by Doug Raber
TABLE OF CONTENTS
Cover
Epigraphs
Prologue Galen’s Ghost
Chapter 1 National Security Council
Chapter 2 Redhouse
Chapter 3 Sarah
Chapter 4 Redhouse
Chapter 5 Sarah
Chapter 6 National Security Council
Chapter 7 Sarah
Chapter 8 Intelligence
Chapter 9 Sarah
Chapter 10 Antiques
Chapter 11 Sarah
Chapter 12 Redhouse
Chapter 13 Artifacts
Chapter 14 Intelligence
Chapter 15 Sarah
Chapter 16 National Security Council
Chapter 17 Sarah
Chapter 18 Sarah and Jake
Chapter 19 Intelligence
Chapter 20 Sarah and Jake
Chapter 21 National Security Council
Chapter 22 Sarah and Jake
Chapter 23 National Security Council
Chapter 24 Sarah and Jake
Chapter 25 National Security Council
Chapter 26 Sarah and Jake
Chapter 27 Intelligence
Chapter 28 Sarah and Jake
Chapter 29 Intelligence
Chapter 30 Sarah and Jake
Chapter 31 Sarah and Jake
Chapter 32 Intelligence
Chapter 33 Sarah and Jake
Chapter 34 Intelligence
Chapter 35 Sarah and Jake
Chapter 36 Sarah and Jake
Chapter 37 Sarah and Jake
References
Back Cover
FACE OF THE EARTH
Doug and Linda Raber
GreenPoint Ventures
Washington, D.C.
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, locations, and incidents are products of the authors’ imaginations or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, locales, or events is entirely coincidental.
Cover design: Melissa H. Miller, www.MelissaInspired.com
Cover art: Washington, D.C., skyline, Getty Images; Photomicrograph of smallpox virus, Centers for Disease Control and Prevention.
Marketing and publicity: Katherine Carr, Silver Marketing Inc., www.silvermarketing.com
Copyright © 2012 by Doug and Linda Raber
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, copied, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without permission.
ISBN 978-0-9851905-2-1
Published December 2012
GreenPoint Ventures
Washington, D.C.
Behold, thou hast driven me out this day from the face of the earth; and from thy face shall I be hid; and I shall be a fugitive and a vagabond in the earth; and it shall come to pass, that every one that findeth me shall slay me.
—Genesis 4:14‡
White House officials said the new strategy would include the option of reconsidering the use of nuclear retaliation against a biological attack, if the development of such weapons reached a level that made the United States vulnerable to a devastating strike.‡
—New York Times, April 6, 2010
PROLOGUE
Galen’s Ghost
As a further example of the diagnostic value of the microscopical demonstration of virus, mention might be made of its use in smallpox. This virus is of a size readily visible under the microscope.
—S. P. Bedson, Journal of Clinical Pathology, 1947‡
New York City, 2001
Galen Fischer saw things that other people couldn’t see.
She was a virtuoso with a microscope, earning her reputation during the 1947 smallpox outbreak in New York City.
She knew immediately. It’s smallpox. There’s no question about it.
Using her microscope to examine skin scrapings from those suspected of contracting the virus, Dr. Fischer could diagnose smallpox faster than any other doctor in the city.
In contrast to the horrible outbreak of 1902-03, very few people died in 1947. Medical authorities quickly identified the single person who had come to New York already infected with the disease. The city initiated a massive vaccination program and isolated those who became ill.
Galen became legendary in medical circles in New York City. Like her father, also a doctor, she would always maintain a private practice. She lived and worked in the Manhattan brownstone on the edge of the financial district that had been her childhood home. Unwilling to retire, the 84-year-old physician continued to see patients in the brownstone’s first-floor office.
On a beautiful September day, with all the indications that summer was nearly over, Galen stepped outside to retrieve her copy of the Times. The sky was crystal blue, and the view of lower Manhattan’s skyline was breathtaking in the sunshine. A flash of reflected sunlight caused her to look up.
After the first collision, she stood on the sidewalk with her neighbors. Everyone was confused. It must have been an accident, but how could that happen?
She was already walking toward the Towers, her medical bag in hand, when the second plane hit. Slowly and deliberately, desperately trying not to think about what she would surely find, she walked against the tide of people streaming from the exits. Those who needed her help most were still inside.
Galen went into the building. She was never seen again.
The killers, like those in 1947, were indifferent.
* * *
New York City, 2013
Samantha and Bob Winters were delighted with their new home. A New York City brownstone was considered a real prize, and the old Fischer house was in good condition. It had been rented out for nearly a decade, but the previous owners had been there a long time, they were told. Almost 100 years …
For several years, they focused on redecorating the living areas, but in the summer of 2013, they finally tackled the basement. Behind the furnace, in what was once the coal bin, they discovered a number of boxes that must have been there for years. Most of the stuff went directly into the trash. But there was a collection of old medical journals dating back to the early 1900s. Samantha recalled that several generations of doctors had lived there. In one of the boxes, they found a microscope and some medical specimens. “I’m going to list these things on eBay.”
