Pandemic: The Innocents: A Post-Apocalyptic Medical Thriller Fiction Series (The Pandemic Series Book 2)

by Bobby Akart

  The worst news she’d received from Janie involved the fate of Lawrence Brown in Guatemala City. Despite his extraordinary precautions, he’d made the mistake of treating the patients in the vet’s office with an N95 vented particulate respirator. The unvented design or an N100 would have provided him better protection. In any event, Brown was now infected and continued to treat himself with the remaining colistin.

  He would be the first patient that was treated prior to being symptomatic and at the time of initial exposure. If the colistin successfully treated Brown, then the possibility of using it as a vaccine could be explored. But the testing of vaccines took ten to fifteen years with the regulatory process established by the Food and Drug Administration. It would be several days before they knew if it was an option.

  When Mac arrived at the CDC complex, she entered the building and provided her identification as always. This time, an alert appeared on the security guard’s monitor. Mac was told to wait to the side for a moment while an escort arrived. Within minutes, a uniformed guard informed her she would be escorted to see Mr. Baggett, who was expecting her.

  Heads turned from the cubicles as the spectacle of Mac being escorted through the hallways played out. As if she’d contracted the plague herself, anyone that passed Mac in the opposite direction gave her a wide berth. Am I that toxic around here?

  On the flight and the train ride into the city, Mac had worked herself up, ready to defend her actions and to explain why the events of two days ago was the best thing for the country. Now, after being ostracized by everyone, her confidence was zapped. When they arrived at Baggett’s office, she expected the worst. The security guard stood outside as she entered.

  “Shut the door, please,” said Baggett without any other form of greeting. He was holding a remote to the HDTV monitor mounted on his wall. The screen showed a helicopter view of the Rayburn building with the words Pandemic Pandemonium displayed along the bottom.

  After Mac sat in a chair across from him, he pushed play. The video played with the sound volume on a low level. The voice of the reporter described the scene around the Capitol grounds. Then the camera shot went to ground level and showed people crying, trying to force their way through the barriers and the strong police presence pushing them back with riot batons and protective shields.

  “These are families desperately trying to make contact with their loved ones—ordinary Americans who either worked in the Rayburn building or were visiting. They’re scared out of their wits because of this.”

  He changed the input on the monitor and pushed play once again. Mac’s description of the plague bacteria attacking the human body could be heard on the monitor, a scene she’d played through her mind dozens of times since then. Finally, the man coughing and the stampede for the exit was shown behind Mac, who remained stoic in the middle of the uproar.

  “I have one question for you, Dr. Hagan. What were you thinking?”

  “Mr. Baggett, when I went into this hearing, it was apparent to me that the threat we face—”

  “No,” he interrupted her abruptly. “I mean at the end. When everyone was scrambling for the exits, you sat there for several minutes, staring at the camera. Were you in a trance? Dazed and confused? Or were you looking at someone?”

  “What?” she asked.

  “Were you staring into the camera as if you were looking at someone?” Baggett repeated the question.

  “No, I mean I dunno,” replied Mac. “I guess I was in a trance, using your words. It all happened so fast.”

  “Okay, Dr. Hagan, I guess I have one more question. Did you plan this? I mean, was the sick man with bronchitis part of some overall plan to get attention?”

  “No, of course not. I was there to testify, just like you asked. I didn’t volunteer for the job, remember!” Mac was working up her anger again, but Baggett shut it down.

  “Well, only you know what your intentions were, I assume. When we spoke about your appearance the other day, I thought I made my instructions crystal clear. Apparently you didn’t pay attention or you disregarded them. Let me make sure these instructions are clear. You are on paid leave until Director Spielman returns from Brussels in two days. What happens next is totally up to him. You are not to talk with the media. You are to have no contact with co-workers at the CDC.”

  Mac sat up and protested. “What about the outbreaks? These are my cases and I need to stay on top of them!”

