Damn it kid, you better be worth it.
Chapter 3
Atlanta, Georgia
“Oh…Wendy,” Heather Newman is surprised to find her boss still in her office as she opens the door. “I thought you had left already.”
“Not quite yet,” Wendy replies while blotting her lipstick. She’s seated behind her L shaped desk, a modern glass surface affair stacked high with file folders and two flat screen monitors. “Do you ever have those days where you just can’t seem to get started?”
Lowering her eyes and smiling sheepishly Heather answers quietly, “Sometimes.” Curling a stray lock of her auburn hair around a finger she asks, “But aren’t you going to be late for the meeting now?”
“Probably,” Wendy admits.
“You’re not concerned about upsetting Larry?”
“Honestly Heather,” Wendy says with a conspiratorial grin, “The Warden can kiss my—”
“Wendy!” she interrupts her tirade with a playful laugh.
“All right, how do I look?” Wendy asks as she stands up and smoothes the wrinkles out of her white skirt.
She’s wearing a cream colored blouse and white suit jacket whose snug fit accentuates her slender curves. More than anything she looks sad.
Her doe like brown eyes conceal a longing these days that was never there before Lynne disappeared. To Heather, the hardness at their center does not blend well with her rounded cheekbones and angular nose.
Her black hair has been cut short along the back and sides leaving only her bangs to hang to their former length—the right one a deep blue streak.
“You look fine,” she tells her.
“Then I’m off,” Wendy says grabbing her briefcase. On her way past Heather she stops to ask, “Was there something you needed before I leave?”
Opening and closing her mouth Heather smiles and shows her the file folder she was keeping pressed to her chest beneath crossed arms. “It’s nothing urgent,” she says, “I was just going to leave the latest numbers from the Flu Preparedness Program on your desk.”
“Do that then,” Wendy turns with a quick smile, “I’ll see them when I get back.”
The Centers for Disease Control—then going by the moniker of the Communicable Disease Center—was formed on 1 July 1946 and housed on a single floor of a small building in Atlanta.
They had descended from the wartime agency Malaria Control in War Areas and as such focused primarily on fighting malaria by killing mosquitoes. The early years saw about 50 percent of the agency’s paltry number of employees chasing malaria.
Many of those initial employees were in fact entomologists or engineers. Shockingly there were only seven medical officers employed in 1946—the agency’s first budget coming in at under ten million dollars.
A far cry from what the agency represents today.
Now the CDC is recognized as the nation’s premier health promotion, prevention, and preparedness agency as well as a global leader in public health. They stand at the forefront of public health efforts to prevent and control infectious and chronic diseases, injuries, workplace hazards, disabilities, and environmental health threats.
They are heralded for their action-oriented approach that combines research and findings to improve the daily lives of people and respond to health emergencies as they unfold. To do this, the CDC works closely with state and other partners to provide a system of health surveillance that monitors and prevents disease outbreaks including bioterrorism.
Together with its partners, the agency is instrumental in implementing disease prevention strategies and maintaining national health statistics. Part of their mandate today also includes controlling global disease outbreaks and to accomplish this they have personnel in more than 25 countries worldwide.
In addition to all of this, the agency has undertaken a mission to improve and become a more efficient and forceful operation by keying in on five strategic areas: supporting state and local health departments, improving global health, implementing measures to decrease leading causes of death, strengthening surveillance and epidemiology, and reforming health policies.
And what all of the responsibilities tasked to the men and women who work at the CDC result in is…a lot of meetings that need to be attended to enable the machine to keep churning along.
“Sorry I’m late,” Wendy says as she enters the large conference room on the second floor. A massive oak table dominates the space ringed around by ten plush red cloth executive wingback chairs, three of which are presently occupied.
“Sorry won’t give us back our twenty minutes,” Larry Ward comments while rapping the tip of his pen against the tabletop.
Wearing a faux smile Wendy presses her middle finger to her lips and blows him a kiss before being seated.
“Charles isn’t here yet?” she observes.
“How deductive of you,” Larry snidely replies, “Yes it appears that tardiness is becoming endemic around here.”
She glares across the table at him.
He has a severe disposition, all harsh lines and angles, from his square jaw to his pointed nose. There is absolutely nothing soft about the man his students refer to as The Warden. Except for the expanding paunch around his midsection as Father Time begins to catch up to him.
She watches as he removes his glasses and breathes on one of the lenses before cleaning it with a handkerchief. She has always felt that while he is an exceptional epidemiologist, he employs too indifferent of an attitude to the feelings of those around him.
An opinion that she believes was once again proved to be true last month when Larry attempted to go over Charles’ head in trying to stop Roger from saving Miriam.
He never considers the emotional impact of either his words or his actions.
“Larry,” she starts to say before shaking her head, “Forget it.”
Looking away from his self-satisfied smirk she surveys the rest of the room. She still can’t get over how much things have changed around here in the past year.
