The 731 Legacy (30 page)

"Good evening," Ross said into camera one as he sat behind the anchor desk. "We start the broadcast tonight with reports of a suspicious flu-like outbreak showing up at clinics and emergency rooms throughout the country. What we first told you about yesterday as a number of cases in the Denver area is now spreading to other cities and communities. For the latest, we go to our chief medical correspondent, Robert Terrance, reporting from CDC headquarters in Atlanta, Georgia."

"Good evening, Charles," said Terrance as he held a microphone and stood with the sprawling CDC complex in the background. "In a news conference that ended just moments ago, Dr. Charlotte Swan, director of the Centers for Disease Control, stated that they are investigating a number of reported instances of advanced symptoms of a flu-like sickness in Baltimore, Los Angeles, Chicago, Birmingham, Denver, and Houston."

The image switched to a briefing room inside the CDC. Swan stood at a podium. "We are working with local and state medical authorities to isolate and identify this new strain of influenza. Most important is to gauge how many

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people are affected and determine the source of the virus. Because we are in the earliest stages of the investigation there is nothing concrete to report yet."

In a video clip, Terrance asked, "Dr. Swan, there are rumors that the flulike symptoms you describe are actually more like those of Ebola or some other hemorrhagic virus. Is the CDC trying to downplay this in order to prevent panic?

Doesn't the public have a right to know?"

Swan shuffled the papers on the podium, but didn't look down at them.

"At this point, there is no confirmation that this outbreak is a hemorrhagic virus. The CDC operates on facts, not rumor, and until we have evidence that this is anything other than what I have described, we will continue to proceed according to protocol.

That's all the questions I'll take for now." Swan stepped away from the podium.

The video switched back to a live shot of Terrance. "Despite the downplaying of the threat by the CDC, we've learned that over six hundred cases have been reported so far, with at least thirty deaths occurring over the last twenty-four hours. All are attributed to the outbreak. The victims range in age from four years old to sixty-two. So far, conventional treatments have had no effect on stopping or slowing down the deadly epidemic."

A graphic showing the names of states and the number of fatalities appeared.

Terrance said, "Earlier today, I spoke with Dr. Richard Minor, Director of Infectious Diseases at the Broward Memorial Medical Center in Fort Lauderdale, Florida." The image changed to a man wearing a white physician's jacket with a stethoscope hanging around his neck. "Dr. Minor, your facility was one of the first to report a case of this virus outbreak we're seeing across the country. Now that you know there are others being stricken with it, what are your concerns?"

There was a slight delay before the physician spoke. "We are definitely concerned by the speed at which this event is taking place. Two days ago it was non-existent. Now we're admitting an average of one new patient every hour. We're working around the clock to isolate and treat what we believe is a deadly new strain of viral infection. We hope to have some progress made soon."

Terrance asked, "These rumors of it being a hemorrhagic virus—is there any truth to that? Can you tell us more about what you are seeing in the emergency room?"

"Patients are exhibiting numerous ailments from general malaise and fever to more specific flu-like symptoms, and yes, we have seen signs of hemorrhagic viruses, including bleeding and limited kidney and liver function. It's too early to tell if the hemorrhagic symptoms are a late phase in the illness or something entirely different."

"We've all had the flu at some point in our lives, and we know what that's like. Can you be more specific regarding the symptoms of a hemorrhagic virus?"

"Sure. Hemorrhagic comes, of course, fromhemorrhage, which means bleeding. Generally, the bleeding occurs both internally, leaking through blood

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vessels, and externally, from orifices of the body. It is rare, however, for victims to die from blood loss."

A double screen of Dr. Minor and Robert Terrance appeared. "Thank you, Doctor. We appreciate your time."

Minor nodded, and the screen became devoted to Terrance. "As the number of reports of infections mount, experts like Doctor Minor and Director Swan seem increasingly perplexed. For now, we can only hope they find a quick solution to this deadly medical mystery. From Atlanta, this is Robert Terrance reporting for SNN."

