The Nightmare Scenario

by Gunnar Duvstig

  “Kevin Brice and Edward Moynes,” said Aeolus, cutting him off. “I know.”

  Walt could not hide his surprise.

  “This is a good brief,” Aeolus continued, tapping his finger on the folder, “It has what I need, and it’s not clogged with ephemera.”

  Now Kevin and Ed were the ones who were shocked. Aeolus was not a person who gave praise. In fact, they’d never heard him be so appreciative.

  “You are going to be my point-men on this,” Aeolus told them. “You will sit in on the meetings and be fully briefed. You will lead a piece each, and you will also form a triumvirate with Walt. If, in the unlikely event that I will be indisposed at some point, a snap decision will need to be made, and you three will make it by majority vote. As you know, we have not had a Deputy Director-General since I took over. Now we have two. Consider yourselves deputized. There is going to be a staff meeting at three. I want you by my side so that everyone can see the authority I am granting you.”

  Kevin and Ed stood frozen, dumbstruck. They couldn’t believe what had just transpired.

  After a couple of seconds, Aeolus snapped, “What are you standing around here for? What do you think this is – a yoga class? Get going. You’ve got work to do.”

  Kevin and Ed rapidly turned and left Aeolus’s office. As they walked down the corridor their pace slowed and their steps grew heavier as they gradually realized the responsibility Aeolus had placed on them.

  “You’re taking birds and the Asian?” Ed asked.

  “Yeah... You get swine and Hong Kong.”

  Ed nodded, feeling a weight on his shoulders from the list of things that needed to be done, all of which were storming around in his mind.

  Back in Aeolus’s office, Walt still had not recovered from his surprise. Finally he asked, “How did you know their names? The report wasn’t signed.”

  “Of course I know their names. I know everyone’s names.”

  “But… excuse me, sir… why don’t you ever use them?”

  “You really haven’t gotten it, have you, Walt? Do you really think I’m as rude and arrogant as I am without a reason? I’m not mad, you know. Our job,” he went on, “is to fight deadly epidemics. That’s bound to be a high-pressure ballgame. In a situation like that, there isn’t time to be nice to people, pat them on their backs and tell them they’re doing a good job. The environment will be harsh. A person who can’t stomach it has no place on our team. I behave like I do in order to weed those individuals out. I do it to make sure the team is ready once she comes. This is, after all, the WHO, not some self-help group.”

  “And why don’t you treat Rebecca Summers that way?”

  “Because she was born ready.”

  Walt had always admired Aeolus, but mostly for his medical skills. He’d always been proud to work for him, but never as proud as now, when he realized how systematically Aeolus had gone about achieving what had been, he had to agree, a necessary pruning of the staff.

  “And Walt, you have to get some sleep. You’ve been working round the clock. I need you to stay sharp. Make sure to find Rebecca first, though.”

  “I’ll sleep when my administrative work is done, sir. That is, when every person who needs to get somewhere is on their way and every piece of equipment required is located and sent. After that, I’ll rest.”

  “Well, make sure that’s soon, and be sure to attend the meeting. I can assure you that this is a show you won’t want to miss.”

  JULY 29TH, DAWN, THE MARRIOTT HOTEL, ATLANTA, GEORGIA

  Roger casually flipped through The New York Times, feeling a calming sense of bliss as Rebecca’s hums occasionally pierced the curtain of sound formed by the water beating down on the tiled floor of the shower.

  The feeling was disrupted by the sound of Nokias “Grand Valse”, the most well-recognized and most hated mobile ring-tone of all times. It took Roger a minute to realize the sound was coming from Rebecca’s phone.

  He wasn’t the kind of guy who would spend time customizing his phone to give different ring-tones for different callers. In general he thought time spent with technology was time wasted. But this, changing the standard Nokia ring-tone, would, surely, even in his mind, have been time well spent.

  He didn’t bother disturbing Rebecca. He was enjoying the moment too much and wanted to find his way back to the serenity that the ringing had interrupted.

