by Dave Edlund
Ming paused in thought, mentally reviewing the timetable and logistics. It was essential to seed the virus at a great many locations in as short a time as possible. If he could overwhelm the ability of national and regional public health organizations to deal with the sick, the disease would spread relatively unchecked before any antidote or vaccine could be developed. It would be a biological blitzkrieg, and the result would be devastating.
“Perhaps it would be wise to pay a visit,” Ming said. “This operation is more sophisticated than a run-of-the-mill meth lab. Let’s not make the mistake of assuming our meth chemist is as prepared as he claims to be. A wise man once said, Trust but verify.”
“No worries, sir. I have an important staff meeting scheduled for tomorrow. It might raise unnecessary questions if I’m absent. However, if you agree, I can leave the following morning. The lab is located on a remote parcel of land, east of Bend. I can make the trip there and back in a day. Should I let the chemist know when I’ll be there?”
“Let’s do this without advance notice. That way, you’ll get the real picture and not a staged show.”
“Understood.”
s
Darnell Price leaned back in his chair. His office at Cascade Aqua Company was modest. The furnishings were limited to a typical business desk with chairs for two visitors. Although functional and clean, it could have been purchased from a thrift store. The walls as well as his desktop were devoid of personal photos, framed diplomas, or certificates of achievement. Instead, there were three large prints showing various stages of the bottling line. A single row of books was arranged on a shelf behind his desk. The titles indicated that the tomes taught manufacturing excellence, quality control, lean manufacturing, water chemistry, and bottling processes.
A private man, Darnell did not socialize much, and he was rarely seen at public events. He was known to be a wealthy man, but his precise net worth was the subject of conjecture, not fact. He drove a late model Cadillac, but so did a lot of people. He lived in an apartment in downtown Eugene. From his balcony, he had a direct view of Spencer Butte.
Darnell Price had a knack for business. Following his BS degree in biomedical engineering from the University of California, Davis, he earned an MBA from Brown University prior to beginning a five-year apprenticeship at his father’s company. The senior Price built a successful business manufacturing and selling medical devices. It was a natural fit for Darnell, and he assumed the leadership position when his father died. The company flourished under Darnell’s direction, exhibiting double-digit growth year after year. He was at the top of his game when he sold the company for an undisclosed amount.
That same year he married the love of his life. Head-over-heels in love, highly successful, rich, a respected member of society… Darnell was the envy of everyone who knew him. Life was perfect.
But it soon began to unravel.
A week before their first anniversary, his wife died only three days following childbirth due to an infection she acquired while in labor. Seven months later, tragedy struck again as his twin children died within days of each other from influenza. His money and success offered no protection from the illnesses that ripped away his family.
His grief was inconsolable. With no siblings and both parents deceased, he suffered alone, soon sinking into a deep depression. Every day he thought about ending the pain, and twice he came very close to carrying through and ending his life.
It took months, but eventually he began to rise from his self-pity and despair. Even so, the death of his wife and daughters left deep scars on his psyche. He stopped seeing his friends and withdrew into a dark and empty shell.
Darnell became obsessed with the notion that humankind was being besieged by Nature. He found groups on social media with similar beliefs, watched documentaries and read books espousing that people had overpopulated the Earth. He even fleshed out half-baked theories that natural events—such as disease, extreme weather, conflict, and famine—would cause massive loss of human life.
He needed something more immediate and uplifting to occupy his mind, and eventually he bought Cascade Aqua. Running the business provided the needed distraction from thoughts of natural disasters. It was a remarkably simple operation, far beneath his business acumen. But it provided a mental tonic, although he never gave up his new-found passion.
Despite his frequent blogging on the topic and the growing number of followers, he’d been unsuccessful in lobbying congress to enact laws that would limit the number of children a couple could have. Then he met Simon Ming, and everything changed.
He’d passed the point of no return when he left Ming’s office at Utopian-Bio that fateful day thirteen months ago. So much had transpired since that first meeting.
The experiment in Warm Springs was successful beyond his most generous imagination. The virus worked exactly as Simon Ming had promised, and the CDC would be closing their investigation now that the outbreak had subsided. He doubted the investigators would ever learn the truth that the contagion was in the bottled water his company had generously donated.
Very soon, he would complete the final act—an act that would be hailed as the salvation of the human race.
Chapter 21
East of Bend, Oregon
March 19
The cloud of dust rose from behind the rented SUV, a large Suburban, as it sped along the unpaved road. Corbett figured it was technically a driveway, not that it mattered. A mile back he’d turned off Highway 20 and drove south until he passed a row of mailboxes. At the next left, he turned onto this gravel and dirt road that, if his GPS was directing him accurately, would end at his intended destination.
The meth chemist came well recommended. When Corbett was tasked by Simon Ming to set up a manufacturing lab, his first thought was to tap into the overlooked talents of the illegal drug community. He reasoned that there should be several well-equipped laboratories manufacturing methamphetamine, fentanyl, and other opioids. Even better, those working the labs would already be trained well enough to carry out his assignment.
