The Nightmare Scenario

by Gunnar Duvstig

  Once in the car, Richard spat out the status report in a military staccato.

  “We caught it by chance. A doctor at Johns Hopkins tested all incoming patients with coughs for the Maluku strain. A man who came in looking for cough syrup tested positive. We have no solid back-trace. The patient says he hasn’t been outside Baltimore in the last month. He knows of no one else with symptoms.”

  Richard made a brief pause to catch his breath.

  “We’re going to have to blindfold you during the flight. I apologize for this, but you don’t have code word clearance and the location of the bunker is top secret.”

  “Are you kidding me? You entrust me with advising your president on a matter of this magnitude, but you won’t let me know where I am?”

  “Yes, Dr. Hughes, I’m afraid so.”

  “This is ridiculous! I already know where Bunker Two is!”

  “I won’t ask how you know that, but this is how it’s going to be.”

  Darkness enclosed Aeolus as the hood was lowered over his head.

  AUGUST 22ND, 3 P.M., WIND MOBILE NETWORK OPERATIONS CENTER, ATHENS

  Elefterios, the manager of the operations center for Wind’s mobile network in Greece, put down his coffee cup and stared at the large screen in front of him in disbelief.

  The projection was divided into nine parts on nine different screens, each showing various metrics from the monitors of the nine operators seated in three rows of desks behind him. The screen in the middle showed just one single figure summarizing the state of the network – the number of base stations currently malfunctioning. On a good day the figure would be below five. On a bad day it could be around ten. The figure had just jumped to over two hundred.

  “What the fuck just happened?” he yelled at the operators while rushing to his own desk at the front of the room. He pulled up the digital network map. Red flags had popped up all around Crete, one for each failing base station.

  “Power failure all over Crete!” yelled one operator from behind the three large flat screens that constituted his station.

  “And why aren’t the batteries kicking in?”

  “I’m looking…” The room’s regular somnolent lull was replaced with fervent activity. The operators were frenetically hammering away on their keyboards in search of explanations, the tapping sound chopping into the hum from the air vent of the server room next door.

  It didn’t take long to figure out what had happened. There had been an island-wide power failure in Crete. Nearly all of the base stations had switched to backup batteries or generators. Some, however, had failed, Most importantly, 218 at Kissaros, the aggregator site that consolidated all traffic from Crete and transferred it back to the mainland, had malfunctioned. The backup batteries hadn’t kicked in. The generator, in spite of having a week’s supply of fuel, had not engaged. There were several contingencies in place at 218 to transfer traffic: redundant fiber, microwave, even satellite, but they were all dependent on electricity.

  The subcontractor who was supposed to go to the site in cases like this could not be reached. Elefterios was not surprised. It seemed as if for every city the epidemic hit, societal breakdown came faster. What had taken ten days in Jakarta had taken only five in Athens – the city was encased in gridlock and public services working only intermittently.

  He walked to the physical network map in the back of the room, behind the transmission. It was time to go old school.

  “What if we reroute all the traffic to the east and use the microwave link at site 230?”

  His lead transmission operator checked a series of tables on his screen. “That could work, but we won’t be able to handle the full volume of traffic. That’s an old link from way back.”

  “Do it. Reroute the traffic. Some capacity is better than none.”

  Five minutes later, the Wind customers in Crete could once again make calls.

  He knew it wouldn’t hold for long. It would only get worse.

  Desperate times called for desperate measures. He picked up the phone and dialed a number he hadn’t called in a long time – his older brother in the Network Operations Centre of Kosmote, their main competitor.

  The two of them had fallen out when Elefterios had stepped out of his brother’s shadow and left Kosmote to join Wind to build and run his own network. But this was no time for old grudges.

  When his brother picked up, he could hear shouts and other background noises that suggested they had problems on their end as well.

  Without preamble, Elefterios said, “We’re having trouble in Crete. We’ve patched it together but it won’t hold for long.”

