Primitive vaccinations were finally discovered in the early nineteenth
century, using a related cowpox virus, which eventually provided some
measure of control against the disease. Sporadic outbreaks and Cold
War fears prompted routine smallpox vaccinations in the United States
up until the nineteen seventies. In large part due to the World Health
Organization's successful global battle against the disease, smallpox
was declared completely eradicated in 1977. Save for a small research
sample at the U.S. Centers for Disease Control, and an unknown quantity
developed for military applications in the former Soviet Union,
remaining worldwide stocks of the virus were completely destroyed.
Smallpox was nearly a forgotten disease until the terrorist attacks in
the early years of the new century raised the fear that a contagious
virulent outbreak of any form was again a threat to be reckoned with.
The historical ravages of smallpox were of little concern to Irv Fowler
at the moment. After mustering the strength to drive himself to the
Alaska Regional Hospital emergency room, his only hopes were for a
quiet room and an attractive nurse to help him recuperate from whatever
form of killer flu was knocking him out. Even when a parade of
somber-looking medical professionals kept marching by to have a look at
him and then insisted he be wheeled into quarantine, he was feeling too
weak to be alarmed. Only when a pair of masked doctors finally
informed him that he had tested positive for smallpox did his mind
begin to whir. Two thoughts came to mind before delirium washed over
his brain again: Could he defy the thirty percent mortality rate? And
who else had he infected?
Dirk, I have some terrifying news." The fear in Sarah's voice was
palpable, even over the telephone.
"What's wrong?"
"It's Irv. He's sick in the hospital in Anchorage. The doctors say
that he has contracted smallpox. I just can't believe it."
"Smallpox? I thought that had all but been eliminated."
"Practically speaking, it has. If the doctors are correct with the
diagnosis, it will be the first documented case in the United States in
thirty years. The medical authorities are keeping it quiet, though the
CDC is rushing vaccination supplies to Alaska in case an outbreak
develops."
"How's he holding up?"
"He's at a critical juncture," Sarah replied, nearly choking on the
words. "The next two or three days will be crucial to his outcome.
He's in quarantine at Alaska Regional Hospital in Anchorage, along with
three other people he has had close contact with."
"I'm sorry to hear that," Dirk said with genuine concern in his voice.
"Irv's a tough old bird, I'm sure he'll sail through without a hitch.
Have you any idea how on earth he contracted smallpox?"
"Well," Sarah replied, swallowing hard, "the incubation period is
approximately fourteen days. That would mean he became infected about
the time we were on Yunaska ... and aboard the Deep Endeavor!"
"He may have contracted it on our ship?" Dirk asked incredulously.
"I don't know. It was either on the ship or on the island, but it
matters little now. The smallpox virus is remarkably contagious. We
need to work fast to check everyone who was onboard the Deep Endeavor
and isolate those infected. Time is critical."
"What about you and Sandy? You were working and living together with
Irv. Are you all right?"
"As CDC employees, Sandy and I were both vaccinated two years ago after
concerns were first raised about smallpox as a potential bioterrorist
threat. Irv was on loan to us from the state of Alaska's Department of
Epidemiology and had not yet received his vaccination."
"Can the crew of the Deep Endeavor still be vaccinated?"
"Unfortunately, it would do no good. The vaccine can be effective
within a couple of days of exposure but becomes useless thereafter.
It's a terrible disease, as once you've contracted it there is nothing
that can be done to combat it until it has run its course."
"I'll contact Captain Burch and we'll check on all the crew members as
soon as possible."
"I will be back from Spokane this evening. If you can assemble the
crew, I can help the ship's doctor check each man for symptoms in the
morning."
"Consider it done. Sarah, I could use another favor from you as well.
Okay if I pick you up in the morning?"
"Sure, that would be fine. And, Dirk ... I pray that you are not
infected."
"Don't you worry," he replied confidently. "There's way too much rum
in my blood to keep any bugs alive."
Dirk immediately called Captain Burch, and, with Leo Del-| gado's help,
quickly contacted each crew member who had sailed on the Deep Endeavor.
To their relief, none of the men reported signs of illness, and all
appeared at the NUMA field office the next morning
As promised, Dirk picked up Sarah at her apartment early in the:
morning, electing to drive the big '58 Chrysler.
"My word, this is an enormous car," Sarah declared as she climbed into
the finned behemoth.
"It's the original definition of heavy metal," Dirk grinned as he
stoked the car out of the parking lot and drove toward the NUMA
building.
