Pathological

by Jinkang Wang

  The couple said they’d just done what they ought to, and there was no need to thank them. Smiling guilelessly, Mei Yin added, “I might be American by nationality, but I’m Chinese by blood. I was born in this country, and spent more than half my life here. And now I’ve married a Chinese husband. So really, you should count me as Chinese. Please don’t regard me as an outsider.”

  Director Zhang knew he was being mocked, and he flushed red before continuing. “We’ve carried out tests on the samples obtained from the Heavenly Corp. laboratory, and the results of all three tests have been publicly announced. Are you already aware of this?”

  Mei Yin said, “My husband won’t know this. He was completely in the dark about the lab. But I can guess. The results were: they weren’t mutated white pox viruses at all, but smallpox.”

  Jingshuan blurted out, “What are you saying? Smallpox?” He turned and looked in shock at his wife. Silently, Mei Yin praised him: excellent, this was a pretty good performance. Out loud, she said apologetically to him, “I’m sorry, I’ve kept all this from you. The mutated white pox I was researching was actually three different varieties of smallpox: West African, Asian, and South American.”

  Though they already knew the truth, Zhang, Jin, and Matsumoto hadn’t expected such a frank confession from Mei Yin. She had to know that she was admitting guilt! The two Chinese men’s faces fell, and Director Zhang asked coldly, “Then you can also guess at the other conclusion drawn by the report?”

  “Yes, I can. The smallpox virus that caused the epidemic in China didn’t originate in the States, but was accidentally leaked from my laboratory. I remember about forty days ago, when I told my student Xue Yu about the lab, I showed him around. That must be when it got out.”

  Director Zhang looked at Xue Yu, sitting behind him, who nodded with certainty. Jingshuan was staring with his mouth open in shock.

  Mei Yin sighed. “Actually, once the outbreak started, I considered two possibilities—I’d brought the virus back with me from America, or else it had leaked locally. But by that time, we were busy dealing with the infection, and there was no time to think. It seemed likely that the source was local, because the epidemic was so much milder than in the States, and it was improbable that the same strain was responsible for both. There was no rush to verify this, because in either case the treatment would be the same.”

  The journalists were scribbling away at lightning speed. Director Zhang’s voice grew sterner. “In that case, could you please tell us where the smallpox in your laboratory came from?”

  Mei Yin said calmly, “I’m unable to disclose that at present.”

  Director Zhang smiled coldly. “Perhaps there’s someone who can help you remember. Mr. Miguel de Las Casas, please come forward.” He ushered one of the journalists behind him to the table, introducing him to the room. “Mr. Las Casas is a reporter with the Spanish newspaper El País. Three days ago, he wrote an article containing a rather important tip-off. The next section of the interview will be carried out by Mr. Las Casas, though the rest of the press is welcome to join in.”

  It was a risky maneuver, but Director Zhang’s hand was forced. The article had been fairly truthful and objective, but contained a hint that the smallpox virus Mei Yin smuggled back from Russia might possibly have been a “national activity,” part of a Chinese military plan to manufacture a biological weapon. Director Zhang knew how easily that story would spread, and how hard it would be to dispel the rumor—even the most serious official denial would be treated as a cover-up. And so he’d decided on a dangerous move. The person who tied the bell to the tiger’s tail was best placed to remove it; he would ask the author of this accusatory article to defuse it. The day he saw that essay, he’d sent a message inviting Mr. Las Casas to visit China and interview the suspect in question. In the e-mail, he said, “I trust you’re an upright journalist, and that in accepting this invitation, you’ll report the facts you see objectively to the world, whatever those facts might turn out to be.”

  Miguel de Las Casas was a skinny middle-aged man with black hair and dark skin, and eyes blazing with spirit. Seven days previously, he’d suddenly had a visit in Madrid from a Russian official, and from that moment he’d been at the center of the global conversation. He’d written an explosive article, based on information given to him by the Russians, that had caused quite a stir worldwide. What he hadn’t expected was an invitation from the director of China’s CDC to visit China. He was grateful, and respected this Chinese official for taking the initiative—it demonstrated broad-mindedness on the part of the Chinese. Yet he was also on his guard: Was this “transparency” in fact a cunningly designed trap?

