by D J Mcintosh
She adjusted her own mask, picked up a file folder, and indicated they should proceed toward a metal door. She unlocked it and they made their way down the hallway. Shaheen noticed her round-shouldered stoop, common enough in very tall people. “Both patients—Loretti and Hill—are incapacitated. You’ve seen the photographs?”
“Yes,” Best replied.
Asshole. Shaheen was irritated at having to come here without any background preparation. It put him at a disadvantage.
“Get ready then,” the doctor said. “It’s not a pretty sight.” Their boots squished as they walked down the hall; otherwise, the place was as quiet as a tomb. Shaheen detected the vague disinfectant smell again. He’d always hated the combination of false lemon scent and chemical disinfectant. It reminded him of the makeshift latrines in Iraq.
“Do you know how the disease is transmitted?” Best asked.
In a worried gesture, Abbott raised her hand up to her brow, stopping herself just short of touching her skin. “Well, both patients had unprotected contact with a lot of people—soldiers, their families, colleagues, first responder medics. No one else has been affected—yet. If it’s communicable, it’s not likely airborne. And their wives confirmed they’d had intimate relations since their return from Iraq. It may be too early to tell, but it looks as though it doesn’t spread through blood or bodily fluids either. Still, we were surprised you didn’t send them to Walter Reed.”
“Confidentiality’s a primary issue,” Best said. “Walter Reed’s a big facility: hard to lock down, hard to keep quiet. If it does spread, we’ll have no choice. We’ll have to involve the major facilities. The subjects returned from Iraq a month ago; we can deduce that whatever they picked up, it came from over there.”
Shaheen was beginning to get a glimmer of understanding. The main purpose of this facility was to keep any news of biological threats under the deepest possible cover. That probably meant they had no idea of what they were dealing with, and if it involved enemy action, no clue as to who exactly might be behind it.
“Loretti and Hill are both microbiologists, correct?” Abbott said.
Best nodded. “You received the records, I assume?”
“Yes.” Abbott checked her file. “Both of them initially complained of flu-like symptoms. Their doctors assumed they’d come down with a respiratory infection. Since then other symptoms have shown up and now the disease has progressed rapidly. The DTRA code named it ‘Black Death’ after the plague in the Middle Ages, I assume. Highly unlikely to be related to bubonic plague, if that’s what your people are thinking.” The doctor sighed. “I wish it was,” she confessed. “At least we’d know how to deal with it.”
“You still have no idea what’s caused it?” Best asked.
“Not yet. But the lab’s working 24/7.” Shaheen saw the signs of worry in the deep lines etching the doctor’s brow. “It’s his skin that’s causing Loretti so much distress. It’s tightening up all over his body and drying out, like his skin’s in a slow cooker with an internal heat source. His temperature is very elevated but Hill’s is flat. Cortisol, GH, and norepinephrine levels are also very high, but that’s a predictable response to the terrific stress Loretti’s under. He has significant swelling and soreness in the glans and foreskin, acute blistering on his neck, and a severe case of oral thrush. That could be from a yeast infection he acquired in Iraq. I understand it’s a very starchy diet you feed them over there.”
Best ignored her last comment. “What about a form of venereal disease?”
Shaheen smirked and Abbott glanced disapprovingly at him.
“Tested negative for all known STDs. He’s experiencing hallucinations now too. Hardly surprising given his state.”
Shaheen took all this in with growing awareness. Two Americans named Loretti and Hill had acquired some kind of disease, probably in Iraq. Virulent enough that it set off loud alarms. Shaheen had not been involved with the hunt for biological weapons, although he knew Washington placed a high priority on the search and so far had turned up nothing. The international intelligence community privately ruled out any biological threat from Hussein’s government well before the onset of the war. Could Loretti and Hill have discovered something after all?
“I wanted you to see Loretti,” Best said to Shaheen, “so you’d know what we’re dealing with.”
They walked down the corridor to a bank of tempered-glass windows. Two white-suited guards, heavily armed, stood on either side of a door. It reminded Shaheen of a high-security prison cell.