  He mentioned the call in passing to Rebecca as she poured herself a cup of room-service coffee, wearing nothing but a damp towel, fitting closely around her breasts and hips.

  “Sorry Roger, I have to call them back,” she said when she saw who had called.

  “Hi Walt, this is Rebecca. You called.

  “Yes, sorry, my phone has been off.

  “Okay. Hmm… that doesn’t sound good?

  “Twelve hours ago you say?

  “Elevated lymphocyte levels? Cytokine storms?

  “So, you say it’s just west off of the last one?

  “What does Aeolus think?

  “So this is it, is it?

  “What do we have in place?

  “Okay, I’m on my way.

  “See you on the other side.”

  Rebecca hung up and turned to Roger.

  “Roger, I need you to trust me on something.”

  “Okay,” Roger said, though he wasn’t really listening. He was reading an article about a set of documents on the Majestic 12, recently discovered in the national archives. This could very well be the basis for my next story.

  “You have to hold the story on Aeolus.”

  “Why?” She had his attention now and he looked up from the newspaper with a frown.

  “Because something’s happening and he’s going to need all the clout he can command and the article might undermine that.”

  “That’s not a good enough reason. I’m a journalist. I don’t make exceptions just because it’s inconvenient for someone. I report the truth as I see and hear it.” He folded the newspaper and put it on the table, atop his half-eaten scrambled eggs.

  “Roger, if you hold it, I can get you an interview with Aeolus; a real interview, no-holds-barred. That’ll make your article unique. Also, I can guarantee you an exclusive on an even bigger story. You just have to be patient.”

  “Rebecca. Who was that on the phone?”

  “I can’t tell you that.”

  “Rebecca, has there been an outbreak? Is it serious?”

  “You know, Roger, that even if there was, I couldn’t tell you. But let’s just say, hypothetically speaking, that if there had been an outbreak, an inside exclusive would be a pretty good story, no? Good enough to bring you out of your exile from the mainstream press.”

  “Hypothetically speaking, if that were the case, it would be a strong enough reason for me to sit on my story.”

  “Thanks.”

  “Where are you going?”

  “Indonesia.”

  “I’ll come with you. I have nothing better to do. I can write my story from there.”

  “No Roger, you can’t come.”

  “Why?”

  “Because first of all, we can’t have press there and more importantly, I won’t be able to guarantee your safety.”

  “Jeez. That bad?”

  “You didn’t hear that from me.”

  She kissed Roger on the cheek. “I really enjoyed last night. I hope we can do it again soon.”

  “So do I,” said Roger in a muted voice, realizing how much he had missed Rebecca, thinking about what he had missed out on the last five years and wondering when he would see her again.

  “I’ll be in touch,” Rebecca said. And with that, she left.

  JULY 29TH, 9 AM, CDC HEADQUARTERS, ATLANTA, GEORGIA

  Hank Wiley tugged at the collar of his Brooks Brothers suit. No matter how much he twisted his body, he could never get it to fit properly or feel comfortable. He missed his uniform.

  Gathered in front of him was the senior staff not only from Centers for Disease C
ontrol and Prevention, but also from Fort Detrick, the headquarters of the United States Army Medical Research Institute of Infectious Diseases – USAMRIID for short.

  When Hank was appointed director of the CDC, the idea had been, given his background with USAMRIID, that he would be able to bridge the gap between the two organizations. Historically, they had been viewing each other with suspicion, competing for funding and ultimate authority on disease management within the country. In theory, their responsibilities were different. USAMRIID was supposed to deal with military biological threats and the CDC focused on natural infections. Naturally, their work often overlapped. Hank was the man who was supposed to bring the two groups together, working toward shared goals in synchronized collaboration.