But there wasn’t much profit to be made. Nobody wanted the medical journals, and the microscope was snatched up by someone in Connecticut for only fifteen dollars. The microscope specimens brought even less. Samantha enjoyed telling the story that described her lack of business acumen. “The top bid for the box of slides was only two dollars, and it cost me five to send them to her. I should never have offered free shipping.”
* * *
Chapter 1
National Security Council
… the existence of a single case of smallpox within the entire Western Hemisphere would signify a terrorist attack.
—Center for Defense Information, Terrorism Project, 2002‡
Day 24: Washington, D.C.
“Next slide please.”
Those seated around the table were silent as they listened to the man speaking from the front of the semi-darkened room.
“Gentlemen … and Ladies …” The speaker caught himself as he glanced briefly at the Attorney General, sitting to his left. “As you can see from the data, we have every reason to believe that the United States of America is under attack.
“Smallpox was erased from the face of the earth in the late 1970s, and suddenly we have an outbreak in New Mexico. There’s no question that this is the work of a hostile force, and we have strong suspicions regarding several possible perpetrators of this monstrous attack. Unfortunately, we cannot be certain at this ti
me just which one of them had primary responsibility.”
“We know exactly who the fuck did it,” came a low growl from the far end of the highly polished mahogany table.
“Our nerves are sufficiently frayed, Trevor. We don’t need profanity.” President Alexander’s voice was gentle, but it commanded the Vice President’s attention.
Trevor Richards stiffened, glanced at the Secretary of Defense, and cleared his throat. His face had turned to stone. “Excuse me, please, Mr. President.”
“Mr. President,” the Secretary of Defense interrupted on cue, “We can provide more information on origin of the attacks …”
“When your turn comes, Quentin, we’ll be happy to listen to you. Right now, I’d like Mr. Hayes to continue, so we can get some clarification.”
Hayes swallowed his irritation at the Vice President and the Secretary of Defense. Those bastards were up to something—he was sure of it. If the interruptions were intended to rattle him, it wouldn’t work.
The President continued, “Mr. Hayes, it’s not at all clear to me why we’re calling this a foreign attack. Smallpox outbreaks have occurred naturally over millennia. How can we be so sure that the same thing hasn’t happened here, however unlikely that may be?”
Arthur S. Hayes was the National Security Council’s bioterrorism expert. A former CIA analyst, he had served on the White House staff through five administrations.
“The real point here, Mr. President, is that we—and by that I mean our people, both at Centers for Disease Control and in the intelligence community, as well as our allies in the international community, through the United Nations and the World Health Organization—have been monitoring illnesses in every country around the globe. The last case of smallpox was in 1977 in Somalia, and that was Variola minor, a mild form of smallpox with a relatively low death rate. The last known case of Variola major, the more lethal form, was two years earlier. It was in 1975, in Bangladesh. By 1980, the World Health Organization officially declared that the disease had been eradicated completely.*
“If it’s been eradicated, how has an outbreak occurred? I want to make sure I understand, Mr. Hayes.”
“Certainly, Mr. President. Unfortunately, scientists in several countries studied smallpox for many years, not only for medical purposes but also for use in biological weapons programs or for research into defense against such weapons.
“As we know, bioweapons were outlawed by the Geneva Protocol of 1925. Eventually, we had the Biological Weapons Convention, which we signed in 1972, but even that allows countries to have small amounts of smallpox virus for research.* The United States maintained a small stockpile, and so did the Soviet Union. And ever since the Soviet bloc fell apart in the 1990s, we’ve never been entirely sure just who else might have samples.”
“That doesn’t answer my question, Mr. Hayes,” the President said. “How do we know this outbreak isn’t a natural occurrence?”
“Because, frankly, that’s impossible, Mr. President. Our planet has gone 35 years without a single case of smallpox. There’s no virus left for a natural outbreak. The only way for infection to happen now is by growing the virus from samples kept by the United States or Russia—samples that may have fallen into the hands of a terrorist group or rogue state. I must emphasize, Mr. President, there are no natural reservoirs of smallpox on Earth. There are no other possibilities. May I?”
President Alexander nodded, “Go ahead, Mr. Hayes. Please proceed. For now.”
The Vice President’s eyes narrowed to slits: What the fuck is Alexander thinking? This was no accident.
“Next slide please.”
His thoughts interrupted, Richards’ attention snapped back to the man at the front of the room.
Hayes continued with his presentation. “As you can see, there are a number of possibilities. So what do we really know? It’s difficult to pin down, but several countries are clear possibilities: Besides the United States, three countries had known smallpox biowarfare programs during the 20th century: the U.K., Japan, and the Soviet Union. We can pretty well rule out Japan and the U.K. because they are our close allies.
