The Blacker Death: An Ebola Thriller (15 page)

“Like Ebola?”

“That’s one possibility.”

“Any chance he’s got the virus there for testing?”

“No. No way. He doesn’t have the authorization. Why?”

“Just wondering if that’s how his son got it, that’s all.”

“Not likely. His son brought it back from New York. In any case, this is not just a U.S. problem. Over fifty of the U.N. delegates that we know of have it. At least fifteen of them have died. All of the eleven other members of the CDC Response Group are reporting deaths in their countries now, and I’ve got a list two pages long of countries that simply won’t respond to our requests for information on this. And you want to know why? Last Thursday, Ebola took a plane to every country on Earth.”

I usually sober up with coffee. Tom did it for them in a few sentences. He didn’t stop there.

“And the situation is only getting worse. Hospitals in Philadelphia and New York are out of beds. They can’t isolate patients properly. They’re transferring the overflow as needed, but the system isn’t designed to handle an epidemic that requires isolation and specialized treatment of this many people. If it keeps going like this, I don’t know what we’ll do.”

“And what makes you think it will keep going?” the man from State said. “We are of the opinion that the initial surge in cases is over and it will be contained now.”

“Who is we?” I said. “Politicians and political advisors? The president’s yes men?”

“Bam don’t, please,” said Tom. “Mr. Secretary, we’re worried here at the CDC that we’re not dealing with a typical Zaire strain, the one that’s spreading across Africa right now.”

“Why not?” the guy from State asked.

“For one thing, it’s not following the usual ten-day Zaire timeline. Agent Driscoll, who was quarantined from the point of exposure, developed symptoms in just two days and died less than two days later. Given that he was a healthy young man with no prior medical history and had the best medical care available, he should have been our classic survival case. And we’ve had others just like him. Another troubling fact is the number of cases and suspected cases in people whose chance of fluid contact with patient zero were slim to none. Random people on a train car, hospital employees, people on the street — that’s not the Zaire we know. And lastly, even under worst-case conditions, people survive Zaire. So far, not a single person has lived more than four days after onset of symptoms.”

“Then, what is it?” the guy said.

“We’ll have the virus isolated by tomorrow. We’ll know then.”

The meeting went on for another couple hours, mostly talking about how they were going to keep it under wraps for another day. Then it seemed like everyone’s cell phones rang at the same time. Mine was a text from Tim. “Your secret meeting’s trending on YouTube and Twitter. Have a nice day.”

Eland put down her phone and ended the meeting, telling everyone she’d get back to us as soon as possible, and the screen went blank. Travis logged one of our computers onto the Internet. The activist hacker group, Anonymous, had been busy. They’d hacked into our video stream and uploaded the Cliff’s Notes version to YouTube. There were already over a million views of the video that made us look like participants in the worst cover-up in history. The truth hurts. By the time the government could obtain a court order to have the video taken down, there would millions more views, and it would pop up on mirror sites around the world for the rest to see. There was no stopping it now. We were screwed, and the world was screwed with us.

It took FEMA two hours to reestablish a secure link using hard lines before they could resume their meeting the old-fashioned way. The video and sound were so out of sync that it reminded me of a dubbed sci-fi B movie, but it was the only way to stay off the grid and keep away from prying eyes.

That was about how long it took hackers to ruin the life of the guy from State. In their eyes, he was public enemy number one. They plastered his face on a hundred different dark-web bathroom walls along with his address, Social Security number, birth certificate, the names and vitals of everyone in his family, his on-and-offline habits, his bank account numbers, stock portfolio, credit cards, passwords and security questions, even a twenty year-old photo of him getting busted smoking pot at a college campus sit-in. They emptied every account of every penny he had, they emptied his life of every ounce of privacy, and when someone took a potshot at him in Arlington, the FBI emptied his house and took his family into protective custody. He was the head of the snake, and they had just cut him off.

It took even less time for the disaster juggernaut to reach the mainstream media. Every TV station canceled late night programming and was scrambling reporters, sending trucks, and knocking on doors. Every radio station was carrying the story, every sound bite was from one of us, and there wasn’t a tabloid on the Internet that wasn’t regurgitating stories of the Ebola epidemic.

