CHAPTER 18
UNITED STATES ARMY MEDICAL RESEARCH INSTITUTE FOR INFECTIOUS
DISEASES, FORT DETRICK, MARYLAND
A lthough the Surgeon General had personally assured him of the importance of his new post as Commanding Colonel of USAMRIID, Colonel Walter C. Wassenberg III, US Army Medical Corps, was in a foul mood. The promotions list for Brigadier General had been published the day before, and once again his name hadn’t been on it. He was short and fit, his uniform was immaculate, but time was running out. Underneath the black hair dye, his ‘jarhead’ Marine crew cut was now very grey. Colonel Wassenberg had once thought he would make four stars as Commandant of the Marines but an accident in Somalia had brought his career as a marine to an ignominious end. He’d never got over it and, although he’d accepted the Army’s offer to put him through a degree in medical administration, a deep and grudging bitterness was never far from the surface. Promotion in the Army Medical Corps had a ceiling of three stars – Lieutenant General – but Wassenberg knew that you had to be a goddamn poodle-faking doctor to get that job. Walter Wassenberg had not even made his first star.
Colonel Wassenberg turned the next page in the folder containing the biographies of USAMRIID staff, finding himself confronted with a photograph and profile of a Dr Kate Braithwaite. ‘The day they have women playing in the Super Bowl will be the day I accept front bums have something meaningful to offer the Army,’ he muttered to himself. Ignoring her string of degrees and doctorates he focused on the photograph, and as he did his eyes narrowed and his thin lips pressed even more firmly together. The scientist’s untidy hair irritated him and he made a mental note to have her fix it. In Walter Wassenberg’s world haircuts and discipline went hand in hand, and in the short time he’d been at USAMRIID he’d been appalled at the lax attitude to both. He was infuriated by what he’d decided was a ‘fifth column’ in the ranks of the long-haired scientists. His early morning parades for the academics had not lasted more than a week before there’d been a damaging revolt. Word had filtered back to the Pentagon and he’d been told by some flunky in the Surgeon General’s office to modify his style.
Walter Wassenberg continued to browse through the pages until he got to Professor Sayed’s profile and his pulse quickened. Here was a man of Middle Eastern appearance who had unrestricted access on a top-secret US base. Incensed at the entry ‘Muslim’ beside the heading of religion, Colonel Wassenberg never made it past the first page. Had he bothered to turn that page and read more than the executive summary of Sayed’s details, he would have discovered that Imran Sayed had been born in Karachi to a Pakistani father, and an American mother. He would have also discovered that Imran’s wealthy shipping merchant father had been killed in an accident on Karachi’s docks when Imran had been just four years old. The detailed biography recorded that after the accident, his mother had brought the very young Imran back to the United States and raised him in New York. He had graduated summa cum laude at the Yale School of Medicine and after a distinguished international career in some of the world’s most desperate health trouble spots which included outbreaks of smallpox, dengue fever, typhoid and malaria, Imran Sayed had returned to Yale as a visiting Professor of Epidemiology. Professor Sayed was now on contract to USAMRIID and to the World Health Organization, and the Secretary General of the United Nations valued Imran as a friend and a trusted advisor. Wassenberg buzzed for his J3.
‘Sir!’ Tall and gangly to the point of being awkward, Marine Captain Donald Crawshaw appeared inside the Colonel’s door in an instant and snapped to attention. Crawshaw wasn’t the sharpest spine on the porcupine but he’d worked out quickly enough that the very short ex-Marine Corps Colonel was a man of explosive action who detested being kept waiting. Captain Crawshaw aimed to please. His performance report from his last unit hadn’t been too complimentary and he had also missed out on the last round of promotions, but he figured that all was not lost. A strong recommendation from an ex-Marine like Colonel Wassenberg might help him to replace his two bar insignia for Captain with the coveted oak leaf of a Major.
‘We have a security problem on this base, Crawshaw. A security problem!’
‘Sir!’ The colour drained from Crawshaw’s face as he wondered whether or not he was responsible.
