by Darrell Bain
Doug thought about remarking on the conditions he was seeing to and from work, but the thought died as Gene brought the subject up himself.
“Now for the bad news. In case you haven’t looked at the news this morning, a foul rumor has gotten started that the government ordered the CDC to deliberately infect the black population with the Harcourt virus. That’s going to cause lots of problems for us. Conditions are already dangerous in the city, as I’m sure you know from the sights you see every day to and from work. They’ll certainly get worse after that rumor makes the rounds, and I wouldn’t be surprised to see a mob trying to gut the CDC. There’s also an opposing rumor just getting started that the CDC has found a cure for the Harcourt virus but is deliberately keeping it secret so the black population will die off. If that one flies, we’ll really have problems.
“The government is issuing denials, of course, but you all know how little faith anyone puts in government statements these days. The more they deny it, the more people will believe the opposite, blacks especially. Any time people are faced with death, they start grasping at straws. That’s how all the bogus cancer cures and remedies make money, simply by giving people hope when nothing else does.”
He paused, as if annoyed at himself for getting off subject, then went on. “And last, we have the religious element. There’s a strong feeling in the country that the disease affecting blacks is simply a harbinger of worse to come, the so-called “End Times”, and it’s making believers edgy and almost as dangerous as armed blacks who have lost hope.” The security chief eyed each of them in turn. “I want you to make a special effort to squelch rumors and gossip and talk about religion playing a role here. I don’t mean for you to denigrate religion in any way, just tell your people it has no place on the job. If necessary, relieve them of duty and send them packing. I can guarantee that no EEOC or Department of Labor bureaucrat will come sniffing around to see that you played fair with them.”
Gene paused, a signal for questions if anyone had them.
“What’s the real status of research on the virus, Gene? Are we going to find a cure or not?” Teresa asked. Doug knew her well. She had told him that her husband, a dark skinned immigrant from India, was showing the first symptoms of the viral disease.
“That’s out of the realm of my expertise, but I can say that none of my superiors have mentioned a cure being in the works.”
Doug knew that none was. June had first hand knowledge of what progress was being made, and so far there had been very little.
“They’d better find one soon,” Teresa said. “My husband will probably recover, but people expect the government to produce something to combat a world wide epidemic—when it comes to our shores, anyway.”
“Virology doesn’t work that fast,” Doug volunteered. “And cures for viruses don’t come easily in any case.”
“How about a vaccine?”
Teresa asked the question as if she were trying to find a ray of hope somewhere. Maybe for her husband’s relatives, Doug thought. “Like Gene said, that’s not my area of expertise, but as I understand it, a vaccine may be possible but it won’t help the people already infected a bit. Vaccines are only a preventative measure.”
“All right folks, back to our jobs. We’re in charge of security, not viruses.” Gene glanced at his watch.
“Last item. I’ve asked for a whole army battalion to surround the CDC and make it secure from outside threats. Barring some country tossing a nuke our way, of course. I think we’ll get the troops after what I heard on the news this morning, but it may take some time. I’ve also asked to have our security force doubled, but again that may take some time. Stay alert and tell your people to do the same.
“Oh yes. I’ve also asked that we be excluded from the draft now that Congress finally passed the bill. We can’t have the army taking all our best troops when they’re already trained for duty here. Now I think that’s all I have for this morning.” He glanced at his watch again. “It’s time for you to go, too.”
The four department heads stood as Gene left, his stride as hurried and purposeful as ever. In this case, it was justified. He needed to be in on a conference call to Washington.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Dov Rechtman watched the cockpit display change as a third of the Flight of F-22 Raptors split off from the main body and surged ahead, on their way to Iran. He and the rest of them held back for refueling. It had gone well so far, just as the contingency plans called for. The tanker was disguised as an El Al commercial jet. Even if they were spotted taking on the additional load of fuel, no suspicions should be aroused. It wasn’t unusual to see Israeli fighter bombers escorting commercial airplanes in this area.
While he waited his turn for fuel, he thought back over the route they had taken, down the Red Sea and out over the Arabian Sea, with his own next stop Pakistan. He was confident that they would complete their mission with a sweet craft like the Raptor to fly and the very newest bunker busters on the hardpoints beneath the wings. He heard three clicks, a pause, then two more in his helmet, the signal that the tanker was ready for him. He extended the metal tipped drogue out in front of his aircraft as he dropped a few feet then nosed slowly toward the refueling boom extending from the tanker, catching it on the first try.
Moments later he clicked his radio twice, signaling that he was full, and eased back on the throttle enough to disengage from the refueling boom. Now they were ready. He gave another series of clicks, signaling that the mission was still a go. The fighters acknowledged and followed his lead as he began dropping down toward the waters far below. They would go in at near tree-top level, depending on speed and the stealthed aircraft to disguise them. The disguised fuel tanker would head back to base, emitting some clicks on the way to make any listeners believe it was a civilian craft with an erratic radio which caused the initial clicking signals. It would be replaced with another tanker by the time they returned.
