by Doug Raber
There were no nonstops to Tallahassee, and all the good flights went through Atlanta. Sarah figured that if she conveniently missed her connecting flight, the resulting delay would allow her enough time to spend a couple of hours in Atlanta visiting Charles and still catch a connecting flight to Tallahassee the same day. Nobody would know that she’d been outside the Atlanta airport.
A quick call to Granger’s office confirmed her expectation that he would be in the lab on Saturday afternoon. He previously said that weekends were the best time because there were fewer distractions, and now he told her that Thanksgiving weekend was perfect. They agreed to meet at the chemistry building on Saturday afternoon at about 1:30.
With her Florida plans all set, Sarah went back to the Delta site, booked her flights, and printed a copy of her itinerary.
Friday (Delta 821) depart Washington 4pm, arrive Atlanta 5pm
(Delta 1019) depart Atlanta 7:45pm, arrive Tallahassee 8:49
Sunday (Delta 1280) depart Tallahassee 7:20am, arrive Atlanta 8:30
(Delta 808) depart Atlanta 10:20am, arrive Washington 12:09
She sent a copy of the itinerary to Sue Parkinson with a note explaining that she was going to do her follow-up visit with Professor Granger. If anyone asked Sue where Sarah was over the weekend—something Sarah regarded as highly unlikely—Sue would only be able to say that Sarah was on assignment in Florida.
Sarah managed to put in a good day’s work. A bit of preliminary writing on the science feature to get into the right frame of mind for Florida, a list of questions that she would ask Granger, a few phone calls on other topics, and several e-mail exchanges kept her busy until 1:00 p.m. Time to wrap things up. I’ve got a plane to catch.
One of the e-mail messages that Sarah had sent earlier in the day was a request for a loaner laptop to use on the trip. Two floors up, she walked to the reception desk and showed her photo-ID badge. “I’m here to pick up my laptop.”
“Sure thing. It’s all ready, and I’ve double-checked that your word processor and Internet browser are working properly. And the wireless modem works okay too. You traveling someplace nice?”
“To Florida. But it’s to a chemistry laboratory, so I’m not sure whether or not that meets your definition for nice.”
“Hell no! Chemistry wasn’t my thing. I switched over to computer science before I was halfway through my first semester in college.”
“Okay,” said Sarah with a laugh. “Thanks for getting the laptop ready. I’ve got to run if I’m going to catch my plane.” She walked toward the elevator and turned back as she got on. “Have a nice weekend.”
Thirty minutes later, she was in her apartment, packing a small duffel bag that was a perfect carry-on.
She checked the apartment to make sure that things were reasonably orderly. She didn’t want to come back home to a mess, and she didn’t want dirty dishes lying around to attract ants or roaches. She started the dishwasher and double-checked that the stove and coffee pot were off. Her desktop computer was shut down, the external hard drive was powered down and disconnected, and a single compact fluorescent lamp illuminated the small entry hallway. After confirming that she had her wallet with photo ID, cash, and credit cards, Sarah threw her duffel over one shoulder and the laptop case over the other, left the apartment, and locked the deadbolt.
It was only a block to the Metro Station, and a Blue-line train took her directly to Reagan National Airport. She checked in at one of the automated kiosks, and in another 10 minutes she had cleared security and walked to her gate.
After verifying that her flight was on time—the gate agent said that the incoming aircraft was due momentarily—Sarah walked over to the food court. For the time being, at least, she was off the clock, so she ordered a cheeseburger and settled down to relax for a half hour.
The sudden ringing was her cell phone. It was Sue Parkinson. “Hi, Sue. What’s up?”
“I’m not sure. I just stopped by the office to pick up some files and got a visit from some guy with a badge. His name is Joseph Silver. He’s FBI. The security guard in the lobby said you weren’t here and sent him to me.”
“I hope they’re not checking up on that parking ticket I got last month.” A light-hearted response seemed better than admitting how startling this information was.
