Virus Hunters 2: A Medical Thriller

by Bobby Akart

  Fangyu led them to a cubicle made up of stacked boxes of toilet paper and canned goods. He offered his aunt a chair while he and his uncle took a seat on overturned milk crates. The furnishings were spartan but appropriate for a group that likened itself to the French Resistance.

  “As I said before, we will save our countrymen from a certain death if this disease is similar to the Wuhan outbreak of a decade ago. Uncle, do you recall how our physicians and nurses were ordered not to wear protective gear in order to avoid the appearance of panic?”

  “Yes, I do. Many good doctors died because of this poor decision. The government tried to cover up the coronavirus disease, but it was too pervasive in Wuhan.”

  “This leads me to the second reason for telling the world about this new novel virus, as you called it,” said Fangyu. “The Communist Party successfully evaded the worst sanctions proposed by the Americans by putting their boots on the throats of the World Health Organization and the Europeans. They gave in to the government’s demands, and the Americans were isolated. They had no choice but to accept a muted condemnation. When our CDC, in concert with the propaganda machine in Beijing, attempt another cover-up, they will look like fools because of people like you and the hundreds like me.”

  “You are shining the light on their dark dealings,” added his aunt in a solemn voice. Her words were profound.

  “It is the only way to expose their tyranny,” said Fangyu with a sigh. “It is not easy, and it requires economic funding from others, but we are all committed. Even to the point of risking our lives if necessary.”

  A wave of sadness came over his aunt’s face. After the loss of her own son, Fangyu had become like her own. “I do not like to hear words like risking our lives.”

  Fangyu give her a reassuring smile, and then his face became serious. “What kind of journalists would we be if we did not dare rush to the frontline of a crisis?”

  “I worry for you,” she replied, her face awash with sadness.

  “I know and this is why I love you. But never have so many of our countrymen used technology to relay their experiences and issue warnings to the world. It is why we live like this.” He looked around the karez and managed a smile.

  Dr. Zeng reached out for his nephew’s hand and squeezed it. These young people were committed to being pioneers in a dogged movement to defy the ruling Communist Party’s tightly policed monopoly on information. Armed with smartphones and social media accounts, they were telling their stories and the stories of people like Dr. Zeng. In the decade since the COVID-19 pandemic, the activists presented a daunting challenge to the Communist Party, which had been controlling the narrative of China since taking power in 1949.

  “You are the hero, Fangyu. All of you, in fact. Now that we are here, what can we do to help you?”

  Chapter Seven

  Gold Palace Hotel

  Fremont Street Experience

  Downtown Las Vegas, Nevada

  Harper was propped in a corner of the conference room, sitting with her long legs stretched out in front of her, and her Ray-Ban Aviator sunglasses on. She looked like a movie star who was trying to catch a few winks after pulling an all-nighter. She was jolted out of her slumber by the sound of the double doors being violently flung open until they slammed into the adjoining wall.

  She pressed her hands against the wall and propelled herself onto her feet just as Becker was forcibly shoved into the room.

  “I’m gonna sue every last one of you!” She was irate, screaming and waving her arms at the men who’d ushered her inside. “Do you hear me? I’ll have your jobs. I’ll own your car. I’ll be living in your houses. You’ll all be broke-ass bitches when my lawyers are done with you!”

  “Becker!” shouted Harper as she ran to her assistant’s side. “Calm down!”

  Becker was undeterred. Her face was red and her arms continue to flail as she pointed her finger from one man to another. “You shouldn’t have manhandled me! I’ve got bruises. I’ve been harmed!”

  Harper wrapped her arms around the young epidemiologist and whispered in her ear, “Calm down, please. We’ve got to stay under control.”

  “But—” she argued before Harper cut her off.

  “I’ll handle this.”

  Harper turned Becker around, and two of their coworkers led her toward the banquet tables. The food and drinks were now picked over. Becker had preferred a Diet Coke earlier, but she readily accepted a bottle of water for starters.