  “Tell me about it. We’re fine in Crete, but we’re hanging by the skin of our teeth in central Thessaloniki.”

  “We have to open our networks to each other’s customers. That’s the only way to keep things running.”

  “Our CEOs will never accept it. They’re pretty attached to their competitive network advantage. I bet ours is already preparing a press release about your network disruption in Crete, bragging about how much better our network is.”

  “Screw management! They’re going to fire me once this is over anyway. I don’t think they’ll take kindly to me allowing sixty minutes of free calls a day for everyone who’s run out of credit. It’s a good thing they’re holed up in their country houses already. Not much they can do to stop me from running my network unless they show up here.”

  “What about capacity? Our network is not dimensioned for those types of volumes…”

  “We’ll figure something out. We’re good in Thessaloniki. We can help you there. What’s it going to be?”

  “I’m in. It’s all going to fall apart any minute anyway. We might as well keep the lights on for as long as we can.”

  Elefterios heard louder shouts and his brother hung up without a word. Something else had just gone wrong with Kosmote’s network.

  When he turned back to his staff, the operators weren’t in their seats, but cleaning up their stations, collecting emptied cans of food and Styrofoam coffee cups.

  “So the transport has arrived?”

  “Yes and no replacement staff this time either,” responded the leader of the transmission desk. He lowered his gaze in apparent shame.

  “So, you’re leaving?”

  “Look, we’ve already done two straight shifts. No one’s coming. This might be the last transport and our last chance to get out and go to our families. I’m sorry, Lefteri, but we have to go.”

  “I understand. Go. I’ll stay and look after her. I built this network, and I’m not going to see her crumble as long as there’s a trick left in my bag.”

  “What’s the point? She’s going to come crashing down within an hour anyway; six at the most.”

  “No! She won’t. She’ll hold together!”

  Elefterios walked over to the large screen and patted it gently. “Baby, please hold together.”

  AUGUST 22ND, 10 A.M., THE SITUATION ROOM, PRESIDENTIAL BUNKER TWO, UNDISCLOSED LOCATION

  When Aeolus entered the bunker’s replica of the Situation Room, he saw that Albert Michener was already there, standing in front of a dynamic animated map, displaying Fort Detrick’s projection of the spread. The animation was flawed. The exponential rate at which the infection spread, starting from Philadelphia and moving outwards in circles, did not take into account the likely travel patterns by plane, nor did the fact that it would spread more slowly through the Midwest given the lower density of population.

  Aeolus whispered to Richard as they sat down, “I recognized his foul stench when I was brought on board.”

  Richard smiled and winked, “Charming, to the last…”

  The meeting began.

  “Mr. President,” Michener said. “With the latest development, this has now moved from a general public health threat to a widespread attack with a biological agent, putting the entire nation at risk. As such it has come under the aegis of USAMRIID and we will take leadership of operations from h
ere.”

  “Mr. Michener,” said Aeolus, “having you and your organization lead this would be a grave mistake. You don’t have the competency. Hank will agree with me on this.”

  Hank did, telling the president: “I agree, Fort Detrick primarily trains for the more traditional bio-weapons such as anthrax and smallpox. They have, comparatively, limited experience with this type of virus.”

  “That’s not true,” interjected Michener, “we have an entire department dedicated to the influenza virus. We are the part of the government that has the knowledge and equipment to deal with this.”

  “Equipment?” exclaimed Aeolus. “What do you mean by that? HAZMAT suits? You’re clowns! It doesn’t matter what you wear. Even in gear, you’ll still be clowns; clowns in HAZMAT suits. And if your knowledge is so impressive, show me your results. Where are your reagents? Where is your PCR-sequencing? Where is your rapid test? You have nothing, because you know nothing.”

  Albert Michener was now red with indignation and his bald scalp shone like a plate of iridescent copper. “Mr. President, this is outrageous. It doesn’t matter if it’s flu or smallpox. It’s the same thing, and we have the training.”

