with all that's gone on here today.”
Kathy tried to play it innocently. “Oh?” She said. “How do you mean?”
“I think you know what I mean.”
Kathy didn't respond, instead she looked down at her hands. One of the gray-hairs sat forward in his chair and leaned his elbow on the table. “It's the media coverage that most rankles us,” he said. “If it weren't for that, well...”
“The thing is, Kathy,” Ted said, “we can't have the distractions that we've seen around here continue.”
“I understand,” Kathy said. “It's because of my boyfriend, right?”
“You've drawn a lot of attention to yourself, young lady,” the gray-hair said, pointing his bony finger in her direction. “You and your boyfriend ought to be ashamed.”
“Think of the business,” Ted said. “This doesn't look good for us, to have reporters outside the building and to have employees running around with stories about who's infected and who isn't.”
“Your boyfriend should never have gotten on that flight,” said the gray-haired man. “What was he thinking? Are you infected too? Now, we're all probably going to get sick. It's terrible.”
Kathy did her best to hold back tears. She didn't know what to say.
“Your silence on this is deafening,” Ted said. “I take it you don't agree with our assessment of things?”
She fidgeted with her fingers, clasping and unclasping them in rapid succession. “I don't know,” Kathy said, “I'm not sure what you want me to say. I don't think Matthew knew he had the virus when he got on his flight.”
“That doesn't matter,” snapped the gray-hair. “He should've stayed at home, instead of getting the whole world sick. And now look at this place. Everyone's running around in a panic, and we have reporters trying to come into our building to talk to you. It's a disgrace.”
“What we're thinking,” Ted said, “is that it'd be best if you went home.”
“Okay,” Kathy said, her voice shaking. “I will.”
Ted reached a hand out toward her and laid it on the table, palm down. “You can leave your name badge here. I'll have HR bring a box to your desk for your things.”
Kathy's eyes widened. “Wait,” she said, “my things?”
“Yes,” Ted said, “either you take them with you when you leave or we'll be forced to dispose of them ourselves. And we claim no liability for that.”
“Hang on,” Kathy said, “are you firing me?”
“What did you expect?” The gray-haired man said. “You're bad for business.”
“Try to understand,” Ted said. “You have to see things from our perspective. We can't have this kind of negative publicity. A bank employee who's partner knowingly infected thousands of people with the deadliest virus in human history? We don't want any part in that.”
“This isn't right,” Kathy said, “I haven't done anything wrong.”
“Okay,” Ted said, standing from his chair as did the two gray-haired men. “We're done here. I'll see that security escorts you out through the parking garage.”
“Wait,” Kathy said, “I'm asking you to re-consider. I really need this job. I like this job.”
“There's nothing to consider,” Ted said, “we've made our decision. Best of luck to you in your future endeavors.”
The three men left the boardroom. Kathy spun her chair to face the door, watching them leave. Hot angry tears streamed down her cheeks. She looked out through the glass walls and saw her branch had become a hive of activity. In her embarrassment, she glanced at her former co-workers, hoping not to catch any of them looking her way. Grabbing her phone, she opened her text messenger.
Kathy: this is just great, i just got fired
You: what? really?
Kathy: yes really, because of u
You: im so sorry
Kathy: save it, you should never have gotten on that flight
You: i dont understand why youre angry with me
Kathy: I JUST LOST MY FUCKING JOB
Kathy: AND ITS UR FAULT!!!!
You: you think i wanted any of this to happen
Kathy: doesnt matter now does it?
You: i cant believe how you're being toward me right now
Kathy: go to hell
Kathy shoved her phone into her pocket. She stood from the oversized office chair and walked back to her desk where an empty cardboard box sat waiting.
CHAPTER 21
WHITE HOUSE – OVAL OFFICE
President Howell sat at his desk holding his cell phone to his ear. He did his best to keep his cool as a female voice ranted at him on the other end of the line. “What do you expect me to do, Paulina?” He said into the phone, “they're going to take you and Dirk, it's their job. Just go with them please.” He waited for his wife's loud response to end. “No,” Howell said, “I don't know how long it will be. You have to understand, this is for yours and his protection.”
He rolled his eyes and held the phone away from his ear to protect his eardrum. “Yes,” he said, “I'll call you when I know more.”
A knock came at the door and Rick Saunders entered. “Sir,” he whispered over to Howell, “they're ready for you.”
“Look, Paulina,” Howell said, “I've got to go. I'll call you later. Okay, fine. Bye.” He hung up and looked over at his Chief of Staff with an exasperated expression.
“Everything okay, Mr. President?”
“The First Lady doesn't want to be taken underground.”
