Virus Hunters 3: A Medical Thriller

by Bobby Akart

  At seven a.m. that morning, the director of the CDC himself gathered everyone under his supervision, including Dr. Berger Reitherman. The agency’s public relations team had worked overnight to fashion a response. The two-hour meeting was filled with expletives, fists slamming the table, and newspaper articles being ripped apart before being thrown about the room. The director was furious and vowed his people would not be the whipping dog for the media.

  The CDC was going to go on offense to defend itself before it got out of hand. Unlike 2020 when mistakes were made by the agency, they were on top of this outbreak, and the director wanted to let the world know about it.

  Surprisingly, at least to him, anyhow, Dr. Reitherman would be the first batter up. He’d not conducted that many media interviews in the past. Following 2020, when many public officials spoke out on the pandemic, the CDC and the National Institutes of Health agreed to allow any interviews and messaging to be generated out of Atlanta. This would prevent confusion for the public and stop the media from playing the gotcha game by pitting the two agencies against one another.

  The director of the CDC chose Dr. Reitherman because he was considered the point man on the new outbreak. The disease detectives were under his purview. The accumulated data was analyzed by his team. And genetic analysis, the last important step before pharmaceutical companies could begin working on a treatment protocol and a vaccine, fell squarely on Dr. Reitherman’s shoulders as the director of the Center for Surveillance, Epidemiology, and Laboratory Services, or CSELS.

  WSB-TV, channel 2 in Atlanta, was the local ABC affiliate. For more than eighty years, WSB had been a highly respected news station for Atlanta, and a friend of the CDC. To interview Dr. Reitherman, the news station sent a production crew led by Jorge Estevez. Estevez had joined WSB after spending nearly ten years as an anchor with WFTV in Orlando, Florida.

  Estevez began the interview in Dr. Reitherman’s office. With the assistance of Becker, Dr. Reitherman organized his workspace to make a better impression on viewers. She also spent every available moment bringing him up to speed on their investigation and prepping him for possible questions.

  Naturally, Dr. Reitherman was abreast of all aspects of the novel virus, but he rarely watched the never-ending supply of pundits and Monday morning quarterbacks who permeated the airwaves. He’d had enough of that during the COVID-19 pandemic.

  Becker, on the other hand, had to watch the news. Harper, like Dr. Reitherman, rarely watched, so she tasked Becker with keeping her up to speed. As the young epidemiologist reminded her boss before he went on air, the questions would be based one-third on factual information and two-thirds on speculation or hyperbole.

  She suggested a basic rule, something she’d learned from her younger years of competing in beauty pageants. Before you answer, take a deep breath and formulate a response in your mind. The key was to do this every time. The interviewer will pick up on this as being your nature rather than an attempt to equivocate.

  The interview began with a series of smooth questions. Estevez had chosen a series of questions geared toward walking Dr. Reitherman through a chronology of events. This was the fact-based part of the interview. Then came the pointed inquiries designed to either make headlines or create a sound bite that would be circulated around the nation, if not the world.

  Estevez had noticeably changed his demeanor after they’d taken a short break. Dr. Reitherman was caught off guard.

  “Doctor, the president has been critical of the CDC’s handling of the outbreak. In particular, he has openly pointed the finger of blame at your team for what happened in downtown Las Vegas. This morning WSB’s Jamie Dupree, who has many contacts with Washington insiders on Capitol Hill, reported when the crisis abates, the president will be making sweeping changes at the CDC. In particular, he plans on demanding Senate hearings into the handling of the outbreak and the delay in providing the administration details on a possible vaccine. How do you respond?”

  Dr. Reitherman bristled. Once again, Harper and the CSELS were going to be blamed for the Nevada governor’s decision to quarantine the Fremont Street Experience. Naturally, the president had disavowed any involvement in the decision. Dr. Reitherman forgot Becker’s advice and fired off his response.

