by Brad Taylor
Malik stood on the corner of East Forty-Fifth Street, ostensibly waiting for the light to change, but in reality assessing everything around the United Nations Plaza, the East River just beyond.
The phalanx of NYPD vehicles up and down the avenue fronting the plaza caused a small bit of concern, but he knew it was just business as usual. The building was constantly barraged with people protesting one event or another, warranting a heavy police presence.
With no Iranian embassy in the United States, Malik needed a secure location to meet his contact, and the UN provided that venue. As much as the two nations hated each other, the United States still allowed a robust delegation from the Persian state to represent Iranian interests inside the United Nations. One such man, embedded in this delegation, was his contact.
Malik crossed the street, acting exactly like the plethora of foreign tourists wandering the plaza. He stopped at a sculpture of a revolver with its barrel twisted in a knot, using the time for a final survey before passing through security. Nothing stood out. Bored patrol officers leaning against vehicles, a Korean family taking pictures of the imposing building fronted by a row of flags, a young European couple reading a plaque.
He had planned on waiting a minute or two longer before going inside, until the Korean turned his camera on the sculpture, with Malik in the frame. He sidestepped the Korean, then walked to the entrance. Passing through the metal detector, he felt sweat break out on his neck from an irrational fear that it would pick up the glass vial inside his pocket.
It did not. Collecting his phone, the guards barely giving him a glance, he wandered into the tourist area, weaving through various displays, giving each the requisite attention before moving on. He burned off another five minutes in this manner, working his way to a stairwell.
He checked his watch, then descended, following the signs to the coffee shop on the lower level. Servicing both UN staffers and the visiting tourists, it was the perfect location to meet.
He passed the gift shop and entered the little snack bar, glancing casually around as he walked to the counter. He did a double take when his scan passed the meeting location. At the corner table was the cleric who had met him in Hong Kong.
Not a good sign.
He purchased a Danish and some tea, using the time to assess. If they were going to pull him back, they would have simply called him on the phone the cleric had passed in Hong Kong and ordered him to come home instead of allowing him to travel to New York.
Feeling somewhat better, he approached, waiting for a pack of children to pass before speaking.
“I’m surprised to see you here, but I’m pleased at the attention.”
“Don’t be. It’s because I allowed you to continue in Hong Kong. I now bear some responsibility for the debacle that’s occurred. I don’t intend for there to be a second one.”
So, he’s under fire now. Good. He has a vested interest in success. Malik thought about pointing out that it was the cleric’s juvenile team that had caused the problem but knew it would be suicide. No sense in poking the lion in the eye. He decided on groveling—and lying.
“I feel the same way you do. It was not the result I wanted, but it did accomplish its purpose. The team that was following me has lost the trail.”
He had no intention of mentioning his encounter in Macau. The Black Widow had escaped and was even now headed to the target, so there was no reason.
The cleric mocked him. “‘Not the result’? ‘Not the result’? Do you realize we lost an entire team in Hong Kong?” Waving a hand around the room, the cleric continued. “The Chinese are keeping this bloated organization from doing anything militarily in our country, and now they have a group of our men under arrest. They are already screaming in diplomatic cables. Do you know what will happen if your ‘result’ causes them to rethink their position on Security Council resolutions?”
Malik said nothing, having not considered the second- and third-order effects of the failed mission inside China.
The cleric continued. “If that happens, both you and I will never see the light of day again.”
Malik saw his opening. Saw that the cleric wanted success to quell the failure he’d sanctioned. Needed success. He said, “I was willing to forfeit myself for this mission because I believe in it. I’m sorry to include you as well. In the end, the ‘debacle,’ as you call it, is done. I can’t change it, but we can press forward. Stopping now will garner nothing. The Chinese will do what they are going to do regardless. In fact, the mission may be the only thing that tamps down any reaction to the events in Hong Kong. With the ensuing pandemic in the United States and the fear of its spread, the arrests will be forgotten.”
“Maybe,” the cleric said. “Where do we stand?”
Malik was secretly pleased at the word we in his question. “The Black Widow is carrying the virus and is headed to the target.”
“When does it leave?”
“Three days. I went to her hotel room yesterday and left her instructions, along with her tickets. She will be there in plenty of time.”
“And you’re still sure this is the best way? Maybe we should redirect her to a target here, inside the United States.”
“No. We need to infect as many people as possible, in the absence of major hospital support. If she does it like she is instructed, the entire target will empty before anyone realizes they’re carriers. They’ll fly to a hundred different places and then begin infecting each location. It is the only way.”
The cleric nodded. “Okay. Maybe we’ll continue. Now, what about the vaccine? I’m under specific orders to bring it back. We need to replicate it immediately.”
Malik pulled the vial from his pocket and said, “Here it is. There is enough material left to duplicate, although it will take some time for our scientists to do so.”
“Are you sure it works?”
Malik lied, “As sure as I can be. The doctor said it was the final trial and, unlike the other ones, was the first that had worked. Our scientists should be able to prove it.”
