by Bobby Akart
“Yes, I love you.”
“It’s not just the beer and tequila and magnificent sex?”
Hunter pushed himself up on the sofa and leaned into Mac. “I loved you way before all of that. I knew it in Athens. It just overcame me. I can’t explain it, but here’s my heart. It’s yours.”
Mac started crying and hugged him. They held each other for several minutes as she let her emotions out. “I love you too, Hunter.”
For the next thirty minutes, they talked and laughed about the unlikely couple they’d created—the different worlds in which they lived. She was the nerdy scientist on the one hand and he was the Mission Impossible dude on the other. But none of that mattered because they had challenges to face and they couldn’t imagine doing it without being by each other’s side.
Mac had just invited Hunter to spend the night when she received a text message from the CDC Operations Center.
Three new plague patients were admitted in Las Cruces, NM. Check your emails for travel arrangements.
She handed the phone to Hunter. “See what I mean?”
“I’m going with you,” he replied.
Chapter 73
Day Twenty-Five
Las Cruces, New Mexico
The three-hour Delta flight from Atlanta to El Paso, Texas, descended towards a landing. Hunter stared out the window, with Mac asleep leaning on his shoulder. He’d have to wake her before landing so she wasn’t startled. They’d barely slept during their first night together and he was reminded that she was not an early riser. It took a lot of cajoling to get her to Atlanta-Hartsfield for their 6:33 departure.
El Paso and Juárez Mexico coexisted uncomfortably like an estranged couple, surrounded on all sides by mountainous desert. The cities were separated by the thin trickle of the Rio Grande River, which flowed through concrete channels and aqueducts, built years ago to control the river’s natural habit of changing course and muddying up the boundaries between the two countries.
One side was Texas, a state that would rather be its own country, as their citizens had proven with constant secession petitions. On the other lay Mexico—similar in geography, but wholly different in most other respects. The border’s way of life, its purpose, legitimate and otherwise, had always been dependent upon respecting this dividing line.
Just a few miles to the west of downtown El Paso, that dividing line crosses from east to west through a vast and open desert, stretching through barren wasteland along New Mexico, then through Arizona as the land becomes more mountainous, and finally all the way to sunny Southern California and the Pacific Ocean. Along the deserted stretch, thousands of migrants waited for the opportunity to kiss the soil of the United States. Most were simply looking for a better life for themselves and their families. Some would live simply in the United States while sending the vast majority of their earnings back to Mexico.
Then there were those who came to America to join gangs and other forms of criminal enterprises. Their activities tainted the innocents who just sought a better life. These criminals and terrorists would use the innocents as tools to advance their agendas.
*****
Hunter found a Starbucks and loaded Mac up with caffeine. Although it was mid-morning in Atlanta, Mac’s watch read before 8:00 a.m. “That’s the clock that counts,” she grumbled as she took her first sips of caramel latte with extra caramel. Her eyes closed as she savored the moment, the latte providing her instant rejuvenation.
Hunter headed northbound on Interstate 10 for the forty-five-mile ride to Las Cruces. Mac quietly scrolled through her emails, periodically responding to them. She glanced up as they entered New Mexico and read the welcome sign.
“Welcome to New Mexico, the land of enchantment,” she said, looking around at the sparsely populated landscape. “It doesn’t look very enchanting to me.”
“I guess beauty is in the eye of the beholder,” added Hunter. His mind was still on the fate of thousands of Hispanics who give up everything to step foot in the land of enchantment.
“I suppose. There are new numbers coming in, new cases. Team Europe reports three dozen new cases in Spain and dozens in Italy. We now have cases in London as well.”
“Any surprise there?” asked Hunter.
“I expected there to be more, but you can’t read anything into that,” she replied. “This disease is misdiagnosed all the time. Really, this whole plague outbreak reflects the inadequacies of the system in general. If you can’t prevent pandemics from occurring, the least we can do is strengthen the system to detect them as soon as possible. We need to enhance surveillance measures. We need to step up our response, which is known to be slow and passive.”
