"We were there about three hours when Uncle Remus, his crew, and Hamilton showed up. They had with them a half-dozen of what looked like rubber beer kegs. Blue."
He demonstrated with his hands the size of the kegs.
"Uncle Remus asked me if we could fly to the States with the HALO compartment depressurized and open."
"I don't understand that," Lester said. "'HALO compartment'?"
"For 'High Altitude, Low Opening' parachute infiltration from up to forty thousand feet," Peg-Leg explained. "The rear half-the HALO compartment-of the fuselage can be sealed off from the rest of the fuselage, and then, where that rear stairway was, opened to the atmosphere."
"Got it," Lester said.
"I told him yes," Torine went on, "and Hamilton said, 'Thank God,' as if he meant it.
"I asked him what was going on, and he told me the beer barrels contained more dangerous material than I could imagine, and extraordinary precautions were in order; he would explain later. He asked me how cold the HALO compartment would get in flight, and I told him probably at least sixty degrees below zero, and he said, 'Thank God,' again and sounded like he meant it this time, too.
"Then he and Uncle Remus and his team loaded the barrels in the HALO compartment. When they came out, everybody stripped to the skin. They took a shower on the tarmac using the fire engine and some special soap and chemicals Hamilton had with him. Then they put on whatever clothing we had aboard, flight suits, some other clothing, and got in the front, and we took off.
"Before we had climbed out to cruising altitude, we got some company, a flight of F/A-18E Super Hornets from a carrier in the Indian Ocean. They stayed with us until we were over the Atlantic, where they handed us over to some Super Hornets flying off a carrier in the Atlantic.
"We headed for North Carolina-Pope Air Force at Fort Bragg. We were refueled in flight halfway across the Atlantic and when the refueling was over, we were handed over to a flight of Air Force F-16s who stayed with us until we got to Pope.
"When we got to Pope, we were directed to the Delta hangar, and immediately towed inside and the doors closed. Then maybe two dozen guys in science-fiction movie space suits swarmed all over the airplane. Some of them went into the HALO compartment and removed the barrels. I later learned they were sealed and then loaded aboard a Citation Three and flown to Washington.
"They took everybody off the airplane and gave us a bath. Unbelievable. Soap, chemicals, some kind of powder. It took half an hour. And then they held us-everybody but Hamilton and Uncle Remus; they went on the Citation with the barrels-for twenty-four hours for observation, gave us another bath, and finally let us go.
"General McNab was waiting for us-did I mention they held us in the hangar?-when they finally turned us loose. He gave us the standard speech about keeping this secret for the rest of our natural lives or suffer castration with a dull knife."
"What was in the barrels, Jake?" Casey asked softly. "Did Hamilton tell you?"
Torine nodded.
"He said two of them contained 'laboratory material' and the other four had 'tissue samples.' When I pressed him on that, he said that two of the barrels contained body parts from bodies he and Uncle Remus dug up near this place, and the other two held the bodies of two people, one black and one white, that Uncle Remus took down when they had to get into the laboratory. He said he needed them for autopsies."
"Jesus!" Casey said.
"And now we learn that not everything was destroyed," Sparkman said. "The word I got was there was nothing left standing or unburned in a twenty-square-mile area. What the hell is this all about?"
"I don't know," Casey admitted. "But I just had this thought: It doesn't matter to you guys. OOA is dead. You've fallen off the face of the earth. You're out of the loop. This has nothing to do with you."
"Why don't I believe that, Aloysius?" Torine asked softly.
"Probably because you're an old fart like me, and have learned that when things are as black as they can possibly get, they invariably get worse." [TWO] U.S. Army Medical Research Institute Fort Detrick, Maryland 0905 4 February 2007 The declaration of a Potential Level Four Disaster at Fort Detrick by Colonel J. Porter Hamilton, MC, caused a series of standing operating procedures to kick in-something akin to a row of dominoes tumbling, one domino knocking over the one adjacent, but in this instance damned faster.