  “If the crisis abates, as you say, it’ll be due to the tireless efforts of the people in this building and the dedicated disease detectives around the world who will not rest until all the facts are gathered. These investigations take time.

  “Identifying patient zero, conducting the contact tracing to supplement existing patient data, and then applying principles of genetic engineering to develop a vaccine requires weeks and months of study. Let me give you some examples.

  “In 2009, when a strain of the H1N1 influenza virus emerged in early April of that year, causing the first global flu pandemic in many decades, it took six months to administer the first of the newly developed trial vaccine. Even then, because the nation was entering flu season, a second wave of H1N1 activity peaked by November. It wasn’t until mid-December of 2009 that the first one hundred million doses were available for ordering. That was eight months later. Also, keep in mind, we’d already had an influenza vaccine in place since the 1940s thanks to Dr. Jonas Salk, the man who stopped polio.”

  Dr. Reitherman caught his breath and decided to continue. Perhaps it was time to educate the public and the president with some cold, hard facts. He was defensive and it showed.

  “Now, fast-forward to 2020, Jorge. This agency took a lot of heat early on regarding testing and its efforts to stem the spread of the pandemic. I want your viewers to let something soak in for a moment.

  “We were in the throes of a global pandemic. Pandemics are capable of killing everyone. Do you realize that? Loss of life is never acceptable for our disease detectives, but they are realistic, science-based members of a team, who try to separate emotion from fact.

  “The number of deaths in the United States was far lower than the initial models predicted. Actually, by a factor of a hundred. Early models showed several million deaths could be expected from COVID-19. The actual numbers were less than one hundred fifty million, and that included counting presumptive positives as well as those patients who died during the pandemic from other causes who happened to be COVID-positive.

  “Now, did the CDC receive credit for keeping the death toll to a minimum? No. Were the genetic scientists credited with creating a vaccine made available by the end of the year—a timetable in line with the 2009 H1N1 vaccine for a simple mutation of the influenza virus as opposed to the novel coronavirus? No.

  “Jorge, here’s my point. Novel viruses, like H1N1, which caused the pandemic of 1918 and COVID-19, have never been seen before. Hence, the term novel. We are facing the same situation here. Our team at the CDC—scientists, epidemiologists, and public health officials, are working as quickly as possible to find answers to key questions about how this disease is transmitted and why some cases are more severe than others. At the same time, we are working with physicians around the country to establish treatment protocols, and our geneticists are studying the virus to create a potential vaccine.”

  Rant over.

  Dr. Reitherman took another deep breath and took a quick swig of water from a glass Becker had set on the desk for him. The inside of his mouth had become dry as he gave his response without taking a breath.

  Estevez studied his notes. There were many questions left for the director of the CSELS, but he considered this to be an opportune time to ask a whopper.

  “Sir, where is Dr. Harper Randolph?”

  Part II

  My Adventures as a Disease Detective

  When you have eliminated all which is impossible, then whatever remains, however improbable, must be the truth.

  ~ Sherlock Holmes through the creative mind of Sir Arthur Conan Doyle

  Regional Map

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chukhung Village

  Khumbu Region, Nepal

 
Harper and Kwon took in their surroundings. It was deathly quiet as they stood in the midst of the enormous ridges leading up to the tallest mountains on the planet. The springtime temperatures on the South Face of the rising peaks turned the snowy conditions they’d used to evade capture and cross the border into rock. They slowly turned in all directions, observing nothing but rocks of varying sizes and shapes. They’d run out of snow and had to continue their journey on foot.

  “Now what?” asked Harper.

  “We walk.”

  “Duh,” she sarcastically fired back. She was slaphappy after the ordeal they’d been through. Her demeanor was more reflective of the sense of relief she felt rather than teasing the man who’d saved her life more than once. “What I meant was where do we go from here? I don’t see any street signs or tour guides, do you?”

