Pandemic: Beginnings: A Post-Apocalyptic Medical Thriller Fiction Series (The Pandemic Series Book 1)

by Bobby Akart

“I believe it was,” replied Hunter. “I participated in the questioning of an ISIS terrorist this morning at the Greek equivalent of the FBI. Two of the murdered people in the Congo were Greek research scientists on loan to the BSL-4 in Gabon. Mac, they were beheaded.”

  “Why?”

  Hunter looked around to make sure no one was eavesdropping. “After some careful prodding, he stated that the killings occurred because, quote, the experiment failed.”

  “What experiment? Something in Franceville?” asked Mac.

  “I don’t believe in coincidences,” replied Hunter. “According to my contact here, there would be no reason for the Greek researchers to travel to Congo, much less a remote town in the east, two hundred miles away from Gabon. I believe that ISIS may be experimenting with, or attempting to obtain, a bioweapon.”

  Mac suddenly lost her appetite just as their meals were delivered. She couldn’t decide whether to order a to-go box and race to the airport, leaving her luggage behind, or to continue the conversation.

  “Hunter, I’m here because a Congolese teen traveled by boat from Libya to the southernmost shores of Greece. She was carrying pneumonic plague—the exact same strain as in Trinidad and Guatemala.”

  “That’s what you said at the bar, which caused my sudden reaction. There’s one more thing. Recently, the local police raided a possible drug house in the northern part of the country near Bulgaria. It contained a similar biolab although it hadn’t been used. But the point is, the lab was ready and waiting.”

  Mac took a moment to enjoy her meal. The silence was awkward as she tried the moussaka. It was delicious, although it had become slightly cold. Hunter also picked at his food, periodically glancing at Mac, seeking a reaction or a sign of what she was thinking.

  The beautiful sunset had passed unnoticed by both of them. As was typical in her life, Mac had missed the opportunity to share a beautiful, romantic moment with a man because she was preoccupied with her career. She wondered if she could ever change.

  Hunter broke the silence. As if he’d read her mind, he said, “Mac, I’m afraid my talking shop caused us to miss a fabulous sunset in a special place. I’m sorry.” He put down his knife and fork, then looked toward the Acropolis as it lit up against the dark backdrop of the sky.

  She took a chance. Mac reached across the table and squeezed Hunter’s hand. It was strong. Masculine. Her gesture also caught him off guard and she caught another glimpse of a tender soul hidden within his chiseled body.

  “Listen to me, Hunter. I haven’t had this enjoyable of an evening in many, many years. You’re intelligent, witty, and above all, you’re a gentlemen.”

  “I feel a but headed my way.”

  Mac smiled as she looked at his eyes again. Why can’t you just let yourself go? “No, not a but, just a warning. I really like what I do, and I’m good at it. I just don’t have much time for a relationship.”

  “Buuut,” said Hunter, stretching the word out as he said it.

  “But, that said, I hope that we can see each other again. You know, back home, and not in some foreign country. You, however, have to agree to stop stalking me!” She smiled as she took her hand back. She sipped the rest of her wine and studied his reaction.

  “So I will see you again?” he asked inquisitively.

  “I think that it’ll be complicated, especially in light of the fact that our careers have now intersected in a big way. However, if you can put up with my work ethic, I can put up with your, well, whatever your faults are. At this moment, I can’t seem to identify any.”

  “Nor shall you, Dr. Hagan.” Hunter didn’t wait for the server and finished off the chardonnay with half a glass for each. “A toast. I came to Greece, and as the Athenian motto goes, I found a perfect mind in a perfect body!”

  Mac blushed from her shyness. It had been a long time since a man had noticed her appearance in a respectful way, and it felt good. She accepted his toast, with pride, and rewarded him with a flirty smile.

  “So where are you off to tomorrow?” she asked.

  “I believe I’m gonna pay a visit to Gabon. I’ve got a lot of questions.”