The president sent us a new representative for the meeting, one of his chief advisors. He did all the talking while we all listened.

“The press conference for tomorrow is on again,” he said. “The president will announce that there are multiple cases of the disease in Philadelphia and New York. He will admit that people have died. He will apologize for trying to hide it from the American people, but he will insist that he only had their best interests at heart. He will emphasize that our best strategy against this outbreak is to remain calm and keep things as normal as possible. Everything will be business as usual. America is open. America is secure. America will survive. Those are the key points. We have three Washington correspondents on board with pre-assigned questions drawn up by our staff. Those will be the only questions he takes. Your job, people, is to make this work.”

I tuned out during the discussion of how exactly they were going to orchestrate calm, and began watching a muted TV in our situation room that was showing a clip from the YouTube video of Tom going over the numbers. The station had them in graph form for full impact. No names, just bars. To them, Billy’s death was just a number. I took the elevator up to one and went outside. Izzy found me sitting on the wall again, smoking a cigarette.

“Aren’t you afraid the reporters will find you?” she asked.

“They don’t want to talk to me. Besides, they’re all at their computers right now trolling the Internet for morning show tidbits.”

“You don’t have much faith in the system, do you?”

“I have faith in the system, just not in the people running it right now.”

“How about I take you home?”

“Sounds good.”

The streets were quiet, and we made good time, but it was after 3:00 a.m. when Izzy pulled into my driveway. I invited her in for a drink. One thing led to another.

The sun was shining when my cell woke me up the next morning. The smell of coffee filled the room. Shep was sitting in the doorway, and Baby had claimed the space between the top of my head and the headboard. It was Fink.

“Where are you?” he said.

“Home. What time is it?”

“It’s 11:10 a.m. Get in here. Now.”

I said I was on my way, and hung up. When I got downstairs, Izzy was working on bacon and eggs. The house phone rang. It was my buddy from the local garage. The Gremlin was ready to be picked up. I told him I’d be over after breakfast. He told me to bring cash.

“You don’t take credit cards anymore?” I said.

“Christ, Bam. Turn on your damn TV.”

I hung up and turned on the set to a news channel where a sorry-looking duo was sitting at a desk like they’d been there all night. One of them was talking, while the words “SEC suspends trading. President to speak at 11:30 a.m.” scrolled like a stock ticker across the bottom of the screen. I turned up the volume and started the toast.

Overnight, the Tokyo Stock Exchange was down five percent due to word of the worldwide Ebola epidemic being leaked on the Internet late last night. The London Exchange, which opened two hours later at 3:00 a.m. Eastern, was actually up two percent by the opening bell in New York. At the time, analysts attributed this to cautious investors moving their money from U.S. based stocks to overseas money markets. That’s when the bottom fell out. The Dow dropped 500 points in the first half hour of trading, triggering drops in London and Frankfurt, and by ten thirty when London, Frankfurt, and the SEC issued a joint statement suspending trading, averages were down across the board by over ten percent. That translates to five trillion dollars worldwide.

The guy stopped to read something on his teleprompter. He nodded and kept going.

We have just learned that markets around the world have followed suit, and as of now, the world is no longer open for business.

I turned the TV off and sat down. The cat jumped up into my lap and began to purr.

“Five trillion bucks. That’s a lot of cat food, Baby.”

“They shouldn’t sensationalize the news like that,” Izzy said. “The world economy is much more than its stock markets.”

“I know that and you know that, and I’ll bet most of the people out there do too, but do you think that will stop them from panicking now?”

I fired up my laptop and got the traffic report. It was green across the map. I asked Izzy to take me to the bank after breakfast to get cash for the car, and then drop me at the garage. I told her I’d catch up with her at the Six later. She gave me the silent treatment during breakfast. After spending two nights together, you’d think I would have caught on, but I always made a point of skipping the FBI classes on sensitivity training.

It was 12:30 p.m. when we got to the First Trust bank. The parking lot was jammed. A bunch of angry people were standing around the locked front door, yelling at a guard on the other side. I pulled out my cell and called Travis.

“Is there something going on with the banks that I should know about?” I asked him.