‘Come around here, son. You see this man – he’s a goddamn Muslim! This is a Christian country. A Christian country that is at war with these motherfucker Muslims and now I find that we’ve got a goddamn Muslim scientist in the middle of a top-secret base. I want a security review done on every one of these motherfucker scientists without delay. Without delay d’ya hear!’ Colonel Wassenberg slammed the folder shut and shoved it towards his J3.
‘Yes SIR! USAMRIID SIR!’ Captain Crawshaw rammed the folder under his left arm, snapped to attention again and saluted before marching back to his small desk just outside the Colonel’s door.
Walter Wassenberg breathed in deeply. His predecessor had not only been pushing for the destruction of the country’s stocks of smallpox, for chrissake, he’d allowed a Muslim on his staff. Another poodle-faking-motherfucker doctor who’d never seen a shot fired in anger, he thought resentfully. The Muslim would have to go and the stocks of smallpox would be destroyed over his dead body. For the third time in as many minutes he checked his watch. On his first day he’d timed the walk from his office to the conference room down the hall at precisely 59 seconds and his watch now showed 0858 hours, just over a minute before he would leave the office.
Colonel Wassenberg got up from behind his desk and stood in front of the full-length mirror he’d had installed behind the door of his office and adjusted a shirt fold above his belt. He also made an adjustment to the position of the large nameplate that took pride of place in the front centre of his desk, specially made in polished silky oak, with WALTER C. WASSENBERG III embossed in large gold letters, and COLONEL COMMANDING underneath. On the wall behind his desk he’d had two flags installed in a polished wood cabinet. The Stars and Stripes always had pride of place, but in a breach of protocol for a medical unit Colonel Wassenberg had insisted on installing the Marine Corps flag, as well as the Marine Corps seal on the wall above – a huge bald eagle atop the Western Hemisphere with a foul anchor behind it. In its beak the eagle carried a scroll with the Marine Corps motto – Semper Fidelis ‘Always Faithful’. Satisfied, Colonel Wassenberg ran his hands over his Marine Corps combat gear that he kept hanging on two wooden pegs inside the door, just in case he got the call. He made a final check of his watch and as the sweep hand passed the hour he strode purposefully through his J3’s office and down the corridor towards the conference room.
CHAPTER 19
THE OVAL OFFICE, THE WHITE HOUSE, WASHINGTON DC
P resident Harrison broke the silence. ‘So if you think CDC and USAMRIID might leak, where does that leave us?’ he asked.
‘There is another option, Mr President,’ Vice President Bolton said smoothly. ‘You will recall that we agreed that from time to time, Halliwell might have to work on Level 4 pathogens and the classified contract for Halliwell Pharmaceuticals included the construction of a full Biosafety Level 4 laboratory.’
Esposito’s jowls trembled alarmingly as he jerked his head up from his folder of notes. A surge of white-hot anger pulsed through his veins. He seethed, wondering why he hadn’t been told. It wasn’t the first time the arrogant and ambitious Vice President had kept him in the dark on classified projects. As Esposito brought his fury back under control he made a mental note to remind the President that his electoral advisor needed to be aware of absolutely everything that crossed the President’s desk – everything. There had been a great deal of resistance from the Vice President, but one of the reasons Esposito had insisted on being present at meetings of the war cabinet was to ensure that the Republican Party’s re-election strategy wasn’t threatened by foreign policy decisions. Bolton’s day would come. The Vice President’s chances of gaining the Oval Office lay somewhere below zilch and fuck all.
‘That area is completely secure but we need to keep things small,’ Vice President Bolton said, a quiet insistence in his voice. ‘The scientists will have to be leaders in their field and we’ll have to disguise the funding, but I’m sure Richard Halliwell can be trusted to keep access to an absolute minimum. If there is a leak, any scientist on the project will know we won’t be looking very far.’
Dan Esposito’s piggy little eyes narrowed even further. He already had a separate long-range plan for Richard Halliwell. As the Vice President outlined the proposals for bioweapons research, another idea quickly took shape in his agile mind.
‘The funding will have to be black, Mr President,’ Esposito said calmly, looking at the Vice President, giving the impression he already knew about the Halliwell construction.
‘CIA?’ the President asked.