Many of the Deep Endeavor's crew greeted Sarah warmly when she arrived
before the assembled group, and she noted to herself how the entire
crew behaved more like close family members than coworkers.
"It is great to see my NUMA friends again," she said, addressing the
crew. "As you may know, my associate Irv Fowler, who was on the ship
with us, has been diagnosed with smallpox. The smallpox virus is
highly contagious and it is critical that those infected be quickly
isolated. I will need to know if any of you have suffered from the
following symptoms since Irv, Sandy, and I left the Deep Endeavor,
fever, headache, backache, severe abdominal pain, malaise, delirium, or
rashes on the face, arms, or legs."
One by one, she examined the apprehensive crew, taking temperatures and
grilling each man or woman on signs of the deadly disease. Even Dirk
and Captain Burch were subject to her checkup, after which Sarah gave a
noticeable sigh of relief.
"Captain, just three of your crewmen are showing minor flu like signs
of illness, which may or may not be preliminary symptoms of the virus.
I request that these men remain isolated until we can complete their
blood tests. Your remaining crew should avoid large public venues for
at least a few more days. I would like to do a follow-up check at the
end of the week, but it appears promising there has been nO outbreak
among the ship's crew."
"That is good news," Burch replied with audible relief. "Seems odd to
me that the virus did not spread easily through a confined ship."
"Patients are most infectious after the onset of rash, which typically
occurs twelve to fourteen days after exposure. Irv was well off the
boat and working in Anchorage when he reached that stage, so it's
possible that the virus had n
ot spread while we were aboard. Captain,
I would ensure that his stateroom on the Deep Endeavor is thoroughly
sanitized, along with all linen and dining ware aboard the ship, just
to be safe."
"I'll see that it's taken care of right away."
"It would appear that the source of the smallpox outbreak was on
Yunaska," Dirk speculated.
"I think so," Sarah replied. "It's a wonder that you and Jack were not
exposed when you picked us up off the island."
"Our protective gear may have saved us."
"Thank God," she said gratefully.
"It would seem that our mysterious friends on the fishing boat may have
been dabbling with something even nastier than cyanide. Which reminds
me ... the favor I asked?"
Dirk led Sarah to the Chrysler, where he popped open the large trunk
lid. Inside was the porcelain bomb canister from the I-403, carefully
wrapped inside a milk crate. Sarah inspected the item with a quizzical
look on her face.
"Okay, I give up. What is it?"
Dirk briefly explained his trip to Fort Stevens and the dive on the
Japanese submarine.
Can you have your lab identify any remaining residue? I have a hunch
there may be something to it."
Sarah stood silent a moment before speaking.
"Yes, we can have it examined," she said in a serious tone. "But it
will cost you lunch," she said, finally breaking into a wry smile.
Dirk drove Sarah to the state Public Health Lab on Fir-crest Campus,
where they carefully transferred the fragmented bomb casing into a
small working lab room. After some chiding for bringing an explosive
into the building, a jovial, slightly balding research scientist named
Hal agreed to examine the fragment after the conclusion of a staff
meeting.
"Looks like a long lunch is in order. Where shall we go?" Sarah
asked.
"I know a quiet spot with a nice water view," Dirk replied with a
mischievous grin.
"Then take me away in the green machine," she laughed, climbing into
the turquoise Chrysler.
Dirk drove the car out of the laboratory's narrow parking lot, easing
past a familiar-looking black Cadillac CTS that sat with its engine
running. Exiting the campus grounds, he drove south past Seattle's
st ling downtown, then turned west, following a road sign to
Fauntleroy. Reaching the water's edge of Puget Sound, Dirk turned to
the Fauntleroy Ferry Terminal, then steered the Chrysler up a loading
ramp and onto the car deck of a waiting automobile ferry. As he parked
the Chrysler amid several rows of tightly packed commuter cars Sarah
reached over and squeezed his hand tightly.
"A ferryboat snack bar Donuts and coffee?" she inquired.
"I think we can do better than that. Let's go upstairs and look at the
view."
Sarah followed him up a stairwell that emptied onto the open upper
deck, where they found a vacant bench facing the northern expanse of
Puget Sound. A loud blast from the ferry's horn and a gentle nudge
beneath their feet told them they were on their way, as two
2,500-horsepower diesel engines gently pushed the 328-foot vessel away
from the dock.