“We can’t go in,” Abbott said. “This is one-way viewing glass. Loretti’s been sedated, but even with that he’s been tearing at the restraints.”
Shaheen was suddenly aware of a light dimming as though some form had cast a shadow over them where they stood. Abbott and Best appeared not to notice.
“When Loretti initially came to us, he tried to tell us something,” Abbott said.
“What?” Best asked.
“We couldn’t figure it out. He pronounced two separate and distinct words. ‘Ersh’ and ‘gal.’ It probably means nothing. Just the product of a disordered mind. He repeated them over and over. We taped him and had a speech therapist evaluate it, but got nowhere. Maybe your people can have a go at it.
“This is what Loretti looked like one month ago.” Abbott handed Shaheen a photo of a dark-haired man in his thirties, on the lean side, square jawed, ruddy faced. His appealing smile revealed a row of perfectly even, sparkling white teeth.
“Okay, showtime,” the doctor said grimly.
At first, Shaheen could make out only the dim form of a figure sitting upright in a chair of some kind and the vague outlines of cupboards and a counter. An attendant went inside and closed the door behind him. The doctor touched a dial on the wall and the room flooded with bluish fluorescence.
“My God,” Shaheen said.
Ten
The patient was propped up in a heavily padded lounge chair that supported his body from head to foot. Its back and head rests were tilted. Restraints had been placed at Loretti’s ankles, knees, waist, and neck and at the elbow and wrist of one arm. His other arm hung limp and flaccid by his side.
“Loretti can’t lie flat,” Dr. Abbott explained. “He’s experiencing acute respiratory distress; the fluid in his lungs would drown him. The restraints look cruel, I know, but we need them. Otherwise he’d rip his skin off. Something is causing the epidermis to harden and the entire surface of his skin is tight and intensely itchy.”
The man was naked except for a wide gauze bandage covering his genitals. A web of color-coded IV lines and heart-monitor wires attached to various body parts was looped to machines. Padded restraints protected his skin; his neck was swollen and bruised and some of the purplish patches had ulcerated. From Loretti’s milky eyes Shaheen realized he’d probably gone blind. His flesh had reddened and was stretched over oddly malformed bones, his shoulders and rib cage so enlarged they were a caricature of masculinity.
“Why is he so misshapen?” Shaheen lowered his voice as if Loretti could hear him through the glass.
“That abnormal bone growth you see occurred over just a few weeks.”
Shaheen barely heard Abbott. He was furious. “Can’t you sedate him? Put him out somehow? Keeping him like that is obscene.”
Abbott bristled. “If we sedate him any more he won’t survive.”
“Put him out of his misery then, for God’s sake. We treat animals better than that.”
“My role is to preserve life, not take it,” the doctor snapped.
“What about his family? I can’t believe they’d want to keep him alive in this condition.”
Best nodded to the doctor, effectively ending the conversation. “Thank you, Dr. Abbott. We don’t need to see Hill. We’ll go.”
Shaheen followed Best to the change room. He ripped off his mask.
“Why didn’t you want to see the other guy? Is he like that too?”
“No,” Best said. “He f
ell into a coma before the symptoms you saw on Loretti materialized.”
“Lucky man.”
“He still is.”
“Still is what?”
“In a coma. But he’ll never recover. He’s brain dead now. I’m sorry to expose you to this,” Best said. “I wanted you to realize what a dire problem we have on our hands. We need your help. Let’s get out of here; we can talk more in the car.”
“I don’t see how I can assist you,” Shaheen said when they reached the vehicle and Best had climbed into the back seat beside him. “You know I’m not a scientist. That’s not what I do.”
Best extracted a file from his briefcase and set it on his lap. He cranked open his window. “It’s stuffy in here.”
“Yeah,” Shaheen said, “exhaust will help a lot. What the hell caused what we saw in there?”