Esposito nodded. ‘It has to be deniable. It can be funded out of O’Connor’s budget and that way you’re at arms’ length.’ Dan Esposito felt a surge of satisfaction at his stroke of genius. This way all the risk would be carried by O’Connor and if anything went wrong he could hang him out to dry.
‘And what do we do about this Dolinsky guy?’ the President asked.
The Vice President had already ensured the Secretary of Defense was on side and he let him make the running.
‘I’ve had my people check him out independently,’ the Secretary of Defense replied authoritatively. Not satisfied that the other agencies that had served the United States for decades were giving him the answers he wanted to hear, the Secretary of Defense had set up his own top-secret cell that provided more palatable intelligence. It would prove to be another disastrous mistake.
‘He’s a brilliant molecular biologist and virologist, Mr President,’ the Secretary of Defense continued, ‘and quite frankly I’d rather he were on our side than al-Qaeda’s. If he wants to defect we should ensure he comes over to us, and the CIA should be told to make that happen.’
‘I agree, Mr President,’ Vice President Bolton said, sensing that even if the President might still be against the development of bioweapons, he would be reluctant to allow al-Qaeda and the Islamists to get their hands on someone like Dolinsky; not to mention that Dolinsky also held the key to his plans for the Beijing Olympics and the dominance of the United States as the world’s only superpower. ‘If you approve the re-introduction of research into biological weapons and I don’t think we can afford not to in light of the latest intelligence reports,’ Bolton pressed, sensing that the President was not yet convinced, ‘Halliwell is going to need the best.’
Vice President Bolton was determined to back the intelligence that best suited his aims of maintaining US supremacy – and his own personal power. Little did Bolton realise what he was unleashing on the world.
CHAPTER 20
UNITED STATES ARMY MEDICAL RESEARCH INSTITUTE FOR INFECTIOUS
DISEASES, FORT DETRICK, MARYLAND
‘S hit!’ Kate Braithwaite looked up at her wall clock, grabbed her notebook, locked the door to her office and hurried off to her first meeting with the new Colonel, annoyed that to have any chance of being on time she would have to run.
Two minutes later Kate slowed to a deliberate stroll as she turned the corner of the drab green corridor that led to the conference room, only to find that the door was guarded by a tall, thin Marine Corps Captain with pimply skin, nervously tapping a ridiculously polished boot on the cement floor.
‘Quickly,’ he hissed as Kate approached. ‘The Colonel’s coming.’
Bully for the Colonel, Kate thought, as she smiled sweetly, rolling her eyes and guessing this was the new J ‘what’s-his-number’. Imran caught her eye and winked as she took her place with the advisory group of scientists sitting along one wall. ‘I’ll get you for that,’ she mouthed at him, her eyes twinkling as she made a show of silently sucking in a breath through pursed lips.
Kate exchanged glances with a couple of her closest colleagues. Clearly there was an undercurrent of conspiracy running, and she wondered what ‘Colonel Cluster’ might have in store for them. If the stakes hadn’t been so high it would have been comical. Another Captain was sitting bolt upright against the opposite wall. Kate surmised he was the duty briefer and she shuddered at the prospect of a mind-numbing expose on some obscure mad mullah in outer Baluchistan. The young Captain from the Pentagon was probably too shit-scared of the Colonel to offer anything other than the military line that the United States was winning the war in Iraq, she mused. After Imran had left her office earlier in the day, a colleague had confided in her that not only had Imran’s nickname for the new Colonel caught on, but while she’d been away at the CDC her fellow scientists had enhanced it. She’d been assured that Colonel ‘Clusterfuck’ was infinitely more appropriate and the scientists were running a book on who would get the vote at the end of the year for the most incompetent; the military moron who’d taken over command or the pimply-faced jerk of a captain he’d brought with him as his sidekick. At the moment Captain Crawshaw was marginally in front, not least for his bizarre habit of saluting the Colonel from as far as 100 metres away while at the same time yelling ‘USAMRIID Sir!’ Kate reflected that ‘Panic Palace’, as the scientists called the headquarters, had been taken over by dumb and dumber. Dumber was now hovering nervously inside the conference room doorway.