“Actually, he wouldn’t tell me anything. If I had to guess, I’d say there’s something going on with your FDA story. If your hunch is right about what’s going on, the feds may have found out something as well. And they may have learned that you’re looking into it as well. Anyway, I said you were gone for the weekend. And I didn’t say where you were going on your assignment. You don’t need any more headaches.”
“I’ll agree with that.”
“Maybe when you get back from your Florida trip, you can touch base with your FDA source to find out what’s going on. I don’t want you to be blindsided by the feds, Sarah. You don’t need to tell them who your source is or what you’ve learned so far. If there’s any problem, let me know, and we’ll get the legal office involved, pronto.”
“Thanks, Sue. I’ll let you know if anything develops.”
“Sounds good, Sarah. Have a nice trip.”
“Okay. Have a good weekend.”
Sarah walked back to the gate, wondering why the FBI visited Sue Parkinson. Sarah wasn’t convinced that the FBI wanted to ask about the approval process for new drugs. Something in her gut warned her that the feds were much more likely to be looking into people who were interested in chickenpox.
Sarah was struck by a sudden wave of anxiety, and she reviewed her steps to be sure. Nobody knows I’m spending time in Atlanta. There’s nothing on my computer, even if somebody checked and found the plane ticket I ordered. I didn’t use my own phone account to talk with either Jillian or Charles, not even at the office. Oh screw it, there’s no need to worry about this now. I’ll see Charles in a couple of hours, and then I’ll know for sure if I should be scared.
Within five minutes, Sarah was on the plane. The flight attendant advised her that the aircraft wasn’t very full, and she would have an empty seat next to her. After stowing her duffel in the overhead compartment, Sarah opened a magazine. It wasn’t great reading, but it kept her mind off all the craziness. They took off at the scheduled time, and soon she was sound asleep.
* * *
Day 24: Atlanta
Shortly after 4 p.m., Sarah walked past the airline gate into Hartsfield-Jackson Airport. She continued past the Delta agent who was giving directions to connecting flights and took the underground train to the main terminal. After leaving the secure area, she went into the MARTA station. The Metropolitan Atlanta Rapid Transit Authority runs trains directly to downtown Atlanta and its suburbs.
Sarah still had a Breeze Card with enough value for several trips, but she stopped just before inserting it into the machine. Shit! I paid for this with a credit card the last time I was in Atlanta. I don’t want any electronic traces of this visit. Not outside the airport. She went over to a fare machine and purchased a new card with a $20 bill. A train headed toward the center of Atlanta took her to the Five Points Station, where she boarded a train to Avondale.
Jake lived a few blocks away. Sarah walked through the enclosed pedestrian overpass above East College Avenue, then along the sidewalk. As she approached Jake’s building, a new thought struck. Shit! Maybe they’re watching the condo. It was getting dark, and it wouldn’t be easy for anyone to recognize her at a distance. Still, she turned up the collar on her coat, laughing to herself about her cloak-and-dagger paranoia.
At the corner of the block she walked around to the back of the building, out of sight of anyone who might be keeping an eye on the front door. With a sigh of relief, she saw that there were lights on inside the condo. Charles was already there. I hope he’s expecting me.
Using the back door, Sarah went into the entrance hallway and knocked softly on the condo door. There was a brief pause and then a rustling. Sarah’s h
eart was pounding. The door opened slightly, and she could see Charles Evans. He quickly put a finger to his lips and motioned her inside. Then he handed her a note. “I think the house may be bugged.”
Sarah’s knees nearly buckled. She had convinced herself that she was just playing a game by being overly cautious. That there wasn’t really much likelihood of surveillance. That her efforts to be secretive like Woodward and Bernstein in “All the President’s Men” were just role-playing. But this wasn’t a movie. She gave Charles a puzzled look, and shrugged. “What the hell do we do now?” she asked herself.
Charles quickly scribbled an addendum to his note: “Dinner out?”