“There was a run this morning on the Core Union Bank in Philadelphia after the stock market shut down. It’s a small-time operation that serves one of the poorest areas of the city. They got the okay to close their doors about a half hour ago.”

I looked over at the bank where a guy was pounding on the glass, shouting, “You have to let us in. We want our money.” A cop car pulled up and two officers got out.

“What about the other banks?” I said.

“As far as I know, it’s business as usual, sir.”

“You might want to check on that.”

I hung up and called the garage to tell my friend I’d need a couple days to come up with the cash. He wasn’t happy, but he didn’t have much choice in the matter.

“So, can I still hitch a ride with you?” I asked Izzy.

She just looked at me.

“You’re mad at me, aren’t you?” I said.

“Why would I be mad?”

In woman-talk, that means yes.

“I’m sorry,” I said. “I guess I figured it would be easier for you without me tagging along.”

“No, you didn’t. You don’t want me around when you meet Carmine tonight. You’re afraid I’ll get hurt.”

“He said to come alone.”

“You never go into a situation without backup. You should know that.”

“You’re quoting Police 101 to me?”

“Someone has to.”

I hate being wrong, but being dead is worse.

“You’re right,” I said. “I made the decision without asking you. That’s no way to treat your partner. It won’t happen again.”

“And now, you think we’re partners?”

She tried to hide her smile but failed miserably.

“I guess we both do,” I said.

We had some time on the ride in, so we talked through our strategy for the midnight meeting with Carmine. I called Tim, hung up, and he called me right back from London.

“How are things in jolly old England?” I asked.

“All’s quiet at Number 10,” he said. “Did you bozos ever figure out how Anonymous found you and hacked in?”

“I don’t know. Does it make any difference at this point?”

“Probably not, but if you’re interested you should ask Jerry Plummer about it. He’s in the IT department at City Hall. He likes to use his cell to make calls to particular individuals on a certain watch list maintained by Homeland’s Cyber Crimes Unit.”

“Thanks. I’ll make a note of that if phone surveillance without a warrant ever becomes legal.”

“Since when did you care about laws that get in the way of justice?”

“Good point.”

“What can I do for you, Bam?”

“I need your help with a little problem…”

I told Tim what I wanted. He thought it sounded like fun but way too dangerous. I told him I wasn’t worried. I had backup.

When we got to the Six, there was extra security outside the Federal Reserve across the street. I mentioned it to Travis when we got down to the situation room.

“We were told it’s just a precaution,” he said. “There’s been some trouble at a few of the smaller area banks that didn’t have the cash on hand to keep their depositors happy. The Fed is guaranteeing all of them and shipping the cash as needed. The bigger banks are required to have more in reserve, and so far, they’re doing okay.”

“What about the hospitals? How are they holding up?”

“FEMA is handling things as best they can, but you know how that goes. As soon as it gets dark, all hell will break loose.”

“Where’s Fink?”

“Over at the Ritz Carlton.”

“Good.”

“He’s pissed, sir.”

“Even better. We missed the president’s speech. What did he say?”

“Pretty much what his advisor said he would. I think it went over well. At least, that’s what the polls are showing.”

“That’s the best news I’ve had all day. How about I play waiter today and make us some coffee?”

“Thank you, sir.”

We sat around drinking coffee and watching TV. Night had fallen in Europe. Travis was right. That’s when all hell breaks loose. There were riots in Paris, London, Madrid, and Frankfurt. Martial law had been declared in Greece after a bank had been blown up in Athens. It wasn’t just about Ebola anymore. Now, it was about something near and dear to everyone’s heart — money. Governments were trying their best to knock out the Ebola panic, but fear was working a different angle and counterpunching like a heavyweight champ.

Around dinnertime, Tom Stalter called another CDC meeting. There was someone with him this time who sat in the background while Tom did the talking. Tom seemed more subdued than usual. He told us that the number of confirmed cases had doubled. So had the number of deaths. Another U.N. delegate had died, this time from Eastern Europe. They’d gotten in touch with fifty more of the delegates. Eighty-five were now reporting symptoms. The American ambassador was one of them. The other group members gave their reports. There were confirmed cases and deaths on every continent, and the dots connected them all to the U.N.