Hunter checked his speed as he drove up on a law enforcement vehicle. It was a border patrol truck that slowed to assist a New Mexico State Trooper with a traffic stop.
He added, “That’s a little difficult to change when these diseases make their presence known through outbreaks in remote parts of the world. By my calculations, you were nearly two weeks into the outbreak before you had anything to study.”
“Exactly, which is what I intend to tell Congress,” said Mac.
Hunter looked over at her and briefly wandered off onto the shoulder of the road before he corrected his course. “What?”
“Oh, didn’t I tell you? I’m testifying in front of a congressional committee in three days.”
“Really? About what?”
Mac thumbed her iPhone and found Google News. The Washington Post article was the first result under the U.S. News section. She clicked on it and it filled her phone’s display.
“This,” she replied, sticking the phone in front of his face. Hunter alternated watching the road and trying to read the headline. “CDC under fire for outbreak response.”
“Seriously? You’re going to Washington, in front of Congress, to defend the CDC’s response? Not a chance.”
“Thank you again, knight in shining armor, but I can handle myself just fine.”
“No, Mac, listen to me. One of the guys I work with, Scott Jablonik, told me you knocked it out of the park at the White House, but this is different. These people are predators. They’re grandstanders. They’ll figure out a way to ruin your career to have another scalp in their trophy case.”
“Jablonik? I met him at the White House briefing. I was told to stay in contact with him, but Baggett took that responsibility away from me.”
Hunter furled his brow. He knew Jablonik had a contact at the CDC that provided him updates. He didn’t realize it was one of Mac’s superiors. He decided to stick to the subject because he was genuinely concerned for her attending this hearing alone.
“Let me hire you a lawyer,” he abruptly announced.
“Why do I need a lawyer?”
“Because everybody has a lawyer when they testify in front of Congress. It gives you an out when you don’t want to say anything.”
Mac shook her head and laughed. “I don’t need a lawyer, but thank you.”
They were entering the outskirts of Las Cruces, so Hunter decided to let it go. There was still time to convince her. Several memorable congressional hearings crossed his mind—Hillary Clinton at Benghazi; Watergate; Joseph McCarthy; Colonel Oliver North at Iran-Contra; Barry Bonds regarding steroids in baseball. They tried to put him in jail. Hunter set his jaw. He was getting her a lawyer.
*****
“Hello, I’m Dr. Kwame Okoli, the attending physician to three patients whom have been diagnosed with contracting the plague.”
“Nate Hunter.” Hunter extended his hand to Dr. Okoli, who remained standing still, with his hands in his lab coat pockets. Hunter, embarrassed, quickly withdrew his hand and muttered, “Well, okay.”
Mac rescued him. “Doctor, my associate doesn’t understand. People in our line of work don’t typically shake hands with others. There is no greater way to spread disease between strangers than the custom of shaking hands.”
“Oh, yes,” said Dr. Okoli. “My apolo
gies, Mr. Hunter. After what I’ve seen in Africa, I’ve determined the practice of shaking hands should be abandoned.”
“Dr. Okoli, I’m Dr. Mackenzie Hagan with the CDC. Thank you for contacting us.”
Dr. Okoli grinned and said, “I’m glad you came so quickly. But I must ask you first, are you related to Barbara Hagan?”
“She’s my mother.”
“A great woman, Dr. Hagan. We worked together during the Ebola crisis. Her decision making was exceptional, despite what was written about her in your newspapers. In Africa, she was considered a hero.”
“Well, thank you, Dr. Okoli. I will tell her you said that. The media is not always fair and evenhanded, is it?”
“So very true, much like pneumonic plague.”
Hunter started laughing. “Great analogy. The American media—unfair and heavy-handed, just like the plague.”
“Yes, of course,” said Dr. Okoli dryly. Addressing Mac, he said, “If you will join me.”