He began his search by discretely contacting several dealers in Eugene. Slowly, his search expanded, and Corbett soon learned that the isolated and remote lands of central Oregon offered what he sought.
He slowed the black SUV as he approached a doublewide trailer, easing to a stop near the front door. Even before Corbett exited the vehicle, a man appeared at the front door brandishing a pump-action shotgun.
“This is private property,” the man said. “So unless you have a warrant, I suggest you turn around and leave.”
Corbett raised his hands. “I’m not the police.”
“Then you have no business here. Best you leave, now.” To emphasize his point, he racked a shell into the chamber of the shotgun.
“Name’s Corbett. Roger Corbett. If you’re who I think you are, we have a business deal.”
Slowly he lowered the muzzle of the shotgun. “Okay, come on in.”
Corbett followed him inside. The man leaned the gun against the sofa within easy reach and motioned to a chair. “Have a seat.”
Corbett declined. “I don’t want to keep you long. Besides, I drove a long way and would like to get on my way back to Eugene.”
“Roger Corbett. Yeah, I know the name. Talked with him on the phone. You sound like him, but I’d rather you showed me some ID—just to be sure.”
“You’re a cautious man.”
“I learned early on that caution helps me stay healthy and alive. Not to mention out of prison.”
“Fair enough.” Corbett removed his wallet and produced his Oregon driver’s license as well as his Utopian-Bio ID badge.
The man nodded. “Okay. Looks real enough. So what brings you out here, Mr. Corbett?”
“I understand you’re close to being ready to manufacture our product. I’d like to see your facility.”
The chemist smiled. “Oh, I get it. A site inspection.”
Corbett nodded. “Yeah. That prett
y much sums it up.”
“Follow me. The lab is in the trailer next door.”
It was a short walk to the next trailer. It also appeared old and unkempt. The paint was oxidized and faded, and all the windows were completely covered on the inside with aluminum foil.
The chemist knocked on the door and said, “It’s me. Coming inside with a guest.”
They opened the door and entered. He closed the door behind Corbett without delay on the off chance that someone was surveilling them from a distance. With no ambient light entering through the windows, the only illumination was from a row of fluorescent bulbs running the length of the room. Three men were busy stacking cardboard boxes. All the interior partitioning walls had been removed, resulting in one large rectangular space. Along one long wall were six laboratory ventilation hoods. Several tables supporting a collection of laboratory equipment filled the remainder of the space.
The chemist began his tour. “My men are nearly finished. They had to pack up equipment we don’t need and set up new work stations. Those hoods draft downward and vent out the bottom of the trailer. That way, anyone snooping around won’t see the typical stacks on top of the roof that indicate we have lab hoods in here. Most of my competitors never figured that out. Dumb asses. Anyway, we got plenty of capacity here to work up the cultures and isolate the agent on absorbent media.”
“Sounds like you know what you’re doing.”
“A scientist from Utopian-Bio taught me, and I’m a quick learner. Not that this virus is that much different from our usual product. Know what I mean? You can’t go around being sloppy, or the chemicals will kill you. Same with this virus. Get careless, and you get infected.”
“Just make sure you don’t get careless.” Corbett said. “Do you have room for the tissue cultures?”
“We have more folding tables. We’ll set them up in here, enough to hold three hundred and fifty culture flasks. By keeping the trailer at a constant warm temperature, the cultures will grow quickly. As they mature, the flasks will be processed in the hoods, and the cycle repeated. Product will be kept in three large refrigerators that will be installed just inside by the front door.”
Corbett looked at the empty space.
“Don’t worry, they’re getting the refrigerators tomorrow.”
“You don’t think that buying three refrigerators at one time might seem a bit odd? What if the sales guy calls the police?”
The chemist rolled his eyes. “We don’t shop at stores unless we have to. The refrigerators will be bought at garage sales and from listings in the newspaper.”
“You can trust these guys? Trust your team?”
“I’m standing here and not in prison. That’s because my team is loyal. I take care of them, and they keep their mouths shut.” The chemist grinned. “They’d all prefer to have a good paycheck over a bullet in the head. Wouldn’t you?”
“I see your point.”
“I provide my workers with good personal protection equipment like rubber gloves and full-face masks fitted with air bottles.”
“You can find professional equipment like that at garage sales?”
“You can buy almost anything on eBay. And Amazon.”
“Good. Expect to start soon, within a few days. How fast can you make the product?”
“It’ll take two days for cultures to mature. Processing will take another twelve hours, but we can do that while another culture is started. So, about every two days we can cycle maybe fifty kilograms of product.”
Corbett nodded his approval.
“How much are you going to want? I need to plan my staffing and supplies.”
“Five hundred kilograms to start.” He took one more look around, satisfied the illicit lab was very close to being ready. He had just one more question. “You have the seed culture that was provided earlier?”
“Sure do. It’s in the refrigerator.”
Corbett made a show of looking for the appliance that he already knew was absent.
