by JT Sawyer
Reisner blocked out the chatter for a moment while he re-focused his thoughts from the appointed R&R he had been relishing to the shit-storm he and his team were about to be dropped into. Like the others, he knew the inherent risks in this line of work but wondered what Siegel was holding back, given the man’s pensive appearance. This is some nebulous intel to send us out with. What’s he not telling us? And what the fuck happened to the crew?
Reisner’s attention snapped back to the laptop as he reiterated the director’s mission objective. “So, you need us to secure the device, Hayes’ intel, and get it back here ASAP.”
“According to your boss, you’re the best recovery team we have, so this should be a straightforward snatch-and-grab operation. And time is of the essence, so unless there are any further questions, there’s a jet outside to take you to the Philippines. From there, you will link up with one of the Agency’s independent contractors, who will fly you out to the vessel.”
Siegel ran a hand through his wavy silver hair. “Hopefully, if all goes as planned, you will be back here within forty-eight hours and can begin your well-earned time off. Good luck.”
The laptop screen turned black, and Reisner glanced over at the intense gazes of his team. He felt the need to say something reassuring, but instead felt his mind racing over the same worries everyone else had about the nature of this arcane mission.
“Looks like I’ll have to tell my girlfriend I can’t make it to the opera tonight after all,” said Porter with a grin.
“You mean soap opera,” said Nash.
“As long as you don’t sing out loud with that froggy voice of yours on the flight,” said Byrne. “Maybe Connelly will let me borrow her iPod so I can tune you out with some of her Taylor Swift tunes.”
“You seem more like the John Denver type anyway,” muttered Connelly with a slight smirk.
The rest of the team emitted faint chuckles as they stood up and gathered their belongings. Reisner knew it was just their way of burning off some nervous tension. He could tell by her expression that Connelly was probably the most scared, given it was only her second assignment in the field—and one that was probably making her head swirl with dozens of unpleasant scenarios. She looked like he felt inside as he tried to cloak his own concerns.
He moved up next to her as he grabbed his gear bag. “We’ll be on our plane longer than we’ll be on that ship—and back here before the weekend.”
“Sounds good to me,” she said. “And just in time for Halloween.”
Reisner reflected on the date and realized there were only four days left in the month. “Damn, it seems like fall just started.”
As the rest of his team exited the room, Runa caught him by the arm. “Will, watch your back on this one. You guys are the sharpest bunch of field agents I’ve ever had and I’d like to keep it that way.”
“The old man has you worried too—he painted quite a spooky picture of things, didn’t he?” he said, trying to sound reserved. “Just promise me there’s a Quick Reaction Force on standby in case things go south.”
Runa nodded while his face remained featureless. “The aircraft carrier, the USS Reagan, is about all we have in that region, and they’re more than a stone’s throw away, near Korea.” In all his years of knowing him, he still couldn’t read the burly man’s poker face, which was a mask he rarely peeled back. Runa patted him on the shoulder and held the door. “I look forward to your speedy return, Will.”
Me too, more than you know.
Reisner walked out into the smothering humidity. He bid farewell to Runa, then made a beeline for the small jet, the weight of his gear bag seeming heavier with each step forward.
Chapter 4
Asiana Airlines Flight 643 had two hours left before it touched down at JFK Airport in New York, and Ted Becker was counting the minutes as he furiously scratched his right forearm. His wife Lena, beside him, was asleep, and he was glad she had escaped the worst of the bed bug bites which were wreaking havoc on his skin. She only seemed to have a few red marks dotting her neck, unlike the growing rash that peppered his entire body. Damn hotel in Hong Kong—they’ll be hearing about it on Yelp when I get back home. The fourteen-day cruise with Asian Princess Tours that he and Lena had just completed had been splendid in more ways than one. In addition to visiting historic ports in Malaysia, South Korea, Vietnam, and China, it had put the fire back in his marriage.