Sarah nodded, and Charles motioned for her to leave her duffel and laptop in the hall closet. He put on a windbreaker and a baseball hat. Then he reached back into the closet, took another baseball cap, and handed it to Sarah. Charles crossed the room and clicked off the stereo, and just as he turned toward the door, Sarah reached back into the closet and removed the name tags from both her duffel and the laptop case. If anybody starts nosing around, they wouldn’t connect the computer to me right away. The loaner is still registered to Aaron Jacobsen, and he left the Post a year ago.
Sarah went out the back door and Charles left by the front. They walked around the building from different directions and met at the corner. Charles greeted her with what sounded like genuine surprise. “Hey, how’re ya doin’? Haven’t seen you around for a while. You headed over toward the park?”
“Yeah, I was.” She made a major effort to sound casual because she didn’t know who might be within earshot. “Want some company?”
They walked along the sidewalk making small talk about the weather. Then Charles spoke quietly. “Why don’t we head up to Avondale? There are a couple of places up there where we can talk without anyone bothering us.” The anxiety in his voice was clear.
In a few minutes, they had crossed through the park and were sitting in a booth in an Irish pub—not usually the quietest of places, but the Friday night crowd hadn’t arrived yet. It was quiet, but with enough hum that nobody would overhear them.
They each ordered a draft beer. As soon as the beers arrived, Charles leaned toward Sarah. “I’m glad you’re here. We’ve got lots to talk about. What have you figured out so far?”
“I’m not certain. It’s all pretty confusing, but I’ll run through the facts. To start with, Jake is missing. Well, maybe not missing exactly, but we don’t know where he is and nobody will tell us. Then we’ve got the calls from New Mexico. My friend first described everything as a bad outbreak of chickenpox. God, I can’t believe that was only two days ago! Anyway, after we talked yesterday morning, I checked out the HealthMap sight on the Web. There was one report of chickenpox in Farmington—from a Spanish-language newspaper. But here’s what’s weird: When I went back to the site later in the day, the entry was gone. There were no reports at all of chickenpox in the United States, just a couple in South America and Africa.
“I’m not sure …”
“Let me finish, Charles. My friend called again, and she told me that they were cutting all the phone communications. Then we talked last night by ham radio. It’s something we learned in college. She said a bunch of people from the outside had cut off the whole area. So it wasn’t just communications that were blocked. The roads were closed, too. And here’s the worst part of all: She said that it wasn’t chickenpox at all. It was smallpox!”
Charles was silent for a few seconds. Then he spoke slowly and softly. “Now it’s starting to make sense. At least part of it is. If the government thinks there’s a smallpox outbreak, it would be logical to try to seal off the area. That’s part of the CDC strategy for controlling an outbreak, and it’s something we teach in our graduate program—to isolate any kind of disease outbreak. I think I know where Jake has gone and why nobody’s talking about it.”
“But it doesn’t make sense. You and I both know that smallpox has been eliminated.”
“Yes and no, Sarah. The last naturally occurring case was in 1977. Subsequently, there were a couple of cases in England in 1978 caused by accidental exposure from a research laboratory accident.* After that, international agreement was reached to place all remaining samples either at CDC or in the Soviet Union. Now it’s the Russian Federal State Research Center of Virology and Biotechnology. They call it VECTOR. The original plan was to destroy all the samples But then people started worrying about biological warfare or bioterrorism if somebody secretly kept a sample. So the two superpowers maintained their stocks to facilitate development of a vaccine in case of an attack.”
“An attack? Do you think that’s what has happened?”
“Hard to say. But I think we can be pretty sure that the feds are operating under that assumption. It would explain a lot.”
“Yeah, I guess. Why wouldn’t you talk to me on the phone?”
“I wish I had a good answer for that. I told you I called Jake’s office and talked to the same woman who answered your call. Right after that, I got a phone call from the University’s Vice President for Security Affairs.”
“Security Affairs? At a university?”
