Final Epidemic (15 page)

“I’m very sorry,” Porter had said to the now-quiet group. “There really is no other option. We appreciate your cooperation.”

Summoned, Carol Mayer shut down the computer.

Not much to do on it anyway,
she thought, irritated. Electricity had already flickered twice, forcing her to reboot each time. Worse, without Internet access—in fact, she had discovered that all phone communications outside the immediate area code were down—there was little new information available to research.

She moved easily, unencumbered by protective gear. Pragmatically, there would have been little to be gained from it anyway, Carol knew; there was little doubt that she had already been exposed, if not during her cardiac resuscitation efforts the previous morning then by one or another of the patients she had seen since. She had prepared a cocktail of the antiviral meds available in the clinic and injected herself with it; for good measure, she followed up with a bolus of gamma globulin. It was unlikely, she knew, that either of the
injections would prove prophylactic. But it made her feel as if she was doing something, was not a passive victim waiting for the onset of the symptoms.

Still,
Carol admitted, as she walked toward the front of the clinic,
it would have been nice if somebody had offered a gas mask.

By now, despite his all-encompassing protective suit, she could recognize Ray Porter from all angles—including from the rear, which is how she came upon the CDC physician.

“You rang?” Carol said, her voice unnaturally cheery.

Porter turned, and Carol saw that the clinic had visitors.

Three young women—girls, actually, Carol noted—stood awkwardly, two of them pretending not to notice the otherworldly aspect of the figures that surrounded them. The third, slumped between the pair, did not have to pretend. She was in no condition to notice anything outside the feverish universe she now inhabited.

“Can you help my friend?” Katie Casey said to Carol, her voice tight, only partly with the strain of holding Carly upright. “She’s awfully sick.”

Office of the National Security Advisor,
the White House
Washington, D.C.
July 22

The satellite phone connection went through immediately, and the White House switchboard had obviously been alerted to treat it as a priority. In less than a minute, the national security advisor came on the line.

If Beck had expected Billy Carson to express shock, or even surprise, he was grossly mistaken.

“It’s the kettle trying to call the pot black,” Carson said, his voice tinny from the scrambling software. “Malenkov knows that. Have we cultivated sources inside groups like Aum? Of course we have; so have the Russians.”

“Alexi didn’t say Davidovich was an informant,” Beck said. “He called him CIA—‘one of yours,’ is what he told me.”

“Don’t read things into it that aren’t there,” Carson said. “Malenkov’s a professional. He may have motives that have nothing to do with the present situation.”

“Meaning what, exactly?”

Over the sat phone, Beck heard Carson sigh theatrically.

“Look, Beck—ask Malenkov about a private security
company called Aum Protect. It’s an Aum front they set up in Russia, ostensibly to provide bodyguards and industrial counterespionage to executives and companies operating over there. As staff, Aum recruited as many so-called former KGB thugs as it could find. It gave Aum connections in the Russian intelligence community, and through it to the military.”

“So?”

“So we’ve been recruiting among the same people for years,” Carson said. “Malenkov knows that, and knows FSB is compromised at least to some extent. All right—so he pulls in a suspect and puts him through the wringer. A plausible scenario is that Malenkov discovers this Davidovich used to work down the hall from him at Number Two Lubyanskaya. Perhaps Davidovich was RIF’ed out of the spook business during one of the Russian financial crises and ended up taking whatever work he could get. With Aum—
maybe
with us, and that might be what Malenkov is trying to get you to confirm.”

“We don’t have time for this spy-versus-spy nonsense,” Beck said. “The Russians are as frightened as we are about this virus. Good God—you know what Putin intends to do; I don’t know, it may have already started by now. They
want
to cooperate; we
need
them to cooperate, and that means the Russians have to trust what I say. Is Davidovich CIA?”

He had to wait for the reply. When it came, it was in measured tones without a trace of concession.

“Yes,” Carson said. “He’s a contract agent. We recruited him a year ago—rather, he came to us. By trade, he’s a journalist. The product he gave us was strictly routine—interviews with politicians, economic reports, production statistics.”