He raised his hand at the approaching stewardess, his face wincing at the burning sensation moving up his arm. “Excuse me, but do you have any Benadryl? I’m having a slight allergic reaction to something I must have picked up in Hong Kong and it’s driving me crazy.”
She frowned, looking down the aisle, then leaning forward towards him. “You and, like, ten other people,” she whispered. “Most of ’em said they just came off a cruise.”
He sighed. “Yep, and we all stayed in the same hotel last night after departing the ship. Place needs to be condemned.” Ted rolled his right shoulder upward, trying to get past the collar of his shirt to scratch his neck. He felt like tearing at his skin, and silently wondered how Lena could have avoided suffering the same severity of the itching, given the bed they had shared.
The twenty-something stewardess gave him a polite smile and stepped back. “We don’t dispense medicine, but let me at least get you a damp cloth with a few ice cubes in it. That might help.”
Ted waited for her to leave, then immediately dug his nails into his neck muscles. It felt like the burning sensation had penetrated beyond his skin and was twisting into the muscle fibers beneath. God, what the hell is going on? I paid eight grand for a trip and had an amazing time, and this is how it ends. This is bullshit.
As he scratched at the area around his clavicle, Ted felt something ripple under his skin. He paused, his eyes widening. He gasped as he felt it move again—a slight wriggle, like a thread had been pulled beneath the surface of his upper pectoral. He pivoted in his seat, pulling his collar back slightly as he peered down at his chest, barely noticing the voice of the captain indicating they would be descending slightly to avoid turbulence.
“You checkin’ yourself out?” his wife whispered as she slid her hand across his neck. “That’s my job.”
He leaned back, his body relaxing at her touch. “Just had…uhm…must’ve been a muscle spasm or something.” He glanced up at the front of the airplane, then out the window at the clouds below. “We can’t land soon enough. Just glad we’ve got a short layover in New York before heading back to L.A. I could use a walk around the airport.”
“I can’t wait to see all the grandkids and tell them about our trip. I hope Sarah picks us up on time. LAX is always such a nightmare with parking,” she said, glancing down at her wristwatch, exposing a red-and-black tattoo of a butterfly on her inner forearm. “I texted her during our layover in Istanbul to let her know the arrival time.”
“Your daughter’s as punctual as you are, so I’m not worried.” He gave a sigh of relief, noticing the intense itching had subsided. “Now, if it were my kids we were talking about, then a taxi would be in order.”
The stewardess returned and handed him a moist towel. He raised his hand, palm outward, while smirking. “You know, I think I’m gonna be alright, but thanks anyway.”
She glanced back over her shoulder at some passengers a few aisles up. “That’s what they just said—must be the change in cabin pressure or something.”
As she walked away, Ted pushed himself up in his seat to get a better look at the young couple ahead. He recalled them disembarking from the cruise ship at the same time as them and overhearing them say how excited they were to spend their last night at an upscale resort in downtown Hong Kong. Maybe it wasn’t the hotel. He glanced round at the other passengers. He hadn’t noticed any of the people around him scratching themselves or having a rash on their arms. Hell if I know what’s going on. Just need to get off this plane.
A slight bump from an air pocket caused him to lurch forw
ard. He felt a ripple of movement that rolled through his midsection. It felt like there was a tangle of rope unspooling in his stomach, reminding him of the time he had been in the army in South Korea and had dined on raw eel that was partially alive. Only this time it felt like there were dozens of eels wrestling inside him.
“Oh, darlin’, you need to get a stiff drink in you,” said his wife. “Maybe it’ll help you get through the rest of the flight.”
He covered his mouth and let out a muffled burp that lasted longer than it should have and emitted a sulfur-like odor.
“Oh, pardon me.” He looked at the older man beside him, who seemed startled by his flatulence.
The movement in his abdomen stopped, and he sank back in his chair, exhausted. He closed his eyes and felt a deep warmth roll over his body as he drifted off to sleep.