When Master Sergeant Dennis called the post duty officer, he actually called the garrison duty officer. On coming to work for Colonel Hamilton, Dennis had quickly learned that the colonel often had trouble with Army bureaucracy and that it was his job to provide the colonel with what he wanted, which often was not what he asked for.
The garrison duty officer immediately expressed doubt that Master Sergeant Dennis was actually asking for what he said he was.
"A Potential Level Four Disaster? You sure about that, Sergeant?"
"Yes, sir. Colonel Hamilton said he was declaring a Potential Level Four Disaster."
The garrison duty officer consulted his SOP dealing with disasters, and checked who was authorized to declare one.
There were three people who could on their own authority declare a Potential Level Four Disaster: the garrison commander, Colonel J. Porter Hamilton, and the garrison duty officer.
"Let me speak to Colonel Hamilton, Sergeant," the garrison duty officer said.
"He's on his phone, Major. Now, do you want to send a Level Four van over here, personnel in Level One hazmat suits, or should I call for it?"
"You have that authority?"
"Yes, sir. I do. And I have authority to have Level Four BioLab Two opened and on standby. You want me to do that, too, sir?"
"Why don't you do that, Sergeant, while I bring the garrison commander up to speed on this. And, Sergeant, see if you can have Colonel Hamilton call her."
"Yes, sir," Master Sergeant Dennis said.
The duty officer called the garrison commander.
"Major Lott, ma'am. Ma'am, we seem to have a problem."
"What kind of a problem?"
"Ma'am, Colonel Hamilton's sergeant just called and said the colonel wanted to declare a Potential Level Four Disaster."
There was a pause. Then the garrison commander said, "Let me make sure I understand the situation. You say Colonel Hamilton's sergeant called and told you Colonel Hamilton wants to declare a Potential Level Four Disaster? Is that it?"
"Yes, ma'am. That's it. I thought I'd better bring you up to speed on this, ma'am."
The garrison commander thought: What you were supposed to do, you stupid sonofabitch, was sound the goddamned alarm sirens, get a Level Four van over to Hamilton, get a Level Four BioLab on emergency standby and then-and only then-call me.
And you're a goddamn major?
Jesus H. Christ.
She said calmly: "Listen carefully. What I want you to do, Major, is first sound the alarm sirens. Then send a Level Four van to Colonel Hamilton's laboratory, and when you've done that, get a Level Four BioLab on emergency standby. Got all that?"
"Yes, ma'am."
"Then do it," the garrison commander said, and broke the connection.
Major Lott raised the cover of the alarm activation switch and then pressed on the switch. Sirens all over began to howl.
He then consulted the standing operating procedure to see what else was required of him to do-thus knocking over the first of the dominoes.
The provost marshal was notified. The first thing listed on his SOP was to lock down the fort. Nobody in. Nobody out. He did so. The second thing on his list was to notify the garrison medical facility to prepare for casualties. The third thing listed was to notify the Secret Service detachment on the base. He did so, and then continued to work down his list.
The first thing on the Secret Service Detachment SOP was to notify local law enforcement agencies. With Fort Detrick equidistant between Washington, D.C. (forty-five miles), and Baltimore, Maryland (forty-six miles), there was a large number of law enforcement agencies in
that area, each of which was entitled to know of the problem at Fort Detrick.
The Secret Service agent instead first called his special agent in charge at the Department of Homeland Security at the Nebraska Avenue complex in the District of Columbia. He told him about the Potential Level Four Disaster, but had to confess that was all he knew.
"I'll handle it," the SAC said.
The Secret Service agent began calling the numbers on his list of law enforcement agencies to be notified.
The SAC at Homeland Security attempted to contact the secretary of Homeland Security but was told he was in Chicago with Mayor Daley. He then got the assistant secretary for enforcement on the telephone and told him about the Potential Level Four Disaster at Fort Detrick.
"I'll be damned," he said. "I'll handle it."
He contacted the garrison commander on a hotline.
"Assistant Homeland Security Secretary Andrews, Colonel," he said. "I understand you've got a little problem over there."