"Rob?" Charles Ross said. "Before we let you go, it occurred to me that the symptoms of some of these victims in your report bear a striking resemblance to the unfortunate gentleman who died after collapsing here in our Manhattan studio lobby a few weeks ago. If you'll recall, he came into our building very ill and asking to see Cotten Stone."

"I thought of the same thing, Charles," Terrace said. "Perhaps there is a connection. We'll watch it closely."

"Thanks again, Rob." Ross turned to camera two. "And speaking of Cotten Stone—a programming note. As tension continues to mount over the threat of nuclear weapons development in North Korea, our senior investigative correspondent, Cotten Stone, will be conducting an exclusive interview with the head of the Communist government of North Korea on her primetime special,Inside the Darkness, airing next Tuesday at eight, seven central right here on SNN. You don't want to miss that one."

PROOF OF LIFE

Each morning at 7:00 am, rousing, patriotic music blared from loudspeakers throughout Pyongyang. Cotten awoke to the tinny sound of a marching band and quickly rose, showered and dressed. Today was the day—

she would be allowed to confirm that John was not only still alive but recovering from the Black Needles. She would receive proof of life.

By 7:30, she was waiting in the cavernous Sungyong Hotel lobby.

In the four days since arriving in North Korea, Cotten had only observed a handful of other hotel guests. When she was allowed to leave her room and go downstairs to eat, the restaurant was virtually empty, with only a spotting of Eastern European visitors and tourists. She saw few smiles from the hotel staff. They seemed to be obsessed with looking busy.

On the second day after her arrival, a guide had escorted her to a number of state museums and monuments around the city. The woman, a short, slim officer in the Korean army, never missed an opportunity to point out how wonderful it was living in North Korea and how her country had overcome the

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hardships of war crimes brought on by the imperialist aggressors.

In addition to the army guide, Cotten was always shadowed by a handful of security officers. It was hard for them to hide their presence. There was a small amount of foot traffic as she and her guide walked the immaculate streets and manicured parks. They would pass policewomen who directed a trickle of traffic and stores whose display windows were decorated with as many pictures of the General Secretary as merchandise.

Cotten learned that it was against the law for citizens to look foreigners in the eye or to speak to them, so she didn't bother to acknowledge or look at anyone on the street or in the museums they visited. The only eye contact was with those calledthe selected, trusted individuals who spoke multiple languages and often served as the guides and escorts.

Today, Cotten was met in the hotel lobby by her guide and four-man security detail.

"This way, please," the guide said, pointing to the front entrance. Outside, it was bitter cold under a cloudless blue sky. Cotten's eyes watered and stung at the bite of the icy air.

They walked briskly along An Sang Thaek Street for a quarter of a mile until they arrived at a park surrounding a bronze statue of Korea's great leader and father of the General Secretary. The guide motioned to a bench near the base of the statue. "Wait there."

Cotten obeyed and pulled the collar of her coat up about her neck as she sat waiting. She breathed into her gloved hands, the warmth and humidity of her breath taking the burn out of her lungs.

After ten minutes of cold and growing impatience, she saw a figure approaching. As he got closer, she recognized the Old Man.

He sat next to her, binding his scarf around his neck. She noticed the vapor of his breath in the air.

"I do not particularly care for the cold," he said.

"I'm not surprised."

He made a sound that might have been construed as a laugh. "Do you know what I especially admire about you, Daughter of Furmiel? You spit in the face of anything that strikes out at you. Plus, you have an engaging sense of humor. A special gift."

"A survival tool." Until now, she had only barely glanced at him. She looked to meet his gaze. "Are you ready to fulfill your promise? I've said I'll do what you ask. But I must have proof of life. I need to know that John is alive, that he's getting well. You said you could spare his life. Prove it. Right now, I have no idea what's happening in the rest of the world. I haven't been allowed any outside contact in this godforsaken place."

Again the Old Man chuckled. "I like your description. It is truly a godforsaken country." He wiped his nose with a handkerchief. "Cold air shrinks the nasal passages."

"You're avoiding my question."

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"No, not at all." He pulled what appeared to be a satellite phone from a breast pocket inside his coat, flipped it open, and dialed a number. "I am calling your associate. He will confirm the condition of your friend that you worry so much about." He handed her the phone. "Keep it brief. The cost of these calls is exorbitant."