  Mac leaned onto the table to provide Hunter a glimpse, if he wanted it. “Would you like to bring a girl from home a present when you return?”

  “If it will help me advance to round three, you betcha.”

  “I need a sample of the Madagascar strain of pneumonic plague. Do you think you can pick one up for me?”

  The look on Hunter’s face was priceless. She would never see that expression of shock on him again.

  Chapter 37

  Day Fourteen

  Oval Office, The White House

  Washington

  President Garcia flipped through the pages provided by his speechwriter, who sat nervously on the sofa next to him. Morse, as Chief of Staff’s frequently did, paced the floor, waiting to hear a comment from the President. This policy speech on immigration was long overdue, but the gang slaying of a young family in Chula Vista outside San Diego provided the perfect backdrop for the President to make his case for stricter border enforcement.

  “We’ve got to nail this, gentlemen, without seeming unsympathetic to those who are fleeing horrible living conditions in Mexico and Central America,” said President Garcia. He picked up a highlighter off the table in front of him and began to color a paragraph. Then he scribbled some notes in the margin.

  He handed the papers back to his speechwriter, who started to get up when the President grabbed him by the arm. “Listen, I’m walking a fine line here. My opponent is trying to soften his stance on illegal immigrants entering the country, but I know full well it’s a load of crap. He’s pandering to the Chamber of Commerce and their big business constituency. He’ll turn his back on them as soon as he takes the oath of office.”

  Morse added, “Mr. President, your perspective and stance is unique and is lauded throughout the Hispanic community. Because of your heritage, sir, they respect your policies.”

  “Very true, Andrew,” said the President with a chuckle. “At least they can’t paint me as a racist because of my tough immigration stance.” The President looked at his watch. Perhaps it was time for a brandy.

  “Polling shows that the demographics of America are changing. Twenty-three percent of public schoolchildren live in immigrant households. That’s more than doubled in twenty years. Once, news reports indicated that white Caucasians would become the demographic minority by the year 2050. Now, that estimate has been moved up to 2044 when the nation becomes minority-majority.”

  “Might I add, sir,” started his speechwriter, “the Associated Press conducted a survey in Nashville public schools and found there are over one hundred twenty different languages spoken by their students. After English, Spanish and Arabic were number two and three.”

  “Nashville is a southern, relatively traditional city. It’s hardly LA or New York,” added Morse.

  The President rose and casually strolled over to the corner table, which held the brandy and glasses. He poured himself one, but didn’t offer it to his staff. “This is why I said I was walking a fine line. I don’t want to alienate the constituencies of the future, but by the same token I want to stand on my principles. I firmly believe that illegal immigration advances the drug trade more than it assists the poor and downtrodden.”

  The men sat in silence for a moment and considered their options. Morse tapped some notes into his smartphone. He was still blasting at the small keyboard when the President interrupted him.

  “Andrew, you wanna share your thoughts with the rest of us?”

  “Oh, yes. I’m sorry. I wanted to jot down some notes before I lost my train of thought. We have tomorrow’s news cycle to set up your speech. I’ll call on one of my friendly reporters at the Times or the Post to write an article on the drug cartels’ use of human-smuggling routes to advance their criminal activities to include the transport of drugs, especially opioids like fentanyl, in addition to heroin. This will set t
he stage for another policy announcement.”

  The President poured himself another glass and plopped into a side chair. “A new policy?”

  “No, not really,” replied Morse. “Let’s establish that the drug mules are males. We’ll announce a catch-and-release policy for women and children after they’ve been processed through the refugee centers at the border.”

  The speechwriter raised his hand to interrupt. “But those centers are overwhelmed and the subject of several federal court suits for overcrowded conditions. Won’t that encourage more refugees to flood over the border?”

  “Maybe, but not in the short term,” replied Morse. “It will allow us to stay firm on our immigration stance through the President’s re-election, but it will also allow the President to show compassion toward the innocents—the women and children.”

