And then just when he was seeing the light at the end of the tunnel, he had gotten sucked into this nerve-wracking spy incident and had now shot off his mouth in front of his uncle from the DIA. He wished he could have held out a little longer. It looked like it was too late for that now. The bigwigs would turn their attention once more to the RU-300 line, and this time they would realize that there were actually gaps in the reports. They might even order field tests right away. And if that happened …
Meyer looked around with a half-crazed gleam in his eyes. Once, when he was young, he had worked for the prevention of epidemic diseases in South America, a soldier in the worldwide battle against contagious disease. Thanks to that experience, he had been able to form a clear enough mental image of how wretched the situation could become even in cases where the diseases were known quantities. Yellow fever, dengue, parrot fever, smallpox, and Q-fever—cures and vaccines and other treatments might exist for them, but once the balance of the society itself began to teeter …
When he had been on assignment, there had been a mass outbreak of a mutant paracholera in the backwaters of Bolivia, and in the mere week that passed between the outbreak’s discovery and the identification of the disease, three Indian villages had been wiped out, and Meyer’s team had had to go so far as to start flying in medical supplies and vaccines from all over the world in order to keep it from spreading to the capital. But this—the RU-300 line …
Meyer glanced back to the drawer he had left open, and there his gaze remained riveted. When he had been rooting around in there for his memo pad, an old piece of paper once buried in the bottom of the drawer had come up to the top. It was a pamphlet for the fifth Pugwash Conference, held in Canada in August of 1959. Nineteen fifty-nine—already more than a decade in the past. Several years ago one of the vigil regulars—a young university student—had turned up in his neighborhood and wordlessly handed him the pamphlet. He had discreetly put it away afterward. His trembling hand now took hold of that crudely made pamphlet.
The Pugwash Conferences had, in answer to the appeals of Russell and Einstein, been organized in the Canadian city of Pugwash in July of 1956 to send out the message that addressing the menace of atomic weapons and other weapons of mass destruction was a responsibility that all scientists shared and a battle that all of them must fight. The first conference had dealt with the harmful effects of radiation in the use of atomic energy, the management of atomic weapons, and the social responsibility of scientists. The second conference had been held the following year in Lac-Beauport—again in Canada. The third had been held in Vienna, and it was there that the famous Vienna Declaration, which spoke of the scientist’s responsibility in relation to the history of humanity, had been made. After the pages outlining the history of the conferences up to that point, there was a section in the pamphlet about the fifth conference, which was to focus largely on chemical and biological weaponry. Topics that had been discussed at the conference included these:
• It is an open secret that chemical and biological (CB) weapons research is now under way throughout the world.
• CB weapons far more powerful than those in the past have been developed, and it is extremely dangerous to make assumptions about them based on preexisting knowledge. There are some frightening biological weapons among those that could be created according to the infection theory of cancer, which is rooted in microbial genetics and biochemistry.
• Germ contagions with abnormal routes of infection and resistance to antibiotics can be created quite easily.
• Research by Martin M. Kaplan concludes that the contagions for anthrax, botulism, brucellosis, tuberculosis, rabbit fever, adenovirus, yellow fever, Japanese encephalitis, influenza, parrot fever, and typhus are suitable for use as biological weapons.
• CB weapons are sufficiently easy to synthesize and developing countries could readily create them for offensive purposes.
• CB weapons, therefore, must not be underestimated based on present technical difficulties and their vastly inferior destructive power compared to nuclear weapons. In cases where colonies and developing countries are fighting wars for independence, where external powers are interfering in such wars, and where internal conflicts have erupted in developing countries, we cannot at present conclude that such weapons are not being used even now.
• CB weapons are inexpensive and therefore can be mass-produced. If spread effectively, their effects may be incalculable.
After this came two proposals printed in large, Gothic boldface, to which the participating scientists had signed their names.
I. That an international treaty prohibiting the use of biological and chemical weapons be swiftly adopted.
II. That research in fields such microbiology, toxicology, pharmacology, chemistry, and biology be declassified and managed peacefully.
In Meyer’s own hand, key points in the pamphlet had been underlined, and in the margin he had written the following: “You’re sentimental idealists who don’t understand the realities of politics!”
