“Then cancel the next two hours. Move things around. Something came up. Whatever you need to tell them. But I want the Joint Chiefs convened within the hour, and a full briefing from CDC and CIA. Get the report to everyone. And, Edgar – give me a minute, and then send the ambassador back in.”
Edgar nodded and hurried from the room. The president stood and paced in front of his desk. After a half minute of this, he stopped and extracted a tissue from his pocket and blotted a single bead of sweat that had run from his hairline down his left temple. Ordinarily glacially calm, he was anxious. The most powerful man alive, and he was worried.
When the ambassador and Edgar returned, he was back behind his desk.
“You may tell your prime minister that I will accept his call. In the meanwhile, I need some privacy, please,” he said, and the Russian nodded before ducking back into the outer office.
The director of the CDC was on the line by the time the door closed behind him, Edgar standing nearby.
The conversation lasted sixty seconds. By the time it was over, the president’s complexion was gray. Edgar and he had a hasty murmured discussion, and then the phone rang again. His assistant announced the Russian leader on line two.
The president pushed the blinking button and the call went live.
“Mr. Prime Minister. Your ambassador just presented me with the most remarkable document. I frankly have no idea what to make of it, but I’m having my top experts look it over now,” the president began, affecting a neutral tone.
“Yes, please do that. My experts have had the document for half a day. I have verified with the French that it’s genuine. A global calamity in the making.”
“I agree. But I need to understand more about it before I can comment further.”
“Mr. President, we have our differences, but I must inform you that my country is taking this threat most seriously. So seriously that I am calling to put you on notice. I have been instructed to convey to you that we will consider the first sign that this virus has made it into the world an act of war, as though your country had launched its nuclear arsenal. And the moment we hear of this, we will be forced to retaliate.”
The president looked at Edgar and then lifted the handset, shutting off the speakerphone.
“Anatoly. Please. Don’t be rash. I have no idea what this is all about.”
“Perhaps, Mr. President, but I have said what my government has instructed me to say, so you have our official position. The introduction of this virus will be viewed as a hostile act, to be met with the full weight of the Russian strategic response capability. I’ve looked at the numbers, and most of my country will be dead within weeks of its appearance anyway. This way, you can rest assured that we will all be in the same boat, as the saying goes.”
“I…these are impossible allegations. I can assure you that we are not the creators of this…this abomination. There’s been some sort of a mistake.”
“If there has, then neither of us has anything to worry about. You are now aware of my country’s position. I pray for the future of mankind that you are being forthright with me, Mr. President. This is not a negotiable condition. If the virus appears, it is mutually assured destruction.”
“This is an error, Anatoly. I urge you to reconsider. There are some things that can’t be undone. The damage from creating a confrontation of this magnitude could be permanent. You’re going down an extremely dangerous road.”
“I am fully aware of the path I am on, Mr. President. It appears that you are the one in need of a map. I hope that you’re able to get to the bottom of this, wherever it has come from, because if not, we’re all doomed. Read the report, talk to your experts, as I have spoken to mine. You’ll soon understand why our reaction is this…severe. I will keep our communications open, but there is no discussion about our reaction to the virus being released. Please be clear on that, Mr. President, with all respect.”
When the president terminated the call, the Oval Office was silent. Edgar’s cell rang. He answered, then lowered the phone, looking chagrined.
“The Chinese want an immediate meeting. So does the Indian ambassador.”
“Damn it, Edgar. Figure out what the hell is going on here, and quick, or there isn’t going to be a tomorrow. Tell the ambassadors that I will see them, but buy me an hour, and convene a crisis meeting immediately. I need answers, and I need them yesterday. I just had the leader of the largest nuclear power besides ourselves tell me he was preparing to launch if this virus makes it into the world. They aren’t even asking for anything. Just warning us. I don’t think that’s ever happened before. Not during my lifetime.”
