by Dave Edlund
Whatever the cause of the initial hesitation, the CDC seemed to be working hard now for the people of Warm Springs. Lee Moses had phoned Peter already and given an encouraging update. The medical investigators had begun their inquiry last night, and today they were collecting water samples for analysis. Peter would have done the same, except that he didn’t know what to analyze for. Bacteria or virus? And which ones? Do you even have to specify? In the case of chemical analyses, Peter knew that you did have to specify what you wanted to analyze for, and the approximate range of concentration expected. Failure to provide these two key directions could result in the analytical results being negative.
Peter was surprised when Lee asked him to meet with the CDC doctors later that day. It seemed that Julia Zhong had been told by her superiors to assuage Peter’s concerns that the CDC was playing politics. A simple directive, but political in its nature and, therefore, validating Peter’s initial suspicions. But before he drove to Warm Springs, he had one important phone call to make.
“Hi Gary. I got your message. Sorry I missed you earlier.”
“Hey, no worries,” Gary replied. “I’ve been working on your problem.”
“Did you find the source? The party who issued the contract on my life?”
“You know, the dark web is really interesting, but there’s a lot of sick and disturbing content there. Have you ever checked it out?”
“No. And I really don’t have any interest, either.”
“Yeah, probably for the better. Anyway, I found the posting. It’s definitely a contract on your life. And it matches what you shared with me, the information spilled by the pair of amateurs who tried to kill you.”
“Did you delete it?” Peter said.
“It doesn’t work that way.”
“Why not?”
“Let’s say you want to sell something on Craigslist or eBay. You set up an account with your contact information and then upload your post. You’ll include a picture and description of the item you’re selling, and how a buyer can contact you. Well, this chat-room post offering to pay whomever kills you works basically the same way, except there’s no photo. Now that I think about it, that would be kinda gruesome.”
“I’m not following you.”
“What do you mean? It should be obvious.”
“Sorry Gary, but we aren’t discussing an ad on Craigslist to sell my old lawnmower.”
“Of course not. But the principles are the same.”
“Meaning?” Peter prodded.
“Meaning that when you sell your junk and want to remove the ad—you know, so people don’t keep calling you and asking if you’ll take twenty dollars instead of the asking price of fifty—you cancel the ad from your computer.”
“So far you haven’t told me anything I don’t know, and nothing that you’ve shared helps me figure out how to cancel the contract so hitmen will stop trying to kill me.”
“Yes, I did. Canceling the contract should be as easy as deleting the posting in the chat room. You just need to use the same computer that was used when the ad was posted. That way the IP address will match the account and… voila!”
“That will work? It sounds too easy.”
“Of course it’s easy,” Gary said. “That’s e-commerce and that’s what the Internet is all about—making complex tasks easy.”
“So how do I find the computer that was used to post the contract?”
“Right now, I can’t answer that. I’ve traced it back through multiple hubs, and then I got stuck in France.”
“Stuck?”
“Yeah. The trace just stops. But I know that’s not the origin. Whoever set this up knew how to do it right. It’s gonna take more time.”
“Thank you. I really do appreciate your help.”
“Don’t mention it, buddy. It’s what friends do. As soon as I have something more specific, I’ll give you a call.”
s
Peter parked at the Warm Springs clinic, leaving Diesel in the car again with the windows partly open. Lee chided Peter, “I can recommend a good body shop if you’d like,” referring to the dented rear fender and trunk lid. Then he patted Peter on the back. “Happy you and Diesel weren’t hurt.”
“Me too.” He followed Lee into the office where the three CDC doctors were cross-referencing labeled jars with a data file. An Asian woman stepped forward.
“Hello. I’m Dr. Julia Zhong.”
Peter introduced himself and extended his hand. Her grip was surprisingly firm.
“I understand you believe we should have acted sooner,” Julia said, “and that we delayed our investigation because of racial bias.”
Peter was taken aback by her directness. “Yes, the thought certainly crossed my mind.”
“More than that, I’d say. Both Oregon senators and your congressman placed phone calls to my boss a couple days ago. They all said they were phoning on your behalf.”
“I’m glad to hear that,” Peter replied. “It’s nice to know our represented leaders are willing to fight for the benefit of their constituents.”
“Right. Well, I want to assure you that the CDC does not play politics. Our only job is to ensure the health security of America.”
“It’s unfortunate that it took political pressure to cause your team to start the investigation. However, I am grateful you did.”
“Mr. Savage, you need to understand that we do not have the resources, nor is it necessary, to hop on the first flight and travel to every location where a few patients become ill.”
“We both know that is not what we are talking about here. As of last night, there were thirty-one patients with this disease—thirty-one out of a population of about three thousand. That’s a pretty high percentage.”