Meyer stared intently at those letters of faded ink. Ten years ago! Ten years ago, scientists had already foreseen the possibility that unknown biological weapons might come to be. And now, a decade later, with yearly budget increases that were followed by explosive leaps forward in molecular biology, with the wholesale adoption of genetic theory—suddenly, Meyer was struck by the smallness of his section in this huge organization—the secret of the RU-300 line was ultimately nothing more than a single discovery by his own tiny section. Within this giant military research organization, there might be much more terrifying research and terrifying results that he, in his relatively unimportant post, had never been informed of. No, even more troubling were the things that lay beyond the even higher walls of international political secrecy, moving across the world, from one country to another …
Meyer unexpectedly covered his mouth. A strong rush of vomit had come climbing up his throat. He felt the uncontrollable pressure of a spasm in his chest, and instinctively crouched over his garbage can. Once the heaving in his stomach had settled down, he had the feeling of having just made up his mind. He picked up the pamphlet, stared at it for a long moment, and then tore it up into tiny pieces, which he threw into the trash can. His fingers were trembling slightly. After that, he reached into a pile of accumulated notebooks and such and pulled out a loose-leaf binder with a brown, hand-worn suede cover and opened it. The casual manner in which it had been thrust into the stack had been anything but accidental. In the front part of it there were research notes he had written—completely unexceptional ones. Starting in the back and moving forward, the data on the RU-300 line was written in a disorderly jumble of numbers, and in notation that only he could understand. Holding the notebook, he stood up. For his leave, he would go to Canada. An article in the corner of this morning’s newspaper had told him that the 12th Pugwash Conference was currently going on even now. He realized that he had decided to become the kind of sentimental idealist he had written of four years ago.
That was when there was a knock at the door.
Meyer caught his breath, closed the folder, and nervously shouted, “Who is it?”
“The assistant director wants to see you,” replied the voice of Security Chief Quinlan. Meyer’s face lost all its color. Why had he sent the security chief? Why not a simple phone call? Still not comprehending the situation, he reflexively released the back pages from the looseleaf folder, folded them four times, and put them in his inside jacket pocket. They felt bulky and stiff.
Outside the door stood Captain Quinlan. He was a large man, small-eyed with a massive forehead. Meyer made a point not to ask him why he was there. He returned to the assistant director’s office to find his uncle, Lieutenant Colonel F, already gone and the assistant director awaiting him with a friendly smile.
“Hey, Meyer,” the assistant director said in a voice so friendly it made him squirm. “Your uncle and I were just talking, and we decided you really sh
ould go on leave effective immediately. That’s an order. Get some R&R.”
“Immediately?”
“Uh, before that,” the assistant director said, glancing at Quinlan’s face, “—and this is an order—go to the army hospital and get yourself a checkup.”
“I don’t feel bad at all,” Meyer said. “I’ve actually had a checkup quite recently. And my flu shots as well.”
“There’s a danger your nervous exhaustion—I’m not saying you’re neurotic—could cause you to have some kind of unexpected accident. You know that; you’re a doctor too. I want you to have a psychological evaluation.”
Meyer looked from the smooth hint of a smile on the assistant director’s face to the taciturn, sleepy expression on the face of the security chief, and understood what kind of consequences were about to be called down on him thanks to his excited outburst in front of his uncle.
“Yes sir,” he said. “I’ll go get changed.”
When he left the office, the security chief stayed behind. From the other side of the hall, however, another security officer began walking his way with a casual expression on his face. When Meyer turned into the bathroom, yet another security officer was inside, wearing an expression that seemed to say, Oh, my! What a coincidence!
“Hey there, Dr. Meyer,” the security officer said with a phony smile. “Did you hear they might call off the Army-Navy game this year? They say the tackles and the wingbacks for both sides have one foot in the grave with this flu.”
Paying no mind to such a half-baked attempt to set his mind at ease, Meyer went into the stall and shut the door. Flushing the toilet to hide the sound, he tore the sheets of loose leaf paper he had brought with him into pieces small enough to keep from clogging the pipe, then flushed them all away in batches one after another. When he came out, the security officer was facing the mirror above the sink. He had an odd expression on his face.
“Diarrhea,” Meyer said, his tone deliberately cheerful.
As he was being taken to the car with a security officer on either side, Meyer went weak in the knees, assaulted by a feeling that he was already dead. With languid eyes, he watched the bright roadside scenery of early summer rolling past and was suddenly struck by the oddness of that scenery.
The hospital was not all that far away, but while he was being driven there, they passed two white ambulances, their sirens blaring. Three times, he witnessed the sight of emergency vehicles pulled up in front of doorways, where stretchers draped in white cloth were being carried out from among family whose faces were covered with handkerchiefs. There were at least two traffic accidents as well. Although the sun shone the same as every year, something about the scenery was very wrong.
“Heck of a lot of accidents lately,” one of the security men said to the driver. “Wonder if it’s because of the sunny weather?”
Meyer’s case ultimately caused no problems for the DoD. This was because the assistant director dropped dead in his bathroom at home the following day with no warning whatsoever, and five days afterward, with worsening influenza that had developed into bronchopneumonia, Lieutenant Colonel F breathed his last as well.
Washington, DC; the White House
Even as Meyer was being taken away to the military hospital, the president was listening with a grave expression to a report from the secretary of defense. The secretary of the treasury was also present and wore a similarly grave expression. The strength of the Tibetan flu was greater than anticipated, and it was dealing a severe and ongoing blow to the national defense apparatus. Already, a fifth of both regular and reserve troops in the army and navy had become unfit for combat due to influenza. Vaccine production was lagging far behind demand. The virus was of a new type for which no preexisting stocks of vaccine existed, and because the vaccine being made now was weak, three times as much as usual was needed. And then there was the fact that the vaccine easily caused allergic reactions.
