by Bobby Akart
“Nothing. The CDC has reached out to the World Health Organization and also the Chinese version of the CDC. They deny any knowledge of the disease.”
The mayor furrowed her brow and leaned with both elbows on the desk. She pointed a wrinkled, bony finger toward Harper. “You don’t believe them, do you?”
“No, ma’am, I don’t. For one thing, Asia and China, in particular, are hotspots for novel diseases. It’s not a big mystery as to why. They have large, concentrated population centers. Their citizens are used to being in close contact with a wide variety of animal species, and let’s face it, at least in some areas, their hygiene is not on par with Western nations.”
“They’ve blocked your inquiries?” she asked.
“Yes, thus far. China is notorious for its misinformation, secrecy, and, of course, censorship. Dissidents are dealt with swiftly and harshly. It’s a communist state in which secrecy is assured through government threats. Information is manipulated by state-run media.”
“If they won’t cooperate, how will you determine the origin of this disease?” she asked.
Harper closed her eyes and provided the response she’d given others. “All I can say is the answers are in China.”
Chapter Fourteen
Soho Lofts
South Las Vegas Blvd. and East Charleston Blvd.
Las Vegas, Nevada
Harper was prepared to answer as many questions as the mayor asked, but she’d already received two phone calls, a voicemail, and half a dozen text messages from Dr. Reitherman. Her cell phone kept buzzing in the rear pocket of her jeans; however neither the eightyish mayor nor Dr. Boychuck, whom she presumed to be in his late sixties, seemed to notice.
Finally, after yet another text message, this time from Becker, Harper stood and excused herself under the pretense she needed to use the restroom. She slowly shut the doors behind her and sought out Becker, who was huddled around the television with the rest of the CDC team.
“What’s happening?” asked Harper.
“Come here,” replied Becker. “This is a news feed from LA.”
A local Las Vegas station was simulcasting breaking news from KTLA, Channel 5, in Los Angeles. The chyron indicated they were interviewing LA County Department of Public Health director Dr. Barbara Chandler.
“Dr. Chandler, what can you tell us about this patient?” asked the reporter, who was out of the camera’s view.
“The person who died was a woman, aged sixty-seven, who had recently traveled extensively throughout Asia. Passport records indicate she’d visited Kathmandu, Nepal; Hong Kong; and Taipei before returning to Los Angeles.”
The reporter interrupted her. “Are you able to release her name? Is she an American?”
“Her identity is being withheld pending notification of family. I can confirm she is an American.”
“Do you believe this case is related to the mysterious disease outbreak in Las Vegas in recent days?”
Dr. Chandler shook her head and then shrugged. “It’s way too early to make that determination. For one thing, unless she left LAX directly for Las Vegas and then immediately returned within hours, that’s highly unlikely. From our interviews with her family, she’d felt ill on the twelve-hour flight.”
“Which airline?”
“EVA Air, I believe.”
“Dr. Chandler, what is it about this woman’s death that causes you concern? I mean, if there is no connection to the Las Vegas patients, why would you—?”
The public health official cut her off. “Her symptoms are very similar to those reported by the Clark County medical examiner. Therefore, I can’t rule it out.”
The reporter persisted. “Is there any indication that the family members, or anyone she came in contact with during her travels back to the U.S., have become ill?”
“We’re conducting our own interviews and contact tracing, but the regional office of the CDC in Los Angeles County has been notified as well. Thank you very much.”
Dr. Chandler walked away from the interview and immediately approached a representative of the Los Angeles mayor’s office. The reporter turned to the camera.
“Well, there you have it. LA may have its first case of this mysterious infectious disease that appeared in Las Vegas initially and somehow, inexplicably, infected this traveler who spent the last month or so in Asia. Back to you.”
Harper shook her head and addressed the group. “This was my concern. The local cases have everyone spooked. There is no way to confirm that this woman died of the same virus as our four men from China. Despite the lack of information, the media will start to tie every mysterious death to the disease.”
“Do we need to send part of our people to LA?” asked Becker.
“No, that’s Reitherman’s call,” replied Harper. Then she scowled. “Aw, shit. I forgot to call him.”
She walked away from the group and called him without checking her text messages or voicemails first.
When he answered, he was salty. “Harper, where have you been?”
“I’m so sorry, sir. I was cornered by the mayor, and she was demanding answers and advice.”
“Okay, fine. But you have to keep your phone on. We have a situation. Well, multiple situations, actually.”
“I know. I just caught a glimpse of a news report from LA.”
He exhaled into the phone. “Add Seattle and Dallas to your list. Seoul and Tokyo, too.”
“Gee, are they sure? How can they possibly connect the dots to these patients already?”
“All of a sudden the director-general of the WHO is driving the frenzy. He’s afraid to catch the kind of heat his predecessor did during the COVID pandemic.”
“Can’t blame him there. However, a knee-jerk reaction can be just as problematic.”
“There’s more,” said Dr. Reitherman. “China has clammed up, and they’ve expelled our personnel from their CDC complex in Beijing.”