Later on, the flight split into more elements, each containing at least two aircraft, aiming for nuclear weapons storage sites, rocket silos and nuclear processing plants. Dov and his wingman were going after the nuclear facilities buried so deeply inside the mountains that the Pakistanis thought they invulnerable to air attack, even with nuclear weapons. Dov knew they were wrong, though he also knew the mission hadn’t been possible until last year when they had acquired the F-22 Raptors and the new, still top secret, bunker busters.
A light began blinking on his panel, the computerized flight plan telling him it was almost time to begin gaining altitude. Shortly it began counting down the seconds. At almost 1.6 times the speed of sound, Dov began climbing, and now two other lights began blinking and cursers and other digitized numerals on the display told him the exact altitude and vectors he must match to begin the bombing run and how far off the parameters he was. When the numerals indicating the accuracy of his flight path went into the fourth decimal place, he engaged the targeting computer and went Weapons Hot. From here until the release point, only a dire threat would cause him to override the computer. The bunker busters would be fired automatically at the precise time.
One minute later he felt the first of the bombs release, then seconds later it shot out ahead of him, followed at exactly timed intervals by the other three. Seconds later the bomb, propelled by an extra rocket assist built into it, penetrated deeply into the mountain then exploded, exactly on target. The next went in with just enough time between it and the first for most of the gases from the explosion to be expelled from the deep hole it had made. The second one burrowed deeper into the crater made by the first and the third even deeper. The final bomb penetrated the voluminous underground cavern and went off with tremendous force. In the enclosed area, the pressure had nowhere to go except out the narrow entrance the bombs had made going in, and the narrow entrance tunnel only wide enough for trucks to pass, which was closed in any case. That wasn’t nearly enough. The force of the explosion and the heated gases it created ripped faciliti
es asunder, tore equipment apart and before it had time to dissipate, and collapsed the granite roof, burying the facility under thousands of tons of rock that destroyed whatever was left.
By this time, Dov’s wingman had followed with his own ordnance, just in case the first hadn’t been sufficient or had malfunctioned. It wasn’t really needed, but it penetrated the rubble from the roof and added more tons of rock over that which had already fallen. Also by this time, Dov was already into his turn and hurtling back down toward the earth. At the proper moment he began leveling out. He was joined a moment later by the other Raptor and they streaked back toward the Arabian Sea where another tanker would be waiting. He didn’t try to notify the Israeli high command of the successful mission. Satellite imagery would show them and he didn’t want to take chances now. With the Pakistanis alerted, the return trip was the most dangerous part of the mission, but it had been part of a time on target precision attack. Even as the nuclear complex was rendered useless, other wings of the Israeli Air Force were attacking airfields all over the Middle East very similar to the way they had won the Six Day War many years ago. Dov felt an immense sense of satisfaction. His father had been a pilot in that war. He was an old man now, but still alive. He would be proud of his youngest son’s accomplishments this day.
* * *
Once Doug finished making rounds with the guards for the first two hour shifts, he returned to the little cubicle he had been assigned as an office. The other three drifted in after him, nodded and began doing the same thing as administrators do all over the world, reading reports, work schedules, abstracts and projections. Some of them Doug didn’t need to see, having already gotten the information from June.
Other items on his monitor did draw his attention, even though most of them didn’t pertain to his immediate concerns.
China was making threatening noises as more and more of her citizens fell ill, even though it was becoming apparent that many of them would recover. Taiwan was busy buying arms wherever they could find them and dispersing troops to its coasts, expecting an invasion now that the United States had too many problems at home to offer help and protection.
Almost a third of the blacks in America were showing at least some symptoms of the Harcourt virus, with the curve still rising, but hospitals were so swamped that little could be done for them other than palliative measures. The government still refused to relax restrictions on drug sales, even though the end stages of the disease was extremely painful. Doug shook his head over that one. So far as he was concerned, every restriction on the books covering heroin and morphine production should be lifted. At least easy access to those two drugs would allow the ill to die with some dignity. On the other hand, immigration authorities were so short handed that the drugs were coming into the country almost openly, so for the present it probably didn’t make much difference.
The army was burgeoning with new soldiers as every man and woman who had prior military service was subject to recall and the new draft law was calling up those of age who hadn’t. They were being given uniforms and weapons and being flung into problem areas as quickly as possible, often with little or no refresher training. Almost a third of the draftees ignored the initial summons, but he noted that a new edict of the martial law governing the country now called for penalties up to and including death for failure to report. That would take care of many reluctant soldiers, he thought. New bases were being opened and old one reactivated to take care of the influx of draftees who had to have military discipline and arms training instilled in them. The country was still holding together, though shakily.
Most of the African continent had degenerated into anarchy. Calls by the United Nations for troops to restore order had largely gone unanswered. Russia had closed its borders with China. France was in the throes of one giant party. Germany was issuing militaristic statements hinged with—
“Hey Doug, turn on the news!”
Gary Jones’ voice interrupted his perusal of the flow of new information. Doug looked up to see him standing in the doorway of his cubicle.
“What is it?” he asked, even as he clicked for a twenty four hour news channel on his larger screen.