“There is no way we can stop it from spreading with sanitation teams alone,” the secretary of defense said, his expression grave. “Using just military facilities, there’s no way our vaccine production capacity can deliver what we need in time. We’ve commissioned a part of the work to the US Public Health Service and to university affiliates, but because of that false fowl plague the eggs are mostly useless.”
“That’s a very serious point,” the secretary of the treasury interjected. “We need to get temporary financial assistance and a special payment for combating this epidemic to the turkey and chicken farming industries. If we don’t do that, forty percent of the nation’s poultry farmers will be driven to bankruptcy by summer. And even without the subsidy, given the current condition of the manufacturing sector, we’re not going to be able to avoid massive inflation.”
“One thing here,” the secretary of defense said. “I would like to request special measures for the acquisition of vaccines for military personnel. I’ve brought a list of every facility in the nation where vaccine is being produced, and of those, if we can have just these reserved for military use …”
The president and the secretary of the treasury looked at one another. Over half of the universities and public and private vaccine production facilities in the country were marked on the paper.
“Ah, Mr. Secretary,” the president said in a pained tone of voice, “don’t you think that’s a little much? I, and of course defense personnel as well, have a responsibility for the lives of all Americans. Private industry and the transportation system are getting really hammered here. And elementary school children in particular—there are so many schools that have closed, I can’t remember the exact number. The mortality rate for children ten and under is especially high, and I’m getting a mountain of petitions from mothers and children all across the country saying, ‘Mr. President, please give us vaccine.’ ”
“But this is no time to get sentimental,” the secretary of defense said. His eyes were wide, desperate. “Please think about it. If we can find some way to cover for the lost force strength of the army and navy, it may still be possible to hold things together to a degree. But what about the pilots in the air force?”
The president put a finger up against his temple and sighed.
“If they’re running a fever of 102 degrees or above, they can’t fly their jets. I believe I asked you about this directly not long ago, but I have a report from NORAD saying that at this rate we won’t be able to maintain our air defense and alert systems at regular operational levels through the end of the week. The number of bombers we can keep in a constant state of readiness is going to be cut in half by the middle of next week. The harm being done to our other maintenance and ground duty personnel has already created dangerous conditions. This is a fact. Mr. President, if you take into account how much mental stress the crews attached to the missile interception system and the retaliatory strike system are under, it’s hard to guess what kind of unexpected accidents might occur if their physical conditions are degraded by influenza.”
That was something the president was thinking about too. He thought of a red switch located in a special shelter nine basement levels beneath the White House. That switch had been installed on the watch of his predecessor, an anti-Soviet hardliner. It was located behind an unobtrusive wall panel that one might not even notice at first, installed within a hidden compartment. For the current president, who was devoted to arms reduction, the switch was an abominable thing, and he had been thinking about “politically” removing it while he was in office. If I could just push that comprehensive arms reduction treaty through …
However, if the defense system of the country were to be endangered prior to the signing of the treaty, the president would have no choice but to think about that switch, even if doing so was unpleasant. In the event that defense system personnel were lost due to poison gas attacks—or attacks from outer space for that matter—the switch would turn control over to an entirely automated retaliatory strike system.
“The day before yesterday, I
was given a report,” the secretary of defense continued. “At a vital radar station in Alaska, twenty-three workers have fallen into critical condition during the past week, and four have died. That station has effectively ceased functioning. This kind of thing is spreading in every direction with tremendous speed. Even if we call up reservists, look at how the flu has spread in the civilian population. We’re going to reach our limits in no time. We must take emergency measures here and now. If we don’t—”
“The chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff made quite a few threats, I hear,” interrupted the secretary of the treasury.
“Those threats stopped yesterday,” the secretary of defense said with a grimace. “The chairman himself has finally come down with the flu.”
“I wonder what things are like worldwide,” said the president. “We haven’t been getting much useful intelligence since the secretary of state came down with the flu. The wire services have been pretty mercurial lately too.”
“As far as I’m aware, the whole world is under assault by Tibetan flu,” said the secretary of the treasury. “The places that are getting really bad are Southeast Asia, India, and the Near and Middle East. These regions are closer to where the first outbreak occurred, so it may be that it’s peaking there first. Next worse is the Far East region, including mainland China, and after that is Africa, where it’s currently encroaching inward from the coastal regions. Europe is in almost the same shape as America. Russia’s being invaded from four different directions: from Europe, from the direction of the Black Sea and Caspian Sea, from Haeju in North Korea, and from the region around Ulan Bator in Mongolia. It’s finally arrived with a vengeance in Central and South America. Things are really bad out there.”
Virus: The Day of Resurrection Page 15