Chapter 5
Johns Hopkins School of Medicine, Baltimore, Maryland
Selene Munroe was sifting through some archival black-and-white images on her laptop on the sixth floor of the medical library, a faint shaft of sunlight piercing through a gap in the window shade to her right. She always came here when she needed to be free of the distractions of her laboratory or her office, where an endless stream of graduate students was always knocking on her door. As the Assistant Director of the Department of Epidemiology and Microbial Diseases, Selene rarely had a moment to herself, and this hidden alcove was the place she retreated to when she needed to concentrate.
As a budding student of epidemiology years earlier, she had spent many long nights hidden away in the corner of similar libraries, working on her thesis or studying the latest research undertakings of other scientists. After serving as a field worker specializing in parasitology with the WHO in Africa and other hot zones around the world, she had returned to the States last summer to accept a position in the academic world. Her work as the pre-eminent researcher of the 1918 Spanish Flu had garnered attention from the university, who offered to fund her work in writing a book documenting the pandemic that killed nearly 100 million people a century earlier. With the world recovering from the brutality of war, the 1918 flu became a mere side note in the annals of history, though it consumed more people during its eighteen-month reign than World War I.
Penning the manuscript was a welcome break from the years she had spent behind the narrow confines of a microscope, and reminded her of the bigger picture history played in understanding the ancient struggle between man and microbes.
As Selene pored over photographs taken of the mass fatalities at Fort Riley, Kansas, where the deadly influenza first surfaced, she thought of how the event marked the first major offensive of modern medicine and science against a microscopic foe.
She stared at another image of a lone soldier standing in his military accoutrements amidst a field of canvas tents. She touched the screen as if to comfort the figure. You survived the atrocities of the Great War only to come home to a country devastated by disease. I hope you made it through this other front as well.
She ran her fingers over a silver timepiece sitting on the desk to her right. Selene depressed a button on the side, causing the top segment to spring open. She looked at the faded photograph inside, its yellowed edges seeming to melt into the edges of the watch. A young man in a corporal’s outfit was standing beside some wood barracks. His eyes bore the expression of someone twice his age, and deep furrows were etched across his cheeks. Selene picked up the tarnished timepiece and gently caressed the back of it with her thumb as she let out a measured breath.
A message popped up in the right corner of her computer, indicating it was from Victor Tso, a virologist in Taiwan. Selene raised her eyebrows. I haven’t heard from him in over a year. She had worked with Victor in Sierra Leone for two grueling months during the last Ebola outbreak.
She opened the message and read the contents, which simply said to call him in Taipei as soon as possible, followed by his number. She leaned back and pulled her phone out of her leather jacket. A few seconds later, she heard the beleaguered voice of her old colleague answer.
“Selene, thank God. I didn’t think you’d get back to me this fast. I sure appreciate it.” He spoke quickly, a slight hint of a Cantonese accent present in his voice.
“Everything OK, Victor?”
“Yesterday, I would have said maybe, but today is…” He hesitated, his breathing filling the phone. “Listen, Selene, we’ve got what seemed at first like an influenza outbreak in Taiwan, more specifically, here in Taipei. We’re looking at a mortality rate of 100% so far.”
Selene shot up in her chair as if an electrical current had rippled through her spine. “What—how many infected?”
“So far, eighty-nine cases. They came into my ER in waves last night. I’ve never seen anything like it. Upon initial assessment, it seemed like classic flu symptoms, only each patient reported intense itching on their extremities accompanied by high fever a few hours later. Within an hour of being admitted to the ER, they began vomiting black-and-red bile that was profuse with…” He paused. “With some kind of parasite—almost like miniscule tapeworms.”
Selene’s eyes darted around the wall, her grip increasing on her phone. “A virus and parasite together—are you certain that there’s a connection? And you said all of the patients manifested these symptoms?”
“That’s right,” Tso replied. She could hear the fatigue in his voice. “This morning, my coroner did an autopsy on the first victim, who perished three hours after checking in, and found the muscles and organs were perforated with thousands of these tiny worms, particularly around the brain stem.”
