Chapter 6
February 2, 2013: Saturday, 9:41 AM – the HUB, Stockholm, Sweden…
“Dr. Pamela Bristow, go ahead please,” the deputy director said after pushing the dull, red speaker phone button. She leaned back in her chair, rotating her head in a clockwise motion trying to get the kinks out of her sore neck – a migraine wasn’t too far away. She had been hunched over her computer for the better part of two days; her team had been tracking multiple reports of H1N1 infections from the Middle East and the Korean Peninsula for the past forty-four hours.
“Pamela, this is Donovan. I need a situation report now. I just landed at the Stockholm-Arlanda Airport about ten minutes ago and I’m in a cab en route to the Hub now. I’m probably a good twenty-five minutes out.”
“I hope you had a decent flight. I’m sorry for contacting you so late, sir – I didn’t consider the time zone differences when I called. This situation is spiraling out of control and I was just following protocol…”
“Fuck!” Donovan yelped into the phone as he bumped his head on the passenger side window of the cab. Pamela could hear the cabbie apologizing to his passenger for the rough ride.
“Don’t waste my time apologizing,” Donovan said in frustration as he rubbed his throbbing temple.
“…but it was an accident, sir,” the cabbie said with a thick Swedish accent.
“Not you, dumbass,” Donovan said to the cab driver. “I’m talking on the phone here – mind your own damn business! Just get me to the IPPC home office…and learn to fucking drive while you’re at it!”
Pamela never liked Donovan; she sincerely doubted that anyone liked this man. He treated her and everyone else like scum of the earth. Like he was better than everyone – that people should be grateful that a man like him even looked in their general direction, let alone doing them a tremendous service by actually speaking to them. While she loved her job and she felt like she was actually making a difference in the world, any time she had to deal with her boss…it made her sick to her stomach. However, hearing her boss’s immense discomfort on the other end of the phone made her smile…just a little.
Pamela spoke after a few brief moments. “Two new H1N1 hot spots have emerged. The first is in Labboune, Lebanon – reported by our sources close to the Israeli border. These are unconfirmed reports since Lebanon has no charter with our agency and their government fails to respond to our official requests for information. Needless to say, the Israelis are watching the situation very closely. According to preliminary reports, about eight- to ten-thousand possible cases have been diagnosed. Again, we don’t have official numbers. Plus some of our satellites are out of commission in that area due to the solar activity. We are literally flying blind in that region of the world.”
“Figures,” Donovan said. “What’s the other area?”
“Well, we do have an official report from our affiliates in Seoul, South Korea. Our doctors at the Asian Medical Center, located in the Songpa-gu district, have reported estimates of twenty-thousand cases with more cases streaming in every hour. We’ve been in constant contact with the facility for the past two hours. They are becoming overwhelmed and requesting immediate disbursal of aid…” Pamela paused mid-sentence; a priority email flashed in her inbox.
“What?” Donovan inquired. “What’s going on?”
“We have just received an additional unconfirmed report out of Pyongyang that the North Koreans are also suffering from an extreme outbreak,” she said. “Some reports, according to this email, estimate upwards of forty-five thousand cases in that city alone.”
“We don’t have enough units on hand to deal with non-charter nations at this time. Get Karl up-to-speed on the situation. Tell him to expect a call from me on the secure conference line – he’ll know the one. He and I will deal with Lebanon and North Korea. Tell him to ship out thirty-thousand units to Seoul. I’ll be in the office shortly.”
She knew it was very late evening or early morning in Idaho, but as soon as Pamela finished with Donovan, she immediately contacted Karl Timmons filling him in on the events of the last two days. She informed him of the H1N1 hot spots and the surreal number of cases plaguing the Korean Peninsula.
Karl was a night owl and normally wasn’t in bed till two or three AM on most nights, so the phone call didn’t bother him. He ran a few instant queries from his Blackberry. The report showed a combined warehouse inventory in Idaho and New York of just under forty-thousand units. He punched in a few codes on his hand-held device and the automated shipping facilities began boxing and loading the vaccines. In less than eight hours, four military cargo planes would be heading to Seoul, South Korea.