Twelve months ago it would’ve been herself in this meeting with Larry, Charles Womack, Josh Fisher, and Roger Whittaker. Now Roger is on sabbatical taking care of Miriam—understandably so after everything that they both went through last month—and Josh…
Removing a pencil and notepad from her briefcase she can hardly bring herself to accept what he did. He betrayed the trust of this agency and Roger himself by being complicit in Miriam’s abduction. He sold us all out for nothing more than money. He held Larry against his will in his own basement and drew a gun on Charles in this very building.
Needless to say he’s now behind bars and no longer employed by the CDC.
And in their place…new faces.
Looking across the table she sees Evelyn Park, the temporary new head of the Epidemic Intelligence Services, seated to the left of Larry. At 41 years old she’s a graduate of the University of Michigan where ten years ago she received an honors degree in public health before spending the last decade in one capacity or another with the agency.
She has shoulder length dark blond hair styled in such a way that her bangs consistently fall across her luminescent green eyes. Her soft facial features betray her Midwestern background, most notable in her warm smile.
Wendy knows that it’s a testament to her resolve that she can still share that smile with the world. She no longer wears her gold wedding band on her finger, though after having been there for eight years the mark is still visible.
She caught her husband in bed with his secretary sixteen months ago and has been embroiled in a messy divorce ever since. It’s just beyond Wendy how anyone could cheat on such a vibrant person who possesses her caring spirit and zest for life.
Sometimes, she guesses, the only explanation is that men are beyond explaining.
Giving her a friendly nod she turns her attention to her right where once upon a time she would’ve seen the fiery red hair and good-natured smile of Josh Fisher, though no longer.
In his
place she sees the affable countenance of Lawrence Clayton, Clay to his friends, of which he has many.
His head is egg-shaped and has only dark stubble on the scalp as he prefers to keep his hair shaved down to nothing. He has wide blue eyes that are set far apart on his face and always seems to be lit up by a big beaming smile.
A tall man, he has broad shoulders beneath an unbuttoned suit coat and a light green shirt. Clay is known for his exotic color combinations that augment a playful, carefree personality. As always his striped silk tie is not done up but is hanging loosely around his thick neck.
Wendy can’t help but notice his large hands resting on the table, easily twice the size of hers. They remind her of the off-color stories some of the women in her department have circulated about the correlation between hand size and another part of the male anatomy.
Feeling her cheeks warming she turns away as the door opens and Charles Womack arrives. At sixty years old, she contemplates that he looks every bit of seventy-five.
His graying hair has thinned to frail strands that no longer quite cover the mottled skin of his head. The flesh of his cheeks hangs loosely from his gaunt face, forming wrinkles that were not there only a year ago.
Under his gray suit he has thinned to a shadow of his formerly robust self. He has the sunken eyes and bony protuberances of a malnourished child and not for the first time Wendy wonders how much of his decline is caused by age and how much by something else.
Guilt perhaps?
There’s no denying that ever since the decision on Iowa was made he’s gone downhill. And now with Lynne missing…?
How much of your soul is being tormented by the wrongs you sanctioned?
“Sorry I’m late,” he offers as he pulls out the chair at the head of the table to sit down. Once seated he folds his pallid liver spotted hands before him.
“What?” Wendy baits, “No snide comment this time Larry?”
He gives her a look but refrains from speaking.
“I just got off the phone with the Secretary of HHS♦,” Charles explains his tardiness, “Some big things are happening as we speak, but more on that later.” Looking at Wendy he asks softly, “Any news about Lynne?”
Returning his withered gaze she bites her bottom lip for a moment before shaking her head. “Nothing,” she whispers.
A solemn hush falls over the room as each of them remembers their missing friend and colleague. After a moment Charles clears his throat and refocuses the room by positing, “What have we got on the horizon people?”
And just like that their memories or petty annoyances or rivalries are put aside and they get down to business.
Evelyn is the first to speak up, starting their weekly situation meeting. “We’re receiving reports of an outbreak of E.coli in Southern California.”
“How many cases?” Larry asks.
“Twelve so far,” she answers while brushing her bangs away from her eyes, “With fears that the number could grow substantially.”
“Why?” Charles inquires.
“The source of contamination hasn’t been confirmed yet.” She explains, “I’ve got two agents in the field tracking back similarities between the victims right now but they haven’t been able to definitively determine anything yet.”
“They have any working theories as to the cause that makes them think the outbreak will grow?” Wendy asks with her pencil poised over her pad of yellow legal paper.
With a nod Evelyn answers, “They believe the sickness is coming from lettuce used in fast food restaurants in the area. All of the victims ate at one of four restaurants that all get their lettuce from a local farm. They propose that the lettuce became contaminated by runoff from wastewater.”
“But they haven’t found E.coli in the wastewater yet, correct?”
Nodding at Charles she concurs, “That’s right. They’re investigating the farm as we speak though and I believe it’s the most likely source. Now,” she pauses for a moment before elaborating further, “The farm is very near a dairy CAFO♦. The CAFO ships countrywide and if there’s E.coli contamination in the herd this could quickly spiral out of control.”
