Face of the Earth

by Doug Raber

  Sarah was nearly in tears, more from embarrassment than anger, and Anthony still looked angry, but they both nodded deferentially to Raymond. Then all three got up from the table, Sarah quietly said “Sorry” to Anthony, and he silently nodded.

  Driving over to the cantina, Anthony skirted the college by driving further to the north than he had the previous day. “There was a bunch of activity just before you got back this afternoon. They really ramped up the military checkpoints and also the security perimeter around the college. They’re convinced this was a terrorist attack, and they’re worried about a second wave. Except for the college, the extra effort is on the outskirts of the city. Nobody seems to mind if we drive around in town.”

  By 3:00, Sarah and Raymond were back at Chiquita’s, occupying the same booths they had used the previous day. They were mostly silent as they waited. After 30 minutes, there was still no sign of Jake. Raymond went outside briefly. “I asked Anthony to drive around the area and look for anything unusual. How long do you think we should wait for him, Sarah?”

  “I’m really not sure. Maybe he just got caught up in all the fuss about finding Jack’s body. If he’s not here by four o’clock, maybe we should leave. But then what? We didn’t make any fallback plans for a later meeting in case something went wrong. Damn it! We just need to wait, Raymond. However long it takes.”

  “Maybe Anthony will learn something. In the meantime, just try to relax. It won’t help anything for you to get yourself all worked up. I’m going to wait over by the front windows.”

  It was almost 4:00 when Raymond ducked outside again. Anthony had returned, and she could see them talking outside. Raymond returned and gave a reassuring nod. “He saw Jake walking in this direction. Should be here in five minutes.”

  When Jake entered the cantina, the others were ready. As Jake slid into the booth, Anthony began walking toward them. Jake smiled at him. “Just a Diet Coke, please.” Sarah nodded and held up two fingers to signal the same for herself.

  “Sorry I’m so late. Things got really crazy. We had to do a crash analysis for a new victim. They found the father of the first kid that died, and it looks like he died of smallpox, too. He was out in some cabin in a remote part of the reservation.”

  “Yeah, I know.”

  “What do you mean you know? How could you possibly know? We only learned about it a couple of hours ago. For God’s sake, Sarah, what’s going on? You seem to know more about some of this than I do.”

  “I probably do, Jake. And think about it. It shouldn’t be that way, should it? But there’s also a lot of things that you know about that I don’t. We need to start working together, or we’ll never make any progress.”

  “I want to hear how you know about them finding the latest victim.”

  “We’ll come back to that. Please, Jake, what did you learn today? Any lab results?”

  “It’s all hard to believe, Sarah. And it’s not good. There are nine confirmed cases of smallpox. No, I guess that’s 10 now. The first was the child I mentioned, the one whose father was found today. Somehow the mother didn’t get infected. It’s strange how that works sometimes. We think the child’s grandfather may have had a very mild case, but his symptoms weren’t severe enough to be certain. We’re waiting on the results of some antibody work now to nail that down. He’d be number 11.”

  “Go on.”

  “After that first kid, his name was Jackson … You know that already, don’t you?”

  Sarah nodded.

  “His family doc missed the diagnosis. Thought it was chickenpox. The symptoms aren’t very different in the early stages, and smallpox has been off the list of possibilities for 30 years. There were no more cases until about 10 days later. After they had the chickenpox party, some of the other kids got infected. In a way, we got lucky then. An emergency room doc at the local hospital, a Dr. Akebe, worked in Africa during the last smallpox outbreaks in the 1970s. He recognized the symptoms right away, and set up an unofficial quarantine of the other kids. He also called us. He knew to call the CDC. So the exposure was limited. The families were all from the same neighborhood, and that helped, too.”

  “There haven’t been any other cases? Just the 10?”

  “We identified four families in the neighborhood with infected children. Three siblings in one family, two in a second, and two more with one child each. The last two families didn’t go to the party but came by the next day. Only five of the children have become symptomatic. So there were six children total, Jackson and then five more in the second wave. There were also three adults infected. Two were mothers of the other kids, and the third was a schoolteacher who came to visit the mom.”

  Sarah couldn’t breathe. Oh my God, it’s Jillian! The words came only with great effort. “What was her name?”

  Jake frowned and said, “I’m not sure. Maybe it was Yazzie—or something close to that. Rena Yazzie, I think that may have been it. Why?” He paused. “Oh, shit! You’re worried that it’s that friend of your from college, aren’t you? She’s out here somewhere in that teaching program. Is that her?”

  “No, thank God. But she is out here. That’s how I first learned there was a problem. I haven’t seen her yet. I don’t want to do anything that would put her at risk. I didn’t come out here for a social visit. Jake, I told you that we each know a lot that the other doesn’t. We’ll get this all cleared up, but right now, go on with your story.”

  “The schoolteacher was the only one living in a different neighborhood, but we found her before she became symptomatic. If you remember your old virology studies, transmission doesn’t take place until the infected person shows the skin lesions.* That usually not for a week or two after exposure. As soon as we got our team out here, we started all the standard parts of the public health response to the outbreak. We tried to secure the area, and we started a mass vaccination of people who were in possible contact with the known cases. Also, we hospitalized or quarantined people as appropriate, and we’ve tried to identify every person who came in contact with the infected people. We think we’ve been pretty successful with that. That last group isn’t under quarantine, but they’re being monitored.”