  “I want to see Captain Brant. Now!” Harper raised her voice. She wanted her captors to know she’d had enough.

  “Ma’am, he’s attending to other matters,” said one of the guardsmen.

  “I don’t care.” She pointed to the man’s radio. “Does that thing work? Call him. He’s got five minutes to release us or I’m calling my husband, the congressman.”

  It was the first time she’d ever invoked Joe’s position to gain advantage. She didn’t like doing it, but she sensed Becker’s outrage was going to cause the anger to escalate with the other CDC personnel. Besides, she was over it, too.

  “You can talk to me!” a man shouted from down the hallway. The voice was familiar, so Harper craned her neck to look past the captors to identify the person. She saw Wallace lumbering toward the doorway.

  “Okay, I’ll talk to you,” said Harper assertively. “Tell these men to stand aside and let us out. Do you know what false imprisonment is, Mr. Wallace?”

  “We’re under quarantine orders,” he barked back. “Thanks to you, I might add.”

  “That’s wrong. It wasn’t my—”

  Wallace was frustrated and livid. “I don’t want to hear it, Dr. Randolph. We tried to accommodate your every request. I practically assigned Figueroa to you and your people full time. And what thanks do I get? A heads-up? A text message saying, hey, I’m about to shut down your casino? Nada. Zero. Zip. Not even the slightest courtesy.”

  Harper tried to argue her point. “This was not my idea. I never suggested—”

  The man was sweating profusely. She’d only interacted with him on a couple of occasions and she’d recalled that he was overweight. But this was different. She was about to speak again when Wallace’s chest heaved as he started to cough.

  Instinctively, Harper jumped back and pulled her tee shirt over her face, exposing her stomach. Wallace had a coughing fit. He doubled over and tried to suppress it, to no avail.

  Under the circumstances, Harper became concerned for her team and the two onlooking guardsmen as well.

  “Stand away from him and cover your nose and mouth!” She was being intentionally overdramatic.

  The guards retreated, leaving Wallace to finish the hacking.

  “It’s nothing,” he insisted. “I take lisinopril. It makes me—”

  Cough. More violent this time. Wallace couldn’t finish his sentence.

  Lisinopril was a commonly prescribed ACE inhibitor used to widen, or dilate, the body’s blood vessels. In so doing, the enzyme increased the amount of blood the heart pumped and therefore lowered blood pressure. However, for ten percent of patients, it also generated a common side effect in the form of a somewhat annoying cough.

  Through years of experience gained investigating infectious diseases, Harper had learned that a seemingly innocent cough or sneeze, coupled with the body sweating in an effort to break a fever, could portend something much worse.

  The two guardsmen began to shut the doors to lock them back in. Harper did something totally out of character for her, and definitely considered unprofessional. She shouted at Wallace to get in the final word.

  “Hey! Wallace! Let us out of here and we’ll make sure that cough isn’t related to the disease.”

  The doors slammed shut and Harper held her breath. After thirty seconds, they didn’t reopen and she knew her ploy didn’t work.

  Dejected, her shoulders slumped and her chin dropped to her chest. For the first time, Harper felt herself on the verge of tears. She felt helpless an
d frustrated. Moreover, she took full blame and responsibility for her team being dragged into this fiasco. Yet it was her team who snapped her out of her doldrums.

  “You just gave him something to think about!” shouted one.

  Another joined in. “I guarantee he just ran to the hospital.”

  “They won’t let the windbag out of the hotel. Talk about having a fit.”

  “Yeah, a damn hissy fit!”

  The group began to laugh uproariously.

  Harper joined the group and sought out Becker first. She sheepishly appeared from the back of the group.

  “What happened while you were out there?” asked Harper.

  “Well, I made it through the ductwork all the way to the front of the conference center. I was above a hallway, and those soldiers were milling about the entrance. Then some kind of emergency call came over their radios, and they all took off toward the casino. I used that as an opportunity to drop out of the ceiling.”