  “All of your work has been reassigned. I don’t think you comprehend what I’m saying here. Your cases should be the least of your worries. You may lose your job.”

  Mac’s glare of disgust directed toward Baggett must’ve spoken volumes. His scowl went away and he visibly retreated into his chair. She growled her next words.

  “No, you’re wrong. My worries go far beyond my job.”

  Chapter 8

  Day Thirty

  Defense Threat Reduction Agency

  Fort Belvoir, Virginia

  On the one hand, receiving a 9-1-1 within a message from Jablonik meant urgent, hightail it to the DTRA immediately. This time, it involved a scheduled meeting for 7:00 a.m. on an unspecified topic. This was a first in Hunter’s years at working within in the secrecy of Project Artemis.

  He and Kameel Khan, his trusted partner, exchanged a few words about the events that had transpired in Washington. Nobody with the team was aware of his relationship with Mac except for Jablonik. Hunter had to make full disclosure to Jablonik, as working with the CDC was an important aspect of Project Artemis.

  The group of operatives jumped to attention as Jablonik led Major Scott Horn, the deputy director of the DTRA and the man who had recruited Hunter for Project Artemis, into the large conference room. Everyone was in attendance, including the technology folks, who worked with the government’s surveillance agencies to gather and compare data.

  “At ease,” barked Major Horn. “Thank you for convening on short notice. I’ll get right to it. Sergeant.” Major Horn nodded at Jablonik, who immediately illuminated the monitors, revealing a number of images and maps.

  Major Horn walked around the room. “Our mission is to target the Islamic State’s virtual caliphate by hunting and killing its online operatives one by one. In the last two weeks, their Internet presence has come to a screeching halt with the post that read The flag of Allah and jihad has been raised!

  “We are under no illusion that we’ve won the war against the ISIS online army. As ISIS has lost ground to our air and ground forces in Iraq and Syria, it would be nice to declare victory. That is far from the case.

  “Since the last social media post, based upon your efforts, we appear to have tied their activities to the dissemination of a deadly form of plague into Northern Africa and Central America. Further, the families of known jihadists have disappeared into hiding. Towns and cities taken by ISIS through hard-fought battles have been abandoned. Many of their military assets have been self-destroyed and left in the desert.

  “We believe that this is part of an overall strategy designed to attack the West with biological weapons of terror. In the last forty-eight hours, pressure has come to bear on the Pentagon and Homeland Security as a result of the scare at the Capitol. The DHS has beefed up its border security and the Pentagon has given us a green light on a mission that might significantly dent the ISIS terrorist operation. Sergeant, walk them through the operation.”

  Jablonik moved to the center of the screens while Major Horn leaned against the wall to observe. Jablonik pointed to the first monitor.

  “This was taken yesterday afternoon from a reconnaissance satellite. You are looking at a four-hundred-foot-long freighter in the center of the Gulf of Mexico. It’s a ghost ship, meaning its GPS transponders have been disabled. The ship’s markings were removed and its flags lowered, but we’ve confirmed that this is a Saudi-flagged vessel named the Tasallul.”

  “Stealth,” said Khan aloud.

  “Yes, the Arabic word tasallul means stealth,” added Jablonik, who
changed the slide to show a close-up of the Black Standard—the battle flag of ISIS. “And as you’ll see, the people operating this vessel are no longer shy about their intentions.”

  Several people in the room mumbled to one another as the thought of a massive freighter controlled by ISIS was just off their shore. Jablonik brought their attention to a map of the Gulf of Mexico.

  “We’ve produced a map of the Gulf showing known round trips taken by a variety of small vessels between the Tasallul and the coasts of Mexico and Texas. It’s apparent they’ve been ferrying their operatives to the mainland. This is not a drug-running operation, people. They’re bussing in terrorists and we have no idea how many and where they went.”

  “Worst nightmare,” said Khan to Hunter, who nodded.