Dr. Bristow thanked Karl for his quick response time. She then ended their conversation with even more “happy” news for Karl – that he should be expecting a call from Donovan within the next few hours. She heard Karl groan as he hung up the phone. No one liked an early morning conference call with Donovan. Hell, she was pretty sure that no one really even liked the man no matter what time of day it was.
February 2, 2013: Saturday, 3:45 AM – Boise, Idaho, A secure teleconference line between the HUB and Illumination Pharmaceuticals…
Michael Clark patiently waited in Karl’s office. Karl was standing in his usual spot staring out the window looking down on the empty street below. They both listened to the instrumental music blaring over the speakerphone as they waited for Donovan to dial in to the urgent conference call. Michael drummed his fingers on the desk and rocked back-and-forth in his own rhythmically challenged way. Apparently, all the years of choir practice in junior-high and all of the time spent as a male cheerleader in college never improved his coordination.
Theodore Ellis rushed into the room. He was late, which was highly unusual. Theo prided himself in not only being brilliant, but also being reliably prompt. He liked to show up early for meetings and for other functions. He believed sincerely that “being on time” should be considered “almost being late.” He often argued that if one showed up exactly on time, then by definition, they were just mere moments from being late. Theo really liked to argue – he felt it was a great way to impress upon people how smart he was…many were often overwhelmed by his quick wit and encyclopedic knowledge.
“Sorry, boss – I fell back to sleep after you paged me,” Theo said, stretching and rubbing his eyes. “I stayed up late working on a paper for my third master’s degree.”
The brilliant young man sat down next to Michael. He watched as his co-worker gyrated to the beat of his own drummer. Theo thought silently to himself how it appeared that “ol’ Mikey boy’s” dancing mimicked someone having a seizure. Theo imagined Michael going into convulsions and collapsing out of his chair to the floor below - the only way to save him would be for Theo to ram his wallet or a dirty sock deep into Michael’s foaming mouth…
“Donovan Bryant has joined the session,” the computerized female voice indicated. The music stopped and Michael ceased fidgeting a few seconds later. Theo’s daydream about “saving” his co-worker would have to wait for another day. Karl quickly walked from the window to his desk and sat down in his plush chair.
“Is everyone there, Karl?” Donovan asked.
“Yes, sir – we are all here and waiting for instructions. I’ve already mobilized the last remaining units to Seoul.”
“What do our stockpiles in the Florida location look like?” Donovan inquired.
“Let me check,” Karl said as he accessed one of the many apps on his Blackberry. He loved all forms of technology, but he loved this hand-held device the most. If he ever had kids, he promised himself that his first born would be named “Blackberry.”
“What Florida facility?” Theo asked with a confused look on his face. “I thought we only had the two facilities? The one at home base here in Idaho and the other one located in Rochester…”
“We have a fail-safe in place, Theo,” Donovan said calmly as he lied to the young man. “This is a top-secret government facilit
y used to store additional vaccine supplies in case of a pandemic striking the continental United States. It’s a precautionary measure, but a necessary measure nonetheless to keep our country safe.” Karl knew that Donovan wouldn’t reveal the fact that the Florida facility was a personal warehouse owned by a dummy corporation linked to an offshore subsidiary created by Donovan and Gaylord Hastings for personal gain.
“I’m pretty sure our charter agreement states that all H1N1 supplies will be stored in official IPPC approved facilities.” Theo wasn’t buying Donovan’s explanation.
“Theo,” Karl interjected, “all of the required documentation, transportation and storage information pertaining to the vaccines in the Florida facility were approved by the IPPC commission. Don’t worry about the details right now. Just know that everything is on the up-and-up and has been approved by your superiors.” Karl had become quite adept over the past few months lying about shipments and documentation to cover up the secret facility, but he knew Theo was way too smart just to accept some random answers without valid proof.