“It's to keep her safe,” Rick said.
“I know that,” Howell said, “you know that. But, she doesn't know that. Or she's pretending she doesn't anyway.”
“Ready to go, sir?”
“Of course,” Howell said. “Let's do this.”
President Howell and Rick walked out of the Oval Office and through the corridors of the West Wing to the Situation Room. Two Secret Service agents guarded the large wooden doors to the room. One of the agents pushed the doors open for the two men and they walked inside. Seated at the large table were the head of the Joint Chiefs, General Charlie Slocumb along
with two of his underlings as well as the Secretary of Defense, Joan Redmond and her personal secretary. Also seated at the table was the head of the Navy, Admiral Foster Bagwell, the head of the Air Force, General Kim Norris, the head of the Centers for Disease Control, Juanita Jimenez and the Secretary of Health and Human Services, Grady Marks.
“Mr. President,” General Slocumb greeted Howell as he entered, standing from his seat as everyone else in the room followed suit.
“Sit, everyone, sit,” Howell said. He took a seat at the head of the table. Rick sat around the corner from him to his right. “Where are we with the virus?”
“Mr. President,” Secretary Marks spoke first, “as we'd discussed, the virus is un-containable at this point.”
“You agree with him, Juanita?” Howell asked.
Juanita nodded. “I'm afraid so, sir. We've never seen anything like it.”
“Joan?” Howell said, “what's the word at the Pentagon?”
“Obviously, we're monitoring this very closely.”
“Anyone fallen ill yet that we know of on any of our bases?”
“We have a few service people we're watching closely as of right now.”
“How many is a few?” Howell said.
“Four, sir. All are being kept in quarantine in Atlanta.”
“Good,” Howell said, shifting his gaze to General Slocumb. “Charlie, I need to think of response options.”
“Of course, Mr. President.”
“I'm thinking specifically of that damned flight due to land in Miami.”
“Flight 381,” General Norris said. “From Boston?”
“That's the one.”
“What did you have in mind, sir?” Charlie asked.
“Well, you tell me? What are our options?”
“We're thinking an escort to a separate landing site, away from Miami International might be prudent,” Charlie said. “Once there, we could have one of our specialized teams respond. They'd be in full body suits, the whole works.”
“You've coordinated this with Juanita's people?” Howell asked.
“Yes, Mr. President.”
“But, Juanita, you've said those suits might not make any difference,” Howell said, “isn't that right?”
“Correct, sir,” Juanita said, “I did say that. Thus far it seems no matter what anyone does, the virus finds its way through.”
“Grady,” Howell said, “what do you think?”
“Well, at this point, sir. I don't know the best course of action.”
“That isn't reassuring.”
“I'm sorry, Mr. President. This is a difficult situation.”
“Grady,” Howell said, “what happens when this sick kid gets to Miami?”
“You mean without taking the flight to a separate site?”
“That's right.”
“Well, he'd de-plane along with everyone else, and who knows if everyone else on board now has the virus. So, they'd get off the plane and then possibly infect anyone they come into contact with in that airport, and so on beyond there.”
“Basically, Mr. President, you have to think of this young man as a virus bomb of sorts,” Juanita said.
“A virus bomb?” Rick said. “What does that mean?”
“He's an explosion,” Juanita said, “in progress. He's spreading the virus outwardly from himself to everyone around him. And once he's planted that seed everyone else becomes a carrier and an explosion of the virus themselves. It only expands from there.”
“So this thing could go worldwide pretty quickly?” Howell asked.
“Yes, sir.”
“Charlie,” Howell said, “how do we stop it?”
Charlie shrugged his shoulders and looked down at his notes. Rick touched the sleeve of the President's suit jacket. “Mr. President,” Rick said. “I think you might have to consider what we'd talked about before.”
“Yes,” Howell said, “I think you're probably right.”
“What are you thinking, Mr. President?” Secretary Redmond asked.
“Extreme measures might be something to consider,” Howell said. He looked at Charlie. Charlie looked back at him with worried eyes. “I think you know what I'm talking about, Charlie.”
“Yes, Mr. President,” Charlie said, “I'm afraid I do.”
“How long would it take to scramble fighters?”
Charlie looked at General Norris. “Kim? What do you think?”
“Mr. President,” Kim said, “we could have jets intercept the target in twelve minutes.”
“Just so we're clear,” Grady said, “the target in this case is Flight 381?”
“Yes,” Howell said. “You have misgivings?”
“Well, I'm uncomfortable with it,” Grady said, “put it that way. We're talking about shooting down a plane full of civilians.”