  “Agreed, Khan,” said Jablonik. “We’re about to undertake a mission that has two critical aspects. First, we cut off the supply of terrorist operatives into the United States by taking out the Tasallul. Then we have to chase down the vermin inside our own borders.”

  Major Horn stepped forward. “This has now been brought to the attention of the President. The outcome of this mission will have a direct bearing on the policy adopted by the administration toward visas and immigration. It’s important that we get it right. The sergeant and I have divided you into two teams. Six of you will board that freighter and perform recon before you sink her.”

  The Project Artemis team had performed a number of operations in the past, but nothing compared to sinking a four-hundred-foot freighter that might be filled with terrorists. This operation would be risky on several levels.

  They were to approach the vessel by chopper in the dead of night. Once aboard, they had to find their way through the ship to determine the terrorists’ intentions. If they survived the expected firefight, they’d need to strategically place explosives to sink the vessel without going down with it.

  The operation needed to be covert and carried off flawlessly so as to avoid attention. This was a Saudi Arabian-flagged vessel, and the President had just entered into new diplomatic arrangements with the Riyadh government. Politically, the White House didn’t want to create yet another story to become media fodder, especially if it involved the plague outbreaks.

  Last, but not least, the operatives carrying out the mission had to find their way off the ship and far away before its hull exploded. The sinking ship would take everything in the water within four hundred yards with it.

  Hunter shook his head as he considered the risk the SEAL team alumnae would be taking in carrying out this op. His head stopped shaking when Jablonik called out the names of the Project Artemis team who were to report to CSL Comalapa in El Salvador.

  “Norton, Jackson, Bell, Wilson, Khan, Hunter,” started Jablonik. “You’ll catch a military transport out of Davison Army Airfield at oh five hundred in the morning. You’ll be briefed further on the operation during the flight and your gear will be waiting for you at Comalapa.”

  Sweet, thought Hunter.

  Chapter 9

  Day Thirty-One

  Park Place on Peachtree

  Buckhead

  Mac had spent the day talking with her mother on the phone and texting with Janie. Hunter said he would be traveling all day but would reach her this evening. Her mother provided her needed encouragement and some advice on how to deal with Director Spielman.

  Barbara offered to call her old colleague, but Mac demurred. Mac felt bad that the media dredged up all of the old stories about her mother’s dismissal from her post as commander of USAMRIID. The comparisons between Ebolamania and Pandemic Pandemonium were nauseating. Mac wanted to stand on her own two feet and let the chips fall where they may.

  During the conversation, Mac resisted the urge to tell her parents about her relationship with Hunter. It wasn’t that Mac was unsure about the direction she was taking with Hunter. She was afraid her parents would consider a boy an unnecessary distraction under the circumstances.

  Mac picked up the phone and looked for a text or phone call from Hunter for the twelfth time in the last hour. It was getting late and she hoped he didn’t forget to call her. She set the phone down and went to the kitchen to take a swig of Indian River orange juice out of the jug when she glanced back at CNN.

  She slammed the juice down on the counter and raced back to the remote, leaving the cap spinning on the marble floor. She quickly turned up the volume to hear Don Lemon, the evening news anchor.

  “This just in to the CNN newsroom. German chancellor Frieda Müller is reportedly dead. According to reports, the chancellor had taken ill several days ago with a severe upper respiratory infection. She’d had bouts with pneumonia in the past from her younger years when she smoked heavily. Although she hadn’t smoked in years, the long-lasting effect upon her lungs reared its ugly head from time to time, making Chancellor Müller susceptible to colds and the occasional cases of pneumonia.”

  Throughout CNN’s reporting, images of ambulances surrounding the chancellor’s official residence at the massive German Chancellery in Berlin were paired with images of Müller making speeches and greeting world dignitaries.