  It was because of this implicit authority that Hank had forced the staff from Fort Detrick to fly down from Maryland to face him personally and discuss the recent misjudgment by the military doctors. He had always trusted the Fort Detrick staff’s abilities over those at the CDC. The last couple of days had given him reason to reevaluate that belief.

  “Where’s Michener?” demanded Hank as he opened the meeting.

  Hank refused to refer to Albert Michener, the current head of USAMRIID, as “Colonel.” Although it was technically his rank, Michener had never served in uniform; he’d just inherited the title with his job. Furthermore, Hank refused to call him a doctor, as he was a veterinarian. To Hank, he was simply Michener.

  “Major Wiley, he unfortunately couldn’t attend, as he had to see to other business of utmost importance,” answered the head of the USAMRIID Influenza division.

  “Yeah, like improving his handicap,” Hank thought to himself.

  Hank cleared his throat and commenced a serious roasting.

  “Let me give it to you straight. The last time we spoke, you all told me, among other things, that this infection was likely a hemorrhagic fever, that it could definitely not be influenza, and that it would not come back. Well, we now know that it was indeed influenza and that it did indeed come back. Everything that you have come up with has been proven wrong. Which means you’ve made a complete fool out of me in front of that unbearable, obnoxious snob Hughes. Now can someone please tell me how this could have happened!?” Hank yelled, feeling a pulse in his temples that meant he was getting upset beyond what was healthy given his high blood pressure.

  “Um… Major Wiley, you must understand…”

  “Shut up! Do you really think you were supposed to answer that? Now, I hope to God you sorry bunch of losers have something useful to tell me about what we’re looking at.”

  Hank’s audience shifted in their chairs, casting nervous glances at each other. The head of the influenza division at USAMRIID was first to speak.

  “Major Wiley, I think it is important to note that we were right on one point, which is that this isn’t a big threat. It always seems worse than it really is at the inception. The reason we’re seeing such high mortality rates in Indonesia is because they lack our immunities, don’t have our quality of hospitals, availability of drugs or the societal support structure to deal with this. If it reaches us it’ll only be marginally more lethal than the regular flu. It’s like we saw with the swine flu. The WHO cried wolf and launched a massive vaccination campaign to no avail. In the end, the mortality rates turned out to be much lower than their early estimates, and the side effects of the vaccine vastly outweighed the benefits. You also have to factor in seasonality…”

  “Yes, seasonality, that’s a good point,” said Hank.

  “And as for that charlatan from the WHO,” continued the head of the influenza division, “I wouldn’t worry too much about what he says. You’ll prove him wrong and then it’ll be him who looks like a fool.”

  “What did you just call him!?”

  “Uhh… a charlatan?”

  Hank walked over to the man. “You will never call him that again. Is that clear? He’s many things, an asshole for one, but he is no charlatan. He has more knowledge gathered on his fingernail than all of you in this room together. And if there were ever any doubts about that, you’ve disproved them by now.”

  Everyone nodded submissively.

  “Okay, do you have any proof or factual support for what you’ve put forward here?”

  “Well, not exactly proof, but these are strong hypotheses, based on our experience.”

  “Hypotheses!? That’s all you have? I’ll come to Fort Detrick tomorrow, and by then, by God, you’d better have something solid. I’m not taking your word for anything anymore. And if Michener isn’t there, he’s going to be looking for a new job very soon. Is all that clear?”

  “Yes, sir” the participants mumbled in chorus.

  “Okay, ladies. Class dismissed.”

  JULY 29TH, 3 PM, LOBBY, WHO HEADQUARTERS, GENEVA

  Aeolus looked out over the crowd in the lobby. It must have been more than two hundred people. Everyone was there, from the most senior researchers to the secretaries and even the janitors. He was standing on the main reception desk with Ed and Kevin next to him, Ed nervously flattening his comb-over with his left hand.

  A subdued but constant murmur filled the room. Nothing like this had ever happened during Aeolus’s tenure, and people were naturally curious; curious enough to speculate about the reason for the gathering, but respectful enough to do so quietly.