  President Garcia nodded toward Morse. “I like it. By assisting the women and children who enter the country with expedited processing, we can gain the sympathetic vote. Unfortunately, the innocent males trying to find a better life in America will have to wait until after the election when I can do more. Gentlemen, our second term will be a lot easier than swimming the shark-infested waters of this first go-around.”

  Chapter 38

  Day Fourteen

  Corinto, Honduras

  Corinto, Honduras, was a tiny hilltop town of roughly two thousand people located at the border of Guatemala and Honduras. A week ago, Hassan and his two most trusted operatives, Abbud Omar and Hamza Ahmed, left Caracas, Venezuela, and made their way across the Caribbean Sea by boat to Rio Coto, twenty miles to the northeast of Corinto. The small town was the predetermined rendezvous point to join a dozen other terrorists who’d arrived after travelling through Central America.

  Corinto was not of any particular significance except for the fact that it was on Highway CA13, the most travelled north-south route from South and Central America into Mexico. It was the first stop in a long journey for migrants heading into Mexico and their ultimate destination—U.S. soil.

  Hassan gathered the men in the small home of Pablo Cortez, the local pharmacist and an ally of Mahmood Khabir, their associate in the Mexican state of Chihuahua who was connected to the Juarez cartel. The pharmacist was not included in the planning of Hassan’s mission and hastily departed his home when the other operatives arrived.

  “Show me the vials,” said Hassan to the men who had arrived by boat. Each carried a small black briefcase, which fit into their backpacks. One by one, the men proudly presented Hassan with their case. He opened them up and admired the vials of fluids and powders protected by foam. The vials stood upright like soldiers awaiting their orders, arranged in eight rows of ten, nine hundred sixty in all.

  “As requested, Cortez has provided us syringes and empty glass aerosol spray bottles,” said Abbud. “We have all been instructed on the proper mix ratio for the liquid spray and the syringes. The powder is to be used last, as we cannot avoid contaminating ourselves in the process. It must be introduced to the largest number of people.”

  “Thank you, brother,” said Hassan as he patted his friend on the shoulder. “Tomorrow, we travel to Mexico, one step closer to glory.”

  Hassan carefully returned the contents to his twelve brothers and managed a smile. This is just the beginning.

  Chapter 39

  Day Fourteen

  CDC

  Guatemala City

  The most effective hosts, the vessels of mass destruction, for many infectious diseases are animals. A zoonotic disease can easily be transmitted from animals to people. With seventy-five percent of all infectious diseases coming from animals, the CDC placed a particular emphasis on researching diseases such as West Nile virus, dengue, malaria, salmonella and E. coli. Many infected animals are found where animals are displayed, such as petting zoos and pet stores, but in developing worlds, natural habitats such as beaches, woods, and jungles were the most common.

  Lawrence Brown and the rest of the CDC team in Guatemala were overwhelmed with the outbreak in the second village. Their second undertaking, after containment, was to begin the arduous task of contact tracing. In epidemiology, contact tracing was the process of identifying people who might have come in contact with an infected patient. It was considered the primary means of controlling infectious diseases capable of human-to-human transmission.

  In a perfect world, an interview with the infected patient would reveal whom he had interaction with, and when. He would be identified as patient zero, and a hub and spoke analysis of his activity would begin. Depending upon the circumstances, especially in an urban setting, the process of contact tracing will leave any seasoned CEFO inundated with leads. In some cases, a contact list could expand to dozens of leads per day to chase down. Manpower for a large outbreak was the biggest challenge, especially for the satellite office of the CDC located in Guatemala City.

  In some respects, establishing a contact tracing investigation for this particular outbreak was not as difficult as most because the villagers rarely traveled outside of their little part of the world. Except for Fernando, who was last seen boarding a bus headed for El Naranjo, their investigation concluded that the villagers had no outside contact.