“We need to go onto heightened alert, as well, Mr. President. In response to their elevated status.”
The president nodded wearily. “I know the drill. Make it so. And get everyone together. I suspect we’re about to discover that India and China are also agitated about the same thing. Let’s just hope that by the end of the day we don’t have the entire world turned against us. Because that’s the way it’s starting to look. And for something we didn’t even do.”
Edgar’s phone trilled again. “It’s the British, sir. The prime minister wants to speak to you in fifteen minutes.”
FORTY-FIVE
Damage Control
Thorn was badly shaken from his round-the-clock meetings in Langley, and it was all he could do to manage a quick flight from Washington to New York to see Barker in person in the wee hours of the morning. As the brains behind the virus effort, Barker was the one who would need to understand the catastrophe that had taken place, and it was he who would have to take immediate action. Anything but a complete cancellation of the scheme was a guarantee of nuclear annihilation, and therefore suicide now. A perfect plan had been destroyed; and the worst part was, he wasn’t completely sure how.
Barker agreed to see him at his penthouse in Manhattan, and when Thorn arrived at six a.m. he was shown straight in. Thorn looked like he’d been beaten with a board; whereas Barker, in typical fashion, exuded the healthy glow of the mega-rich, their longevity assured by the best attention money could buy, their sleek, toned, and tucked features those of an elite race, elevated beyond the mere mortals who occupied the lowly gutters of the world. Most of the disparity had to do with the fact Thorn hadn’t slept in twenty-four hours, and that he’d fortified himself for the pre-dawn flight with a double brandy that was now making its residual presence known. Acid bile threatened to gag him as he sat across from Barker, who was sipping a glass of fresh-squeezed orange juice and munching on pineapple chunks.
“Tell me what the hell happened,” he demanded, his voice low, the cook in the small service room off the kitchen and his housekeeper somewhere in the depths of the cavernous penthouse.
“I gave you as much detail as I had over the phone. It’s a disaster. Basically, every country we’ve spoken with, including our allies, is saying the same thing. If this virus is released, we’re going to be a glowing crater. Nobody’s buying that it’s all a big misunderstanding. The report is pretty clear that only a major technological and financial effort could have produced this virus. And frankly, the attached data sheets are sophisticated as anything anyone’s found. I don’t think we have any choice but to abort.”
Barker sighed, then nodded. “How? How did it leak?”
“Obviously the analyst had gotten hold of the data and made arrangements for the Pasteur scientists to analyze it. Even in death, the bastard managed to screw us.”
“Are we sure it was him?”
“There’s nobody else. Everyone in the group, in the program, you name it, is a hundred and ten percent loyal and trustworthy. Plus, no one of them had nearly all the data. No, this was a concerted effort, which I suppose we should have foreseen. It’s probably by the grace of God that we didn’t release the virus and then discover, too late, that every country with a nuke would launch in retaliation. Think about it. One more week and it would have been too late to stop this.”
&n
bsp; “At great expense, I might add. We’ll have to destroy any flu vaccines we manufactured that contain the virus. But that’s fine. A sunk cost. We’ll invent some pretext to delay the flu shots a couple of weeks,” Barker said, thinking out loud.
A thought occurred to him, and he stared hard at Thorn. “You look like hell.”
“Thanks. I feel like it, too.”
“Could the brother have had anything to do with this?”
“No. We’ve been all over him. No chance.”
“You’re sure?”
“Positive. But if you like, we can terminate him. Just for good measure.”
Barker cleared his throat, pensive. “Do you want some of my miracle coffee? You know how good it is.”
“I was hoping you’d offer.”
Barker pressed a small button on a wireless intercom on the table and spoke into it. “Two cups of java. You like cream and sugar?”
“Sure. Two sugars. A dollop of cream.”
“You heard him. My usual for me.” He released the button and gazed out at the Manhattan skyline, breathtaking from his lofty perch. “Eliminating the brother is closing the barn door, no? Sort of pointless now, I would think.”