“And it could be just a natural aberration, or the result of weak immunity—perhaps due to a bad vaccine. We won’t know until we check the vaccination records, assuming there still are sufficient records.”
“Dr. Zhong,” Peter said, trying to moderate his growing irritation, “I suspect you know as well as I do that this is not about a batch of weak or defective virus. Given the range in age of the patients, it would be impossible that all were vaccinated from the same production lot of vaccine.”
“I agree it is improbable, but until we check the vaccination records, we will not know with certainty.”
“Which is why it’s important that the CDC investigate.”
Julia sighed. “I don’t intend to debate with you. I merely wanted to assure you that your implications of racial overtones are unwarranted and unfounded.”
“Okay. That’s good news. Let’s call it a draw.”
“And I have more good news,” she said. “Overnight, the number of new patients declined rapidly, only two. If this trend continues through today and tomorrow, I think we can safely conclude that the outbreak has burned itself out.”
“I would be very happy with that conclusion,” Peter agreed. He motioned with his chin toward the small brown bottles. “I see you’re collecting samples—water?”
Julia nodded. “That is the only commonality among all the patients. We have samples of tap water from all the patients’ homes, schools, and businesses.”
“That was my suspicion, too. Is there anything I may do to help?”
“Thank you, but we are just about done here. We should be packed before noon and on an evening flight back to Atlanta. The samples will be sealed and packaged in padded boxes, specially designed to protect the contents, and sent directly to our labs.”
Peter started to turn when a thought entered his mind. “Water,” he said. He faced Julia. “Bottled water.”
Julia returned a quizzical expression. “Good point. We haven’t sampled the bottled water, although most of the interviews indicated they had consumed bottled water.”
Peter nodded to Lee. “I saw some bottled water in the lobby yesterday.”
“That’s right,” Lee answered. “It’s all gone now. We received a large donation of wat
er recently from a company in Eugene named Cascade Aqua. So we were providing it free of charge here at the community center and the clinic. Folks around here can use all the help they can get.”
Peter strode into the lobby.
The small table where the bottles had been resting was now empty. But the recycle bin next to the table held a few empty plastic beverage containers. He picked it up and read the label. “Cascade Aqua Natural Pure Water.” He turned the label and continued reading. “Bottled in Eugene, Oregon by Cascade Aqua Company.” He handed it to Julia.
“It’s empty,” she said. “The few remaining drops would not provide an adequate sample size. The interviews don’t indicate a particular brand of bottled water. There must be a half dozen different brands sold in Warm Springs.”
Lee said, “I know for a fact that the market carries three different brands.”
“Is Cascade Aqua Natural one of them?” Peter asked.
Lee nodded his head.
Julia said, “We’ll collect samples from the grocery store as well as the market at the Deschutes River crossing, and any other major retail outlets that Mr. Moses suggests.”
“You’ll also stop by the community center?” Peter asked of Julia.
“Yes. We’ll stop by the community center. If they still have some bottles, we’ll take one for analysis.”
“Shouldn’t the bottling process ensure the water is not contaminated?” Lee asked.
“That’s the idea,” Julia responded, cutting Peter off. “And state regulators should be inspecting the lines regularly to ensure adequate cleanliness. But sometimes inspections are skipped, or contamination is inadvertently introduced.”
“I agree it’s a long shot,” Peter said. “But worthwhile looking into. Something has to be the cause of this illness.”
Julia faced Lee. “We will be thorough, I assure you. And as soon as we have results from the lab, I’ll let you know. It will be a few days. But you need to understand that we cannot always determine with certainty the cause of outbreaks, even major ones, let alone a minor one such as this. Complicating the investigation is the reduction in number of new cases.”
“But that’s beneficial, right?” Lee said.
“Of course. I’m just saying that if there was a contagion that all the patients consumed or otherwise came in contact with, the reduction in infections suggests that the contagion may no longer be present. And if that’s the case, we may never know the cause.”
Chapter 19
Tumalo State Park, North of Bend, Oregon
March 17
Although Danya had become accustomed to living in a trailer, she still occasionally missed a traditional apartment. She also missed living in a cosmopolitan city. She closed her eyes and imagined a high-rise modern apartment in Manhattan, or a brick open-floor loft in Boston. It was nothing more than a dream, as she couldn’t imagine any scenario where she would put down roots and shed her anonymity. It seemed she was cursed to live her life on the run, which meant moving from one RV park or campground to another, always paying with cash and using false identities.
Just beyond the window of her small trailer was the Deschutes River. There were four other RVs to her right, and a collection of nearly a dozen tents pitched in spaces stretching to the left. During the day, families with children splashed in the fast-flowing, frigid water and played games on the expansive lawn filling the space between the river and the camping sites.