“What about the Aum connection?”

“We had no idea he was associated with Aum in any way. If it’s true, we need to know the specifics. I already have our people interviewing his case officer: either he dropped the
ball when he missed Davidovich’s Aum relationship, or Malenkov is misleading you. We’re also backtracking the other details—including who was involved in approving Davidovich’s recruitment. Tell Malenkov he’ll have what we find later today.”

“What are you going to do about Davidovich? You can’t simply leave him in a torture chamber.”

There was silence on the line for a moment. When he spoke, Carson’s voice was patient—almost, but not quite, solicitous.

“Beck, I understand how you feel,” he said. “God knows, you have good reasons for it. But if Davidovich is involved with the virus—well, it doesn’t matter what else he is or is not. He’s the enemy. We need every piece of information we can get, any way we can get it. Right now, that includes Malenkov’s way.”

“For God’s sake, Carson,” Beck argued, “a person will say damn well anything when he’s being tortured. We’re acting as if we
know
this Aum group released the virus. What if we’re wrong?”

“We’re working to confirm that now,” Carson replied. “Hold on.” There was a muffled conversation that Beck could not decipher, then Carson came back on the line. “The President already has reached out to the Japanese—he’s spoken directly to their prime minister. I’m informed that we’ve been promised full cooperation. They will direct their security forces to raid the known Aum facilities immediately. The prime minister assured the President that his forces will exercise all due restraint, consistent with the situation. It appears that they have not forgotten the Aum nerve gas attack in their country.”

Beck frowned. “What does that mean?”

“It means,” Carson said, and the tone in his voice raised the hairs on Beck’s neck, “that they’ll try to take them alive. At least, the important ones.”

The White House
Washington, D.C.
July 22

TRANSCRIPT, POTUS ADDRESS TO NATION

Network feed/pool camera.

White House Press Office.

FOR IMMEDIATE RELEASE—NO EMBARGO ON AM OR PM OUTLETS

* * * * * * * * * * * * * *

TO: ACCREDITED WHITE HOUSE CORRESPONDENTS

FROM:NEWS OFFICE/DIRECTOR OF COMMUNICATIONS

 

(The following is a transcript of remarks made by the President of the United States and televised from the Oval Office 10:30 AM EDT, 7/22.
NOTE: Media briefing is scheduled for 11:00 AM EDT in the Press Room. POTUS will be present for questions.)

 

“Good morning, my fellow Americans.

“In the history of our country, we have often faced challenges that have, in the final analysis, only made us stronger as a nation. Today I come before you to speak of
another challenge that has arisen, and which as a nation we must now address.

“I have been informed by the Department of Health and Human Services that a number of persons in the state of Florida have become ill as a result of an influenza outbreak. This flu has been severe enough to have caused several of those afflicted to succumb to respiratory failure. I am further informed that some cases of this flu have been reported in the Russian Federation, and that its leaders too are treating the matter as a potentially serious situation.

“As all of us know, influenza is a contagious disease. It spreads between individuals through close contact. We’ve all picked up a case of the flu because we’ve exposed ourselves to someone else who had it.

“This influenza comes at a time of year when many of us are taking well-deserved vacations. That’s unfortunate, because it makes it harder to keep from picking up this bug. At the same time, it makes it much easier for the virus to move around. In addition, the timing creates difficulties for our pharmaceutical companies. Flu season is usually in the fall and winter months, which allows drug manufacturers more time to prepare and make available the vaccines we’ve all become accustomed to having on hand.

“I won’t mislead you—for all these reasons, this influenza is potentially quite a serious health threat. It is a strain we have not seen for a number of years, and that means that more people are susceptible to it. It is prudent to do whatever can be done to limit the spread of this influenza.

“For that reason, I have been advised to declare a public health emergency. This morning, I signed an executive order to that effect.