  Aeolus tapped his cane on the desk and scanned the faces, trying to meet the gaze of every man and woman before him. The room went totally silent as employee after employee personally saw in his face that the message he was about to convey was of utmost importance.

  Aeolus started to speak.

  “About twenty-four hours ago there was an outbreak of what we now know to be a new strain of influenza. It has the ability to infect humans and, from what we’ve been able to gather so far, seems to be very aggressive, maybe more so than anything we’ve seen in our lifetimes. First indications are that the mortality rate is extraordinarily high. As many of you know – apart from a completely new disease that no one has heard of before – the greatest threat to humanity, in terms of loss of life, is an influenza; an influenza just like what we fear this one might be. Now, we don’t know a lot yet. We don’t know the real mortality or transmissibility rate. We don’t know how large share of the infected are asymptomatic. We don’t know if there is an animal vector, and most importantly, we don’t know if it’s contained. Now this might, and by God I think we all hope so, be nothing. The mortality rate might be exaggerated by locals in the area, who lack some of the immunity that a large part of the earth’s population has. We might have a vaccine for another strain that will prove effective, and if not, we might, if we’re lucky, be able to produce one quickly. Also we might have it contained and it might die, as it was born, in Eastern Indonesia.”

  He paused.

  “But there’s also another possibility. This might be what we informally within these walls refer to as the Nightmare Scenario. The worst case is a strain with a high mortality rate; a strain with a high share of asymptomatic people; a strain that has the capacity to jump back and forth between animals and humans; a strain against which our vaccines are ineffective, and which is so different that efforts of producing a new one takes longer than it does for the pandemic to sweep across the globe. Now, if that is what we’re talking about, a lot of lives are at stake, and by that I don’t mean millions, I am talking about a much larger number.”

  The attention of everyone in the room was absolutely fixed on Aeolus. The silence was complete. A fly’s footfall would have been distinctly heard.

  “I know many of you think I am arrogant and that I don’t appreciate your work or the efforts you put in.

  “That’s because I hold you to a higher standard than you have ever been held to in your life. This is not amateur hour; this is the Champions League final.

  “To use an analogy, I think you would agree that a surgeon has an important and very difficult job. During an operation, he has to make split-s
econd decisions while holding a human life in his hands. Well, no matter how demanding a task that may be, ours is more difficult. We don’t hold one life in our hands. We hold millions. In this case maybe hundreds of millions.

  “Now that’s not unique. Researchers who develop vaccines often produce results of the same magnitude. But their work is long-term, slow and incremental. They don’t have to make the flash decisions we might. We need the skills and abilities not only of the best surgeons or the brightest researchers; we need a combination of both. You think I don’t appreciate your work. You think that I think of you unintelligent and lazy. I do not. I know that you are competent and dedicated.”

  He let that sink in, and then continued. The reason I know that is the following.

  “During my tenure I have, as you all know, fired a fair amount of people. Many of you have disagreed with those decisions, but they have not been without purpose. I have fired everyone I thought was not up to task we are about to undertake. I have interacted with most of you. You’ve given presentations to me, written reports that I’ve read, or done the underlying research for them. And despite this you have survived. You have lived up to the highest standards. And that, my colleagues, is the greatest compliment and statement of recognition you will ever receive.

  “When Churchill took command of Great Britain during the Second World War, he told his compatriots that they were not ready for war. Many of the leadership positions, both political and military, were held by cronies who had been placed there due to nepotism and favors, rather than competence. Churchill made it clear that before they could go to war, they had to replace these people with others selected on the basis of ability. Before that they wouldn’t stand a chance against the Germans.

  “Well, we might now be facing our own war, and luckily for us, we have already done what Churchill needed to do.”

  This was the critical point to get across and it seemed to be working. Some of the staff was looking down, probably regretting something said about him behind his back at some time. Others yet, were nodding slightly in recognition of what he had just said. He moved in for the kill.