Hunter looked to Mac and shrugged. “You go ahead without me. I have a few calls to make.”
Hunter left them and stepped outside into the searing heat of the New Mexico summer. He couldn’t fathom how they dealt with this every day. He dialed Jablonik and was finally connected.
Hunter took a moment to explain why he was in New Mexico and Jablonik brought him up to speed on the latest NSA reports on terrorist movements. Two Saudi Arabian men were taken into custody in San Diego, attempting to pass through customs with phony Brazilian passports. They were working on identification now. They discussed Mac’s appearance before Congress and Jablonik reassured him that she would be fine. Jablonik had been very impressed with her demeanor and fortitude at the White House that day and he encouraged Hunter not to overreact.
After the conversation, Hunter made his way back into the hospital, where a physician assistant was waiting for him. He led Hunter through several hallways and stairwells until they reached the pathology department. He arrived as Mac and Dr. Okoli were reviewing a deceased patient’s chart.
Dr. Okoli explained, “This man was a Muslim who died yesterday. He was unresponsive to the antibiotics, as we discussed.”
“When can I get the autopsy results?” asked Mac.
Dr. Okoli shook his head. “That is a problem with this patient. Because he is a Muslim, by state law, we are prohibited from performing an autopsy on him in deference to his religious beliefs. Because he cannot be identified and there is no known family in the area, our hands are tied.”
“Muslims don’t approve of autopsies?” asked Hunter.
“It depends,” replied Dr. Okoli. “In Nigeria, many Muslims were fundamental in their beliefs, following the Quran to the letter. The sheikhs believe that Islam prohibits autopsies. Islam deems the human body to be sacred and therefore does not allow it to be violated for any reason.”
Mac interrupted. “That seems archaic.”
“I believe it is, and so do many followers of Islam. This is a modern issue that is not addressed by the traditional books of the four schools of Islamic Law. As a result, many fatwâ councils and Islamic Law conferences have issued rulings that autopsies for medical and scientific purposes are permitted. In their opinion, Islamic Law clearly looks toward safeguarding human life and promoting human welfare. Protection of life is one of the five objectives that Islamic Law exists to realize.”
Hunter chuckled. “Some of them have a funny way of showing it.”
“This is true, Mr. Hunter, but I, too, am Muslim. I believe that any interpretation of Islamic Law that needlessly works against human welfare should be evaluated carefully. However, in New Mexico, the law prohibits an autopsy without familial consent.”
“Where was this man found?” asked Hunter.
“He was taken into custody in the desert near the Mexican border. Because he was ill, he was brought directly to Memorial. He was the only survivor. The other two died en route.”
Mac looked behind the glass where the man’s body rested. “Dr. Okoli, the bodies are still infected.”
“Yes, I am aware. This portion of the building has been closed. We will have to make arrangements to deal with him and the others.”
“What others?” asked Hunter.
“Wait, there were others?” asked Mac almost simultaneously.
“Yes, I received the call just before you arrived. The Border Patrol has found seventeen dead bodies within two miles of each other. It is quite sad. They were mostly women and children.”
Chapter 74
Day Twenty-Five
Near Columbus, New Mexico
Dr. Okoli put Hunter in contact with the Customs and Border Patrol in Columbus, New Mexico, about an hour drive southwest of Las Cruces. This small town of seventeen hundred was best known for being the location that sparked the Border War with Mexico in 1916. After famed Mexican revolutionary Pancho Villa crossed the border and slaughtered the residents of Columbus, the U.S. Army sent ten thousand troops to the region to begin the Mexican Expedition, which was launched in retaliation. Villa escaped, but the Expedition sent a clear message to stay on their side of the border. That was over a hundred years ago.
After driving through miles of desert landscape, Hunter finally found the CBP station in Columbus. He ran inside and located Agent Juan Alvarez. The two spoke for several minutes and Alvarez exited the rear of the building to retrieve his SUV.
