Plague (11 page)

She stood up. “You’d have to work for the CDC. You ready?”

“Um hm.”

They walked down the corridor together, Duncan asking her about how she began with the CDC and why she remained there when she was clearly qualified to work anywhere in the world she wished. They left through the back entrance and came to the second building
, which
was crowded with military vehicles, police cruisers
,
and news
vans.

“Man, must be a slow news day,” Duncan said.

“You don’t think this is deserving of attention?”

“You kidding me? Do you have, well, yeah you do, but do you think the general population has any idea how many deadly epidemics are
just at their doorstep?
Every day in Africa, somewhere, there’s an Ebola outbreak. It infects one or two people, spreads to a few dozen or
one or two
hundred and then disappears. Some people are in the same room with an Ebola infected patient and they contract the disease and others get blood coughed into their mouth
s
and don’t get it. That’s what creeps me out about it. It seems like the viruses almost
choose
who they want to infect and who they don’t.”

“
They
can’t choose anything,” Sam said.

They worked their way through the cords from the cameras and sound mics that coiled on the ground like thin, black snakes. They showed identification to the MPs at the entrance and went inside.

Everyone seemed to be going
in
one direction down a hallway so they followed. This building was much different than the hospital proper. The floors were carpeted and clean and there were
no
fingerprint marks on the glass doors or the walls from children. Samantha guessed this was probably an administration building.

They finally came to a small auditorium and took seats in the back, Duncan sitting next her. Samantha took out her phone and began reviewing notes of the three patients that had been admitted during the night. Two women and a
fifteen-year-old
boy. They were all displaying fever
s
, rash
es
, vomiting
,
and diarrhea. The boy had developed what had become the
telltale
sign of the illness: a spreading, smooth black
surface
just underneath
the
skin.

“I guess you lost your seat,” Duncan said.

At the table set up at the front of the room sat a man Samantha recognized from
long nights in cramped laboratories.
In front of him,
a
nameplate
with her name
had been
pushed to the side
and
replaced with one
that said, DR. PUSHKIN
.

The reporters filed in and took their places as Wilson, Pushkin, the director of the hospital
,
and a man in a military uniform with three stars pinned to his chest took their places at the long table before the cameras.

Wilson took out two pills in a cellophane wrapper and popped them before taking a sip of water
. Samantha knew them to be beta-
blockers to calm his nerves and remove any performance anxiety.

A man in a suit with a
nametag
came up to Wilson and made a few adjustments to the papers in front of him. Samantha heard him say, “Ready when you are” and the reporters took out iPads and notebooks.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” Wilson began, “I don’t need to explain to you exactly what we’re facing. However you did it, many of you knew about this before many of us sitting up here did. It’s extremely
important
that we not cause a panic. When people panic, they get aggressive, they make mistakes,
and
they sometimes lose all sense of morality. I would ask that when you report on this story, you not exaggerate the seriousness of the infection. No one in Kansas or Miami is going to get
this
agent. It’s confined solely to this city. In fact, there has not been one confirmed case
more than five miles from this hospital
and
, since yesterday,
we have not received any new patients with the symptomology we’re looking for.

“This is, as far as I can tell,” Wilson
continued, “a fluke. In nature
things come out of hiding every few centuries or so, rear their head, and go back to where they came. Once these patients are treated, I have a feeling we won’t have any more reported cases.”

Duncan leaned over to Sam. “What’s he doing?
Why the hell would he say that? He has no idea.
”

Sam shook her head. “I don’t know.”

Wilson cleared his throat and said, “Now, I thought we would just open it up to questions.”

One reporter, an overweight man in a Hawaiian shirt, stood up. “Doctor, can you confirm that there have been twelve infections in the pas
t seventy-two hours, and if you
can, how is
it
that you can assert that you don’t think there will be more?”

“
I can confirm that there have been twelve cases reported in the last seventy-two hours. Obviously, we cannot discuss the details of these cases due to patient confidentiality, but what I can tell you is that we now believe, thanks to the fine work of our field agent,
Dr.
Samantha Bower, that the initial infection occurred in South America and was brought here via a carrier who resided in Honolulu. And the reason I can state with confidence that I don’t think there will be more infection
s is that this type of agent has
an exponential growth factor. It hits its tipping point quickly and reaches a c
r
itical mass in a matter of days
rather than weeks
or months
.
That has not happened here. Which means one of two things: it’s either not the agent we think it is, or it’s dying out. I believe it to be the latter.”

Another reporter, a woman in a short skirt and
a
white button-down shirt st
ood up. Wilson called her by
name and she smiled at him before speaking.