“They can’t do that!” exclaimed Harper. “That was part of the deal for their malfeasance during COVID. It was the least they could do since we couldn’t wrangle any reparations out of them.”
“I can’t disagree, but remember, they’re a communist country. They do anything they damn well please.”
Harper looked for Becker and got her attention. As soon as she was finished talking with Dr. Reitherman, she wanted to get the troops to work.
“We’ll step it up on our end.” She began to explain her plans for the day. “Our team’s tired, but they’re motivated.”
There was a brief silence on the other side of the call. Finally, Dr. Reitherman spoke up. “About that. You’re not gonna like this.”
“Come on, Dr. Reitherman,” Harper immediately began to protest what she anticipated was coming. “I just got back here. I’m not a yo-yo.”
“Harper, you know how these things are. In the early stages, the entire situation is very fluid.”
“Yes.” Her dejection was obvious.
“Just trust me on this. Bring Dr. Becker with you. The jet’s ready for you.”
Part II
Who is Patient Zero?
No one wants to be the Patient Zero of their village. Just because you are the first to be diagnosed doesn’t mean you started the epidemic.
~ Professor Robert M. Grant, MD
Chapter Fifteen
CDC Headquarters
Atlanta, Georgia
Within hours of her arrival at her home late last night, several vehicles full of the press managed to follow a news van through her community’s gated entry. Soon, others followed suit, resulting in camera trucks and reporters stalking her house, looking for comment. After calling the police, they were removed from the neighborhood and camped outside the gated entry. Much to her chagrin, their backups were waiting for her at the CDC.
Harper shoved her way through the media scrum that blocked her access to the entrance of the main building at the CDC’s Roybal campus.
“Dr. Harper! Dr. Harper!”
&nbs
p; “Are you denying that you suggested the quarantine of Las Vegas?”
“Did you speak with the governor directly?”
“Are you being reassigned?”
“How is this affecting your husband on Capitol Hill?”
Damn! That last question stung the most. Harper considered herself levelheaded with nerves of steel. Some considered her to be cold. Aloof. Unapproachable. Even too perfect. She’d heard the whispers before. She always sloughed off those criticisms and refused to carry a chip on her shoulder for who she was. They didn’t know what she’d been through as a child.
What was important to her, above all else, was her relationship with her husband. She thought she could handle the political games played by Joe’s adversaries. She just had no idea how dirty they could be.
Harper took a deep breath and set her jaw. With a determined look on her face, she soldiered through the crowd, ignoring the questions and comments laced with innuendo. She refused to make eye contact with the vultures wishing to pick at her damaged body.
Haters are gonna hate, she reminded herself.
Once she reached the entry doors, armed security personnel stepped forward to stop the rush of bodies attempting to follow her inside. She made a mental note to use a different entrance the next day. Unbeknownst to her, that wouldn’t be an issue.
She’d enjoyed the few hours at home that morning. Sleeping in her own bed rather than the CDC Learjet did wonders for her energy levels. Plus, Dr. Dog needed her mommy, and Miss Sally missed fixing a meal for her adopted family. Most of all, she enjoyed lying in bed that night, talking with Joe about everything. He was always a voice of reason and sanity. The only thing that was missing from their conversation was the insane course of action she was intent upon pursuing. That conversation would come, but first she needed to determine if it would be approved by her boss.
Her first stop was Becker’s office. In the morning, Dr. Elizabeth Becker became Lizzie Becker—the human dynamo. Harper could never put her finger on what made the young epidemiologist tick. When the two first began working together, she’d noticed the piles of empty Diet Coke cans that accumulated in Becker’s wastebasket. Harper surmised it was the caffeine.
Then she noticed there were days when Becker laid off the Diet Cokes, yet her enthusiasm for the day remained high. Harper seriously contemplated a scientific study to determine if Becker’s zest for her job, and life in general, could be bottled and sold on Amazon. Perhaps in an atomizer as a perfume or cologne.
“Good morning, Dr. Randolph! Did you see the reporters outside? You’re famous!”
Harper didn’t share in her exuberance. “Happy, happy. Joy, joy.”
“Oh, come on. Any press is good press. When this is all over and you save the day, America will forever remember the name—Dr. Harper Randolph.” Becker motioned with her hands to design an imaginary sign in midair.
Harper smiled. Becker had lifted her spirits once again. “Well, hopefully Reitherman doesn’t fire me before Good Morning America calls for an interview.”
Becker scowled and cocked her head. “How did you know?”
Harper became genuinely concerned. “What have you heard? Is he gonna fire me? Aw, shit, Becker. I had no idea—”
“No. Not that. A producer from Good Morning America called the communications director this morning. They want you to appear on camera during their last segment.”
Harper shook her head. “Not gonna happen. I’ve done enough damage already.”
“Suit yourself. Any pub is good pub. I’ll pass it on.” She held up two hands and presented stacks of phone messages to Harper.
“What are these?”
Becker gestured as she spoke. “Right hand is from the LA public health officials, Seattle DPH, our counterparts in Austria, and several WHO epis.”
Harper spread them apart with her thumb to look at the names. Then, holding up her left hand, she asked, “And these?”
“Media.”