  “Did you go looking for Figueroa?”

  “I never got that far. I waited for a minute to make sure nobody saw me. Then, just as I stepped into the corridor and headed toward the lobby, big boy rounded the corner with two of his security people. I don’t know how they knew—”

  “Cameras,” interjected one of the epidemiologists. “There are probably two thousand or more scattered throughout the property.”

  “That fast?” she asked.

  “For sure,” he replied. “My guess is they’ve really ramped up surveillance because of the chaos.”

  “Chaos is right,” said Becker. “I thought I was at a Falcons game. It was crazy loud as people shouted over one another.”

  “Did you see anything?” asked Harper.

  “Not really. Just people trying to get out.”

  Ding!

  Harper received another text message. It wasn’t from one of her regular contacts.

  +1 (702) 778 – 4749: The cavalry is coming.

  She read the message aloud to the group.

  “Who’s it from?” asked Becker.

  Harper shrugged. “I have no idea.”

  Chapter Eight

  CDC Headquarters

  Atlanta, Georgia

  As the director of the Center for Surveillance, Epidemiology, and Laboratory Services, CSELS, Dr. Berger Reitherman was very much aware of the political machinations of Washington, DC. Prior to coming on board with the CDC, he had been a program manager in the infectious disease office at DARPA, the Defense Advanced Research Projects Agency, an agency of the U.S. Department of Defense known for its secrecy and innovative breakthroughs on behalf of the nation’s military.

  At times, he missed his days at DARPA. The agency wasn’t used as a political football like the CDC was. Politicians on both sides of the aisle understood DARPA’s importance in maintaining America’s status as the world’s dominant democratic superpower, ensuring national security through advanced technology. The ability to bring new defense weapons systems online and make them operational ready was invaluable. As was the agency’s ability to combat infectious diseases.

  When he left DARPA to join the CDC, he was admittedly interested in taking on a more high-profile job. He’d fought in the trenches during the COVID-19 pandemic of ten years prior, and now he was mentally gearing up for a similar battle against this newly discovered disease in Las Vegas.

  As the chief administrator of CSELS, and Harper’s superior, he was also responsible for her actions. He’d been awakened in the middle of the night by the overnight communications director at the CDC with the breaking news from Las Vegas. He hurriedly dressed and hustled into the office. His goal was to gather as much information as possible so the CDC could get out in front of the news story.

  He’d been summoned by the deputy director for Public Health Science and Surveillance, his immediate superior, to a meeting with the principal deputy director of the CDC and the associate director for Communications, Mitchell Bonds.

  He and Bonds had been friends for many years, as they were required to coordinate press releases on new outbreaks. They’d met earlier in the day just prior to Dr. Reitherman receiving the phone call from Carson City.

  The early morning meeting was highly unusual, but the suddenness of the Nevada governor’s actions warranted it. Dr. Reitherman appeared to be the last to arrive at the meeting. He looked down at his watch to confirm it was seven, and not a moment later. Puzzled, he glanced around the deputy director’s conference room and observed empty cups of coffee together with half-eaten pastries. He immediately got the sense he had intentionally been excluded from an earlier part of the conversation.

  “Good morning, Dr. Reitherman,” the deputy director greeted him solemnly. “Please have a seat.”

  “Thank you, Madam Director,” said Dr. Reitherman. He glanced around at the faces studying him. “Um, my apologies if I got the meeting time incorrect.” He reached for his cell phone and scrolled through his text messages. He knew he was on time. He just wanted someone to admit he had been misled.

  “You’re fine, Doctor,” said the deputy director. “We had other matters to discuss. I’ll get right to it.”

  “Okay,” he mumbled.

  She continued. “In about an hour, we’re going to be facing a media shit storm. Communications has already prepared a preliminary statement as to the CDC’s role in the governor of Nevada’s decision. Your conversation with the state was relayed to us a little while ago.”