It was peaceful, idyllic. It was also temporary. Maybe she would stay here another week, but soon she would have to move on again. For now, she had business to attend to. She needed answers, and the place to get them was through Carlos.
She powered up her laptop, and then enabled the custom communication software. The program functioned like email, except that every message she sent and received resided only in RAM—nothing was written to the main drive. As long as she was sending or receiving text, the information was placed in temporary memory, and when that was full, it would write over the oldest information. If there was a pause in messaging for more than five minutes, the communication program would close and all the information in RAM would be deleted.
She entered the address for Carlos, and typed a short message: “It’s Mara.” She always used her alias. “Is that contract you mentioned still open?”
About half a minute later he replied. “I don’t know. I can check, but I thought you said you weren’t interested.”
“I wasn’t, but things changed. Now I am.”
“Let me check.”
She used the microwave to prepare a cup of tea while she waited. Carlos’s reply popped up just as she sat down. “The posting is still there.”
“Good. Send me everything you can find on the contract as well as the party who issued it.”
“Why? What are you up to?”
“Five million dollars is a lot of money. I want to make sure the issuer is legit and can pay.”
There was a pause of several minutes, and Danya was beginning to wonder if the session would time out. Then he sent his reply. “I’ll dig around, see what I can find. It may take a few hours. I’ll check in later.”
s
It was nearly midnight when Danya’s computer chimed, indicating a new email message had been received. It was from Carlos.
“Hit a dead end. After getting bounced through four countries and seven internet service providers, the trace ends.”
Danya typed eagerly. “What do you mean it ends?”
“Can’t continue the trace. It seems to end in France.”
“So that’s where the posting originated?”
“No, I don’t think so. The trace just ends. I should have a specific location, but it just ends at an internet service provider.”
“I don’t understand.”
“The ISP is like a hub. It routes information received from specific locations, or origins, on to the next receiver. In some cases, that’s another ISP.”
“Keep digging. Anything you find, forward to me. I owe you.”
“Damn right you do.”
The email exchange ended, leaving Danya with many unanswered questions. The fact that tracing the source of the message was complicated told her that this was a serious and professional operation. Maybe a state actor or organized crime. What enemies did Peter Savage have and who would want him dead?
She knew at least part of the answer to her question, a party that had reason to want him dead: her former employer.
Mossad.
Chapter 20
Eugene, Oregon
March 17
Simon Ming was very pleased. The experiment had unfolded exactly as planned. The outbreak at Warm Springs was significant, but quite minor in terms of the total number of patients. And just as quickly as it started, it subsided, providing ample reason for the CDC investigators to close their files. It was very likely, he reasoned, they would attribute the disease to a natural mutation that quickly burned itself out.
With no further spread of the ailment, there was no reason for the government health officials to even consider developing a vaccine, not that they would be able to anytime soon. And by the time they realized the true magnitude of the event, it would be too late.
He reflected on the years of research that had been invested in this project, a project he knew his father would be proud of. A brilliant scientist in his own right, Ming’s father had pioneered many of the gene-editing tools used in this work. If only his father was still alive… the breakthroughs they could have achieved. Working together, father and son, pushing the boundaries of genetics to new limits—limits that others could only dream of, the work of science fiction.
But it wasn’t fiction at all. His genius in using gene editing to create new viruses was only the beginning. Once he released his creations, he would proceed to the next phase and resume his father’s work with more advanced organisms.
If God created life, Simon Ming would reshape that life to his liking.
s
“Are the drones ready?” Ming asked.
“The entire fleet has been prepared and delivered to your properties, along with the flight teams.”
“And I assume you’ve maintained secrecy?”
“That’s what you pay me for.”
“And I pay you well. If you want to continue getting your paycheck, a direct answer will suffice.”
Corbett pulled his shoulders back, dipped his chin and folded his hands at his waist. “Yes, sir. All crews believe they are operating a training exercise to test the vulnerability of municipal water supplies. Each crew thinks they are working alone—they don’t know about the other drones and flight teams.”
“Very good. Continue with the training regimen, and keep the teams isolated. We are too close to risk someone talking.”
“The pilots and engineers have been ordered to stay onsite. Compliance hasn’t been a problem since the accommodations are comfortable and each man is getting about a year’s pay for this short job. But just to be sure, I have a number of guards at each site.”
Ming nodded his approval. “Now all we need is the virus. Are we still on schedule?”
“We’re ready to transfer production. Just give me the order. The field lab should be equipped, and the operators say they are almost ready.”
“Have you confirmed their claim?”
“No, sir.”