  Sitting down in front of Mei Yin and Sun Jingshuan, he began with a question. “Ms. Mei Yin, may I ask, Mr. Zhang said you and your husband have been confined to the quarantine zone, taking care of patients for some time, and haven’t read my article. Is this true?”

  Mei Yin nodded. “Yes. There are no computers in the orphanage so I couldn’t go online.”

  “Can you read Spanish?”

  “I’m afraid not.”

  “That’s all right, I’ve printed out an English translation. I do apologize, but there wasn’t enough time to prepare a Chinese version. I don’t know if your husband understands English?”

  “Oh yes, my husband’s English is excellent.”

  “In that case, could you please read this article together?”

  He handed over a few sheets of paper. The headline on the first page was Did China’s Smallpox Outbreak Come from Russia?

  Mei Yin went through the article quickly, taking in ten lines at a glance, handing each page to her husband as she finished. It described an anonymous Russian official seeking out a meeting with Mr. Las Casas in Madrid, wanting to talk about a perfectly ordinary death in 1997, connected with the Vector Institute in Russia. The Russian police had investigated the matter, cutting the cocoon and unraveling the silk, following the threads back one by one, and in the end they led to a Chinese American woman named Mei Yin. She was an ambitious individual, skilled in martial arts, and she’d had an affair with the deceased, a Russian virologist named Stebushkin, before his death. The most logical explanation was surely that Mei Yin’s journey had something to do with the Level-Four viruses at the Vector Institute, where Stebushkin worked. Now three separate strains of the smallpox virus had been found in Mei Yin’s secret lab, and when placed in conjunction with her trip to the Vector Institute in 1997, only an idiot would think it was a coincidence.

  Mei Yin was absorbed: it was an odd sensation, seeing her own history through another person’s eyes. The Russian agents had reconstructed the sequence of events fairly accurately, though for whatever reason they didn’t mention the means Stebushkin had used to kill himself. It seemed likely that the Russians might have leaked this information as an alternative way to get at the truth of the case. The choice of a Spanish newspaper was also a cunning one, as Spain was relatively neutral toward all the nations involved.

  The article ended with a quote from the nameless Russian officer:

  Ever since Stebushkin’s death, the Russian intelligence agencies have been watching Mei Yin’s every move. Lacking sources inside China, we’ve been unable to verify whether she indeed illegally obtained Level-Four viruses in order to create a biological weapon for the Chinese military. Of course, it stretches credulity that she stole the viruses for personal reasons, not at the direction of the Chinese government.

  It was this hint that caused such ripples across the world.

  Mei Yin quickly finished reading it and sat, sunk in thought. The essay brought her back to that year, the little stream with no traces of humankind anywhere near it, the Russian man she’d had an affair with. Stebushkin was the first man she’d slept with. She’d seduced him not out of love, but on the orders of her adoptive father. Yet she came to hold him in her heart as her husband, and remained single ever after. A silent form of penance. Then she’d met Sun Jingshuan, who’d
freed her from guilt.

  She turned to look at her husband. He’d finished reading too, and his heart was lurching—when she’d first refused his proposal, she’d said she’d had a lover in Russia, and that she’d placed him on the altar of her heart. Yet the article presented a different story altogether—her relationship with the man had, at least in its early stages, only been a pragmatic affair. Now he saw another side of Mei Yin: the ruthless, resolute side, which would unhesitatingly cast aside morality for the sake of her beliefs. In the midst of his admiration for her, there was now also a little fear.

  The couple were clearly deeply affected by the article, and the Spanish journalist waited until they seemed to have calmed down before asking, “Ms. Mei Yin, could you comment on the accuracy of the article?”

  “Its contents are basically accurate.”

  A shocked murmur rose from the press corps. Smiling, she teased them. “Apart from the bit about my martial arts prowess. I wish I were that good, but unfortunately, I only spent two years learning tae kwon do, and never had any special spy training, neither from China nor America.”