“Doctor
,
my understanding is that black pox is a mutation of the
smallpox
virus. And that
smallpox
, since being eradicated through vaccinations, only exi
s
ts in two places in the world. One is in the former Soviet Union and one is here at the Centers for Disease Control in Atlanta. Is that correct?”

“Yes.”

“Is it possible then that there’s been some sort of release of this agent from one of these two labs? Either on purpose or by accident?”

“Absolutely not. The first thing I did
was
check with our laboratories and with Moscow. All
smallpox
agents are accounted for.
T
hey are stored in a frozen state using liquid nitrogen. The only way they could be released is
if they
thaw, infect someone, and have that person leave the lab and infect others. But there
have
been no reported cases in either our labs or the Russian
’
s.”

“Is it possible then that perhaps this virus has been manufactured by another entity. Perhaps a rogue nation like North Korea or Iran?”

Wilson grew noticeably uncomfortable. He shifted in his seat and adjusted his glasses.
He looked hopefully to the military officer seated next to him.

“Perhaps General Lancaster would be better suited to answer that question.”

The
general
looked at the reporter sternly, unblinking, and said, “There’s no evidence of that. And until there is I don’t think speculation helps anyone.”

The woman was about to ask something else when she was drown
ed
out by a reporter from Fox News who yelled from a seated position, “Is it true that a high ranking member of
a
l
Qaida
has taken
responsibility for the outbreak?”

Before the
general
could answer, Wilson said, “
Lots
of people are going to take responsibility. Being the United States means we are the richest, most powerful nation on earth. When that role was held by Babylon, then Egypt
,
then Rome
,
and the French,
the
English
,
and so forth, they were all hated. They were all attacked. I have no doubt that several groups wil
l take responsibility for this. B
ut that’s not what the evidence suggests
; it suggests this is a naturally occurring phenomena
.

“Terrorist organizations attac
k clusters of people
,
like the sa
rin poisoning in the subways of Tokyo. Or the September 11 attacks. They don’t attack a single individual. They
would want to maximize exposure to
the agent as much as possible. The evidence strongly favors our theory that a single individual returned home from a trip to the jungle and carried this virus with him. Period.”

More questions were thrown at the panel and Wilson fielded almost all of them. Sam saw that Dr. Pushkin was checking his watch. She guessed that he wished he was alone in his lab right now.

The
re were around twenty or twenty-
five more questions before they closed the press conference. Once the cameras were off, Sam saw Wilson and his assistant going fr
om reporter to reporter and having
a whispered conversation. Probably reminding them that causing a panic unnecessarily would be extremely detrimental.

Sam stood and made her way down to the long table just as Pus
h
kin rose to leave.

“You didn’t speak much,” she said.

“Ralph seemed to have that particular function covered. You look tired.”

“I’m okay. How was the flight?”

“Awful
. But this is o
ne beautiful damned island. Let’s
get lunch or breakfast
,
or whatever the hell mealtime it is
.”

They were walking out when Duncan appeared in front of them. He thrust out his hand and Pushkin shook.

“
Dr.
Pus
h
kin, I’m Duncan Adams.”

“Oh, yes. From USAMRIID, right?”

“Yeah.”

“You two know each other?” Sam asked.

Pushkin said, “Their laboratories are much more secure than our
s even though we
have a BSL 4 clearance. I’ve had them perform a few diagnoses when I require. Duncan here is a brilliant research scientist. When he wants to be.”

“Which is rarely,” Duncan said. “So where you guys off to now?”

“Breakfast. Join us.
I think we may need to do some brainstorming on this.
”

CHAPTER 14

Benjamin Cornell’s heart raced as he walked into the
California Department of Health. He glanced around to make sure no one
had
noticed him though he was sure they hadn’t. He’d dressed as normally as possible: Polo shirt, jeans
,
and sandals. Just an average white guy walking into a public building. He wore glasses and had his sun-bleached blond hair covered in a
n
Oakland A’s baseball cap.

The corridor he walked down was long and there was a
receptionist at a
booth on his right side. He took a deep breath and walked to her.

“Hi,” he said, putting on his best smile
.
“I’m here to see
Dr.
Wharton
,
please.”

“Fifth floor, two doors on your left.”

“Thank you.”

He walked to the elevators and hit the button for the third floor
,
his actual destination. If anyone asked the receptionist later, he wanted her to only remember that someone had asked about Dr. Wharton.

The elevator dinged and he stepped on. There were six other people crammed on and he thought of an email joke he had received. Something about being on a crowded elevator and saying, “You’re probably all wondering why I gathered you here today.”

He smirked to himself as the doors opened on the third floor. Ben leaned against the wall and waited until the two other passengers that wanted this floor stepped off.
He thought it best not to step off on the same floor as anyone else. Instead, h
e rode the elevator up to the fourth floor and got off.