“Not here, in my trailer,” the chemist said.
Corbett wrinkled his nose. “You put that stuff next to your food? Are you crazy?”
He shrugged. “No harm. The package is sealed, right?”
Chapter 22
Warm Springs, Oregon
March 19
Two days had passed since Julia Zhong and her team from the CDC had collected samples and returned to Atlanta. Lee Moses was growing impatient, even though he’d been warned it would be a few days before the lab results were in. It was mid-afternoon when his phone rang.
“Hello, Lee. It’s Julia Zhong from the Centers for Disease Control. We have the lab results and I wanted to call you right away as promised.”
“Thank you,” Lee replied. “What did you find?”
“Good news and bad news.”
“What’s the good news?”
“We believe we’ve identified the pathogen,” Julia explained. “Cultures from blood samples show a common pathogen, a virus very similar to common mumps.”
“But if these young men were vaccinated for the mumps and other childhood diseases, why did they get sick?”
“That’s the bad news. I said the pathogen is similar to common mumps, but not identical. That’s most likely why the vaccine had no, or only a negligible, effect at halting the infection. However, this virus shows no indication of being deadly. I think the worst case is that anyone who contracts this rare strain will be very uncomfortable until the virus runs its course. Although it’s too early to tell, we do have concerns that in post-pubescent males, permanent sterility may be a side effect.”
“That’s a pretty severe side effect,” Lee observed.
“I agree, but without more studies spanning months to years, we can only speculate. However, given the similarity to mumps, it would not be unexpected. I’d like to recommend follow-up studies of the patients, if they are willing to participate. I’m sure I can secure funding. If you agree, I’ll talk to my boss.”
“Yes, I’ll speak to all the patients myself. This will be a difficult message. My people are proud, and they distrust the American government. But I will do my best.”
“I know you will, Lee. Thank you.”
“What about the water samples?”
“A complete bust. We didn’t find the pathogen in even a single sample.”
“Nothing?”
“I’m afraid so. At this time, we don’t know the source of the outbreak, what we call ground zero. For all we know, it could be a natural mutation of the common form of the virus. That happens with most viruses. The influenza virus is perhaps the best-known example. It mutates, sometimes dramatically, every year and keeps us guessing as to how to formulate the flu vaccine.”
“Did you test any Cascade Aqua Natural bottled water? Peter Savage seemed concerned that could be the source.”
“Yes, we did. Fortunately, that brand of water was on the shelf of several stores in Warm Springs, so they were acquired and tested. All came back negative. However, and this is important, none of the bottles we found match the lot number of what was donated to the tribal council. At least, none matched the lot number on the empty bottles found at the clinic.”
“Wouldn’t it make sense to initiate a recall?”
“A recall on what? We couldn’t find any bottles matching the suspect lot number, and the bottles we did test all came back negative. We can’t recommend a product recall just because someone says they suspect contamination. The monetary damage can be significant.”
“I see,” Lee said. But clearly, he didn’t.
“I understand your concern, Lee. My advice—and this is strictly off the record—mobilize volunteers and canvass every store or other outlet that might have Cascade Aqua bottled water. Check their stock, and if you find any bottles with lot numbers matching what was donated to the council, buy them and don’t let anyone drink the water. Send what you have to my attention, and we’ll take it from there.”
Although Julia couldn’t
see it, Lee was nodding. “I like your idea. Warm Springs is a small community, and the people are close. We will do this.”
“Good luck, and please keep me in the loop. But if you want to know my gut feeling, this is a freak mutation, nothing more.”
“If that is true, then this could happen again.”
Chapter 23
Eugene, Oregon
March 21
There seemed to be a steady stream of employees to and from the break room during the first hour of the day at Cascade Aqua. And today was no different. It seemed that everyone wanted to be adequately caffeinated—whether from coffee or tea.
Darnell rounded the entry to the break room, empty coffee mug in hand, and nearly collided with Ben Jarvis.
“Oh, sorry,” Darnell said.
“Good morning,” Ben replied with a smile.
“I didn’t expect to see you here today. Thought you were taking the week off to go gambling over on the coast?”
“Just have a couple things to take care of, then I’m outta here. Still have to pack. I’m going to Florence tomorrow, to the casino to try my hand at blackjack. I was going to knock on your door. Do you have a minute?”
“Yes, literally. I’ve got a meeting in three minutes.”
“I won’t keep you,” Ben said. “Just that I’ve been thinking about those cases of water you donated.”
Darnell glanced at his watch. “Look, Ben. I told you I wouldn’t hold it against your sales numbers. It will have no effect on your bonus.”
“Yes, sir. I know you said that. It’s just… well, you know… I think it would be best if you would put that in writing. You know how memories can be. I might recall the conversation one way, and you another way.”
Darnell resisted the urge to roll his eyes. Instead, he maintained a neutral expression. “Okay, I’ll send an email later this morning that documents our conversation. If you don’t think it’s accurate, come see me when you get back from your vacation. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need a cup of coffee and then have to get back to my office.”