  The president turned to Richard who exchanged glances with Aeolus first. “Mr. President, I’m no expert, but I’ve learned a lot the last two weeks, and I can confidently tell you that a person who says that there’s no difference dealing with a flu epidemic or a smallpox outbreak doesn’t inspire a lot of confidence. Clearly these are very different things.”

  The president glanced at Hank, who responded with a discreet nod, and then announced, “Mr. Michener, you’re excused.”

  “But, Mr. President,” cried Michener, “you can’t do this, it’s my responsibility and…”

  He didn’t get the chance to finish the sentence before he found himself facedown on the floor with 200 pounds of Secret Service agent, channeled through a knee, pressing against his lower back.

  Aeolus knew that was the last mistake Michener would make in his career. He had dealt enough with the Secret Service to know so. This wasn’t the White House – this was the bunker.

  They lived to protect their principals, the foremost being the president. The bunker was the heart of the organism that was the Secret Service. This was their castle. Within its walls, you did not raise your voice to the president. And under no circumstance, did you tell the president what he could or could not do.

  The agent pulled Albert Michener to his feet, bending his arm behind his back so far that Albert had to stand on tiptoe to prevent it from breaking.

  “I can leave by my own accord, thank you,” said Albert Michener.

  “Yes,” responded the agent, “but you won’t.”

  “Okay,” said the president, once Michener was out of the room, “so what now?”

  “Mr. President,” said Hank, “we listen to Dr. Aeolus Pentecost Hughes and do what he says.”

  “Okay,” said the president. “Dr. Hughes, it’s your show. What’s next?”

  “Well, first of all, are there any updates to the situation since we met yesterday?”

  “Yes,” said Hank, “a doctor’s reported five possible cases at Fort Bragg. He’s running the tests now. They looked like ordinary flu but with the situation in Philadelphia he got apprehensive. One of the patients, who recently came over from Ramstein, has started coughing blood. Obviously, the base is now under full quarantine.”

  “If it is the Maluku Strain, is there any chance it got out before the quarantine?”

  “Unlikely, but possible.”

  “Okay, anything else?”

  “Yes,” said the Chief of Staff, “The governors of Alaska, Montana and Wyoming have put their states under quarantine. The airports are closed and they’re dispatching the police and National Guard to block the highway entry points. Local FBI isn’t sure how to react.”

  “Do they even have the authority to do that?” asked the president. “Shouldn’t this be my decision to make?”

  Before the Chief of Staff answered, Aeolus broke in. “I wouldn’t worry about the chain of command at this point, Mr. President. State-wide quarantines are something we should encourage.”

  “Okay,” said the president, “instruct the FBI to support them whatever way they can. Dr. Hughes, please carry on.”

  “Starting with the bad news, given the current spread and how long it took to get a full quarantine around Philadelphia, we must work under the assumption that the infection has gotten out. The good news is that the outbreaks in Pennsylvania and Maryland are on the East Coast. If we can prevent air travel and impose an eastern quarantine, we might be able to hold the line. Even if it breaks through, the spread through the fly-over states will be slow because of the lower population density.

  “We need to shift focus from trying to keep the flu from getting out of the affected areas, to keeping it from getting in the uninfected ones. It’s still possible to save the entire West Coast, and also the largest populated areas northeast of the current hot-zones, like New York.

  “Quarantining entire states is by now pointless. It simply can’t be done, as I’m sure the military will agree. What we can do is isolate major cities and close down airports and freeways. I suspect that’s a job for the military. The experience in Philadelphia isn’t exactly reassuring. As I understand it, the coordination was poor and there was confusion between local police, the National Guard and the other agencies involved. No one knew where to go. Some places were covered by multiple units, while others weren’t covered at all. It took three hours to achieve full containment. There was chaos, it seems more than a thousand people managed to flee the city.”