It was a crystal clear day on the Sound, the kind that reminded local
residents of why they endure the long, drizzly Pacific Northwest
winters to call the area home. In the distance, the Cascade and
Olympic mountain ranges sparkled along the horizon, almost shimmering
against an azure blue sky so intense it felt close enough to touch. The
Seattle downtown cut the skyline in a brilliant reflection of steel and
glass, with the landmark Space Needle rising like a futuristic monolith
from a George Jetson cartoon. Dirk pointed out a half-dozen other
ferries plying their human cargoes about the harbor and watched as they
dodged large freighters that cruised along the international shipping
lanes.
It was only a fifteen-minute ride to their destination of Vashon
Island, and when the boat's captain began aligning the ferry to dock
Dirk and Sarah made their way back down to the Chrysler. As he held
the door open for Sarah to climb into the passenger seat, Dirk glanced
down the row of cars parked behind him. Sitting four spaces behind
them, a black Cadillac sedan caught his eye. The same black Cadillac
that had been parked with the motor running at the Public Health Lab.
And, he now recalled, the same Cadillac that he had seen during his |
drive around Fort Stevens.
"I think I see a friend parked behind us," Dirk said calmly to Sarah.
"Think I'll go back and say hello. I'll be right back."
Strolling casually down the row of cars, he observed two Asian men
sitting in the Cadillac staring directly at him. As he approached the
driver's-side door, he suddenly leaned down and stuck his face into the
open window.
"Excuse me, fellas, do you happen to know where the restroom is?" Dirk
asked in a hick voice.
The driver, a heavyset goon with a bad crew cut, looked straight ahead,
refusing to make eye contact, and slowly shook his head. Dirk looked
for, and found, a slight protrusion under the man's coat near his left
armpit, the telltale sign of a holstered weapon. Across the car's
interior, the accomplice in the passenger seat showed none of the
shyness of the driver. A skinny man with long hair and a stringy
goatee glared back at Dirk with a menacing grin, a half-smoked
cigarette dangling from his lips. On the floorboard between his feet
was a large leather case, which concealed something more than a
calculator and cell phone, Dirk surmised.
"Find your friend?" Sarah asked when he returned to the Chrysler.
"No," Dirk replied, shaking his head. "I was quite mistaken."
A long blast from the ship's horn followed by two short blasts
announced that the ferry was docking and moments later Dirk drove the
Chrysler out of the covered car deck and into the bright sunshine.
Crossing over the ferry ramp, he drove down a long pier, then turned
out of the ferry complex and onto Vashon Island.
Situated on the lower end of Puget Sound, Vashon Island is a
thirty-seven-square-mile scenic haven located just minutes from the
congested hubbub of Seattle and Tacoma. Reachable only by boat, the
island has maintained a quiet, rural tranquility far removed from
metropolitan neighbors. Strawberry and raspberry fields dot the lush
wooded landscape, which is inhabited by a bohemian mix of writers and
computer intellectuals seeking a slower pace than that of city life.
Lowering the convertible top so that they could better enjoy the sights
and smells of the landscape, Dirk drove south along the Vashon Highway,
away from the ferry terminal at the northern tip of the island.
Observing in his rearview mirror, he watched the black Cadillac exit
the ferry terminal and fall in line behind him, maintaining a half-mile
cushion behind the old car. They continued motoring south for several
miles, past quaint cabins and farmhouses interspersed among thick
groves of pine trees.
"This feels m
arvelous," Sarah gushed, stretching her arms above her
head and feeling the cool wind rush through her fingers. Dirk smiled
to himself, having known too many women who despised riding in a
convertible because it mussed up their hair. For him, driving fast in
a convertible was like riding a storm out at sea or diving on an
unexplored wreck. It was a little added serving of adventure that made
life more fun.
Spotting a road sign marked burton, Dirk slowed and turned east off the
highway, backtracking a short distance on a small side road that led to
the tiny hamlet. They meandered past a small group of houses until the
road petered out at the drive of a quaint Victorian inn situated right
on the water. Built as a summer estate for a Seattle newspaper tycoon
at the turn of the century, the three-story structure was agleam in
pastel shades of green and lavender. Bright flowers sprouted in large
pots and flower boxes were wedged everywhere, throwing a vast array of
colors to the eye.
"Dirk, it's beautiful here," Sarah beamed as he parked the car next to
an ornate gazebo. "How did you discover this place?"
"One of our scientists has a summer home on the island. Claims they
have the best king salmon in the state here and I aim to find out."
Dirk led Sarah to an intimate restaurant at one end of the lodge that
continued the Victorian decor theme. Finding it nearly empty, they
took a table next to a large picture window that faced east across the
Dirk Pitt18-Black Wind Page 16
