Pandemic

by Daniel Kalla

  “All of the Agency’s resources are directed to finding him, but so far nothing.” Clayton sighed. “If he got out of that complex alive, then he’s doing a damn good job of keeping a low profile.”

  McLeod looked at Gwen. “What about your friend’s drug? Where does that stand?”

  She pulled her hands from the desk and brought them to her temples. “The news isn’t good there, either.”

  “Why? What’s wrong?” Haldane asked. “The drug doesn’t work against this new strain of the virus?”

  “No, that’s not the problem. It seems to work just as well.” She started to work her temples again. “As you know, the early results with the Gansu Flu virus were very promising. Mortality was reduced from twenty-plus percent down to three percent in test monkeys.”

  “Bloody impressive!” McLeod said.

  Gwen shrugged. “But then two of the monkeys who recovered from the virus went on to die from overwhelming hepatitis.”

  “Medication-related hepatitis?” Haldane asked.

  Gwen shrugged “Too early to know.”

  “And none of the untreated monkeys developed hepatitis?” McLeod asked.

  She shook her head.

  “But, Gwen,” Haldane said. “You told me earlier that there were no serious complications when the drug was tested in healthy animals and people.”

  “True.” Gwen sighed. “This was exactly what Isaac feared. That if we jumped the gun, we would learn about the complications and side effects of his drug the hard way.”

  McLeod brushed the concern away with a sweep of his hand. “The same damn monkeys who died of hepatitis might well have died from the virus without treatment.”

  “Duncan’s right.” Haldane nodded. “If this drug reduces viral-related mortality tenfold but causes a small percentage of serious complications, then it’s still a huge overall win for the average patient.”

  “But the FDA wouldn’t see it that way.” Gwen held up her palms. “And neither does the President Apparently, he remembers Gerald Ford’s Swine Flu vaccine catastrophe of 1976. He has asked us not to proceed with production of the drug until we establish the scale of the hepatitis problem.”

  “That’s crap!” McLeod snorted. “That could take months. And we might not have months.”

  Haldane stared at her for a long time. “Gwen, wouldn’t you take your chances with this pill if you had the Gansu Flu?”

  “In a heartbeat,” McLeod answered for her.

  Gwen considered the question for several moments and then nodded slowly. “I will talk to the President again.”

  CHAPTER 39

  GLEN ECHO HEIGHTS, BETHESDA, MARYLAND

  Haldane stopped packing his suitcase to watch his daughter play on the floor at the foot of the bed. Three days after Christmas, Chloe was still too distracted by the sheer volume of her toys to play with any single one of them.

  Though it had been a tense apprehensive Christmas for her parents, Chloe was joyfully oblivious to the personal and global drama unfolding around her. Her parents worked hard to ensure that Chloe stayed unaware. They never discussed their impending separation in front of her. And they never watched the TV’s twenty-four-hour coverage of the crisis while Chloe was around. Haldane hardly ever watched the news, because he had an inside track. He knew that no sign of the virus or terrorists had emerged in the two plus weeks since Operation Antiseptic.

  Chloe jumped from toy to toy and changed her costume every few minutes. Finally, when the toys covered half of the floor in the bedroom, she abandoned them altogether and hopped onto the queen-size bed beside Noah’s suitcase.

  “Daddy, you just went away,” Chloe said, bouncing on the bed. “Why do you have to go again?”

  “This is a different trip, Chlo.” Haldane smiled. “It’s way better. You’re going to get to see me all the time.”

  “How can I?” she asked.

  “Because I’m only going a few blocks away,” Haldane said. “You’re going to come over lots. Some nights you’ll have sleepovers with me. And other nights you’ll stay here with Mommy.”

  She stopped bouncing. “Why don’t you stay here, Daddy? Then I can spend every night with both of you.”

  Haldane felt his heart squeeze. He reached for his daughter and wrapped her in a big hug. “Ah, Chlo, it’s a bit more complicated than that. But it will be okay. You’ll see.”