  “I agree,” said the Chairman of the Joint Chiefs. “If you want this watertight, Mr. President, it’ll have to be the army. Let me ask you this, though, Dr. Hughes. To get a well-coordinated deployment, we need about twelve hours for planning, assuming there’s a good idea of what choke points to go after. Would you go for a well-planned deployment in twelve hours, or a slightly more chaotic one launched immediately?”

  “If we get the airports shut down and National Guard on the interstates, I think you will, for protecting the West Coast, have time for a twelve hour delay. The East Coast quarantine is more urgent.”

  “Admiral,” said Hank, “we have a complete plan for deployment. We know which chokepoints matter. We’ll send it through immediately.”

  “Okay,” said the president, “General, I want you to put together a plan for ‘Operation Emergency Lockdown.’ You have eight hours.”

  “There’s one problem we need to deal with before we start launch the operation,” said the Chief of Staff. “Once again, according to the Posse Comitatus Act, the president cannot deploy the army in what can be considered as law enforcement activities without congressional approval. The exceptions are insurrection, domestic violence, unlawful combination, or conspiracy, and this situation hardly qualifies as any of those. The only forces exempt and available for use without approval from Congress are the twenty thousand infantry soldiers under NORTHCOM command.”

  “I thought the last president took care of this somehow?” said the president.

  “No, unfortunately not, Mr. President. The law was amended by the Defense Authorization Bill in 2006, allowing for exceptions in the case of epidemics, but this bill was repealed in 2008. We are back to the language of the Insurrection Act of 1807.”

  “What about declaring martial law?”

  “Same problem. You can only lawfully do that in case of an insurrection.”

  “I’m so sick of States’ Rights I could vomit,” said the president. “Well, get me the Speaker of the House. This is one time when getting Congress’s support should be easy.”

  “You would have thought,” continued the president, “that someone could’ve figured this out a couple of days ago, so we we’d have had Congressional approval already.”

  “Well,” said Hank, “technically, that type of a recommendation, as it’s military
in nature, is supposed to come from Fort Detrick, not the CDC.”

  The president sighed. “Clearly throwing that guy out was the right call. I want him fired and Hank put in charge of whatever resources they have.”

  “And give Dr. Hughes whatever security clearance he needs. I don’t know whether he would pass a vetting according to our normal protocols – no offense, Dr. Hughes – but I am pretty sure he’s not a North Korean spy.”

  The president rose and extended his hand to Aeolus. “And for Christ’s sake, get the man some decent quarters.”

  Aeolus rose and shook the president’s hand. Finally he was on the inside. No need to hide who was the smartest guy in the class any longer.

  UT VETERA

  VINCULA

  RUMPERE

  (As old bonds break)

  AUGUST 22ND, 4 P.M., PATIENT WARD, WHO REGIONAL OFFICE, SHAM NATH MARG, NEW DELHI

  Rebecca gently patted Roger’s sweating forehead with a towel. His temperature was 105. She brushed a lock of his brown hair aside, cursing her latex gloves for preventing the human contact he needed and she wanted to give.

  “You’re going to be fine, Roger,” she said, although she knew that wasn’t true. This morning the characteristic discolorations had started to appear on his neck. His breath was getting shallower and quicker. His death was going to be painful – his lungs slowly filling with blood.

  “Sure,” said Roger, with a broad but forced smile. “I feel good. Like a bad cold. It’s no worse than that.” He coughed and drops of blood came up mixed with phlegm.

  She wanted to remove her protective gear, to care for him properly. She wanted to give him all the affection she could in these last hours. But breaking isolation was equivalent to resigning her post. It would mean betraying the trust Aeolus had in her, as well as neglecting her duty as a doctor and the oath she had sworn.

  Today, though, she’d spent so much time with Roger that, in a way, she was already disregarding her responsibilities to the point where one could argue she wasn’t fit to serve.