Harper smiled and walked around Becker’s desk. She tossed the media inquiries in the wastebasket on top of the pile of empty Diet Coke cans.
“Thanks, Becker. I need to see Dr. Reitherman first thing. Have you seen him?”
“The Bergermeister has already been looking for you,” she replied, using her nickname for the director.
“What’s his mood like?” asked Harper.
Becker thought for a moment, searching her expansive, although somewhat unusual, mental thesaurus. “Engrossed.”
Harper chuckled and waved as she headed out the door. “Well, alrighty then.”
She made a beeline for her office to avoid idle chitchat with any of the CDC personnel. She had a busy day and didn’t need any distractions. She had to stay focused, although not engrossed, as Becker had suggested Dr. Reitherman was. Her proposal required one heckuva convincing argument, and she was ready to start the discussion.
However, there was one phone call she wanted to make first. Once in her office, she shut the door and dropped her bag in a chair. She spread the phone messages out on her desk and retrieved the one from an official with the Department of Health within the Austrian Ministry of Labor, Social Affairs, Health, and Consumer Protection. Somehow, the Austrians felt lumping all of these diverse agencies under one made sense.
Harper didn’t speak German other than a few phrases. Hopefully, she could find her way through to the proper party. She dialed the international number and waited.
The receptionist answered the phone. “Guten Tag. Gesundheitamt. Wie kann ich dir helfen?”
Harper thought fast. She understood good afternoon and the word for help. Gesundheit was universally known as a word for health.
“Um, yes. Ja, Herr Spahn, bitte. Ich bin Dr. Harper Randolph auf CDC America.”
She cringed as she crossed her fingers and hoped that came out right.
The receptionist, obviously bilingual, switched languages to accommodate Harper. “Good afternoon, Dr. Randolph.”
Oh, thank God! Harper smiled as she looked upward. “Good, thank you. I am returning his phone call.”
“Yes. Doktor Spahn was hoping to receive your call today. Einen moment, bitte.”
Harper searched her desk drawers for a notepad and pen. As much as she enjoyed working in the field, it took her a few hours to become reacquainted with her office when she returned.
“Dr. Randolph, thank you for your prompt call. I am Herman Spahn, associate director of Health. I am told by Dr. Reitherman that you are the lead epidemiologist on the Las Vegas outbreak.”
I hope so, but that’s subject to change.
“Yes, I am. How may I help you?”
“After reading the news reports and the alerts issued by World Health, I revisited a mysterious death brought to my attention a week ago. Officially, the cause of death was ruled as pneumonia, but the pathology is odd.”
“How so?” asked Harper.
“The patient was male and in his mid-thirties. He was in excellent health. In fact, he was a member of the Austrian Olympic ski team.”
Harper was intrigued. “Did he have any other medical diseases, such as asthma, diabetes, or undiagnosed chronic obstructive pulmonary disease?” Many knew this respiratory illness by its acronym—COPD.
“No. I have reviewed the notes from his initial autopsy and even ordered a second one to confirm. He was a nonsmoker, nondrinker and had no indications of a weakened immune system.”
Harper cradled the phone between her cheek and shoulder. She was furiously making notes and then asked the doctor to share the results of the autopsy with the CDC.
While she was thinking, Dr. Spahn continued. “This is a heartbreaking case for other reasons. His wife recently died in a tragic accident while climbing Mount Everest. Their story is surreal. This gentleman was left behind at the base camp when his wife made the climb. He’d become ill with flu-like symptoms, and the medical team in Nepal refused to allow him access to the mountain. Fate took his life a week later.”
H
arper leaned back in her chair. She stared at her notes and then asked, “Have you investigated their contacts since his return to Austria?”
“Yes, it was quite simple, actually. He and his wife live together with her parents in a small village north of Vienna.”
“Did the parents get sick? How old are they?”
Dr. Spahn paused. Harper could hear him thumbing through notes or a file folder. “Ja. They did become sick with flu-like symptoms and were admitted to Wilhelminenspital for treatment. They recovered without further complications.”
“Their ages?” asked Harper.
He paused again and then replied, “Both are seventy-four years old.”
After gaining his permission to have the entire family’s medical records sent to the CDC and asking about the wife’s body who died on Mount Everest, Harper thanked Dr. Spahn. After disconnecting the call, she immediately sent a text message to summon Becker.
This is how these things go, Harper thought to herself. Seemingly unrelated deaths around the world suddenly get connected by a common element—a virus.
Chapter Sixteen
CDC Headquarters
Atlanta, Georgia
Dr. Reitherman had immediately placed Harper at ease once they dispensed with the welcome home pleasantries. He’d successfully planted the seed with his superiors, the top echelon of the CDC, that the governor of Nevada was simply a useful pawn in some larger political scheme orchestrated by the president. There was no love lost between the CDC and the current administration, which had sought to drastically cut their budget, making Dr. Reitherman’s job somewhat easier.
“With that said, we need you to lie low for a little while unless you enjoy battling the media every day,” he suggested.
“You heard about that?” asked Harper.
“Security informed me. I can get you a detail until this blows over, if you’d like.”