  In what would have constituted a miracle three weeks earlier, Noah found a parking spot right in front of the trendy downtown Italian restaurant. Like many in the area, it had reopened its doors after Christmas for the first time in almost two weeks, indicating to Noah that people were starting to venture out again. While a small degree of normalcy was returning to life in Washington, the popular Washington nightspot was still no more than a third full.

  Haldane was the first to arrive. He chose a table in the corner by the window. As soon as he reached his seat, he ordered a Heineken to help quell the butterflies that sprang to life in his stomach. His drink arrived at the same time Gwen did. Haldane flagged her over with a wave, but she had already spotted him.

  She wore a silky white blouse with a dipping neckline, and black pants with a high waist that hugged her hips and accentuated her long, slim legs. She had let her unpinned blond hair fall down to her shoulders. While Noah had grown accustomed to seeing her dressed in business suits for the TV cameras she faced on a daily basis, he had never seen her in chic evening wear. He admired her feminine grace as she strode across the floor, but he suddenly felt awkward too, as if he had forgotten a step in the middle of a dance.

  He rose to greet her with a kiss on the cheek, stealing a moment to inhale her fragrance.

  After the waiter had brought her wine, Haldane shook his head and exhaled. “You look ... wow ... lovely.” He smiled. “Too bad Duncan couldn’t see you like this. He’s an admirer, too.”

  “Thanks ... I think,” she said. “Why couldn’t Duncan join us tonight?”

  “Primarily because he wasn’t invited.”

  “I wasn’t entirely sure why I was invited, either,” she said with a playful smile. “Didn’t you call it a working dinner?”

  Haldane felt the butterflies flutter faster. “Oh, I just thought you might like to have dinner ... you know .. , just the two of us,” he faltered.

  She reached over and rested a hand on his. “I didn’t know if this was business or...” She let the sentence hang unfinished.

  Haldane enjoyed the warmth of her hand’s caress. “It’s mainly the ‘or’ part, but since you mentioned it, any news this afternoon?”

  She let go of his hand, and Noah kicked himself for asking. “Hmmm,” she said. “More problems in Atlanta with Isaac’s drug.”

  “You mean about the media leak?” he said and then went on to explain: “I heard something on the radio on the way in.”

  “It makes me so mad! I guess they were bound to find out eventually, but it’s way too early. Especially with the problems we’re having.” She looked down at her wineglass and twisted it by the stem. “The press doesn’t seem to know too much, but it’s only a matter of time.”

  Haldane nodded. “What’s going on with the drug?”

  “Not much change.” She stilled her wineglass and looked up at Noah. “The risk of hepatitis runs at about two and a half percent, but that’s overshadowed by how well it works in treating both strains of the Gansu Flu.”

  “How well does it work?” he asked.

  “The death rates drop from twenty-five percent down to five percent in the treated group.”

  “Even factoring in the risk of hepatitis?” Haldane asked.

  Gwen nodded. “So the pharmaceutical plant is up and running again. We should have some of the drug ready for distribution by week’s end.”

  Haldane raised his half-empty beer glass. “Here’s hoping it all goes to waste.”

  Her face softened and broke into a warm smile. “I’ll drink to that,” she said, and she tapped her glass against his.


  “Two weeks and we haven’t seen hide nor hair of The Brotherhood,” Haldane said. “That has to bode well, right?”

  “Let’s hope,” she said. “I think the country is collectively exhausted from living under the constant threat.”

  Haldane pointed around the room with his glass. “People are starting to get back to their normal lives.”

  Gwen shrugged. “I wouldn’t call it normal.”

  “At least people are getting out of their houses,” Haldane said. “Many have gone back to work. The borders have opened to some travel.”

  “Not much. The airports are zoos. Few international flights are getting in. And according to Ted, the DHS will maintain the level of alert at code red for the foreseeable future.”

  Haldane waved his hand. “Okay. No more talk of this. It’s ruining my appetite.”

  “Fine by me.” She picked up the menu in front of her. “Speaking of appetites ...”