  Kwon shook his head disapprovingly. He retrieved the Blackberry from his jacket pocket. Despite the beads of sweat pouring off his forehead, he kept his jacket on in case they had to sleep in the mountains that night. Darkness was approaching and it was a very real possibility they’d need to seek shelter in a cave.

  Harper grew impatient with Kwon’s lack of conversation, so she continued to badger him. “Are you gonna call an Uber? LifeFlight? Beam me up, Scotty? What’s the plan?”

  After searching for a cell tower signal, which he expected was a pointless exercise, Kwon navigated to the GPS app on the Blackberry. Global positioning satellites were constantly raining signals down from low-Earth orbit. Cell phones were able to connect to them without reliance on cell phone towers.

  “There is a village seven miles to our southwest,” began Kwon. “We’ll need to be careful if we are going to walk there in the dark.”

  “I’d rather keep moving than sleep out here under the stars, cowboy,” said Harper. “Let’s go. Besides, I can feel it getting colder already.”

  Kwon slowly zipped up his jacket. “It feels like the upper forties. I suspect we’ll see below freezing before we make it to this village.”

  “What’s it called?”

  “Chukhung.”

  “Great. Hotel accommodations?”

  “With a little luck,” Kwon replied.

  Harper shook off the cold and shoved her hands back into her pockets. “I’ve slept in the jungles of Africa and the mud houses of Syria. Not to mention last night when I was huddled in a tent with five snoring and farting men.”

  “What?” asked Kwon as his head snapped in her direction.

  “Yeah, somebody had gas. Mainly, I was just making sure you were paying attention to me. Are you gonna tell me what happened on the side of Everest?”

  Kwon sighed and explained the difficulty in dealing with the frozen body. He tried to avoid the gory details of the butchering of the dead climber, but he assured Harper that he had been able to retrieve several cultures for analysis.

  “I wasn’t able to label the vials like we did in Lhasa.”

  “They’ll figure it out. I may enlist the medical examiner in Kathmandu if Dr. Reitherman gives me clearance. Most likely, he’ll want me to send them to Atlanta undisturbed.”

  Kwon reached into his pocket and handed Harper the man’s passport. “I found several things to identify him by and possibly his travel itinerary. He had what looks like a hotel room key with xiang Fu Lou engraved on a key ring.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “Literally, missing your happiness on the floor.”

  Harper erupted in laughter. “It’s a hoochie mama house!”

  “We don’t know that, and highly doubtful in China.”

  Harper couldn’t stop laughing. “Oh, puhleeze. I guarantee there are hookers in China.”

  “Hong Kong, maybe. But not in the West.”

  “Well, mister hooker-denier, how do you know he came from Western China?”

  “They had a rental car from Tibet Vista. Their identifier was also on the key ring.”

  Harper was impressed, although she still thought the man had been staying in some kind of flophouse. She held the passport close to her face so she could read the text in the dimming light.

  “Trent Maclaren. White male. Australian. Issued in Melbourne. Thirty years old.” She thumbed through the pages to look at his travel stamps.

  “Is he a frequent traveler?”

  Harper shrugged. “It’s hard to see, but there are many entries. Hey, this is a start. I’ll get Becker on this to find out what he was doing in a hoochie-mama house in Tibet, and to see who his pal was who caused the disaster on Everest.”

  Kwon reached for the passport and replaced it in his pocket. “There’s a river up ahead. That’s a good sign.”

  “Did it show up on your GPS?”

  “Yeah, plus we appear to be following it downstream. Do you see the lake?”

  “It looks cold.”

  “According to the GPS, that’s Imja Lake. Chukhung should just be another couple of miles.”

  Harper picked up the pace, finding her second wind. It was completely dark by the time they reached the western edge of the lake. The terrain had continued to slope downward toward a lower elevation, and as they passed the earthen dam holding back the melted glacial water, a few flickering lights could be seen in the distance.

  “Hey, they have electricity!”

  “Don’t count on it,” said Kwon, dampening her spirits. “This is probably a base camp or intermediary stop for Mount Everest climbers. My guess is we’re looking at campfires of some kind.”