“We have no idea. As you heard, the medical people are knocking themselves out to find it. They suspect it’s a pathogen that’s been engineered and the microbiologists either stumbled across it, not realizing what they found, or were deliberately contaminated. You can imagine the implications if that germ starts to spread to our troops over there. Or gets transported over here. We need you.”
“For what?”
“To find the infection site.”
“Come on. The army’s checked every conceivable biohazard location already.”
“I know,” Best said.
“Yeah. And they got zero. There’s nothing to find. Before the war, sanctions were so tight it was hard to import a tube of toothpaste let alone dangerous chemicals.”
At this, Best lost his patience. “Perhaps you’ll allow me some credit, Lieutenant, since I have a few years’ experience. I’ve seen the bloated bodies of the Kurds after Hussein dosed them with poisoned gas at Halabja. Gruesome sights are an occupational hazard for me. Loretti and Hill were sent out to locate evidence of bioweapons and they found something lethal. You’re right, we haven’t discovered any sites—yet. And we’ve had our people go over each place the scientists checked officially. Where we’ve made no headway is with what they did on their own time over there. That will be your job.”
Shaheen took a package out of his pants pocket and removed a cigarillo.
“Look,” Best said in a friendlier tone, “it takes a different set of skills to pry information out of the locals and that’s your forte, right? A new pair of eyes might help. Your record for turning up dependable information is first class; that’s why we want you. But there are other connections you’d need to explore too. You’ll be going to London first.”
“The Brits? They’ve got infected people too?”
Best shook his head. “No. Loretti’s wife told us he’d met with an Englishman, Charles Renwick, in Iraq this August.”
“So?”
Best flipped through the report he held and scanned one of the pages. “It looks like Loretti was staying at the same Baghdad hotel as Renwick last August. The wife says Renwick approached her husband with some story about a source of plague.”
“Has Renwick been interrogated?”
“He’s missing. He may be dead.”
“From the same thing that’s infected Loretti and Hill?”
“No. Police are investigating a robbery at Renwick’s business. They think it went bad. No telling when, or if, this Renwick will turn up. We want you to speak to the London police about their investigation. Get a handle on what Renwick was doing. Oh, and there’s another American involved too.”
“Who?”
“His name’s John Madison. New Yorker. Antiquities dealer. Renwick hired him to buy a rare book and now Madison’s reported it stolen. Renwick’s lawyer is suspicious. He doesn’t believe Madison’s story. And Madison was also in Iraq last August.”
Best slapped his folder shut. “That will have to do for now. Your flight to the U.K. leaves this afternoon. You’ll get your boarding pass, reporting protocol, and all the details by email. You work directly with me.”
Best’s phone rang. He looked at the screen and held his hand up for Shaheen to wait until he took the call. As he listened, Best grimaced, his lips pressed together in a tight white line, and said, “Shit. When did this happen?”
He listened again and said, “How soon?” And followed that up with, “Okay. I’ll come back right away.” He ended the call, his face transfixed with worry. “Loretti’s wife has come down with the same thing. They’re bringing her in now.”
Eleven
Hell, so it’s communicable after all,” Shaheen said. “Looks that way, although we can’t be sure yet. I’ve got to go back. My driver will have to drop you here. I’ll keep you posted.”
Shaheen got out and waved down a cab. In the car he pulled out his phone, found his list of contacts, and selected a name. Terry Davis, a former army IT specialist he’d used on past occasions. One of the few older men he knew who could beat the pants off most computer hackers. Terry ran his own company now.
“How’s it going, Terry? You very busy these days?”
“Busy as a flea at a dog show—what else is new? You got something for me or you just like hearing my soothing tones?”
“Right on both counts. I’d like you to run two checks. The first is a Leonard Best, private consultant, lots of government gravy going his way.” Shaheen checked Best’s card. “Company name is BioThreat Analytics. He’s likely got security buffers up the yingyang so it may not be easy to find anything. I’ll send you his prints asap. And this is totally off the grid.”
“Am I getting paid?” Terry chuckled on the other end.
“Dinner for two at Hy’s—good enough?”