  “Quite frankly, Madam Deputy Director, the CSELS had no role in the decision. If anything, I advised the Nevada’s public health people that a quarantine, much less a lockdown, was not warranted at this time.”

  The deputy director pursed her lips and locked eyes with Dr. Reitherman. Her agenda was coming to light. “What role did Dr. Randolph play in this decision?”

  Dr. Reitherman noticeably gulped and immediately chastised himself for doing so. It was an uncontrolled, spontaneous act as his mind debated whether to tell the truth or try to protect Harper. He studied the deputy director’s body language, and then he recalled a statement he’d heard on a television program once. A prosecutor rarely asks a question they don’t already know the answer to.

  He scowled. That was what this meeting was shaping up to be. A prosecution. A witch hunt in search of someone to scapegoat for the governor’s draconian actions. He’d have to come clean but stick to only what he knew.

  “Dr. Randolph had just arrived back in Las Vegas at my direction. The CDC jet was inexplicably rerouted to McCarran from its preplanned destination in North Las Vegas. Based upon my conversation with Dr. Randolph, it’s readily apparent to me as to why.”

  “I’m listening,” said the deputy director.

  “She was met as she exited the plane by Secret Service personnel, who insisted she come alone with them at the request of President Taylor.”

  “Was she flying alone?”

  “No. She was joined by her assistant, Dr. Elizabeth Becker. Dr. Becker was prevented from accompanying Dr. Randolph.”

  Dr. Reitherman paused to gather his thoughts, prompting the deputy director to urge him to continue. “Go ahead, please.”

  “She met with the president in Air Force One. He peppered her with questions regarding the CDC’s activities in Las Vegas.”

  “Why would she remotely consider that to be appropriate? Those types of conversations should be conducted with someone much higher on the organizational chart, such as myself or the director.”

  “I agree, Madam Deputy Director. That said, with all due respect, the president knows this as well. I don’t have the means, nor the time, to look into why the CDC jet was rerouted to McCarran. It’s obvious, however, that President Taylor, his chief of staff, and therefore, the Secret Service were aware of it. They may have, in fact, been responsible for the diversion.”

  The deputy director furrowed her brow and pressed her back into the chair. “What you are suggesting is quite conspiratorial, wouldn’t you agree?”

&nbs
p; Dr. Reitherman had opened up this door, and he intended to do everything he could to protect Harper from being railroaded. He’d been around long enough to know that before the directors of any agency got their precious résumés soiled, they’d find someone to throw under the bus first.

  “I mean no disrespect. I’m simply stating the facts supplemented by my observations. I had a conversation with Dr. Randolph about this, and she assured me that nothing was said by her that would lead to the governor’s use of the National Guard to institute a cordon sanitaire. If anything, she, like me, specifically advised against it.”

  The deputy director took a deep breath. She let out a long exhale and leaned forward in her chair. “Ten years ago, COVID-19 changed the lives of everyone in this country. The concepts of social distancing, self-quarantine, and wearing face masks became a part of everyone’s vernacular.

  “I also recall how the American consciousness shifted from awareness to concerned to fearful. Simple routines like going to the grocery store or filling up their cars with gasoline potentially put themselves and others at risk of contracting the disease.

  “It was the first time in a hundred years we’d faced a global pandemic. Years later, when the vaccines were proven to be successful and the death toll finally subsided, the public breathed easy. The presumption was infectious diseases would take a break for another millennium.

  “That was naïve thinking. We learned from studying the events leading up to those first cases in America that COVID-19 was never containable. Why? Frankly, because we never knew what hit us. By the time the first indications of community spread became apparent, it was too late.”

  She took a deep breath and studied the attendees. “What I’m about to say cannot leave this room. Let’s face it. As medical professionals in the field of infectious diseases, we know the challenges the CDC faces as an agency. We’re always placed in an untenable position—open to second-guessing and twenty-twenty hindsight.