  They stuck to their agreement and didn’t broach any work-related topics for the rest of the dinner, filling the time with happier small talk. When the meal came, Noah was impressed by Gwen’s appetite. Most women he had dated never ate on a first date, but Gwen ate through four courses, including dessert. “How do you stay so thin?” he asked her, dropping his jaw in exaggerated amazement.

  “I inherited my mom’s metabolism. That and her blinding perfectionism.” She sighed. “I know I’m lucky, but you have no idea how unpopular the combination of my hefty appetite and relatively lean weight made me with some of the girls at school.” She laughed. “Of course, the perfectionism didn’t help either.”

  Haldane reached over and took her hand in his, intertwining their fingers. “You seem pretty popular in our social circle.”

  She squeezed his hand, but her forehead creased in confusion. “We have a social circle?”

  “A tiny little one when you throw in Duncan and Alex.”

  She laughed. “More like a square.”

  “Speaking of Alex ...” Haldane said.

  She raised an eyebrow. “What about him?”

  Haldane shrugged, feeling a touch embarrassed. “You two seem pretty close, is all.”

  Gwen viewed Noah for a moment, before speaking. “You’re getting jealous on a first date? I knew you seemed a bit too perfect. Now the red flags are going up,” she said but held onto his hand.

  “That’s not what I meant.” Haldane laughed. “It’s just that I don’t want to get in the way of you two, you know?”

  She pointed around the romantic restaurant and then to the two glasses still in front of them. “Aren’t you kind of in his way now?” .

  “I guess.” He chuckled. “Look, I’ve tried my hardest to despise the guy, but for whatever reason, he’s grown on me.” He tried to muster his most valiant face. ”If there is something between the two of you, I am happy to take a step back.”

  She smiled, but Noah suspected that she wasn’t buying his routine. She pulled his hand up to her lips and kissed it. “Don’t worry about Alex and me.”

  He realized she had evaded his question, but he didn’t care. He enjoyed the feel of her warm breath and soft lips against his knuckles. He had already forgotten about Clayton.

  After Haldane paid the bill, they walked hand-in-hand the half block to her Lexus. Standing by her driver’s door, he said, “I wasn’t sure you knew how to drive. I thought you just took stretch limos everywhere.”

  “Only to the White House,” Gwen said, and stepped in closer to him so that her legs touched his.

  He put an arm around her and pulled her nearer. He leaned his head in until his lips touched hers. Their first kiss was tentative. But when Gwen pressed forward again, her lips were wetter and parted. Pulling her tightly against him, Noah kissed her harder. When her lips parted further and her tongue brushed against the inside of his lips, arousal tore through him like a dam breaking.

  He wanted nothing more than to tear off their clothes, to kiss every inch of her body, and to take her on the spot. Inside the car, outside in the freezing air, he didn’t care. His desire for her swallowed him.

  He knew he had to wait, but didn’t know if he could so he kissed even deeper, releasing months of pent-up desire through his mouth, lips, and tongue.

  Gwen felt giddy as she pulled away from the restaurant. It wasn’t so much Noah’s company—though between his charm and their desperately sensual kiss she would have gone home with him if he had asked—as having the opportunity to finally relax. She had been so wired up for what seemed like forever with the miserable Gansu virus that she had forgotten what it felt like to unwind and enjoy a night out without carrying the weight of the world.

  Driving home through the sparse traffic, she barely listened to the news anchorman recite the same recycled stories of the past week. She only focused in when she heard her name mentioned. “But Dr. Gwen Savard, the country’s Director of Counter-Bioterrorism, again refused to comment on rumors that the DHS is mass-producing a new drug to treat the Gansu Flu,” the anchor said in a baritone rich with accusation. “In other news the reigning monarch of the oceans, the Atlantic Princess II, suffered her first blemish in two years at sea when a crewman was found murdered a day after the ship arrived in Miami. The twenty-three-year-old’s body was found in the laundry, stabbed twice in the chest. His male partner, a fellow waiter, is being held for questioning—”

  Not wanting to have her perfect mood deflated, she cut the anchorman off in midsentence and popped Joni Mitchell’s Greatest Hits into the CD player. She belted out the words to “Big Yellow Taxi,” happily burying the thoughts of hepatitis, viruses, and terrorists.