Selene pressed the phone harder into her ear, as if it would help clarify Tso’s words. She searched the farthest reaches of her mind for an explanation, but kept coming up blank. Selene knew Tso had, no doubt, been doing the same, and must have been overwhelmed with that many ill patients coming through the door. God, what is he up against there?
“I’ve never heard of anything like this. As you are aware, there are examples in nature of parasites carrying viruses, but nothing on this scale.”
Tso exhaled. It sounded more like a sigh of disappointment than one of exhaustion this time. “I know. My colleagues and I at the hospital have run through everything it could be on this end, so I thought I’d reach out to you. You are the first person I’ve called other than our minister of health, who granted approval to reach out to you. He is hoping to avoid the panic and economic turmoil that could result from issuing a quarantine. So far, the majority of cases appear to only be in Taipei. Some friends here with relatives over in China say there have been some reports of a mysterious illness in some of the hospitals over on the mainland, though there haven’t been any official news reports.”
Another outbreak? China would never publicly acknowledge such a thing if it’s on a small scale. That would open the door to the WHO stepping in to offer help, which the Chinese government would view more as an inroad to political prying than as medical assistance.
“Did the outbreak in China occur before yours?”
“I’m uncertain. Again, I only heard a few rumors from my nurses here that have family back in Fujian Province. I’ve been unable to reach my colleagues in Hong Kong though.” She could hear a door close and Victor’s voice lower to a whisper. “What I can tell you is that the first patient admitted to my hospital was a young man named Xsou Chan. Before he died, he told my head nurse that he had traveled from a tea plantation in Fujian Province on the mainland to Hong Kong to visit his sister, then over to the coast to catch a ferry to Taiwan last night. Selene—each of these locations saw outbreaks within hours.”
Given China’s tenuous relations with Taiwan, she knew they would never reach out for assistance or to share information. And if Taiwan’s minister of health issued a travel quarantine, then he would make his country’s economy vulnerable to political undermining from the Chinese government, who would use it as an excuse to further isolate Taiwan from the global stage. Between the
medical and geopolitical issues, her head was spinning, and she pressed her fingers into the side of her temple as she refocused her thoughts.
“So, one potential bright spot is that patient zero might be in your morgue right now.”
“Yes, quite possibly. But I need more information on this influenza strain—if it’s even an influenza at all. I thought you could shed some light with your research. So far, I feel like I’ve been operating in a black hole since this all began.”
“You’re not alone anymore, Victor. Let me make some calls to my friends in Atlanta at the CDC and then the WHO field office in Asia. Maybe we can figure out a way to help.” She wedged the phone against her shoulder as she began to scan the news headlines on her laptop, which only focused on new oil acquisitions by the U.S.
“In the meantime, I am going to try and press our minister of health again about a quarantine, even if it’s just in Taipei.”
“It can’t hurt to try. Before you do that, can you send me some photographs and the records of vitals from a few patients?”
“Sending them through now—thanks, Selene.”
“Don’t thank me yet.”
Selene put the phone down and typed in her password for the CDC site. Her work as adjunct researcher allowed her access to their secure updates on recent outbreaks around the globe. She didn’t see anything posted about travel advisories, health warnings, or outbreaks listed in Taiwan, China, or Southeast Asia.
She bit her lower lip, knowing she would have to wrestle with the CDC director, Geoffrey Weaver, to implement a travel alert for flights arriving in Taiwan and possibly China, if the rumors about the latter country’s outbreak could be confirmed. After the SARS scare in China a few years ago, the former CDC director was too quick to implement a travel advisory, which put a tremendous strain on U.S. and Chinese relations. When Weaver was later hired as director, he made sure not to jump the gun on advisories. Selene knew he would need more to go on than just the experiences of one doctor on the other side of the globe. If nothing else, maybe she could convince him to get her on a flight over to Taiwan to document firsthand what Tso was up against, especially if patient zero was at the center of it all.