“Yeah, everything changed after September 11, 2001. And then the shootings at Virginia Tech in 2007. It’s a different world. Anyway, this guy said he’d been contacted by one of his security liaisons at CDC. They asked him to talk to me and ‘suggest’ that I shouldn’t discuss communicable disease issues on the telephone. The VP repeated some lame excuse about a report that some Internet hackers had been trying to manipulate the stock markets with fears about disease outbreaks. But the point is, chickenpox isn’t a big deal. And furthermore, why me?”
“It’s must have something to do with Jake.”
“Yeah. That’s why I think they’ve tapped my phone. And bugged the condo. At the very least, they were looking at who I was talking to. Maybe it’s because I share the house with Jake, or maybe it was after I first called his office.”
“Then they would have done the same with me, so why didn’t they get on my case right away? Oh shit—I know why! I called from one of the conference rooms at the Post. They wouldn’t have known who made the call. Not at first. But some guy from the FBI came looking for me today after I left the office.”
“I’m really glad you thought to come to the back door tonight. Watching the house wouldn’t be too difficult. I took a chance when I called you the last time, but I used Jake’s phone because I figured they wouldn’t monitor that.”
“Even if they did, you never told me to come here. You just mentioned my ‘boyfriend,’ and they wouldn’t know enough to make that connection. But why in hell would they be watching and listening to us? We’re not Russians, and we’re certainly not terrorists.”
“Maybe not, but my guess is that the feds are as confused as we are. If there really is a smallpox outbreak, they’re probably looking at anything at all that seems a little unusual to them. And they wouldn’t want anyone to know they were doing it in case they stumbled across somebody who was linked to the outbreak. They’d want to follow the trail to its source without letting anyone know they were looking.”
“Maybe so, but none of this seems kosher to me. There’s more to it. And it’s my job to find out what.”
“Look Sarah, I’m not sure how I can help here. But one thing is for sure: We need to keep a damn low profile. I’m not happy about how this is playing out. Even if it’s an actual terrorist attack, the government isn’t playing by the rules. CDC policy really spells it out that clear public communication is a primary part of the response to any outbreak that might be from terrorism. What’s happening is just the opposite, even to the extent of removing information from a public website. I thought we were past that.”
“So did I. Look, Charles, I’m going to pursue this somehow. How can I get through to you again if I have more questions?”
“Right now, we need to stay away from telephones and e-mail. Maybe in D.C. next week. I have a conference at
NIH in Bethesda.”
“Do you have your travel information?”
“I think so.” Charles pulled out his smartphone and punched a few keys. “Here is it is.” He read the information for his flights to and from Reagan National, and Sarah scribbled in her ever-present notebook.
“Give me your cell too. I’ll only use it as a backup, and if I need to do that, I’ll think of something cryptic.”
After writing down the cell number, she paused and asked, “How do we really know where Jake is? We’ve been making a lot of educated guesses, but couldn’t he just as well have flown to Washington to brief people there?”
“I thought the same thing for a while. I almost forgot to tell you. When I used his telephone to call you on Wednesday, I poked my head into his closet. When I last saw him on Tuesday afternoon he was wearing casual clothes and a nylon jacket. Usually, he wears dress clothes when he travels.”
“Sure, I taught him that. You get better service that way.”
“Well he didn’t this time. And more to the point, all three of his suits are still hanging in his closet. He’d never go to Washington without a suit. And here’s something else: He keeps his hiking boots in the hall closet. I looked today before you got here. They were gone.”
“Then I agree. He didn’t go to Washington. He was dressing for the back country. I don’t think there’s any question. He’s gone to New Mexico. I don’t know where this is all headed, Charles, but I’m going to keep digging. If I need to talk to you, I’ll try to reach you while you’re in Washington. Once things settle down, I’ll call you for sure.”
The conversation had lasted longer than their beer, so they ordered some food with their second round. Once they finished and left the restaurant, Charles paused. “Do you want to stay over? The guest room is clean and the bed is made.”
“I should move on. I don’t want anyone to know I stopped here. But my duffel and computer are still at your house.”
“No problem. You wait right here. I’ll go get the car and bring your stuff.”