“That’s correct, Theo,” Donovan replied. “Your primary objective over the next few days is to pick two or three of your most advanced coworkers to follow you to the Rochester office. That place is falling behind and I feel that with your strong leadership skills and the help of a few other dedicated resources - that we can get that facility up-to-speed. This is not a permanent transfer, I figure maybe a three- to six month gig tops…so you don’t have to relocate. Go there, get the job done – and come home. It’s that easy.”
“I’m still not sure that I under…”
“You’re dismissed,” Donovan said cutting off Theo in mid-sentence. Theo looked at Karl and Michael. Karl nodded towards the door.
“Theo, I’ll contact you sometime Monday regarding the temporary transfers,” Karl said as Theo exited the office and closed the door behind himself.
Theo walked to the elevator trying to assess what had just happened. He wasn’t the least bit fond of the cloak and dagger routine that just occurred. He knew something was awry…he just couldn’t put his finger on it. He exited the elevator on the basement floor and walked to his 2009 Harley-Davidson. He straddled the touring bike and started up the bright green machine, revving the engine a few times. This was his baby – his gift to himself for being so awesome. Theo shifted into gear, squealed his tires and sped off into the empty streets of the pre-dawn morning.
As he rode home, he methodically went through each resource available to him. By the time he reached his house, he had narrowed his list to five potential candidates. While the Florida facility explanations failed to alleviate his concerns, he still had a job to do. This would be a perfect opportunity to demonstrate his leadership abilities on a high profile assignment. Doing well on this job could easily earn him a much deserved promotion.
Back in Karl’s office, Karl and Michael listened as Donovan instructed them on his plan to distribute the vaccines from the Florida warehouse to the new H1N1 hot spots. Of course, he only shared the barest of information with his subordinates – no need for them to know the entirety of the plan. Donovan explained that he had already contacted the Premier of North Korea and the Prime Minister of Lebanon earlier in the day to set up meetings to discuss disbursement and payment. Karl and Michael were instructed to fly to Florida early Monday morning to facilitate the transfer of the merchandise. The promised delivery date would be one week from today. The end of the conversation was punctuated by Donovan offering both men large bonuses should the transactions run smoothly with expedited deliveries. Karl and Michael left the office to enjoy the remainder of their weekend. Donovan left the conference room and made his way to the HUB to see Dr. Bristow to go over documentation from the previous two days.
February 4, 2013: Monday, 7:45 AM – Boise, Idaho, The airport at Gowen Field…
Karl and Michael boarded the large passenger plane bound for Florida. The two men moved to their comfortable seats and relaxed. Michael had quickly fallen asleep as soon as the Boeing 737 had exited Idaho airspace. Karl spent the entire flight organizing information on his always present Blackberry.
Michael awoke as the plane touched down at Ocala OCF Airport five hours later. Karl and Michael were the last passengers off. As they exited, a large, black Chevy Suburban with limo tint on all windows pulled up to the outermost gates. Three men exited the vehicle, arms crossed, each wearing white earpieces. Karl walked quickly towards the SUV with Michael close behind - they knew the ride was for them. The secret warehouse was located in Silver Springs – less than ten miles from the airport – that’s all the info Karl had about the facility. Obviously these men were here to take them to Donovan’s warehouse and to ensure the location remained secret.
Karl and Michael sat nervously in the middle section of the Suburban. Two of the three men sat in the back row behind them while the third man rode shotgun. The driver, a fourth man, wore dark sunglasses, had a shaved head and sported a dark brown beard. This man never spoke nor did he even acknowledge his new passengers. The short ride felt like an eternity. Michael felt like a prisoner…he kept his head low and never even looked at the surrounding area – he didn’t want to remember where or how they got to their destination. Karl had the inescapable feeling that these men could make him disappear and never be found or heard from again…
The SUV entered a very unassuming alleyway that led to a small gated checkpoint. The driver came to a stop and lowered his window. The young man stationed at the gate waved the vehicle through. The small lot consisted of four non-descript brick buildings. The fourth building, the farthest back on the lot, had a small garage door that opened as the Suburban closed to within two-hundred feet. The driver skillfully navigated the small opening and pulled the SUV to the side of the room. The driver nodded his head and the three men exited the vehicle in unison.