“I’m wondering if we hold off until that’s done. Wait until we can be sure it works. We have no rush.”
No, no, no. Malik had wondered what he would say if this most obvious question was asked and now was glad of what had happened in Hong Kong. “If we wait, we run into the Chinese dilemma. It will take them days to formulate a response, but we know it’s coming. Those are days we do not have. It could take weeks to extrapolate this material into enough vaccine to inoculate our population. We can build that buffer simply by preventing entry of any westerner. Let the virus consume them while we work.”
Malik watched the cleric consider the statement, hoping he was truly worried about the Chinese repercussions, along with having no knowledge of what it took to develop a vaccine. He pressed ahead, as if the decision was already made.
“The contact here was supposed to pass me the information for our friends in Venezuela. For the explosives. Did you get that word?”
Snapped out of his thoughts, the cleric pushed an envelope across the table. “Yes. It’s all in here. Explosives, a boat, and a crew. They don’t know where they are going.”
“That’s fine. They don’t need to.” Malik placed the original cell phone the cleric had given him on the table. “One other thing: My new passport is from Bahrain, but this phone is tied to a carpet company in Iran. I didn’t mind carrying it in the Far East, but inside the United States it’s asking for trouble. I didn’t want to answer it this morning when my contact called, but I did because you ordered me to. I need another, clean phone. I’ll get it myself and send you the number.”
“You think the Americans are attempting to track it? That they are locked on to you now?”
Malik held up his hands to assuage him. “No, not yet, but I’ve learned never to be lazy. While I’m sure I’ve lost the team completely, they were sent by someone, and those peop
le won’t quit. They know someone has the virus. I just want to make sure they’re attempting to find the wrong person.”
61
Chip Dekkard relished his new role as a referent leader inside the Oversight Council. Up until the current crisis, he could have counted on one hand the number of times he had even opened his mouth. Now he had people like the secretary of state, the director of the CIA, and the secretary of defense hanging on his every word. He originally had signed the nondisclosure agreements for the council simply because the president had asked, in his heart eschewing working for the government and its bloated, inefficient mechanisms. Now he could see how the power was intoxicating, but he still remembered the stakes, which were higher for him than for anyone in the room.
The council was frantic about stopping a pandemic that potentially would wipe out a third of the world’s population—as it should have been—but Chip was more worried about the aftereffects. Namely, who would be blamed? Because of this, he had decided to do whatever it took to stop the carrier—or carriers—in their tracks.
Whatever it took.
The president’s catching the flu, while ironic, had proven to be the best thing that could have happened for Chip. Since he’d become bedridden, nobody had mentioned a single word about the laboratory or how the research had been approved. Certainly not the vice president, whose sole function at these meetings had been to gain a consensus to protect himself from making a bad decision.
Chip was positive that if he could contain the threat, he could contain the fallout that would come. Especially if he were seen as the man who’d done the most to prevent the tragedy. When it came out, as it inevitably would, he would profess innocence and call in his chips with the administration, including the massive help he had provided getting it in the position it was in.
The irony of that thought was completely lost on him as he waited for Kurt Hale to update the progress on tracking the Iranians and bringing home their own potential carrier.
He’d done his research with his in-house expertise and had become convinced that any indication of infection had to be contained. The virus was simply too virulent to assume any risk. This Jennifer Cahill had come too close to the flame and couldn’t be allowed to continue walking around. Quarantine was the only solution until the threat had been reduced.
Kurt finished his report, which could pretty much be summed up in his last sentence: “We continue to pursue leads and develop the situation.”
Meaning, we’ve got nothing. Shit. How can the greatest superpower the world has ever seen not be able to stop a single European woman?
The national security advisor, Alexander Palmer, asked the first question. “So what’s the next step? Where do we focus our efforts?”
Kurt said, “Sir, in my opinion, this has gotten outside the scope of the Taskforce. We need a full-court press. Get every asset in our arsenal on it. And I mean from every Podunk police department all the way up to the CIA.”
Vice President Hannister said, “What will we tell them? How can we do that without a wide-scale panic?”
“Panic is the last thing we want,” Kurt said. “Just get out the information on the general. He’s here in the US right now, and he’s the key.”
The secretary of defense asked, “What about the carrier? That’s the real threat.”
“Honestly, I don’t know,” Kurt said. “Only one person has even seen her, and we have no names or anything else. Other than she appears to be western, we have nothing. Malik is the key. Knowing how they operate, the carrier may not know the target. But Malik sure as shit does.”
Chip realized Kurt had said nothing about the potential second carrier. “What about Jennifer? When’s she getting here?”
With a stone face, Kurt said, “She’s here now. Well, she’s in New York, but she’s not infected.”
“What? We gave specific operational orders. How do you know she’s here, and why isn’t she here?”
Chip watched Kurt take a breath, wondering what was going on. Kurt said, “I can track their movements by their phones, and I gave the order for them to continue the mission instead of coming to DC. She’s the only one who knows what the carrier looks like. Bringing her here does nothing but slow down the operation.”