  “Again, we will await further word as to the cause of death as the evening progresses. Current time in Berlin is four in the morning. As a new day unfolds in Germany, the reports of the beloved world leader will spread and we will bring you reaction as it becomes available.”

  Mac started to flip through the channels to Fox News and the early evening newscasts in Atlanta. The information was the same. Her phone rang and she scrambled to retrieve it, knocking it across the coffee table in a spinning motion.

  “Hello, hello?” asked Mac into her cell phone.

  “Hey, Mac, are you okay?” came the familiar voice she had been waiting for.

  “Hunter, thank God it’s you. I was afraid that you wouldn’t be able to call.”

  “I’m sorry it’s so late here. We’ve been in nonstop briefings. You sounded a little, well, frantic. Did I interrupt you and your other boyfriend?” Hunter laughed at himself.

  “No, shut up. No, listen. Chancellor Müller died tonight. The news said she had a case of pneumonia.”

  “Wow, that’s a major world leader and a pretty big ally of the President’s,” added Hunter. “This just happened? Wait, Mac. When was Müller in Turkey?”

  “We’re on the same page, Hunter,” replied Mac. She began scrolling through her iPad and searched mueller turkey visit in Google News. Despite spelling the chancellor’s name wrong, the search results were accurate.

  “Hello?” asked Hunter.

  “Oh, sorry. I was reading the article again. She was there eleven days ago. Do you remember? There was the touching scene of the chancellor hugging and kissing the little refugee girl.”

  “Are you thinking what I’m thinking?” asked Hunter.

  “Chancellor Müller may have died from the plague,” replied Mac.

  They were both quiet for a moment and then Mac explained to Hunter that she was seeing Director Spielman in the morning. She was going to plead her case and the death of the German chancellor might just help her argument. Of course, he wished her luck but reiterated that no matter what happened, she had done the right thing in Washington and not to worry about her future. He’d be there for her every step of the way.

  “When will you be back? I miss you,” said Mac.

  “I’ll be dark for a couple of days,” he replied.

  “I know you can’t give me details, OPSEC and all,” she said with a grin.

  Hunter burst out laughing on the other end of the line. “Yeah, operational security is always important,” he said. “That’s why I had to call you on this secure satphone.”

  Mac looked down at the display and it read private. “I didn’t even notice. I was so excited to talk to you that I just answered it.”

  “It could’ve been a reporter,” said Hunter.

  “Oh no, their sensitive ears are tired of me giving them the devil for calling. I’m going to get
a new phone and a new number tomorrow. I’ll text it to your cell so you can call me when you get off work.”

  Again, Hunter laughed. “In the past, I always thought of my job as more than that. I considered what I do as who I am. That’s changed now, Mac. I think this will be my last overseas operation.”

  “Why?” she asked. “Should I be worried?”

  “No, it’s just a feeling I have. I love you, Mac, and I’ll see you in a few days.”

  “I love you, too,” replied Mac, getting a chill from the ominous tone of Hunter’s abrupt sign-off.

  Chapter 10

  Day Thirty-Two

  CDC

  Atlanta, Georgia

  After going through the same security rigmarole as two days prior, Mac was seated in the outer lobby of Director Spielman’s office. Baggett emerged and walked past Mac with a scowl and a curt nod. Neither had a word to say to the other.

  “Good morning, Dr. Hagan,” greeted Dr. Thomas Spielman, a career CDC man who had the respect of health care professionals and sister agencies throughout the government. He was also an old friend of Mac’s mother, which made this meeting more awkward than it should have been.

  Spielman walked around his desk and led Mac to a seating area near the window. The plush chairs were preferable to the formal armchairs across from his desk. As he closed the door without saying a word, Mac’s initial instinct was that Spielman was making her comfortable before having an uncomfortable conversation.

  He stopped briefly and stared outside with his hands in his pockets. He mindlessly rolled some loose change through his fingers, causing a jingle. Mac nervously shifted in her chair and finally spoke first, breaking the awkward silence.