  Miguel de Las Casas pressed her. “So you’re saying you infiltrated the State Research Center of Virology and Biotechnology, in Novosibirsk, and obtained smallpox and other viruses from Stebushkin, in order to manufacture a biological weapon?”

  “I’d say that’s right, if you remove the words ‘and other.’ I got the smallpox virus from Stebushkin, three strains in all. Just smallpox, no other viruses.”

  Mr. Las Casas pursued. “And can you tell us honestly what your motive was for doing this? Patriotism? Money? Misanthropy? Please forgive these ugly speculations, but I really can’t imagine any other reason you’d do what you did.”

  A few dozen pairs of eyes were now fixed on Mei Yin, waiting to see what astonishing answer she’d come up with this time. Perhaps most anxious was Director Zhang, who’d only dared make this play because he was confident that China had indeed never had any such biological weapons. But the situation might spin out of control if, for instance, Mei Yin had some kind of vendetta against the Chinese government, and insisted that she was indeed carrying out a mission on behalf of China. They’d likely be able to unravel her story, eventually, but even so, it would put them on the defensive. Deputy Mayor Jin and Xue Yu were holding their breath, as well. No matter what she said now, the self-possessed woman in the defendant’s seat was no longer the gentle, loving person they’d thought they knew.

  Mei Yin made a decision: concealment was now impossible, so she might as well go with the flow, and reveal the whole truth about the Crucifix Society. On her last trip to America, she’d often debated the point with her adoptive father: They’d kept a low profile, focusing on recruiting like-minded individuals, but now they were fully fledged, surely they should go public? But the Godfather disagreed, saying they should wait until the last possible moment, in order to keep her safe. Alas, at this moment Mei Yin was unable to ask the Godfather’s advice.

  She smiled at the Spaniard. “Unfortunately, all three of your options are wrong.” She turned to her husband. “I’m sorry, I’ve kept so many things from you, and now I’ve gotten you into trouble.”

  She was reminding him once more to stick to the plan they’d agreed on, to keep his distance from her. Jingshuan looked at her with an expression of very genuine conflict, and murmured, “I don’t blame you. I believe that your motives must have been pure and unselfish.”

  Mei Yin said sadly, “Thank you for your trust. With those words, I’ll have no regrets no matter what happens.” To Jin Mingcheng, sitting opposite her, she said, “I’m sorry, Jin. I abused your trust when I first came to Xinye County. But you’ll find in time that it wasn’t a malicious act.”

  Deputy Mayor Jin could say nothing to this, so kept silent.

  Mei Yin said to the crowd, “I went to Russia to get the virus on the orders of my adoptive father, Walt Dickerson. A group of like-minded friends have organized themselves around him, and we all wear a crucifix around our necks.” She held hers up for the reporters to see. “This doesn’t represent Christianity. The cross has been used as a cultural symbol in many indigenous societies, and its fundamental meaning is a fearful respect of nature. Life in the natural world wasn’t created by God, but from simple genes coming together, and from the basic rules of biochemistry. Life formed and developed out of a random process of trial and error. The errors led to death, successful trials to life. It really is that clear and simple—four billion years of natural selection created today’s boundless universe, with all its beauty and variety, exquisite efficiency and uniqueness. If, within the gloom, there really were an eternal, limitless, loving, incorporeal, omnipotent, all-knowing God, and he could see how life had spontaneously arisen in today’s world, he’d only be able to applaud in admiration, and sigh at his own unworthiness.

  “After four billion years of unforgiving trial and error, every living thing that has survived till today is a winner, an irreplaceable treasure. And together, they make up the circle of life on the planet, and all have the right to continue living within the circle, be they coyotes, hyenas, mosquitoes, roundworm, ‘dog pee’ fungi, horsetail grass . . . or a virus. Human beings are only one part of this circle, and what’s more, they are latecomers to it, so what right have we to pass a death sentence on other life-forms? Does the rabbit have the authority to declare the coyote illegal?