“We’ve isolated the virus,” Tom said. “It’s not an iteration of the Ebola spreading through Africa right now. It’s a different strain of Zaire.”

“Is that a good or bad thing?” I asked.

“It’s a very bad thing,” the guy with Tom said, sliding his chair forward.

It’s funny about first impressions. I didn’t like the way he chewed on his glasses. I didn’t like his nasal voice. I didn’t like him.

“This is Dr. Donald Champion,” Tom said. “He’s heading up the U.N. response now.”

“Nice to meet you, Doc,” I said. “So, tell me. Why is it such a bad thing?”

“Because, Agent Matthews, this is a strain of the virus capable of rapid mutation after it has been transmitted to a new host. We’ve only seen it twice before. In the most recent outbreak, when I was assigned as U.N. coordinator, the mutated form became, in a small percentage of cases, airborne. We believe that is what is happening now.”

“Define small.”

“When the team arrived on the scene to contain that outbreak, they found thirty people infected. Test results showed that one had the airborne version of the virus.”

“That’s not so bad, is it? One in thirty?”

“Three days later, everyone in the village was dead, including our entire team.”

“But not you.”

“I was managing the operation from New York.”

“Lucky you. There’s nothing on your site or any other Internet site about an airborne Ebola. Everyone says it’s not possible. When and where did these other outbreaks happen, and why were they covered up?”

You can always tell when a man has something to hide by the way he adjusts his tie before answering a question.

“I’m afraid that information is classified, Agent Matthews,” Champion said. “The important point is that we are dealing with a virus that is capable of spreading through the air. That much is obvious from the speed at which it is propagating. This will require additional quarantine measures on everyone’s part, and it is crucial that these measures be implemented immediately. We’re going to need everyone in this room’s full cooperation with getting their respective countries on board if we’re to have any hope of stopping this.”

“So, you think you
can
stop it?” Izzy said.

“We stopped it before, and I am confident we can stop it again. This one’s a particularly nasty bug. That works in our favor. From the time of the first expression of symptoms until death is approximately two days. That’s an extremely limited window of opportunity for transmission.”

“Did anyone survive either of those outbreaks?” I asked. “Can you at least tell us that?”

“In both, the mortality rate was one hundred percent.”

Champion waited until the hubbub from the others died down, and then he laid out the steps as he saw them.

N95 masks and gloves were to be issued to all law enforcement officers, first responders, and healthcare workers. These were to be worn at all times while on duty. Doctors and nurses caring directly for the infected were to wear full protective gear and disinfect themselves, their gear, and their instruments regularly with hydrogen peroxide. No exceptions. As I found out from Tom later, an N95 mask was one that met the NIOSH standard for removing ninety-five percent of airborne particulates, including viruses. Apparently, removing the other five was left to God.

Every town and city where outbreaks occurred was to set up a holding area where the infected could be housed and treated. It had to be indoors. Any person found exhibiting symptoms was to be taken to that holding area. Hospitals would no longer handle Ebola cases. They would be reserved for routine services. Champion suggested suspending classes and converting college dormitories to house the infected. I told him there were over ninety colleges in the Philly area. He thought that might be enough.

When someone asked him about the treatment, he compared it to hospice care. Keep them comfortable. Treat the symptoms, he said. That’s all you can do. Quick disposal of bodies was critical to containing the epidemic. Incineration was the preferred method, but religious objections could be allowed as long as the casket was sealed and burial occurred on the day of death.

It was a brutal, hard sell, and by the time Champion had gone through his checklist, I felt like puking. We signed off, Travis went home, and Izzy and I walked the four or five blocks down to Chinatown. We had dinner at Ling’s, a little hole-in-the-wall place where the soup was good, they didn’t skimp on the spices, and they still took credit cards. Jimmy Barnes checked in when we were on our way back to the Six.

“How’re you doing?” he said.

“I don’t know. You tell me.”

“Your boss isn’t too happy with you. He says you talk too much.”

“He’s not my boss. He’s just higher up the food chain.”

“Yeah, well he put in a request to have you reassigned to our group. He’s not a fan of your freelancing with the CDC.”