“Depends on who the other half of the two is.”
“Your choice, of course.”
“My daughter’s in town. She’ll love it. Who’s the other guy you want me to clear?”
“The second is John Madison. New York antiquities dealer.” “That should be easy enough. Let me see what I can do. When do you want it?”
“In the next five minutes?” Shaheen said.
“Shouldn’t have asked. Give me four minutes to get a coffee and it’s done. Need you to throw in a couple of Broadway shows for that.”
“No problem.” Shaheen laughed and clicked off.
Shaheen’s ID case came especially equipped with a fingerprint sensor, a handy device he’d used many times in Iraq. With a USB connection, he downloaded a digital copy of Best’s fingerprints to his laptop and emailed the prints to Terry.
Shaheen paid the cabbie and mounted the stairs to the friend’s midtown apartment where he was staying. He intended to collect his things and wait to hear from Terry.
“You owe me a new desktop,” Terry said when he got in touch three hours later. “My computer nearly blew up doing that search for you. Here’s what I found. Best is a world authority on biothreat analysis. Ph.D. from Yale in biochemistry. Lots of government commissions. Nice big fat ones.
“About five years ago he dropped off the radar. That’s when I ran into issues digging stuff up. It looks like he spent most of that time working directly for the CIA on bioweapons strategy. Can’t find any negatives. His profile is sound. On the personal front, he’s married with a kid at U Cal. Red Cross board member, regular contributor to Save the Children. All round nice guy it would seem. Clean enough to run for the Senate.”
“That was a joke, right? What about Madison?”
“Bit of a checkered past on him. Naturalized citizen, born and orphaned in Turkey. He came to America at the age of three. Samuel Diakos, his elder brother, raised him in New York. Tossed out of a couple of private schools in his teens, then he got hit with some drug charges. Cops could only make one of them stick. Teenage rebellion stuff. Went on to distinguish himself by flunking out of Columbia.
“Pulled himself up by the bootstraps and started his own business, where he’s been quite successful. The people I talked to said he was a likable guy. Followed in his older brother’s footprints—antiquities—but as a dealer,
not a scholar.” There was a temporary pause while Terry shifted the phone to his other ear and picked up his notes.
“Who’s the brother, Diakos you said his name is?” Shaheen asked.
“Was. An archaeologist specializing in Assyrian culture. Died in a car accident with Madison at the wheel this past June.”
“Bad news there.”
“Very. I got chatting with one of the ladies I contacted. A Claire Talbot. She said it broke Madison’s heart. Claimed he hasn’t been the same since. His business troughed. Later on in the summer he got embroiled in a stolen artifact situation—in Iraq.”
Shaheen jumped at this news. “Tell me more.”
“Wait a sec.… Found it. It’s not clear how he got involved. Police say he ended up looking good on that one. Made some risky moves but some smart ones too. They clocked a few bad guys thanks to him. Don’t have much else.”
“Can you send me a photo and his bona fides?”
Shaheen heard Terry tapping on his keyboard. “Done, pal. Anything else?”
“That’s cool. Thanks, Terry. Have fun with your daughter.”
Shaheen sat on a daybed near the window, one of the few pieces of furniture in the place. His friend had to work two jobs just to keep a junior one-bedroom apartment. Shaheen loved New York too and wanted to live there, but on a first lieutenant’s salary he couldn’t even dream about it. The best he’d be able to afford would be a place in the far-flung outskirts and what would be the point of that? He had expensive desires and a thin wallet.
He glanced at the photo of Madison Terry emailed, the kind of professional portrait someone would use on a website. But he’d checked and Madison didn’t have one. High-class clients knew where to find him, Shaheen guessed. A good-looking guy, strong jaw line, close beard. His Turkish background showed up in a faint Asian tilt to his cheekbones. He could pass for a westernized Iraqi, Shaheen thought.
Madison had been involved with stolen goods in the summer and within a few short months appeared to be again. That raised flags. Throw in the ties with Renwick and Iraq and Madison warranted a much closer look.