  “So they’re not in jail. It’s just more like a concentration camp, is that it, Jake?”

  “Come on, Sarah. Stuff has gone wrong out here. I won’t argue with that. But you know that we’re doing the right thing with these public health steps.”

  “Maybe. But this situation isn’t good, Jake.”

  “Let’s focus on what you and I can do. I’m worried about the man whose body was found today. We have no record of where he was or who he might have had contact with. I’m hoping against hope that he simply went to that cabin and that he had no contact with anyone. But we don’t know.”

  Sarah decided to let Jake finish his story before telling him what she knew. “What did you get from the lab results?”

  “That’s the really exciting news. But it’s also the most frustrating, maybe the scariest. I wanted to tell you the other stuff first, but this is really going to blow your mind. Remember, I said we were comparing the genetic sequences* of the samples from here with those in our reference stockpile? The samples from old outbreaks? Well, we’ve gotten our comparisons using the GeneChip* technology. Some of the older samples were Variola major, and some were Variola minor, the milder form of the disease, so we focused on the parts of the genome that are the same for both variants.

  “Now, you remember from genetics how as populations evolve, the number of mutations increases? That fits for all the samples in our reference stockpile. The oldest are from outbreaks dating to 1948 in China and the United Kingdom, and they’re essentially identical. By the 1950s, a few mutations developed and there was one more in the sample from India in 1953. By 1965, a South African sample showed another three. The largest number was from Somalia in 1977. That’s the last known naturally occurring case anywhere in the world, and we counted 13 mutations. There are some additional mutations
in some of the top secret samples from our labs and the Russian labs, because they continued to culture the virus for a number of years even after the Biological Weapons Convention took effect in 1975.”

  “You’re losing me, Jake. What does all that have to do with the outbreak here in Farmington?”

  “I’m coming to it. Everything was making sense. The virus from the current outbreak, what we’re calling the Farmington strain, isn’t very different from the earlier strains. The DNA sequence seems to be more than 99 percent identical for all of them. The genome has almost 200,000 nucleotides, and there are just a few places where a single one of them has been substituted. The technical jargon for that is a single nucleotide polymorphism, a SNP. It’s pronounced like ‘snip.’

  “I’ve heard of the term.”

  “So, when the computer finally spit out the analysis today, there were more differences between the Farmington strain and the Somali sample from 1977 than we expected. More than we found between any of the other samples and the Somali sample. We used that as our baseline because it’s the most recent naturally occurring sample.”

  “Jesus, Jake! Then it really did come from a terrorist lab! Someone must have cultured the virus for a long time to get so many mutations. It’s state-sponsored terrorism, Jake. It’s real biowarfare. God, this is terrible!”

  “That’s not it, Sarah. What you just concluded is exactly what my boss is saying. And it’s wrong! And I’m one hundred percent sure it’s wrong.”

  Jake reached for Sarah’s notebook and pen. “If you look at the number of SNPs for the Farmington virus, it’s seems really high. But that’s just adding up the numbers. You also have to look at the specific mutations.”

  Jake began to draw a diagram in the notebook. “We expected that the Farmington virus would have all of the unique SNPs from its ancestors plus new ones that might have developed during the intervening years. Do you remember much about phylogenetics from grad school?

  Hesitantly. “A little.”

  “Nowadays, with DNA sequencing, they call it molecular systematics, but it’s a way to get an evolutionary tree.” The line in Jake’s drawing now showed several branches from the starting point of his diagram.

  “We haven’t completed the cluster analysis yet, but it’s clear that Farmington isn’t the last virus in the evolutionary chain of all our samples. It’s just the opposite. It’s the first! If it came from one of the other strains, the previous mutations would be there.”

  “But those mutations are missing?”

  “Exactly.” Jake continued drawing. “Just look at the 23 differences between the Farmington virus and the 1977 baseline virus. Do you see it, Sarah? Farmington didn’t evolve from one of these other virus samples in our database. Farmington came first! All of the others came later.”

  “So couldn’t someone have made the Farmington virus from one of them?”

  “Good question. But there’s something else. Look at all the other mutations that have developed over the years. Like the 13 that I mentioned for the baseline sample from Somalia when it’s compared to the 1948 sample. None of them show up in the Farmington virus. Not a single one!”

  “Isn’t there another possibility? Maybe the Farmington virus is derived directly from the 1948 ancestor. It would explain the 23 SNPs differences, and it would be different from all the other strains in the database.”

  “You’re close, but it’s not correct. It couldn’t have been evolving naturally over the last 65 years, because there would have been smallpox outbreaks from it. We would have seen this strain a long time ago. But we didn’t. We’ll have the complete statistical analysis later today, and that will confirm the genetic relationships. But the preliminary data already show that the Farmington strain isn’t new. It’s old, really old! The starting point for all the different strains in our database isn’t the 1948 virus from China and the U.K. The Farmington virus came first!”

