by Daniel Kalla
GLEN ECHO HEIGHTS, BETHESDA MARYLAND
At just before 8:00 P.M., the limo pulled up to Haldane’s colonial-style home in the middle-class Washington suburb.
Haldane had never formed much of an attachment to this house or any other place he had ever lived, but his heart pounded when he stepped out of the car. He took his suitcase from the driver and raced up the path to his front door, desperate to see Chloe though nervous at the prospect of facing Anna again.
The door opened before he reached it, and Chloe, dressed in her Snow White outfit, raced out to meet him. She jumped into her dad’s arms while he swung her around in the air, stopping only to cover her face with kisses while she laughed gleefully.
Leaving his bag on the doorstep, he carried his daughter into the foyer where Anna waited. “Daddy’s really home!” Chloe squealed, still wrapped around Noah’s chest
There was an awkward moment when Anna leaned forward to kiss Noah, and it was clear that neither knew where her lips should land. They had once shared such physical synchrony, but now they experienced a clumsy moment as his nose bopped her chin before her lips brushed dryly against his cheek.
“Welcome home, Noah,” Anna said with a tentative smile. Then she turned to her daughter with a feigned frown. “Remember what I said? Right to bed once Daddy comes home.”
Chloe looked at her dad with pleading, saucer-shaped brown eyes. “You’ll put me to bed, right, Daddy?”
“Well... ” he said “Only if I get to read all our favorite stories.”
“Deal, Daddy-o!” she said, holding up a palm for Noah to slap it in a high five.
He twirled her 360 degrees in his arms. “Let’s go!”
As he carried her up the stairs, Anna’s voice called after them, “Don’t forget her teem, Noah.”
After brushing her teeth and changing her into her new favorite Barbie nightie, Noah curled up with his daughter in her single bed. He read all six stories, which Chloe had carefully selected from her bookshelf, even though she was asleep by the time he started the fourth one. He lay beside her for at least half an hour, savoring her warmth and the sound of her snores, before he wiggled his arm free and rose from her bed.
When he got downstairs, Anna sat in a familiar pose, facing sideways on the couch with her knees pulled up to her chest and a big mug of tea in her hand. His earlier indifference from their videoconference gave way to a wave of nostalgia as he sat down beside her on the couch. For a moment, he thought she might stretch her legs out across his lap as once was her wont, but she kept her feet where they were.
“You must be relieved,” Anna said, staring at her cup.
“Yes and no,” Haldane said. “Our risk was always pretty low. Besides, the bigger picture isn’t any better than it was before my quarantine.”
“Still, it’s good to be home, isn’t it?” she asked quietly.
“Yeah.”
Her brown eyes looked up and held his. “Are you going to stay awhile?”
He hesitated. “Probably not.” He shook his head slightly. “I might have to go to Chicago to consult on the outbreak there. Or maybe overseas again. Kind of depends what happens next.”
She broke off the eye contact and nodded distantly. They fell into an awkward silence. He reached for the remote control and switched the TV on to CNN.
Haldane was surprised to see Gwen’s face staring back at him. Still in her green suit with her hair pinned behind her ears, she stood at a podium behind numerous microphones.
“Dr. Savard, when will the Chicago outbreak be contained?” a man asked off-camera.
Gwen stared ahead confidently. “There have been no new cases reported in Illinois today, which fits with the trend of the past three days. It is of course too early to call the outbreak contained, but it’s a promising sign.” She folded her arms across her chest. “The problem in Chicago was the geographical distribution of the original case clusters following the terrorist attack at Soldier Field. The virus was disseminated farther than in any other place. As you can imagine, the farther the virus is spread, the harder it is to contain.”
“But, Dr. Savard,” the same reporter persisted, “isn’t it partly a reflection of poor planning on the Public Health and your department’s behalf?”