  However, five days ago, Fernando had left his village and his dying mother for points unknown. It was assumed that he would seek medical attention in El Naranjo, but the hospital personnel had no record of admitting him. The bus, which might have carried as many as forty people on board, was commonly known as a chicken bus, an English name for the thousands of colorfully decorated buses that transported goods and people between communities throughout Latin America, especially Honduras, Guatemala, and El Salvador.

  These buses were modified to cram seats together to allow for extra passengers. The drivers accepted everything from currency to animals to sexual favors as payment for allowing a passenger to board. The chicken buses were inexpensive, but they could be dangerous on the treacherous, winding roads of Guatemala. Accidents were commonplace.

  For the CDC team in Guatemala City, this particular chicken bus proved to be a nightmare. No passenger records were kept. There were no preplanned stops or pickups. If a passenger shouted alto, then the driver would pull over and let them out. If the chicken bus was flagged down in the middle of the jungle, as long as the passenger could pay, he was granted a ride.

  The CDC team concluded that, depending how long Fernando was on board the bus, he might have infected forty people initially, plus new passengers, who in turn would infect anyone they came in contact with. The potential spread of the Y. pestis strain among the population of Guatemala had just grown exponentially.

  That was only part of the team’s problem. Searching the jungles surrounding the stricken villages, the team was surrounded by the booming cries of the howler monkeys, who along with the spider monkeys, were the predominant primate species inhabiting the Guatemalan tropical forest.

  In 2004, a demographic survey was conducted at the Mayan sites of Guatemala and later expanded to other jungle regions of the country. It was found that the howler monkey troop size ranged from fifteen to twenty-one individuals per square mile. In addition, their smaller counterpart, the spider monkey, had a population density of fifty to as much as one hundred sixty individuals per square mile. Guatemala contained over twenty-four thousand square miles of jungles and wooded areas.

  Even after the CDC cordoned off the first village, the curious monkeys frequently invaded the containment zone, looking for food or anything else that might have caught their curious eye. Their interaction prior to that with the diseased villagers was anybody’s guess. In the second village outbreak, the situation was the same.

  Both species of monkeys formed loosely associated groups of twenty to forty individuals. During the day, they’d break up into subgroups of two to eight, who traveled about hunting and foraging. Their disproportionately long limbs and tails provided them the ability to travel long distances. Because they were social animals, interaction
with other troops, and especially nonthreatening humans, was common.

  It was impossible to conduct contact tracing on monkeys. But the dead primates were now appearing throughout northern Guatemala and southern Mexico. In contrast to modern, developed countries like the United States, in developing nations such as Mexico and Guatemala, there was not an animal control department that came along and collected dead animals from the side of the road or people’s yards.

  It had become such an annoyance for local residents that they didn’t even bother to bury the animals. Most were thrown on top of a trash heap or in a dumpster, where dogs, cats, rats, and birds picked at the carcasses.

  The dead monkeys still contained the contagion, and those animals or humans who came in contact with the cadavers would become infected as well. On day fourteen of the outbreak in Guatemala, nearly twenty thousand dead monkeys lay rotting across the country.

  Chapter 40

  Day Fourteen

  Somewhere in the Gulf of Mexico

  The fly on the wall sees it all, as the saying goes. And this fly happened to be enjoying the confines of the inner sanctum of a freighter that had just slipped into the Gulf of Mexico undetected. The Tasallul, a four-hundred-nine-foot-long Saudi Arabian–flagged freighter, was chugging along in the general direction of Tampico, Mexico. Its normal cargo would be crude oil, although at a capacity of under a million barrels, it would typically be used for regional deliveries throughout Africa and the Middle East.

  The Tasallul had embarked on a different mission, and upon entry into the Gulf, its name had been scrubbed from the back of the cargo ship. The Saudi flag, when the time came, would be replaced with the notorious Black Standard, the Banner of the Eagle, used by ISIS jihadists. The flag of the Islamic State of Iraq and Syria bearing the white shahada, the Islamic creed, would whip in the wind proudly.