  “I was hoping for a hot bath,” she mumbled. What she really wanted the most was the opportunity to talk with her husband.

  Forty minutes later, they wandered onto the crushed-gravel main street of Chukhung, although it was nothing more than an eight-foot-wide trail. There were no vehicles of any kind in sight. No cars, trucks, bicycles, motorcycles, or scooters. There were a couple of horses tied up to a tree near the front porch of a plain block building known as the Khangri Resort.

  Harper immediately picked up on the fact it was labeled in English. “Are you sure we’re in Nepal?”

  “It’s for the climbers, many of whom are either English-speaking or can read it,” said Kwon.

  He approached the wood-carved entry door and pulled on the handle. It was locked. He stretched to peer inside a small, three-foot-by-three-foot window. The building appeared dark and empty. “I think they’re closed.”

  Harper wandered toward the horses. “There’s a small fire down around the side of that barn. Let’s check it out.”

  Kwon raced off the porch and got in front of Harper. “Me first and I’ll do the talking.”

  “Do they speak Chinese here?”

  “No, Nepali. It’s closer to Chinese than English.”

  Kwon stopped to remove his jacket. He tucked his rifle around his back and put the coat back on. Harper did the same. Kwon also readied his pistol and placed it in his jacket’s right pocket. Generally speaking, the Nepalese were a friendly people and their relationship with America was a good one. However, he wasn’t going to take any risks after what they’d been through.

  They arrived at the bonfire built in the middle of a rock formation. Several locals were huddled around it, sitting on boulders that had been carved into cubes. They were passing a bottle around and took turns drinking from it.

  Kwon engaged them in conversation the best he could. Using a combination of English and Chinese, he learned the village was indeed a rest stop for climbers making their way to the summit of Mount Everest. The two hotels were closed due to an avalanche on the South Col. However, in a nearby town, there were a variety of accommodations ranging from hostels to a small hotel-and-restaurant combination.

  Kwon negotiated a taxi ride of sorts. Despite the darkness, the men agreed to pull them down the trail in a yak-drawn wagon in exchange for the rest of the money in Kwon’s possession less the cost of the hotel and some food.

  Harper readily approved the transaction, as she could now envision a phone call with Joe and th
at hot bath she desperately needed.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Dingboche

  Khumbu Region, Nepal

  It was near midnight when the yak-driven wagon and its slightly inebriated driver pulled to a stop in front of the only hotel in the small town of Dingboche. The driver and his companion waited while Kwon confirmed the hotel was open and had two rooms available. He paid for a single night and set aside some money for snacks and breakfast. Then he thanked the driver and gave him the equivalent of four thousand dollars in Chinese yuan. The men briefly complained about the form of currency because they’d hoped for U.S. dollars, but in the end appreciated the generous payment equal to half a year’s pay for the retired sherpas.

  When Kwon returned to the lobby, Harper was grinning. “Seriously, this place is called the Yak Hotel and Restaurant. Are we ever gonna get away from these yaks?”

  Kwon raised his eyebrows. “I don’t know, have you checked out the restaurant’s menu?”

  “Eww!” complained Harper. “Give me my key. I want a bath and my husband on the phone, not necessarily in that order.”

  Kwon turned over a single key with the number 1 engraved on it. He was staying in room 2.

  “I’ll check in with our friends,” he said, tapping the top of his left forearm where the tracking chip was inserted. This town is only slightly bigger than the last one. I doubt they have taxi service. I’ll try to arrange for transportation to Kathmandu. The desk clerk said there is a helipad at the west end of town.”

  “What about the embassy?” asked Harper.

  “I thought about that, but I can’t be sure the CIA station is located there,” replied Kwon. He pointed toward the hallway leading to the guest rooms. “I’ll figure it out. Get some sleep, and if you need something, pound on the wall adjoining our rooms. I’ll come running.”