“Mac, we’re gonna ride with Agent Alvarez. The bodies are in the middle of nowhere, which should come as no surprise.”
“Naturally. I’ve notified Atlanta and promised a report. Hunter, when we get there, we can’t get too close.”
“I understand, and so does Agent Alvarez,” he replied. “He confided in me that he refuses to leave the truck without a Tyvek suit, mask, and gloves. You know, the whole nine yards.”
“Does he have protective clothing?”
“Yes. He picked it up in Las Cruces after the first body showed up. He has a backup set if you want to get a closer look.”
Alvarez pulled alongside their rental car and the two joined him for the thirty-minute ride eastward along a rocky road. When a metal pole with a fluorescent orange flag appeared, Alvarez slowly turned off the road and headed due north.
As they bounced along in silence, Hunter and Mac observed the raw desert landscape. Periodically, a twisted desert tree or cactus would appear. These trees would rise out of a small grassy patch surrounded by rock and hard-packed dirt baked by the never-ending supply of sun.
These trees began to increase in frequency and then they started to catch Mac’s eye. “Agent Alvarez, why are women’s undergarments tied to some of these trees? I’ve seen panties and bras several times.”
Alvarez glanced over at Hunter in the passenger’s seat and then looked in the rearview mirror at Mac. He didn’t respond.
“Agent Alvarez?” Mac pressed for an answer.
“Those are known as rape trees,” he finally replied. “The drug cartels and their human smugglers bring migrants across the border, marching them for days in this intense heat. The migrants are not given water, but the women are offered a drink in exchange for favors. If they refuse, it doesn’t matter. It’s part of the smugglers’ culture to take pride in raping any of the migrants the smuggler deems attractive, regardless of their preference. Afterwards, the rapist will tie an undergarment from the victim on a tree near where the rape occurred as a trophy.”
The truck became quiet except for the sounds of Mac sniffling and attempting to hold back tears. Hunter looked to Alvarez and asked him to stop the truck for a moment. He exited the SUV and opened Mac’s door, encouraging her to step outside. The hot, blowing wind caught them both by surprise, but Hunter thought it would help Mac deal with the reality of what happened in this desert.
She held him for a moment, not saying a word. She walked around the truck and stared at the dozens of trees bearing the trophies of the smugglers. She was furious. Mac wanted to kill them all.
“I’m sorry yo
u had to hear that, Mac.”
“You know, Hunter. I somehow suspected what the answer was, but I wanted to hear it.” She turned to him and held him again. “What’s wrong with these animals?”
Hunter held her and kissed her tear-covered cheeks. Mac began to respond and compose herself. Then she added one last thought.
“Ironic, isn’t it? When humans act cruelly to others, we call them animals. Yet the only animal that displays cruelty is humanity.”
Chapter 75
Day Twenty-Six
CDC Operations Center
Atlanta
Mac was operating on just a few hours’ sleep, but her adrenaline wasn’t failing her. By the time she arrived at the Operations Center at noon local time, the team was already under way with notifications to health care providers throughout the state of New Mexico. Phone lines were busy and the room was abuzz with activity.
Mac urged them on. “All right, people, this is a disease that knows no borders. It has proven itself to be a perfect killer, one that fights without conscience or regret. Its only job is to kill, and without a doubt, it is the most ruthless enemy the world has ever faced.”
Mac had just received word from Guatemala City that all four of the patients being treated by Brown had died. None of them were responsive to the colistin. Mac suspected that might be the case, so she was anxious to hear back from the microbiology team at Northwestern in Chicago to shed some light on what had made this strain of Y. pestis antibiotic resistant.
A hush came over the room as Dr. Spielman entered. He immediately walked up to Mac. “Welcome back.”
“Thank you, Dr. Spielman. It’s here and I’m afraid our nation’s health care system is not prepared for this. This disease is no different than any weapon of mass destruction. Hospitals and clinics will not be able to deal with issues of decontamination, mass casualties, and the mental health care for families, first responders, and the affected communities.”