  She was still singing when she pulled into the underground garage of her condominium complex. She opened the security gate with the remote and circled down the three levels to her parking spot. She pulled into her spot and cut off the ignition to her car.

  She picked up her purse and began to climb out but then remembered her cell phone. She reached into the glove compartment and pulled it out. Deciding to check her voice mails on the way up, she closed it in her palm and climbed out of the car.

  The fluorescent light still flickered a light glow above her parking stall as always, but now two more fluorescent lights had burned out so the lower level was cast in near darkness, lit by a solitary lightbulb over the elevator and stairwell.

  She stepped carefully in her heeled boots, realizing that she was gambling with her ankle in the dimness of the parking lot. Halfway from her car to the stairwell, she thought she heard a noise behind her and assumed one of her neighbors had pulled in to the level above. She stopped and listened, but heard nothing. She turned and walked faster to the elevator.

  When she got to the elevator, she pressed the call button but it didn’t light up. She tried it with two harder pushes but was rewarded with nothing. Annoyed, she turned for the door to the stairwell. Gazing through the small glass cut in the steel door, she noticed that the stairwell’s light had burned out, too.

  She glanced around the garage again, listening for the earlier noise, as the mounting coincidences grew more difficult to explain. Her palms dampened. She dug around in her purse before realizing that she had left the small can of bear spray in her “day” handbag.

  She stood outside the door, vacillating. She considered climbing back in her car and driving out front of the building, but the thought struck her as paranoid. She took a big breath and yanked the door open to the dark stairwell.

  When the door closed behind her, she had to grab on to the handrail to lead her up the stairs. She climbed the first five steps tentatively, more concerned about twisting her ankle than out of alarm. She reached the first landing, stopped, and listened for a moment.

  Nothing.

  Just as she rounded the comer to take the next step, she felt sudden pain in her teeth. Her mouth filled with the taste of leather. At the same moment, an arm wrapped around her chest and pulled her backward until she almost fell. Something hard pressed through her coat into the
small of the back. She knew it was a gun.

  “Do not speak, Dr. Savard,” a voice whispered in her ear. “Or you die here.”

  She stood motionless, her mind racing.

  “Take me to your car,” the whisperer said. “Now!”

  Suddenly he spun her in the opposite direction. He released her from his grip but only to shove her forward. She almost stumbled down the stairs before regaining her footing. With the gun jammed into her back, she walked slowly and deliberately. With each step, she brought her hand closer to her waist.

  “Faster!” the whisperer urged.

  She reached the last step of the stairs. Realizing it would be brighter as soon as she stepped out of the stairwell, she feared she might miss her opportunity. With her next stride, she pulled her thick belt back with her thumb and tucked her tiny cell phone down the front of her pants behind the belt and inside of her underwear’s waistband.

  “Open the door!”

  She reached her now-empty hand forward and opened the stairwell’s metal door. He shoved her through it and out into the garage. In the dim light, prodded with the push of the gun barrel, she walked faster toward her car. When she reached the car, she felt a tug on her shoulder as her purse was yanked from her.

  She heard him rummaging through the purse and then heard her keys jingle. The car’s lights flashed twice as her abductor unlocked the door with the remote. “Open the back door!”

  She pulled open the door to the rear seat. Rather than climb in, she wheeled to face her abductor and was met by the sight of his implacable face and intense, light eyes. Her eyes skipped from the gun in his left hand to the object in his right. Seeing only the needle, it took her a moment to realize that it was attached to a syringe.

  Instinctively, she pulled back, but it was too late. His hand flew at her, and she felt a sharp sting in her left shoulder. With a huge shove from his other hand, she flew backward through the open door into the backseat, slamming her head against the seat-belt buckle.