“I’m just throwing possibilities out there.”
“I’d say it’s time to concentrate on salvaging what we can, and focus on the future. We have other options. Perhaps not as elegant or quite ready, but still, options. I won’t be denied the culmination of a life’s work by one setback. Tomorrow’s another day.” Barker shifted in his seat. “Run interference, ensure any investigation goes nowhere. You know what to do. If there’s a congressional hearing that we can’t quash, stonewall. The usual. Since nothing actually happened, I don’t think we’ll need a fall guy this go-round. In fact, you can probably twist the whole thing to the Agency’s advantage.”
“I’ll think of something.”
The coffee arrived, and the cook scuttled away after placing a silver serving tray on the table.
“I’m sure you will. Have no fear. This isn’t over. It’s just an intermission. A temporary glitch. A resilient man bounces back from his lowest low to hit an even higher high. Which we will,” Barker said.
Both men sipped their dark roast, marveling as always at the flavor profile, appreciation on both their faces as they contemplated the next inning, and what they would do differently next time.
Jeffrey waited outside the hotel for the taxi that would take him to the Charles de Gaulle airport. Then home, to Washington. Although he realized that nothing he had back there even resembled a home – his brother’s condo, a job that was a sham, a relationship that was a lie.
It had been ten days since Bertrand had sent the report to Kaycee, and Jeffrey had spoken with her a dozen times since then as she’d updated him on her progress. She’d succeeded in getting it to the Chinese and the Indians, and the French had slipped it to the Russians and the British. That had been more than a week ago.
Perhaps the most infuriating part had been the uncertainty – not knowing what the outcome would be, day after long day. Then, that morning, Bertrand had called with a piece of auspicious news. He’d heard from his contacts that the flu shot program scheduled for the following week had been postponed due to some process issues that would delay it for a month. Jeffrey wasn’t so sure, but Bertrand had assured him it was a win for them, and that the only conclusion they could reach was that enough pressure had been brought to bear so that those intent on destroying most of mankind had terminated their plan. In the meantime, the Frenchman was working round the clock to create an effective vaccine, putting the full weight of the Institute behind the effort.
If Bertrand was correct about the flu shot program being the dissemination mechanism, its delay was the best news Jeffrey had ever had in his life – and he had no reason to doubt the scientist. But a part of Jeffrey felt empty, hollow, like he’d won a pyrrhic victory.
He couldn’t account for the sentiment, but it was there, and very real. Perhaps it was because he was done with his new life and hadn’t yet decided what was next. Maybe it was his head injury, which had finally stopped hurting six days ago. Or maybe it was that he’d lost everything, and had nothing to hang onto.
Jeffrey had told the firm that he needed more time due to his injury, and the response had been polite but distant, as if they didn’t really care what he did. Which was fine by him – he’d hung around in Paris, ostensibly for the doctor, but in reality because he didn’t want to go back and face the shambles of his existence. And it had worked – Monica had seemed less and less interested when he called, which had gone from daily, to every couple, and on the last call she’d seemed as uninterested in talking as he. Maybe she’d finally sensed that he wasn’t under her spell anymore; or more likely, she’d been told that her assignment sleeping with Jeffrey was over, so there was no more pay in it. Whatever the case, he was almost positive that her phone wouldn’t answer when he got back into town, which was fine. At least he had closure there.
Of a kind.
The taxi rolled to the curb and the bellman held the door open for Jeffrey as he climbed into the car, the sky blue as spring arrived in force. A trio of pretty girls bounced provocatively down the street, chatting with each other, laughing, seemingly without a care in the world, and he watched them with a trace of melancholy, then leaned forward and told the driver in a quiet voice to take him to the airport, away from Paris, to a future that was as uncertain his past.
