A Heartbeat Away

by Michael Palmer

  “Slow down, Angie. Slow down.”

  “Are you sure it was Genesis?”

  “Angie, I’m afraid I’m going to die. I’m afraid we’re all going to die.”

  Angie’s heart beat faster.

  “I want to help you, John. Just try and help me help you.”

  “O … okay.”

  “How did the attack occur? How was the virus delivered? Did you see it?”

  Davis coughed. Angie shivered at the sound. Was that a symptom of the infection?

  “I saw it. There were like misty plumes of smoke coming out of people’s bags and briefcases and purses, from some sort of microbomb, it sounded like. Massachusetts Congresswoman Dawn Bloom, two rows in front of me, had one go off right beside her.”

  Angie stuffed her gloves inside her laptop case, and dropped in the ChapStick, half a dozen pens, and another notebook.

  “What’s happening now?”

  Davis partially stifled another cough.

  “The president has ordered everybody back to their original seats. He’s blocked the doors with armed guards. Angie, I’m really scared. You know more about bioweapons than anybody I know. What the hell could it be? Oh, shit, I think they’ve spotted my phone. I’m going to keep talking as long as I can.”

  “John, I’ll do whatever I can to find out and help.” Davis coughed again—deep, moist, and racking. “John, are you okay? Talk to me!”

  “They’re here for my phone.… Listen, you bastards! This is America. We have laws. You can’t do this!”

  The line went dead.

  CHAPTER 7

  DAY 1

  11:00 P.M. (EST)

  The small group remaining in the Hard Room exchanged surprised looks except for Gary Salitas, whose attention remained fixed on Allaire.

  The friendship between the two men dated back nearly twenty-five years, to the meeting of a select presidential commission on drug abuse in the inner city. The meeting, one of a number of such showcases to which Salitas had been invited over the years, was also among the more frustrating, with each of the political and academic lights determined to impress or outdo the others in terms of their rhetoric and posture.

  Just when Salitas had been wondering if he could endure the rest of the afternoon, a lean, angular man stood up without asking to be recognized and began to speak. His name plaque read JAMES ALLAIRE, M.D.; CLEVELAND, OHIO, and he was angry. He was angry that people were speaking of Latin American cartels and minimum prison terms, of deposing dictators and passing stiffer new laws; of more presidential select commissions. But not once had anyone mentioned the abject hopelessness of inner-city children. Not once had anyone suggested a connection between drug use and classroom size. Not once had anyone offered the blueprint for a partnership between business, industry, and programs designed to provide every one of those children with a computer.

  Allaire spoke for less than five minutes that day, but his eloquence, conviction, and the power of his words were unforgettable. And by the time the physician from Ohio had finished his remarks, gathered his notes, and strode from the room, Gary Salitas had vowed to hitch his wagon to the man’s star.

  To this day, not once had Salitas regretted that decision.

  “I will explain as much as I can in a moment,” the president began. “First, though, I want to be certain you know Jordan Lamar.” He nodded toward the stocky, baby-faced man several seats to Salitas’s right. “Jordan’s official title is architect of the Capitol. Jordan, this is my personal physician, Dr. Bethany Townsend, head of the White House Medical Unit.”

  “We’ve met,” Lamar said, shaking Townsend’s hand and making certain that she knew the fifth member of the group, Hank Tomlinson, the chief of the fifteen-hundred-member Capitol Police force.

  “Okay, then,” Allaire said. “Between the two of them, these men know every detail of the Capitol complex, from the surrounding topology to the nature and location of the facilities, passageways, and points of entry and egress. As of this moment, I am ordering a joint operation, to be conducted between the Capitol Police Board, represented by Jordan and Hank, and the military, coordinated by Secretary Salitas. It will be known as Operation Guardian Eagle, and its goal will be the neutralization of what Genesis has done here tonight.”

  “And what does that have to do with the military?” Tomlinson asked.