“This order puts into effect a number of steps. They include:

“First, throughout the country I am asking for a voluntary, temporary suspension of all large public gatherings. This includes sporting and entertainment events, public meetings and gatherings.

“Now, if you’re a baseball fan—as I am—please do
not worry. We do not anticipate more than a few days’ suspension of games, and I intend to ask the commissioner of baseball to extend the season. I’m certain he will agree, and that all games will be played. But at least for a while it is wise for people to remain close to the comfort of their own homes.

“Second, I am asking for all Americans to temporarily postpone any vacation plans that involve travel outside their immediate home communities. We want to limit any opportunities for this influenza to spread before we have completely assessed the situation and determined a full course of action. To this end, effective immediately, I have ordered a suspension of operation by most public carriers—airlines, rail and bus.

“In addition, gasoline supplies are being placed on a temporary rationing system. The final details of this program—which, I again stress, is temporary in nature—are being hammered out now. They will be announced in the next day or so, but until then I have ordered all private gasoline sales be suspended, except in cases of demonstrated emergencies.

“Third, I am placing under federal control all National Guard and state militia units to assist as necessary throughout this period.

“And finally, I am ordering the creation of what we have designated the Florida Quarantine Region, an area currently limited to northwest Florida adjacent to Alabama and Georgia. This is where the influenza has been reported, and it is here that we will focus much of our activity. My intention is to ensure that health care and related services are not hindered unnecessarily until we can finish our assessments. Effective immediately, all travel into and out of this area will be restricted.

“My fellow Americans, it would be unwise indeed to minimize the serious nature of this situation. But at the same time, I do not want to create undue concern. The situation is being vigorously addressed by your government.

“Within a few days, I am confident that we will know
much more. We may well find that we have overreacted. If so, as your president I will have no apology to make. If we err, I want to err on the side of caution.

“I will be briefing the media after I speak to you, where I will try to provide whatever additional information I can. I assure you, my fellow citizens, that I will do my best to see that your questions and concerns are fully addressed, as information becomes available.

“For now, thank you. May God bless our country.”

—end transcript—

Jason Sorenson, White House correspondent for NBC, had, like the rest of the journalists waiting in the briefing room, read the transcript a dozen times in the quarter hour since it had been broadcast to the nation. Like his brethren, he had scribbled notes and questions—his, onto the canary yellow legal pad he preferred over the more compact notebooks carried by the majority of the White House press corps.

It was partly for show, but mostly for necessity—Sorenson was more than moderately nearsighted and had never been able to tolerate contact lenses. When the cameras were on, he invariably slipped his wire-frame glasses into a pocket. Only the dimensions of his notepad and the proportional size of his precise handwriting allowed him to see the questions he always prepared.

This morning’s presidential address had taken the news corps by surprise. The formal request for air time had been made only an hour before the scheduled broadcast time, making all of them scramble. The usual press secretary backgrounder was conspicuous in its absence, and neither threats nor cajoling shook anything loose from their usual sources in the executive branch.

And now it’s time for the cattle call,
he thought sourly.

Unlike many of those who covered the White House, Sorenson detested the press conferences that were so much a staple of the beat. For one thing, he was far more driven than
was considered seemly in a TV journalist; competitive by nature, he gauged his success on the job by the number of times he had scooped not only his electronic-media cohorts, but trounced the more rough-and-tumble newshounds of the print side. This approach required an aggressive tenacity that had given NBC both headaches and plaudits during Sorenson’s tenure at 1600 Pennsylvania; wisely, the president of NBC News considered the former a fair price for the latter.

But today, it availed the journalist nothing. If anybody knew more about this flu outbreak, they were not talking to Sorenson. It had been embarrassing to admit, but they had the lid clamped tight on this one. And now broadcasting a
live
press with no time for the newspeople to properly prepare their questions: few of the news pundits would relish looking as if they didn’t already know the details, which virtually ensured a session that would be fast and relatively tame. The White House press people were professionals—
manipulative, devious, truth-twisting bastards,
Sorenson thought,
most of ’em. But clearly professionals.