The garrison commander had by then spoken with Master Sergeant Dennis, who had told her about the container that had arrived with the morning FedEx shipment.
When she had told Andrews this, he said, "I'll take immediate action."
Andrews then called the SAC back, told him to get on the horn to his people at Detrick, and have them grab the container and not let anybody else near it.
"How's the quickest way for me to get there?" the assistant secretary asked.
"It would probably be quicker in one of our Yukons than trying to get a chopper, Mr. Secretary. I can have one at your door in ninety seconds."
"Do it."
Five and a half minutes later, a black Secret Service Yukon-red and blue lights flashing from behind its grille and with another magnet-based blue light flashing on the roof-skidded to a stop in front of the main building and picked up Assistant Secretary Andrews. The SAC was in the front seat, where the assistant secretary preferred to ride.
Andrews thought: Ninety seconds, my ass.
That took five minutes plus, and we need to roll.
"Get in the back," he said.
Only then did the assistant secretary remember he had had another option. He could have told the SAC to get out.
But it was too late. He took a seat in the second row and, siren screaming and lights flashing, they were on their way to the Potential Level Four Disaster at Fort Detrick. [THREE] Office of the Presidential Press Secretary The White House 1600 Pennsylvania Avenue, N.W. Washington, D.C. 1020 4 February 2007 There were a half-dozen television monitors mounted on the wall of John David "Porky" Parker's office, one for each of the major television networks, and the other three for the "major" cable news programs.
The sound of only one was on, the volume low but on.
Porky Parker was more or less addicted to watching/listening to Wolf News. Not because he liked it, but the opposite. He hated it. Wolf News gave him the most trouble. It seemed to be dedicated to the proposition that all politicians, from POTUS down, were scoundrels, mountebanks, and fools, and that it was Wolf News's noble duty to bring every proof-or suggestion-of this to the attention of the American people.
The problem was compounded for Porky by the fact that the people of Wolf News were very good at what they did, and with great skill went after the scoundrels, mountebanks, and fools regardless of political affiliation.
Wolf News used the fourth and final part of Gioacchino Antonio Rossini's (1792-1868) "William Tell Overture" to catch people's attention whenever there was "breaking news." Most people recognized the music as the theme for the Lone Ranger motion picture and television series.
That was happening now, and when Porky faintly heard the stirring music, he reached for the remote control as a Pavlovian reaction and raised his eyes to the screen. He had the sound turned up in time to see and hear the Wolf News anchor-on-duty proclaim, "There is breaking news! Wolf News is on top of it! Back in sixty seconds…"
There then followed a sixty-second commercial offering The Wall Street Journal delivered to one's home for only pennies a day.
Then the screen showed what looked like the scene of a major traffic accident. There were at least thirty police cars, all with their red and blue lights flashing. It had been taken from a helicopter. At the upper right corner of the screen, a message unnecessarily flashed, LIVE! LIVE! FROM A WOLF NEWS CHOPPER!
Porky was a second from muting the sound when the voice of the on-duty Wolf News anchor announced, "What we're looking at, from a Wolf News chopper, is the main gate of Fort Detrick, Maryland. We don't know, yet, what exactly is going on here. But we do know that the post has been closed down, nobody gets in or out, and that the director of the Central Intelligence Agency just choppered in and a 'senior official' of the Department of Homeland Security not yet identified just arrived in a vehicle with a screaming siren…"
In another Pavlovian reflex, Porky reached for his White House telephone and told the operator to get him the commanding general of Fort Detrick on a secure line. "Colonel Russell."
"This is the White House switchboard. This line is secure. Mr. Parker wishes to speak with the commanding general."
"This is the garrison commander."
"Mr. Parker wishes to speak with the commanding general."
"We don't have a commanding general. I'm the senior officer, the garrison commander."
"One moment please."
"Colonel, this is John Parker, the President's press secretary."
"This is Colonel Florence Russell. What can I do for you, Mr. Parker?"
"What's going on down there?"