As she heard the digital processing of the call, she thought how absurd it was that the Old Man complained of phone costs. She could see her guide and security detail that waited at a discreet distance, shifting back and forth, blowing in their hands in reaction to the cold. It gave her a small sense of satisfaction that they were so uncomfortable.

After a few rings, Ted answered.

"I don't have much time," she said. "First, I'm fine. Second, I'm hoping that you've been able to keep up with things on your end. You know how much I'm counting on you."

The Old Man gave Cotten a suspicious look, and she tried to qualify her comment and make it seem more in line with what he expected to hear.

"I'm depending on you to tell me everything you know about John's condition. Don't hold anything back. It's imperative I know everything—good or bad."

"I have good news," Ted said, "maybe even a miracle. The doctors have tried a new experimental combination of drugs and it appears John is responding favorably. His fever has broken, he's conscious and alert, and his blood tests confirm that he has turned the corner, he's recovering. Other than being weak and tired, the symptoms seem to have reversed themselves and are receding. Very different from several days ago."

Cotten's eyes watered again, this time with tears of joy, not the sting of winter. "That's great news. Are you sure you aren't leaving anything out—any details that might upset me?"

"No. It's all good news. On all fronts."

Cotten glanced at the Old Man. "Thank you, Ted. You've made me feel much better. I have to go now and get ready for the interview. Everything is a go on this end." She snapped the phone closed. "So, are you satisfied?" the Old Man asked.

She handed him the phone. "Very."

DETOUR

As evening approached, Moon sat alone in her office and watched the emails come into her inbox. Each of her satellite labs in Canada, the United Kingdom, Germany, France, Spain, Japan, and the two recently relocated in the United States reported the results of the first wave of the Black Needles

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bombers. Of the five hundred men and women who carried the deadly virus out to the public, 482 had reported reaching their targets—many to multiple targets. The remaining were presumed dead or incapacitated. The plan called for the bombers to release the trigger virus into large indoor gatherings such as metropolitan shopping malls, schools, grocery stores, sporting events, libraries, airports, subways—places where people gathered as they went about their lives. The first attacks had been three days ago. According to the news networks, the symptoms had already started showing up in cities around the world.

Tomorrow she would give the launch code for the next wave of attacks—

these would be on basic services such as local governments and utilities, hospitals, police, first responders, and other law enforcement and emergency agencies. The bombers would simply walk into a police or fire station or city hall, ask a simple question, then cough or sneeze, and leave, touching door knobs, handrails, and any other obvious objects to contaminate.

The final assaults would come a day later. Those would strike government leaders in the United States Congress, the British Parliament, and the government centers of their allies. By the time the politicians and other leaders started showing the first symptoms of Black Needles, the general populace would already be in full panic mode as millions came down with the deadly disease. The media had already started covering it. Soon it would be a major disaster, bigger than 9/11. The entire world would freeze-frame with fear, terror, and paranoia. The threat of being exposed to the virus would paralyze every nation, making those not infected afraid to leave their homes. No one would risk going to work or sending their children to school. Commerce would shut down. Deliveries would not be made. Services would collapse. Emergency calls would go unanswered. Shock and terror would sweep through the imperialist aggressors as news of the deadly disease spread.

Moon smiled, knowing her time had finally come, her work was almost done.

She closed her laptop and rose, grabbed her overcoat and headed out of her office. She expected to sleep well tonight. Soon, there would be nothing left to do but watch those she hated most begin to fall to their knees in pain and suffering. Their deaths were inevitable.

She made her way through the winding halls, passing the different chemistry labs, cold storage systems, and surgical operating rooms until she emerged in the lobby of the facility. Moon nodded to the security guards and walked to the large glass doors leading out into the cold Korean night. One of the guards opened the door for her and walked a few steps ahead. In the twilight beyond she saw her limousine waiting as always with its dark-tinted windows and puffy clouds of condensation drifting from its exhaust pipes. The guard reached the vehicle first and opened the side door for her.