  “The remaining Joint Chiefs of Staff will assist us with Guardian Eagle. But they will be strictly on a need to know basis, and my orders will be transmitted to them through Secretary Salitas. As of now, the only people to be made fully aware of Guardian Eagle are seated right here in this room. Is that understood? Good. Gary, I’m authorizing you to deputize any military, National Guard, or other federal law enforcement officials you deem necessary. FBI, NSA, CIA—you have all of our personnel and resources at your disposal.”

  “Yes, sir,” Salitas said.

  “I want a secure perimeter established around the entire Capitol complex. Station sharpshooters and flamethrowers facing every exit. Jordan will make sure you don’t miss any. Use barricades to establish a secondary perimeter to keep the public back. Use force if need be to accomplish that.”

  “Understood.”

  The president turned away momentarily, gathering his composure. When he turned back, his jaw was set, his lips bloodless.

  “One more thing,” he said. “Anybody who leaves this building, and I mean anybody, including every one of us, is to be given one verbal warning and only one to go back inside. Then they are to be shot dead on the spot, and their body immediately incinerated and disposed of as biohazard.”

  CHAPTER 8

  DAY 1

  11:10 P.M. (EST)

  Shoot to kill.

  Incinerate the bodies.

  Allaire understood, as did the others in the Hard Room, that the president of the United States had just used his power as commander in chief to authorize the cold-blooded murder of civilians. Disbelieving stares penetrated his defenses, and for a moment he sensed he might be close to breaking down. He flashed on a photograph of John Kennedy during the Cuban Missile Crisis. From the many accounts he had read, it seemed that the young president handled the defining event of his administration with a steely outward resolve. Judge Prime Minister Nikita Khrushchev correctly and save the planet. Misjudge the man and millions get consumed in a nuclear firestorm.

  But this crisis wasn’t about missiles. This was about WRX3883. And although President Jim Allaire’s decision to quarantine the Capitol had the potential to save millions from a raging pandemic, in all likelihood, he and his family weren’t going to be among them.

  If only he had quashed the idea at the very beginning. If only he had simply listened to Dr. Sylvia Chen’s proposal and sent her away.

  Allaire hoped that he looked like a man of strength and assuredness. If he lost control and the crowd in the House Chamber started to surge toward the exits, there was no telling what the virus floating in the air and taking root in their bodies would do in the outside world.

  He could not allow that to happen.

  He had to select words that would keep the crowd at bay. He had to choose how much information to share, and just how to say it.

  But at the same time, he had to trust someone.

  Kennedy had his brother Robert, members of the National Security Council, and the Joint Chiefs of Staff. Jim Allaire had the people in this room: the president’s physician, an architect, the head of the Capitol Police force, and Gary Salitas, who, along with the president, was the only one who knew the whole truth. Some of Allaire’s newly formed inner circle still looked stunned at his order for an instant kill. If they possessed full knowledge of the peril presented by the rogue virus, and they were about to, Allaire had the utmost confidence that each of them would take exactly the same course.

  That logic, however, offered only cold comfort.

  “Hank, I’m giving the Capitol Police full operational authority over our outer perimeter. This place has got to be s
ealed and sealed tightly. The virus we’re dealing with is highly contagious and infectious. There’s no telling what the consequences would be if it got loose.”

  Tomlinson nodded, as did Jordan Lamar.

  “With all due respect, Mr. President,” Tomlinson said, “you haven’t given us much information on what’s really happening here. I’ll do whatever is necessary to protect and serve our country, but sir, please, we can’t fight what we don’t understand.”

  “Yes, of course, Hank.” Allaire again paused to solidify his composure. “What I am about to share with you goes beyond any security clearance for top-secret information. I’m trusting you to keep this confidential. To do otherwise could result in a panic with the potential for an incalculable loss of life. Can I trust you on this? Do I have each of your words?”

  The group exchanged looks in a silent poll.

  “You have our word, sir,” Tomlinson said.

  Allaire nodded. For the first time since the previous group was assigned tasks and sent from the Hard Room, the president directly addressed his personal physician, Dr. Bethany Townsend.

  “Dr. Townsend, do you recall the Kalvesta files?”