Karl reached for the handle but the door swung open before he could grasp it. The largest of the three men motioned for their “guests” to exit. Karl and Michael did as instructed and followed the lead agent to a small elevator. The elevator descended two floors to the bottom level. As the doors slid open, Karl was shocked to see the expansive lower level. No one would ever have guessed that such a facility existed. That was the point, he assumed. The lower level must have run the entire length of the above lot that they had entered a few moments earlier.
“You two are to go to that office,” the largest of the three men pointed to a small door on the east end of the facility. “Wait there for further instructions. Mr. Bryant gave specific orders that you are not allowed to contact anyone while inside this warehouse. All communications to and from this facility are strictly monitored. It is imperative that you adhere to these conditions.”
Michael glanced nervously at Karl but his boss nudged him towards the office. The two men walked briskly. The scale of the facility dwarfed the warehouse facilities in Boise and Rochester…Karl figured that this facility would be close to the same size as both of those added together.
As they walked, Karl recognized the pre-packaged shipping crates that housed the H1N1 vaccines. Each crate was the standard three-by-three-by-four baby blue colored crate with a large dark blue “IP” logo on each side. A whole section of the southeast quadrant was filled with Illumination Pharmaceutical’s products. Eight HUMVEEs were parked against the north wall. Karl briefly glanced towards the west wall where two objects were hidden under a large gray tarp. He wasn’t one-hundred percent sure, but the outlines of the objects appeared to be military grade helicopters.
The two men covered the rest of the distance very quickly and made their way to the small office. A conference phone sat perched on top of an oval shaped table in the middle of the room. The east side of the room had a small cloth loveseat against the wall. A water cooler was positioned on the north wall. A few out-of-date magazines rested on a small bookshelf on the south wall. Karl picked up a random magazine and sat at the table. Michael did likewise but sat on the couch.
Both men felt like they were in an interrogation room - being monitored from the other side of a one-way mirror.
They spent what seemed like an eternity in the small office. Karl had lost track of time. He knew they had been there for a good while because he had already finished reading two magazines from cover-to-cover. Some of his reading was interrupted sporadically as Michael snoozed on the couch.
Chapter 7
February 4, 2013: Monday, 5:18 PM – Silver Springs, Florida, A small office in a highly guarded, secret warehouse…
Michael gasped almost rolling off of the couch as the phone in the center of the room buzzed loudly. He had been napping for over an hour. He tried to regain his composure in front of his boss. Karl pointed to his mouth with his index finger indicating to Michael that he had something on his own face. Drool. Michael nonchalantly wiped it off and moved over to the oval table. Karl pressed the intercom button.
“Karl, there has been a slight change of plans since we last spoke,” Donovan said.
“What happened?” Karl inquired.
“We only have one buyer at this time. Apparently the North Koreans feel that our price is too exorbitant. They have chosen not to use our product.”
“But all of those people could die!” Michael exclaimed. “Maybe we could lower our price or maybe just send them some of the supplies. It would be a shame…”
“Yeah, it’s a shame,” Donovan said sarcastically. “I have informed Gerald Tarkanian, our warehouse manager, to work closely with you and Michael. Take about eighty-five percent of our on-hand stock and load up the helicopters. We don’t have the fancy automated system like in Rochester, but that’s OK – two strong men like you shouldn’t have any issue loading up a few crates. It’s good to get your hands dirty every once in awhile - right, Karl?”
Z1N1: The Zombie Pandemic: 2012 Was Just the Beginning Page 7