  “I don’t see how this proves that it’s not terrorism, Jake.”

  “I suppose it doesn’t prove it completely. But it shoots down every other hypothesis that people have been making. They’re saying an attack would have to come from one of the countries that maintained a smallpox inventory. That means the United States. Russia, or a former Soviet country. I’ve just given you hard proof that none of the samples held in those labs could possibly have been the source of the Farmington virus. The Farmington virus predates all of them. That’s not a hypothesis. That’s a goddamn fact.”

  “How would this virus have survived, Jake? Doesn’t it have to be preserved under special laboratory conditions?”

  “Not necessarily. Variola is actually very hardy. As long as it’s been kept out of the sunlight in conditions that are fairly dry and cool, it could last for a really long time, maybe even a hundred years.”*

  “If it isn’t terrorism, then it solves the whole problem, doesn’t it? All you need to do is make sure that you follow up with all the necessary medical procedures to contain the outbreak and treat people who were infected.”

  “You don’t understand, Sarah. When I started my story, I said it was scary. But it’s not the smallpox that scares me now. It’s what they’re going to do about it. I tried to explain all this to the military liaison, but he doesn’t want to listen. He twisted my words and told his commanding officers that we had proof that it’s bioterrorism. Even worse—and this is the really terrible part—I think they’ve concluded that either Iran or Syria is responsible.”

  “Didn’t they both sign the Biological Weapons Convention?”

  “They’re both signatories, but Syria never ratified it. And they’ve both been on the State Department’s list of ‘State Sponsors of Terrorism.’* I think the military is getting ready to carry out a retaliatory attack.”

  “That can’t happen, Jake! You’ve got to stop them. Talk to them.”

  “Talking doesn’t work, and there’s nothing I can do, anyway. When I tried to send my report to CDC in Atlanta, my e-mail didn’t work anymore. The military liaison said it’s because security has been increased. They don’t trust me and they don’t believe me. It’s almost like a military coup, and I don’t know what to do. They’re even saying that the Indian who died—Jack Redhouse—that he was some sort of Syrian or Iranian spy. “

  The despair of Jake’s statement hit Sarah like a punch in the stomach. She reached out for his hand and squeezed it tightly. “We need help, Jake. It’s time to bring in reinforcements.”

  * * *

  Chapter 21

  National Security Council

  Unfortunately, senior DoD officials would not allow this intelligence to be placed into proper Intelligence Community channels once it was collected. As a result Intelligence Community officials never became fully aware of the information provided by the Iranians …

  —U.S. Senate, Select Committee on Intelligence, 2008‡

  Day 30: Absence of Evidence

  The National Security Council would convene in another hour. The “doves” had assembled beforehand in the office of the National Security Advisor. Although they did not see themselves as pacifists, each of the four was aware of the sobriquet that had been conferred upon them by the Vice President. Instead, they saw themselves as voices of reason. Neither Parker Cunningham nor Bertram Morrison was a stranger to war. Cunningham had served in the first Gulf War and Morrison at the end of the Vietnam conflict. They understood that war was not something to be entered into lightly. And they knew too well how badly the act of killing could damage a person’s soul.

  The Secretary of State saw her constitutional obligation as requiring her to strive for a diplomatic solution to whatever crisis she was facing. She understood that war is sometimes necessary, but it would always be the choice of last resort, after all other options had been exhausted both earnestly and honestly.

  Finally, Juan Allesandro saw his role entirely from his position as the President’s Chief of Staff. He believed his first responsibility was to protect James Fal
lon Alexander, even if that protection were from other members of the administration, even if it were to shield him from the actions of his own Vice President. He believed that he could best serve by ensuring that the President received advice that was accurate, reliable, and free from the political agendas of others.

  The Secretary of State took the lead. “We have two topics to discuss here. The first is the reliability of the intelligence we have so far, and the second concerns the father of the Navajo child who died in New Mexico.”

  Allesandro responded first. “What about the last Nuclear Posture Review?* I’ve shared it with the President. I don’t know if he’s read the entire document yet, but I’ve discussed the implications with him, particularly the idea of preemption and retaliation.”

  “There’s not enough time before the NSC meeting, Juan. Assuming we’ve each done our homework, we’ll be able to address it as necessary.”

  “What about the withholding of intelligence from the Director of National Intelligence? That directly impacts my ability to act as the President’s National Security Advisor.”

  “Same answer, Parker.” Calebresi was getting impatient. “We all know—or, at least, we all suspect—that DoD hasn’t been relaying its information in a timely manner. But it will serve no purpose to make a direct accusation in front of the President. We would only look like schoolchildren. Let’s proceed. Bert, can you give us an update on the reliability of the intelligence presented at the last NSC meeting?”

  “Certainly, Madam Secretary. Let me begin by saying that Under Secretary Edwards has been extremely cordial and cooperative with me since the last meeting. I’ve been receiving daily intelligence updates that appear to contain everything that the DIA has been able to learn. There’s still some delay because they insist on doing the preliminary analysis. I’m actually more concerned about the sources for the DoD intelligence.”