  Bethany Townsend, petite, with a pretty smile and weathered face, creased her brow in thought.

  “Yes, of course,” she said. “That goes back almost two years. You asked me to review the pathologist’s report. It was a family of five if I recall. No, six. A husband, wife, and their four children, all of whom expired at some point in their sleep. Carbon monoxide had been quickly ruled out as a possible cause.”

  “Correct. They lived in a house that we supplied for them in Kalvesta, Kansas. The husband, Army Lieutenant Colonel Jeremy Jackson, worked at a top-secret Level Four biocontainment facility in Kalvesta. None of the Joint Chiefs of Staff out there is aware of the existence of such a facility. Gary?”

  The defense secretary took up the narrative.

  “There was limited and tightly controlled operational knowledge of our efforts in Kalvesta. Lieutenant Colonel Jackson’s wife believed her husband held a position with the Kansas Department of Wildlife and Parks. In reality, he was part of a team developing a new biological agent for the United States government. Because of the military implications of our work, I was the only Cabinet member fully informed of Kalvesta.”

  “Go on, Gary.”

  “If word of this research got out prematurely, we would have had a public relations nightmare on our hands. The biological agent we were developing had that much implication for our national security.”

  “And just what agent was that?” Townsend asked, her expression suggesting she had just come upon the answer to her own question.

  “WRX3883,” the president replied.

  CHAPTER 9

  DAY 1

  11:20 P.M. (EST)

  Dr. Bethany Townsend’s expression was equal parts disbelief and fear.

  “Are you implying that what killed the Jackson family is the same biological agent that we’ve all been exposed to?”

  “Unfortunately, that is exactly what I’m saying,” Allaire replied. “Both you and the pathologist failed to pinpoint the cause of death because we intentionally kept you unaware of Project Veritas. But we did learn a great deal from your findings about how WRX3883 attacks the body.”

  “Excuse me, sir, but Veritas?” Townsend asked.

  “Veritas for truth. Even Vice President Tilden did not know about it, although I was going to tell him at the time I decided to pull the plug on the project. But by then, after funding was stopped and the whole project was shutting down, there seemed no need to tell anyone.”

  “A little too late for the Jackson family,” Townsend said.

  Allaire bowed his head. Salitas, sensing the president needed time to gather his thoughts, spoke up.

  “The people at Veritas conducted a close inspection of Jackson’s biocontainment suit and found a tiny opening by the wrist, probably from bumping against a syringe or scalpel,” Salitas said. “At the time, Dr. Chen’s team was working with a new strain of the virus, trying to increase its potency and effectiveness. That pinhole-sized leak in Jackson’s suit turned him into a carrier. He went home feeling fine and spent the night with his family. He infected all of them without his knowing he was a walking hot zone.”

  “Jesus,” Hank Tomlinson murmured.

  “The Veritas team immediately destroyed the viral line and resumed work on an earlier strain. They augmented it and controlled how fast it acted when administered. But they never perfected it. Then the president shut down the program.”

  “What happened to the Jacksons?” Tomlinson asked.

  Allaire looked at Salitas through reddening eyes. The defense secretary walked to the water cooler and returned with water for both of them. Allaire drank his cup dry in a single swallow, then was able to continue.

  “They were tightly quarantined, and treated as best our doctor knew how with massive doses of IV antiviral drugs. But nothing worked. They died in just a few days.”

  “My God. And that virus is what we have been exposed to?”

  “That or a variant, yes. We were all devastated by what happened to the Jackson family, but we had to weigh that tragedy against the possibility of ending the war on terror.”

  “Ending the war on terror? Mr. President, just what does this virus do?” the police chief asked.

  “The target organs of the germ are a group of structures in the midbrain including the hypothalamus, the anterior cingulate cortex, the amygdala, and the limbic system. These structures in the gray matter of the brain influence many functions, but taken as a whole they control the will—the ability to make voluntary decisions, the uniquely human ability to lie. When the microbe was first brought to my attention by Dr. Chen, a professor at Columbia, her animal studies had shown that cats infected with the virus would swim without resisting. Hard-core carnivores could be trained to eat a mix of vegetables and vitamins. Mortal enemies could quickly be taught to live in the same cage.”