She uncrossed her arms. “This is a brand-new form of terrorist threat, involving a flulike virus that has only existed for months,” Gwen said calmly. She glared into the audience of reporters, her face devoid of the doubt Haldane had seen on the plane. “To my knowledge, no authority has ever succeeded in preventing the spread of the flu. Medical personnel and others in Chicago have been tireless in their efforts to manage the epidemic. They should be lauded, not questioned. Put the blame where it belongs, with the terrorists. No one else.”
“She’s very composed,” Anna said from the seat beside Haldane.
His eyes glued to the screen, Noah nodded.
“Is she the woman you were quarantined with?” Anna asked.
“Yeah,” Haldane said, feeling a twinge of irrational guilt.
“She’s very pretty, too,” Anna said.
“Sure,” Haldane said. “I guess.”
Noah could feel Anna’s eyes on him. “You must have gotten to know each other in those five days?” she asked.
Haldane turned to his wife. “Look, Anna, we were quarantined in separate rooms,” he snapped. “It’s not like we were rooming at Club Med together.”
“Just asking,” Anna said as she took another sip of tea.
“Sorry.” Haldane forced a smile. “Must be the jet lag is catching up to me. Yeah, we got to know each other a little. She’s a very dedicated woman. And smart, too. I wouldn’t want anyone else doing her job—” Haldane stopped abruptly when the TV picture cut from Savard in mid-answer to the CNN anchor desk.
Big letters flashed over the anchorman, which read: “Breaking News!” The anchorman cleared his throat. “We interrupt the DHS news conference to announce CNN has just received word from A1 Jazeera Network,” he said somberly. “The Brotherhood of One Nation has sent them another taped ultimatum. Please stand by ...”
CHAPTER 31
HARGEYSA, SOMALIA
Hazzir Kabaal sat in his office listening to the Egyptian radio station’s coverage of The Brotherhood of One Nation’s latest ultimatum.
“We have heard the promises from the President, but we know better than to trust his empty words,” The Brotherhood’s spokesman railed in his throaty tone. “The timetable set out for withdrawal of the infidel troops from our holy lands is unacceptable. The Islamic republics of Afghanistan and Iraq were overrun in days. Not weeks or months.” His voice quavered. ”The Americans and their so-called allies have three days to withdraw all troops from our Islamic lands. If by Monday midnight there is one foreign soldier left standing in our lands, then our martyrs will sweep over America like a flooding river. And God will have no mercy for those in its path.”
Even though Kabaal had written the words, hearing them spoken back to him over the radio’s static made them seem surreal as if part of a play he had penned.
When Kabaal looked up, Abdul Sabri stood silently in the doorway. He had traded his galabiya for military fatigues, and an automatic handgun was holstered prominently at his side. Without waiting for an invitation, as he had always before, Sabri walked into the office. Rather than standing, he sank into the seat across from Kabaal.
“The message is right, Abu Lahab,” Sabri said in what amounted to the closest to a compliment Kabaal had ever heard from the man.
“Three days, though ...” Kabaal said skeptically.
“If they have any intention of complying, it is more than enough,” Sabri said.
Kabaal tilted his head from side to side. “We’ll see.”
“We need to prepare, Hazzir,” Sabri said.
Kabaal did not reply.
“Our people are in place, but they need the virus,” Sabri stressed.
“Poor Sharifa,” Kabaal sighed. The original plan
had called for Sharifa to carry the virus to Seattle for further distribution, but it was foiled by her botched attempt to cross the border by car from Canada. And the backup plan fell through when their Chicago courier died before the virus could be harvested from her blood.
“It will be even more difficult to get it into America now,” Kabaal pointed out.
“Difficult, but by no means impossible.” Sabri shrugged.
“Oh?”
“This time we will send it by more than one route,” Sabri said authoritatively. “Maybe one of us will have to carry it there personally. We can afford no more chances.”
Kabaal eyed Sabri for several moments. “Major, you fully expect to unleash the virus, don’t you?”
“Yes,” he said without hesitation.
“Even if the Americans comply with our demands?” he asked.
They won’t,” Sabri said without a trace of doubt. “They will come for us here very soon, which is why we have to leave today.”