FORTY-SIX
Home
Monica’s phone was disconnected when he got around to returning her latest three-day-old message on his answering machine. He wasn’t surprised, and realized as he listened to the automated voice that the only thing he felt was relief at not having to go through a protracted act to wind down their relationship.
When he arrived at the condo he was tired from the flight, and he barely stopped at the refrigerator to retrieve a beer before tossing his bag onto the couch and popping the top. He savored the first icy swallows with relish, then set the bottle down and powered on his phone and called into the office to see what messages he had. His secretary had told him that Fairbanks wanted to speak to him as soon as he was able to come in, and he sensed the other shoe getting ready to drop – again, with a sense of relief. The lie he’d been living, the fantasy world that had been created to keep him under wraps, was disintegrating around him, and he was glad. It meant he was no longer of interest, no longer a target. At least, that was his hope.
His client messages had dwindled to nothing, which he interpreted as another sign. The word had gone out from the partners that he wasn’t long for their world, or would be out of the office for the duration as he grappled with his injury. He knew the firm would have to be careful about how it proposed that he leave, so that it didn’t seem that he was being let go as a result of the mugging, but he didn’t really care how they went about it. He wasn’t going to challenge them. He just knew that he didn’t want to stay in Washington any longer. There was nothing for him there. It was now just a place his brother had lived – too briefly.
Jeffrey glanced at the beer and realized it had somehow emptied itself while he’d been preoccupied, and he belched as his eyes roved around the room, wondering if all the eavesdropping equipment had been removed in his absence. As his eyes came to rest on his brother’s Stratocaster sitting on the stand in the corner, he realized it didn’t much matter. At that instant, he knew that he would be calling the realtor and selling the condo, probably early the next day. There was no point in delaying the inevitable, and it would be the first step on the path to a new reality.
Jeffrey picked up the guitar, plugged in the amplifier next to it, and strummed a chord. He fiddled with the volume and tone knobs and then tuned it, plucking the harmonics and listening for the slight dissonance. Satisfied that it was close enough, he reached down and grabbed a pick from the green vinyl amp top, and played a few quick riffs, arpeggios that his rusty fingers struggled with at first, bu
t quickly adapted to, like riding a bike. As the speed increased, he broke into “Little Wing,” the soulful wail of the guitar a keening lament, a protestation to an unjust universe that robbed the innocent and rewarded the wicked.
Drums and a bass rift, brooding and roiling, accompanied him in his head, and a tear ran down his face as he played, his heart breaking with every note, a silent prayer to his brother, a final eulogy and farewell, repeating in his mind.
Goodbye, Keith. You will be missed. I’m sorry I never had the time. Maybe someday we will, in a better world than this.
The haunting melody reverberated off the condo walls, the tortured notes painting an auditory landscape of love and loss, a spontaneous requiem for the departed – a man that through his final brave actions had managed to save the world from itself, at least for a time.
Two days later, the condo was listed with Jodie, who was already weaving her spell on potential buyers. He’d packed up his personal effects and put most of them back into storage, to be dealt with at some future time when he was more motivated. The discussion with the firm had gone about as he’d expected, where they mutually agreed that things weren’t working out as planned, and that he should take the necessary time off to literally set his head straight. The only pang of regret he felt was when he handed the keys to the BMW back, but it was fleeting – there were millions of cars in the world, and he would soon find another one.
In the interim he negotiated a deal with Jakes to take the Taurus for as long as Jeffrey wanted it, a couple of hundred bucks a month for as long as he maintained it, which as far as Jeffrey could tell amounted to cleaning the ashtray out and topping off the oil every few weeks. He took it in to get it detailed, and the staff at the car wash regarded him as though he’d walked in wearing a clown costume. Still, after four hours of attention, at least the pungent stink and sticky feeling to everything had been purged, and it was without regret that he bundled his bags and the Strat into the creaky trunk and rolled into mid-day traffic, eager to be rid of the city once and for all.
Upon A Pale Horse (Bio-Thriller) Page 27