  “So? Since when did we get into the development of biological weapons?”

  “Since terrorists flew airplanes into the World Trade Center buildings,” Gary Salitas said, returning to the table. “That’s when. And I wouldn’t call WRX a weapon. This country is pockmarked with cells of enemy combatants who don’t feel much like sharing their plans with us.”

  “And you’re suggesting this virus will make them?”

  “That was the idea,” Allaire said. “With the liberal press holding a constant magnifier on our techniques of interrogation, we have a very limited toolkit when it comes to extracting information from these … individuals. We were developing and testing the virus in hopes of making them share what they knew without resorting to more stringent measures, or having to move ahead based on their version of the truth. And for a time it looked as if Veritas was going to be a success.”

  “But even with the new strain, there were still side effects,” Salitas added.

  “What sort of side effects are we talking about here, Mr. President?” Bethany Townsend asked, her tone cool.

  “I had been assured by Dr. Chen that the results from the new variant strain were most encouraging,” Allaire said. “But as I read through her reports it became increasingly clear that the germ still had some serious problems. It was unstable in terms of mutation, and there had been no progress made in controlling how it spread from host to host. In fact, the data suggested that the highly contagious nature of the virus had gotten worse.”

  “So that’s when you shut down the program?” Tomlinson asked.

  “In retrospect, I wish that were the case, Hank. Even with the setbacks, we still believed we had a silver bullet with WRX3883. I kept Vertias operational. Until the theft.”

  “Theft?”

  “Yes. Nine months ago, a presumed terrorist, working in the lab, stole five canisters of the virus. At least that’s how many we recovered from a compartment in the wall of his basement when we arrested him. Short
ly after that I finally ordered the project shut down.”

  “Did we have test animals at this Veritas lab?” Townsend asked.

  “Yes. Mostly primates. Those were the research animals of choice for Dr. Chen. But she brought another virologist to Kansas with her—a scientist who was staunchly against animal testing and experimentation. His approach involved the use of advanced computer models of the virus and various treatments. He claimed his methods were capable of simulating, with near ninety-nine percent accuracy, the nature of the virus’s mutation patterns, as well as the effect of different antiviral drugs.”

  “Ninety-nine percent sounds a bit optimistic,” Townsend said. “Especially given that his methods didn’t seem to work any better than Chen’s. So, what are we all in for here?”

  “I’ll debrief you all about our exposure and what we can expect in a moment,” Allaire said. “But I can tell you that as far as contagion goes, the penetration statistics are daunting. Bethany, I know you’re angry. But I really need you. If you can, I’m putting you in charge of organizing our containment strategy. Veritas was headquartered in an underground facility. The lab had Level-Four containment, and aside from the insider theft I told you about, there were never any incidents. Gary will get you the contact information for the former director. Meanwhile, get in touch with the CDC and anyone else you need and have them help you. Try to maintain some control over who you tell what to. We’re going to need a whole bunch of containment suits and a safe way of getting food, medication, and personnel in here.”

  For half a minute, Townsend simply sat there. Then, with painful slowness, she stood and crossed to the communications center.

  “As you wish, sir,” she said.

  “As for the rest of you,” Allaire went on, “I need you to be patient. Be as calm as possible. I’ve trusted you with this information because I think you can handle it, and because I need your help. We can’t risk starting a mass panic. Our hope now is that we develop a way to neutralize the virus and contain it inside the Capitol. All our energy and focus must be directed toward those efforts. And most importantly, I need you to support me and my decisions one hundred percent.” Allaire turned to architect Jordan Lamar. “All hell is about to break loose, Jordan. This building is going to be our home for a while. I’m counting on you to make it as comfortable for everyone as possible. Even though it’s the middle of winter, I’m worried that with seven hundred of us, the rooms are going to warm up fast from body heat, so we might need to boost the air-conditioning levels.”