“Even Russia has to be considered an ally in most instances, despite a variety of ongoing policy differences. But some of the former Soviet states are worrisome, specifically those listed at the bottom of the slide: Azerbaijan, Kazakhstan, Kyrgyzstan, Tajikistan, Turkmenistan, and Uzbekistan. All of them are known to harbor a variety of known terrorist organizations. Al Qaeda is just one of them. State has had varying levels of success in forging links to these regimes, but even those countries with whom we’ve had good working relationships must be on our list of suspects.
“Our colleagues at the Defense Intelligence Agency have advised us that they have narrowed down the list pretty well.” Hayes nodded slightly to Robinson Edwards. “I believe Under Secretary Edwards will be taking over the briefing at this point, if that meets with your approval, Mr. President.”
“Please proceed, Mr. Edwards.”
Edwards knew the President well, having briefed the Security Council when he was a senior defense liaison to the White House—when he still carried three stars on his shoulders. Ever since being named Under Secretary for Intelligence at the Defense Department, he’d been making trips across the Potomac from the Pentagon less frequently. His position was, by law, a civilian position, so he had to retire from the Army, but his allegiance was to the military. He also served a second role as Director of Defense Intelligence under Bert Morrison, the Director of National Intelligence. Both of his bosses were seated at the table—Morrison and Quentin S. Walker, Jr., the Secretary of Defense.
Edwards thought that the President and the Director of National Intelligence seemed to be straight shooters, and he believed they would listen carefully to his arguments. He couldn’t say the same about everyone in the National Security Council. The Secretary of State, in particular, made him a little nervous, and the President’s Chief of Staff and the National Security Advisor seemed quick to agree with each other, almost as though they’d been doing some behind-the-scenes planning.
Edwards stood up, his years of military background leading him to prefer a ramrod-straight posture when making a formal presentation. “Mr. President, Ladies and Gentlemen, please allow me to summarize the intelligence data and present you with the evidence—what we believe is incontrovertible evidence—demonstrating the precise origins of this cowardly attack on our great nation.”
• • • • •
Ten minutes later, the meeting was over. President Alexander, recognizing both the gravity of the situation and the emerging conflicts among the members of his Security Council, ended the meeting clearly and firmly.
“Ladies and Gentlemen, our discussion is going in circles. We all share the same concerns and the same desire for action. But we cannot, and we will not act precipitously—not in my administration. We will gather the facts first. I need not remind you of the responsibilities of your own departments and agencies. We will meet again on Monday. I expect each of you to come with information. Fact, not opinion. Information that is accurate, documented, and reliable. We are adjourned.”
The President stood and walked briskly out of the room with his chief of staff.
The others drifted slowly from the room. Vice President Richards caught Walker’s attention, and they walked together toward the Vice President’s office. Only when they were beyond the earshot of others did Richards begin to speak.
“That weaseling coward Alexander is just hiding his fucking ass behind the political cover of what he’s calling ‘information.’ It’s a smokescreen, and he’s just stalling. We know what happened. And I know who did it. And most of all, I know what we’re going to do to those bastards.”
* * *
Chapter 2
Redhouse
The disease most commonly confused with smallpox is chickenpox, and during the first 2 to 3 days of rash, it may be all but impossible to distinguish between the two.
; —Emerging Infectious Diseases, 1999‡
Day 11: Farmington, New Mexico
It was the day before Jackson Redhouse’s second birthday, and he was miserable.
“Mama … hurts.”
“I know, Jackson. We’re going to see Dr. Parker. He’ll help you feel better.” Evelyn Redhouse tried to sound cheerful, but she was dead tired and worried. She’d been up much of the night with her son. Dr. Parker had office hours on Saturday, and his receptionist told her to come right over. Her husband, Jack, already had left for the job site, but she could take care of this herself. One of the neighbors gave her a ride.
• • • • •
“You look a little under the weather, Jackson. Are you itchy? C’mon—let’s have you sit up here on the table while your mom tells me what’s been happening.”
“He’s been cranky for a couple of days, Dr. Parker. And he has a temperature. And last night he started saying that he hurt, so that’s when I decided I’d bring him in to see you this morning. But now he’s got some sores on his face, and some in his mouth, too. It’s really got me kind of worried.”
“Well, let me take a look. It’s okay, Jackson, I’m not going to stick you or anything. How old are you now?”
“Toooo—I two.”
“Well, then … you are getting big. Now, let’s see just what’s going on here. Hmmm … I can definitely tell that you’re running a bit of a fever. What was it when you checked Evie?”
“It was 102 this morning. Last night, when he woke me, it was 103.”
“All right, we’ll check it again in a couple of minutes. Have you been having headaches, Jackson? Has your head been hurting? Up here … has it been hurting you?”