Murmurs of agreement circulate around the room before Larry asks, “What is the FDA† doing about this?”
With a dejected shake of her head she sends her bangs back over her eyes saying, “They’re aware of the situation but are short-handed. They say their last inspection of the operation turned up no violations and until E.coli is confirmed as being in the herd, their hands are tied.”
“When was their last inspection Eve?”
Brushing her unruly bangs back into place Evelyn answers Wendy’s question with a sad look. “You don’t want to know.”
“These CAFO’s all have the FDA in their back pocket,” Larry grouses, “Talk about a toothless organization. Even if we confirm E.coli they won’t do anything about it, mark my words.”
“Well we’ll do what we can,” Charles interjects, “Stay on top of the situation Eve and be sure to keep us posted. What else?”
Lawrence Clayton speaks up for the first time as he passes some papers around. “These are the latest numbers from the New York Public Health Department. As you can see they show a marked increase in the number of tuberculosis cases over the past six months.”
Running his palm over his shaved scalp Clay adds, “The state health department has requested our assistance in examining these numbers and offering suggestions on how they can curb the increase.”
“They could start by having the government increase the funding for surveillance programs.”
Larry’s snipe draws a smile from Charles before he turns to Wendy saying, “This seems right up your alley Wendy. You think you could help Clay crunch those numbers?”
Thinking about the stack of paperwork waiting for her back in her office—including the data on the Flu Preparedness Program—she cringes at the thought of yet another assignment. Despite this though she recognizes the importance of the work and nods her assent. “That shouldn’t be a problem.”
“Then there’s the matter of that business in Peru,” Larry says pushing the tuberculosis statistics aside. “The WHO♦ has reiterated their request for our aid in keeping the situation in check.”
“What’s the latest?” Clay asks.
“There have been sixty-seven cases reported with forty-one deaths in rural Peru and now there are three suspected cases in Ibarra, Ecuador.
“No one knows what this thing is yet and it appears like it’s no longer isolated to the jungle. It hasn’t got the press coverage that say, bird flu gets, but the local authorities are scared. And I mean really scared.”
“Do we have any boots on the ground there?”
Shaking her head Evelyn responds to Charles, “World Health initially requested aid about three weeks ago. I tried to send in EIS officers but they were held up at the border in what amounted to a miscommunication from the Peruvian government.
“Their Public Health Ministry restricted travel to the affected area but neglected to inform the border guards of our impending arrival and our aid got entangled in the bureaucratic snafu. They just got released two days ago and should reach the site today or tomorrow at the latest.”
“How many officers?” Wendy inquires.
“Just the two,” Evelyn answers.
“Good,” Charles says, “Inform the WHO that we’ll be there soon and be sure to let them know that we’re here to help in any way we can.”
“They want to send samples to us for analysis,” Evelyn begins, “Larry and I have discussed it and we think it would be a good idea to bring USAMRIID♦ into this as well.”
“Of course,” Charles agrees, “But be sure the samples are looked at in no less than the BSL-3† labs. We don’t know enough about what we’re dealing with yet and better to be safe than sorry.”
Evelyn silently nods her agreement while fixing her bangs again.
“And now down to one last bit of business,” Charles rolls his
gaunt shoulders saying, “Before we started, Jerry Reinhold over at HHS updated me on the situation in Hope. I’m afraid it’s as grim as the news has reported; four hundred people are missing without explanation.
“The present administration is concerned that a biological attack could’ve occurred and they want us to send a team to investigate the possibility.”
“Of course that’s what they’d be concerned about,” Wendy scoffs, “Don’t tell me the agency is backing such a ridiculous notion…again.”
The pointed barb about what happened in Iowa—still a sore spot for many around the agency—is not lost on anyone.
“We’re a federally mandated agency tasked to investigate such incidents,” Charles points out.
“No,” Larry chimes in, “Wendy’s right, it doesn’t make sense. If this were a biological attack they would’ve seen signs of it—you know, like bodies. All those people missing don’t add up to bioterrorism.”
“Well be that as it may,” Charles directs, “We still need to send a team to Hope.”
Motioning around the room with his hands Larry retorts, “We have more vital interests to concern ourselves with at the moment. Let them get someone else to go on their wild goose chase.”
“It doesn’t work like that Larry and you know that.”
“Yeah, but it should,” he grumbles before turning to Evelyn and asking, “You got any newbie’s in the training program we could give them?”
Charles immediately squashes the idea. “Reinhold wants experienced officers deployed. He wants to know that we’re taking this seriously.”
“Wants to know or wants to show?” Clay asks with a mischievous grin.
“Nail on the head right there,” Larry comments while touching his nose.
“Who are you going to send?” Wendy asks.
Shifting his slight frame in his seat Charles answers, “I want each of you to send your schedules to my office by the end of the day.”
Realm of Shadows Page 3