  “I accepted the teachings of my adoptive father, more for pragmatic reasons, because of humankind’s selfish nature. The circle of life is the result of four billion years of progress, and has reached a high degree of stability. Yet man is like a five-year-old child who’s just learned to use a screwdriver, and immediately runs around tearing apart every appliance in the house. As for whether he can put these complicated devices back together again, or if there’s any danger in unscrewing a high-voltage switch, none of that enters his consideration. Humanity has only been civilized for, at most, tens of thousands of years, so how deep could our understanding be of this four-billion-year-old circle of life? Take the smallpox virus. It’s the first virus that humankind completely eliminated from the natural world, leaving samples only in laboratories in America and Russia, which were due to be destroyed too. Yet the extinction of smallpox might cause the spread of AIDS, by vacating its ecological niche. This is just a hypothesis I’m looking into at the moment, and while I haven’t been able to prove it yet, it hasn’t been disproved either. If the smallpox virus specimens were to be completely destroyed, when the day comes that humanity wants to vindicate the virus, there’d be no way to bring it back to life!”

  Las Casas asked, “So you, or rather your adoptive father, set up this organization, dedicated to stealing samples of this virus before the global community eradicated smallpox altogether, and secretly kept it alive?”

  “That’s right. Kolya Stebushkin of the Vector Institute was my comrade. But he had doubts about our plan, and once said to me, ‘I don’t know whether I’m doing the work of the angels or the devils.’ Later on, the contradiction became too much for him and he killed himself. He’s a martyr for the cause, and I respect him a great deal.”

  As Las Casas listened, he was running Mei Yin’s words through a rigorous mental filter. He was inclined to think that her version of events fitted reasonably well with the account given by the anonymous Russian, all the loose threads joining up, narratives dovetailing. She was probably telling the truth. The Russian scientist killing himself out of guilt also sounded psychologically plausible. And it was far more likely that the whole thing was orchestrated by this Crucifix Society, and not by the Chinese military.

  After going through her testimony thoroughly, he still had a niggling doubt:

  “So you admit that the source of this epidemic wasn’t the American infection, but a leak from your laboratory.”

  “I believe so.”

  “Don’t you think that’s a bit too much of a coincidence?”

  Mei Yin shook her head
. “I have nothing to say to that. Coincidences truly do exist in the world, otherwise the word wouldn’t exist in so many languages.”

  Las Casas turned to look at Director Zhang. “I have no more questions. I’d like to see the laboratory in question. Is that possible?”

  “Of course, I’ll make the arrangements at once. The other reporters already visited when we collected the samples, and since that time the building has been sealed. If the rest of the press corps wish to visit a second time, they’re welcome to.”

  Las Casas went on. “Ms. Mei Yin, could you please provide us with your adoptive father’s address? After seeing the laboratory, I’d like to travel to America to interview him, in order to complete my report about this incident.”

  The request seemed to indicate that he believed Mei Yin. “Of course,” she replied. “I’ll give it to you later.”

  Director Zhang was satisfied with how things were going. His bold tactic of full transparency had paid off, and the journalists would have difficulty sustaining the “China’s secret biological weapons program” story. He felt differently toward Mei Yin too: hatred and anger were now tempered by a grudging admiration. She had, in a sense, behaved unselfishly, and you could even say she’d made an enormous sacrifice. Like Stebushkin, she was a martyr. But his admiration was grudging because, no matter what, her behavior had been rash, and she’d almost caused a deadly epidemic that could have swept over all of China’s people. Fortunately, the danger had passed, and the storm was all but over now. He asked, “Mr. Matsumoto, do you have anything to add?”

  The Japanese man was cautious by nature. On this visit, he’d listened and watched intently, but had barely expressed an opinion. He hadn’t said a word at this meeting so far, and only when Director Zhang asked him directly did he carefully speak. “I’d like to say that I don’t condone Ms. Mei Yin’s behavior. Even if she were right in her belief that smallpox should not be destroyed altogether, this isn’t something anyone should do on their own. It’s too important, and requires the cooperation and agreement of an international effort, with many countries working together and proceeding with caution, otherwise . . . we might not be this lucky next time. Still, I should also make clear my personal opinion. Even among the WHO experts, there are factions for and against the destruction of the remaining virus stocks. I count myself among those against it, and strongly oppose the extinction of this virus.”