“It's a terrible thing,” Howell said, “I agree. But we have to think about the rest of the population. You heard Juanita. This is an explosion. We have to nip this thing in the bud.”
“Yes, Mr. President.”
“Does anyone else have a better suggestion?” Howell said. “Because I'd love to hear it. We can't have this young man, or anyone else on that flight getting off that plane and from there infecting the entire state of Florida. I think you know where it could go from there. We're talking about the sovereignty of our nation. We're talking about trying to prevent a worldwide plague. Are we not?”
“You're right,” Juanita said. “I just wish there was another way.”
“Me too,” Charlie said. “Maybe, Mr. President, we could use a very aggressive approach to quarantining those people.”
“Charlie,” Howell said, “I think your heart's in the right place, but you've heard both Ms. Jimenez and Secretary Marks talk about the disease. There's no other way.”
“The President is right,” Rick said, “as much as it pains us to fire upon our own citizens, we have to stop this thing dead in its tracks or this country's in serious trouble.”
“Charlie,” Howell said, “do I have your support on this?”
“Yes, sir,” Charlie said.
“Good. General Norris?”
“Yes, Mr. President.”
“Twelve minutes you say?”
“Yes, sir,” Norris said, “on your orders.”
“Alright,” Howell said, drawing in a deep breath. “Do it.”
CHAPTER 22
OFFICES OF THE NEW YORK TIMES
Callie Romero sat in her cubicle scrolling the click-wheel on her mouse as she scanned an old article from the World Health Organization regarding the Ebola virus outbreak from a few years before. One of her co-workers, Bridgette Daley walked by Callie's desk and Callie stopped her. “Hey, Bridgette,” Callie said. “Take a look at this.”
Bridgette stopped and glanced at Callie's screen. “Looks like a news release,” she said.
“It is,” Callie confirmed, “from a few years ago.”
“Okay.”
“But look at the one the WHO put out today about IGNA-3.” Callie clicked to open a new tab and displayed the recent release regarding IGNA-3.
Bridgette's eyes scanned the page. “Fairly boilerplate,” she said. “What are you getting at?”
“Do you see how similar these releases are?” Callie said. “The wording, basically everything in them. They're pretty much identical.”
“Yeah, I see that.”
“Doesn't that strike you as odd?”
“That whoever works in the WHO's offices is copying and pasting news releases?” Bridgette said, her eyebrows raised. “Happens all the time. I'm not surprised.”
“Yes, but look again,” Callie pointed at two specific places in each release. “These are quotes from experts on the ground. Look at the names. They're the same doctors saying the exact same things, word for word. Only the locations have been changed. So, the Ebola one is from Liberia. This one is from Bermuda.”
“Huh,” Bridgette leaned on the edge of Callie's desk. “I admit, that is weird.
What do you think it means?”
“Could be nothing,” Callie said. “But I think I need to talk to someone who's actually on the front lines of this thing in Bermuda.”
“Good luck with that,” Bridgette said, “they're probably running around like chickens with their heads cut off over there.”
“Maybe, but I'm going to reach out anyway.”
“Alrighty,” Bridgette said, “have fun.”
“See ya.”
Bridgette walked away and Callie lifted her phone receiver and dialed a number she had written on a Post-it note stuck to the bottom corner of her monitor. “Yes,” Callie said into the receiver, “I was hoping you could put me in touch with the office of the World Health Organization in Bermuda, please. Sure, I'll hold.”
Two minutes later a male voice came on the line. “Hello?”
“Hi,” Callie said, “with whom am I speaking?”
“This is Dr. Costello,” said the man, “who is this?”
“Dr. Costello, my name is Callie Romero. I'm a reporter with the New York Times.”
“How did you get through?”
“I beg your pardon?”
“Your call,” Dr. Costello said, “our phones and our internet's been down for the past few hours. It literally all just came back on line in the last few minutes. How did you get through?”
“Blind luck I suppose. Anyway, I won't keep you for too long, I understand you must be very busy there.”
“Not really, no. Actually, if anything we've been in a panic here trying to reach anyone on the mainland, be that where you are or in Europe.”
“Well, I take it then, you're okay speaking with a reporter?” Callie said.
“We don't care who it is,” Dr. Costello said, “the world's gone nuts and we've been trying to stop this whole thing from here, but without any means of communicating with the outside world you can understand how frustrating that is.”
“What do you mean by stop this whole thing?”
“Yes, I suppose I should calm down and come to my point, shouldn't I? The thing is, we don't know how or why this has happened, but we have no virus here.”
Callie fell back into her seat. Her face scrunched up, confused. “Say that again? No virus?”