“What makes you so sure?” Kabaal asked.
Sabri shook his head impatiently. His shift in attitude from deference to defiance was no longer the least subtle. “I have been a soldier my whole life. War is in my blood. I understand it far better than you ever will. The Americans assume they can stop us if they can find us in time. And they have capabilities we never dreamed possible. Trust me, Hazzir, they will come. And soon. Now is our window of opportunity.”
Kabaal’s heart sank. “And where do you suggest we go?” he asked.
Before Sabri had a chance to answer, Anwar Aziz flew into the room. The overweight scientist practically ran up to the desk where Kabaal and Sabri sat. Uncharacteristically, Aziz was grinning from ear to ear.
“Aziz, I take it you have news?” Kabaal said.
“Indeed, Abu Lahab,” Aziz chortled. “Indeed.”
Kabaal held out his hand. “Please ...”
Aziz gathered up the seams of his white lab coat and plopped his large bottom in the chair beside Sabri. “Ever since we set up our laboratory, we have done more than just preserve the Gansu virus. We have continued to experiment,” he said with a hint of pride. “We have introduced other influenza viruses into laboratory pigs. You see, in microbiological terms, pigs are known as the ‘mixing vessel’ for certain viruses like influenza.”
“Meaning?” Sabri said with a bored sigh.
“Of course, of course.” Aziz rolled one hand over the other in a nervous gesture. “The pig’s bloodstream is ideal for viruses of various species to interact, to mutate. The organisms trade sections of RNA, their genetic code, between one another.”
“And this affects the viruses how?” Kabaal asked.
“Various ways.” Aziz dabbed at his brow where beads of sweat had begun to form. “Traits of one virus can be passed on to another. At least, that is what we have been trying to accomplish with our virus,” he said as if they had single-handedly created the Gansu Flu.
“Which traits?” Kabaal asked with a raised eyebrow.
“The contagiousness, Abu Lahab,” Aziz said. His awkward smile reemerged. “I was never satisfied with the results we attained. The Gansu virus was less contagious than the common cold.”
“Was?” Sabri sat up straighter and looked at Aziz with renewed interest. “Not anymore?”
Aziz’s smile grew wider. “Not anymore, Major. Along with the Gansu strain, we inoculated our pigs with the more contagious but far less lethal forms of the common flu. We tried several recent flu strains without success. But when we introduced the Beijing Flu to the mix ...” He clasped his hands together in a sign of victory. “Something clicked. It would appear that we have developed a more infective version of the Gansu Flu.”
“How much more?” Sabri asked.
Aziz looked down at his hands, and seemed surprised to see how he held them. He unclasped his hands and brushed away at imagined dirt on his pristine lab coat. “In our original human experiments, we had a transmission rate of roughly twenty percent after ten minutes of close contact,” he said. “This was comparable to what we found with the monkeys.”
“And with this new mutation?” Kabaal asked.
“We have not run the experiment in humans, only monkeys, but the rate is closer to sixty to seventy percent.” He nodded proudly. “In other words, it is at least three hundred percent more contagious.”
CHAPTER 32
GLEN ECHO HEIGHTS, BETHESDA MARYLAND
Haldane awoke with a start, but for a moment he was unsure whether he was still dreaming. From the guest-room bed, he stared up at his wife who stood beside him in nothing but a long T-shirt, which only reached her upper thighs. He wondered if Anna had come to join him. That had not been part of the agreement. But the sight of her supple form looming above brought a surge of arousal. Despite his intentions, at that moment he wanted nothing more than for her to shed the T-shirt and climb under the covers with him.
Instead, she raised her hand from her side and offered him the cordless phone. “Sorry to wake you, Noah,” she said. The edge in her voice did not strike Noah as apologetic in the least. “But she told me it was important.”
Haldane rubbed his eyes in an attempt to regain his bearings. He glanced at the alarm clock on the nightstand, which read: 5:12 A.M. “Thanks,” he said, clearing the sleep from his voice. He took the phone from Anna.