“Israel just started a war! Goddamn, you’d think we had enough problems in the world without the Arabs and the Jews going at it again, wouldn’t you?”
“Uh huh, you’d think so,” Doug replied. “Drag up a chair if you can find room.” As the senior platoon leader, he had a big wall screen in his cubicle while the others were still waiting on theirs to be delivered.
The networks were carrying the new war as breaking news. As Doug watched and listened, he felt the presence of others come into his cubicle. He glanced over his shoulder and saw that Teresa and William Jurgens had joined them. “Hi, Will, Teresa, join the crowd. Last one here gets to go back and fetch the coffee.”
Teresa grimaced, but it was a friendly gesture. “Why do women always wind up bringing the coffee?” she asked rhetorically, but was back in a couple of minutes, juggling three cups and plastic spoons with packets of creamer and sweetener.
“Black,” Doug said shortly when she asked him how he took it. He groped for the cup, trying not to take his eyes from the screen, and almost dumped it all in his lap. It was showing a map of the Middle East and beyond, with starbursts where Israel jets had purportedly bombed. There were too many of them to count immediately, but his eyes tracked toward Iran and Pakistan first, countries known to possess nuclear weapons.
“They’re attacking Pakistan, too! Why them?” Gary asked, bewildered because she thought it wasn’t an Arab country.
“They have nukes—and while they may not be Arabs, they are Muslims. Same for Iran, for that matter; they’re Persians,” Doug informed him. “The Jews are just making damn sure they don’t get an A-Bomb lobbed at them. But I don’t understand why they started a war now.”
“Maybe they’re afraid the Muslims are blaming them for the Harcourt virus. It’s killing lots of Arabs, and other Muslims besides, the dark skinned ones.”
“Could be,” Doug admitted, but he had seen nothing in the news or his briefings to support that idea.
“They’ll play hell getting us to help them this time,” Teresa remarked.
“Yeah. That’s what’s puzzling. But maybe they think this is an opportune time to get rid of the nukes in the Middle East. Other than their own, of course.”
The others laughed, but there was no humor in the sound; it was simply a typical human response, where laughter sometimes serves when nothing else will do. It was common knowledge that Israel possessed nuclear weapons and had for many years.
There was little factual information being broadcast, other than Israel had launched air strikes on several countries, and that they were continuing. When the network began relaying the usual strident posturing by political leaders, with Pakistan, Iran and the other nations claiming they were attacked without warning and Israel stating that they had been provoked beyond all reason, Doug turned it off. It still didn’t make much sense to him, but rather than discuss the subject without access to more facts, he shooed the others out of his cubicle and got back to work. Noon rounds were coming up.
* * *
“Are you sure that woman we put in charge of CDC knows what she’s doing?” President Marshall asked across the conference table.
“Administratively, I can’t say, Mr. President, but that really doesn’t matter too much right now. I can tell you she has top notch credentials as an infection control specialist, which is what the CDC is about, after all. If she says we’ve got a new virus loose, I think we can believe her.” Lurline Tedd was beginning to wonder if the rest of her life was going to be spent in a state of crisis. She didn’t mind political turmoil nor the bone grinding travel schedule of election years, but death dealing pandemics were something new to her—and now there appeared to be a second one on top of the Harcourt virus.
“Okay, assume she’s right. Who did it this time?”
“Israe
l,” General Newman said flatly. “Not much doubt about it. According to the Foster woman, it’s targeting Arabs and Middle Easterners only. Who else would do that?”
He didn’t seem particularly concerned, which made Edgar Tomlin uneasy. “Are we going to help them?”
“Of course we are,” General Newman said. He flicked an imaginary piece of lint from the sleeve of his uniform and stared at Tomlin until he looked away. “You don’t want the Russians or Chinese grabbing all the oil fields, do you?”
“Is it really going to be that bad?” Lurline asked.
“According to Amelia Foster, it is. Her scientists say it’s targeting a gene that’s specific to damn near every person in the Middle East except Jews. It’s even getting their Arab citizens. Another problem solved.”
“What—oh.” Lurline suddenly realized what the general was thinking of.
“Right,” President Marshall said. “No more Arabs in our country either, if it spreads to here. Maybe we can use their Mosques for barracks.” He chuckled to himself.
“Sir, all Muslims aren’t Arabs. In fact, they aren’t even a majority,” Lurline informed him, while she felt sick inside at the way the president and General Newman were reacting.
“What? What do you mean?”
Lurline looked around and saw that the others were leaving it up to her to correct the president’s erroneous assumptions. She knew that in this case it was a common mistake, not just something the president didn’t know. A majority of the population of the United States was woefully ignorant of geopolitics, particularly where it involved religion. Most citizens equated Arabs and Islam in their minds—or rather Arabs and Muslims. Most didn’t even know that Muslims were simply practitioners of the Islamic religion and numbered at least a billion. “Arabs are just a small fraction of the Muslims in the world, sir. It doesn’t even include Iran and Pakistan, though it appears that they’re susceptible, too.