The garrison commander for a moment considered correcting the pompous political lackey with "What's going on up here, Porky. Fort Detrick is damn near due north of D.C…" but instead said, "We have a Potential Level Four biological hazard disaster, Mr. Parker."
"What does that mean, exactly?
"The operative word is 'potential.' We may have, repeat may have, a biological hazard disaster, Level Four. The most serious kind."
"What happened?"
"All I can tell you, Mr. Parker, is that our chief scientific officer, Colonel J. Porter Hamilton, has declared a Potential Level Four biological hazard disaster, and we have taken the necessary actions to deal with that."
"Colonel Russell, I repeat: What does that mean?"
"Per SOP, we have shut down the post, alerted the hospital, and notified the proper authorities. Until we hear from Colonel Hamilton, that's all we can do."
"May I speak with Colonel Hamilton, please?"
"I'm afraid that's not possible at the moment, Mr. Parker."
"Why not?"
"Colonel Hamilton is in Level Four BioLab Two."
"And there's no telephone in there?"
"There's a telephone. He's not answering it."
"Perhaps if you told him the White House is calling, he might change his mind."
"To do that, Mr. Parker, I would have to get him on the line. And he's not picking up."
"Can you tell me what he's doing?"
"I can tell you what I think he's doing. A package was delivered to him shortly before he declared the potential disaster. I think it's reasonable to presume he's examining the contents of that package."
"To what end, Colonel?"
"To see if what it contains justifies changing the current status from 'potential' to 'actual.' Or from 'Potential Level Four' to a lesser threat designation. We won't know until he tells us."
"The President, Colonel, is going to want to know."
"Colonel Hamilton is not answering the telephone in the laboratory, Mr. Parker."
"I understand DCI Powell is there."
"Yes, he is. Would you like to speak with him, Mr. Parker?"
"Not right now. Colonel, you understand that I'm going to have to tell the President that the only person who seems to know what's going on won't answer his telephone?"
"I suppose that's true," Colonel Russell said.
"I'll get back to you,
Colonel," Parker said, and then feverishly tapped the switchhook in the telephone handset cradle to get the switchboard operator back on the line.
"Yes, Mr. Parker?"
"Get me DCI Powell." "Powell."
"Mr. Parker is calling, Mr. Powell. The line is secure."
"Mr. Powell, John Parker. What the hell is going on over there?"
"John…" the director of Central Intelligence began, and then stopped. After a long moment, he resumed: "John, I was just about to call the President. I think it would be best if he decided what to tell you about this."
Parker heard the click that told him Powell had just broken the connection. Porky Parker normally had unquestioned access to the President, anywhere, at any time. But now when he approached the door to the Oval Office, one of the two Secret Service men on duty put on an insincere smile and held up his hand to bar him.
The second Secret Service agent then opened the door, and called in, "Mr. President, Mr. Parker?"
Parker heard President Clendennen's impatient reply: "Not now."
Then he heard another male voice: "Mr. President, may I respectfully suggest that we're going to need Parker."
After a moment, Parker recognized the voice as that of Ambassador Charles M. Montvale, the director of National Intelligence.
There was a brief pause, and then Clendennen, even more impatiently, drawled, "All right. Let him in."
The Secret Service agent at the door waved Parker into the Oval Office.
The President was at his desk, slumped back in his high-backed blue leather-upholstered judge's chair. Ambassador Montvale was sitting in an armchair looking up at the wall-mounted television monitor. Secretary of State Natalie Cohen was sitting sideward on the couch facing Montvale, also looking at the television.
The President looked at Parker and pointed to the television. Parker moved to the opposite wall, leaned on it, and looked up at the television.
Surprising Parker not at all, the President was watching Wolf News.
There was a flashing banner across the bottom on the screen: BREAKING NEWS! BREAKING NEWS!
The Wolf News anchor-on-duty was sitting at his desk, facing C. Harry Whelan, Jr. A banner read: C. HARRY WHELAN, JR., WOLF NEWS DISTINGUISHED CONTRIBUTOR.
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