Anna hesitated a moment. She stared at Noah with a mix of hurt and concern on her face, before she turned and walked out of the room. Haldane’s eyes followed her out of the room as the cold predawn reality sapped every shred of desire from his earlier dreamlike state.
“Hello,” he said into the receiver.
“Noah, sorry to call so early,” Gwen said.
“No problem.” He cleared his throat again and sat up in the bed. “What’s going on?”
“The National Security Council has called an emergency meeting for 6:30 A.M. The President wants us both to attend.”
Noah hopped up from the bed, fully awake now. “Gwen, what’s going on?”
THE WHITE HOUSE, WASHINGTON, D.C.
Haldane had heard of the White House Situation Room, but he never imagined he would see the inside of it let alone be invited to a critical incident meeting there. Haldane followed Gwen and the Secret Service agent through the White House’s West Wing. Weaving through the basement floor, Haldane realized that the Situation Room is not one single room but a maze of offices and rooms, the largest of which is a wood-paneled conference room with a long rectangular table in the center and video screens lining the wall.
Haldane wore his most conservative suit, dark gray, with a white shirt and a dark tie. With her hair again pinned back, Gwen wore a businesslike navy jacket and pants, but she complemented her white blouse with a heavy silver chain, giving her outfit a dash of flair. Watching Gwen, Noah realized that he had started to pay attention to the little details about her. He had even begun to anticipate the subtle perfume, which he could smell only from within arm’s reach. He had not experienced anything similar for anyone but Anna in so long that the feelings struck him as foreign, and slightly unnerving.
He shook off the thoughts and focused on the reason for his attendance at the White House. His mouth went dry, his palms moistened. A critical incident meeting of the National Security Council meant something had developed in the past hours—good news or bad, he was certain it would be significant.
The Secret Service agent led Gwen and Noah into the conference room where many of the NSC members had already assembled at the table. Savard’s boss, Ted Hart, spoke with Aaron Whitaker, the Secretary of Defense, who looked even more hostile now than he had during their earlier videoconference. Andrea Home, the National Security Advisor, was deep in conversation with a graying, elegantly dressed woman who Noah recognized as the Secretary of State, Katherine Thomason. Other individuals, including the three men in military uniforms, looked familiar to Haldane but he couldn’t place their names or titles.
At the far end of the table, Alex Clayt
on, dressed as suavely as Noah expected in a black suit with a light blue shirt and matching tie, sat chatting to a chubby man with vigilant gray eyes. Haldane assumed that the man was Clayton’s boss, CIA Director Jackson Daley. Clayton interrupted his conversation to smile at Gwen and wave her over to one of the empty seats across from his. Clayton’s smile vanished when he acknowledged Haldane with a slight nod, leaving no doubt that he reciprocated Noah’s opinion of him.
Haldane followed Gwen to the end of the table and claimed the seat beside her. Clayton began to introduce them to Jackson Daley but stopped in midsentence when the President strode into the room. In person, the President appeared even taller than the towering images Haldane had seen on TV. Haldane began to rise out of his seat, assuming it was the proper etiquette, but no one else budged so he inched back into his chair.
The President pulled out his padded leather chair (the seatback of which was a few inches higher than the others), adjusted the water glass in front of him, and then took his seat at the head of the table. He nodded his greeting to several people around the table before turning to Savard and Haldane. “Welcome, Drs. Savard and Haldane, thanks for joining us at this ungodly hour,” he said, and most people at the table chuckled politely. “Maybe a quick round of introductions is in order.”
Moving clockwise from the President, all nineteen of the attendees introduced themselves by name and full title, but the rapid-fire names of the Secretaries, generals, and senators overwhelmed Haldane. He was too distracted to keep them straight; acutely aware that he sat in the very same room where the Cuban Missile Crisis, Gulf Wars, and other world-shaping events had played out.
After the introductions were complete, the President said, “I have called you together to discuss new developments in our current crisis.” He looked over to his National Security Advisor, Andrea Home. “Dr. Home can explain further. Andrea ...”