‘Atten..hun! The Colonel Commanding!’ Captain Crawshaw saluted as Colonel Wassenberg strode into the room. ‘All present and accounted for Sir! USAMRIID Sir!’
Kate and the other civilian scientists half rose in their chairs as the military members snapped to attention.
‘At ease!’
Jesus Christ, I’m in the middle of a military circus, Kate thought, suppressing a grin. The circus ringmaster immediately reminded her of some sort of latter day Napoleon, except this one was even shorter. She didn’t dare look at Imran for fear of getting a fit of the giggles.
Colonel Wassenberg snapped open his folder that was embossed with a blue and gold Marine Corps seal. Without speaking he scrutinised those on the left and right of the table, then he did a slow visual inspection of the advisory group sitting along the walls.
‘I’m still not satisfied with the standard of dress on this base,’ he said finally, looking directly at Kate. Innocently she blinked her green eyes at him, which infuriated him as she knew it would. Here they were in USAMRIID on the cutting edge of research into some of the most dangerous pathogens on the planet and all this dickhead could find to worry about was what people wore.
‘I want an instant improvement,’ the Colonel demanded, looking around the room again before glancing down at his notes. The first item on the agenda was his newly instituted requirement for a daily report from Heads of Departments.
‘Epidemiology!’ Wassenberg snapped, glaring at Professor Sayed.
‘No change from yesterday, Colonel,’ Imran replied quietly and pointedly, but the message went straight over Walter Wassenberg’s closely cropped head.
‘What do you mean “no change”?’ the Colonel demanded, his face colouring.
‘Dr Braithwaite returned this morning from the CDC and I’m sure she will be able to brief you on her work, but other than that our programs are all proceeding on schedule.’
Colonel Wassenberg turned towards the advisors, singling out Kate with his stare. In the silence that followed, Kate again blinked at the Colonel with a calculated touch of insolence. As soon as he’d walked into the room she’d concluded that he was the type of man who would be very uncomfortable around women. It was an advantage she was determined to press.
‘And what have you got to add, Ms Braithwaite?’ the Colonel demanded.
‘It’s Doctor, actually,’ Kate replied icily, any sense of mischievo
us amusement extinguished. She was not sure what the Army could have been thinking when they appointed him, but at a place like USAMRIID a military automaton could be a disaster.
‘As I’m sure you’re aware, Colonel, research into areas like Variola major does not normally herald daily results. I’ve responded to your memo on smallpox and I’ve sent it back unsigned with a recommendation that we strongly support the World Health Organization’s efforts to have the world’s smallpox stocks destroyed. I’ve also requested that the series of experiments on the Great Apes not go ahead.’ Colonel Wassenberg looked as though he was about to give birth.
‘I’ve not signed mine either, Colonel,’ Professor Sayed said, taking the heat away from Kate. ‘And I know there are many other scientists in this room who think along similar lines. The World Health Organization has voted on no fewer than three occasions to have the last remaining stocks of this virus in Atlanta and Siberia destroyed; first in 1994, then in 1996, and again in 1999. Each time the United States has been instrumental in delaying that destruction. If smallpox ever falls into the hands of terrorists, Colonel, with thousands of aircraft criss-crossing the globe every day, the resulting epidemic could kill hundreds of millions of people. It would make 9/11 and bird flu look like child’s play. Smallpox is one of the most deadly diseases on the planet, one that took D. A. Henderson and others a lifetime to eradicate,’ Professor Sayed added pointedly. He was wasting his breath.
‘I’ll remind you all that the United States of America is at war. At war!’ Colonel Wassenberg slammed his fist on the table. ‘Those stocks of smallpox are vital to the protection of this country and they’ll be destroyed over my dead body!’ Wassenberg glared again at Professor Sayed before turning his attention back to Kate. ‘The experiments on the monkeys are essential for the development of vaccines and not only will those experiments proceed but I want fast results!’ Wassenberg’s face was flushed with anger as he unknowingly exposed his total lack of knowledge of the painstaking nature of research involving deadly viruses. He fixed Kate with a stony stare. ‘I’ll see you in my office, Braithwaite, tomorrow at 1700 hours.’
The Beijing conspiracy Page 8