Chip leaned back, assessing what Kurt had said. It didn’t make any sense at all. Since he’d been on the council, Kurt had been the consummate professional soldier, executing exactly as asked. He’d fought decisions, argued points, and even executed in the absence of council orders, but he’d never deliberately disobeyed one. Especially without even mentioning it until asked.
Palmer said, “Kurt, I understand your mission focus, but you aren’t the expert on viral contamination. Keeping her in the field could be as bad as the threat itself.”
“Sir, she’s not infected. She’s had none of the symptoms the doctor said she would get, and she didn’t infect Pike.”
“What’s that mean?”
“Pike . . . uhhh . . . drank from her bottle of water accidentally, and he didn’t get sick. She’s okay.”
Before anyone could say another word, the light above the door to the council’s secure room flashed twice. Meaning someone wanted in.
Palmer opened it, seeing an aide. They conversed for a minute, then he returned, his face white.
“We’ve got an outbreak in New York. Five people at Mount Sinai Medical Center in Manhattan.”
Chip felt a shift in the room, the fear enveloping the men like a fog seeping out of the vents, a low murmur breaking out.
Questions began flying until Alexander Palmer raised his hand. “Hang on, hang on. Here’s all I know: Six people confirmed infected, three dead. They think they know the source. A guy who worked at an equities trading firm, and the first to die. Three others are from his company, one is the doorman to his building, and one is a dishwasher at a diner he frequents.”
Chip said, “What are the odds of others coming in?”
“Jesus, Chip, how would I know? You just saw me get the message.”
Vice President Hannister said, “How do they know it’s avian flu?”
“Because of the president’s earlier alert to the CDC. The paramedics who found the victim on his floor had the alert and suspected what they were dealing with. They took appropriate precautions, and the CDC went to work on containment.”
Chip looked at Kurt. “When you say Jennifer is in New York, where specifically?”
Kurt said, “What do you mean?”
“I mean where the hell is Jennifer on the surface of the earth, damn it! Is she in Manhattan?”
Kurt was quiet for a moment, clenching his teeth. Then he said, “Yes.”
“That’s it! Lock her down! Right now! Before she infects the entire East Coast. Thank God we alerted the CDC.”
Kurt said, “She just got there yesterday! It can’t be her.”
He was drowned out by the cacophony, all competing for Vice President Hannister’s attention. Kurt raised his voice. “Listen to me. It’s the carrier. We take Jennifer out of the fight, and we lose our ability to stop this.”
Hannister said, “We can’t take that risk. Lock her down. You understand?”
Kurt said, “What the hell are you people talking about? She couldn’t have landed here, infected someone, and have them in the hospital in twelve hours.”
Palmer, his voice steel, said, “Get her to Walter Reed. Yesterday.”
Kurt shifted from foot to foot. Palmer said, “You have an issue with that order?”
The room grew somber, everyone waiting on his response, none liking where the tone of the meeting had gone. Kurt said, “Pike won’t let her come in. He won’t bring her.”
The room erupted again, Chip louder than the rest. “What the hell does that mean? Get her ass here, now.”
Kurt searched the table for support, seeing nothing b
ut men scared of an invisible enemy they couldn’t fight with American power. Scared into making snap decisions that had no bearing on the outcome. He shouted, “You people are losing your grip! This is exactly what Pike was afraid of. Get control, damn it. Jennifer isn’t sick, and she’s the only one who can find the real carrier. Don’t you see? That person is in New York City right now! The real carrier is here!”
The statement fell on deaf ears, the feeding frenzy in full swing, the men shouting back and forth.
Chip drowned out everyone else. “Get her here on her own volition, or get her here with a team. Just get her here!”
The ongoing racket withered at his outburst, each man unsure of where the statement was leading. Or maybe not wanting to believe it.
Kurt looked him in the eye. “What did you just say?”
Chip matched his stare. “You heard me. She may not think she’s a threat, but she is. If she doesn’t want to come voluntarily, then we bring her in with Taskforce assets, just like the other carrier.”
Kurt said, “The other carrier is designated DOA.”
Chip said, “Jesus Christ! We’re talking about a worldwide pandemic! Not about semantics. It’s her call. Not ours.”
Kurt looked at the vice president. “Is that the council decision?”
His lower lip quivering, Hannister flicked his head between Chip and Alexander Palmer. Chip nodded at him, trying to give him confidence. Hannister said, “Yes. We need to prove she’s no threat, and like Chip said, it’s not really our call. If she wants to come in, she’s free to do so. We won’t hurt her unless . . .”
“Unless what?”
“Unless nothing! We won’t hurt her. Just get her to Walter Reed. We’ve got the best experts waiting on her already.”
“Sir, you know how the Asians prevent the spread of bird flu in their domestic flocks?”
“No. What’s that got to do with this?”
“Everything. They simply kill every single bird that has a remote chance of contracting the virus. They’ve killed millions at every outbreak. Is that how you want to solve this problem? Eliminating anyone who might be sick? Even the ones who can help?”
