“What was that?”
“USAMRIID at Fort Detrick. Okay, they’ll be here in an hour. We can send people overseas, but they have to have their blood tested first. The European countries are– well, you can imagine. Shit, you can’t take a fucking dog into England without leaving him in a kennel for a month to make sure he doesn’t have rabies. You’ll probably have to be tested on the other side of the pond, too. Flight crew also,” the DCI added.
“We’re not packed,” Clark said.
“Buy what you need over there, John, okay?” Mary Pat paused. “Sorry.”
“Do we have any leads to run down?”
“Not yet, but that will change. You can’t do something like this without leaving some footprints.”
“Something’s strange here,” Chavez observed, looking down the long, narrow top-floor office. “John, remember what I said the other day?”
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“No,” Clark said. “What do you mean?”
“Some things you can’t retaliate about, some things you can’t reverse. Hey, if this was a terrorist op–”
“Too big,” Mary Pat objected. “Too sophisticated.”
“Fine, ma’am, even if it was, hell, we could turn the Bekaa Valley into a parking lot, and send the Marines in to paint the lines after it cools down. That ain’t no secret. Same thing’s true of a nation-state, isn’t it? We ditched the ballistic missiles, but we still have nuclear bombs. We can burn any country down to bedrock, and President Ryan would do it–least I wouldn’t bet the house against it. I’ve seen the guy in action, and he ain’t no pantywaist.”
“So?” the DCI asked. He didn’t say that it wasn’t that simple. Before Ryan or anyone else initiated a nuclear-release order, the evidence would have to be of the sort to pass scrutiny with the Supreme Court, and he didn’t think Ryan was the sort to do such a thing under most circumstances.
“So whoever ran this op is thinking one of two things. Either it won’t matter if we find out, or we can’t respond that way, or …” There was a third one, wasn’t there? It was almost there, but not quite.
“Or they take the President out–but then why try for his little girl first?” Mary Pat asked. “That just increases security around him, makes the job harder instead of easier. We have things happening all over. The Chinese thing. The UIR. The Indian navy sneaked out to sea. All the political crap here, and now this Ebola. There’s no picture. All these things are unconnected.”
“Except they’re all making our life hard, aren’t they?” The room got quiet for a few seconds.
“The boy’s got a point,” Clark told the other two.
“IT ALWAYS STARTS in Africa,” Lorenz said, filling his pipe. “That’s where it lives. There was an outbreak in Zaire a few months ago.”
“Didn’t make the news,” the FBI agent said.
“Only two victims, a young boy and a nurse–nursing nun, I think, but she was lost in a plane crash. Then there was a mini-break in Sudan, again two victims, an adult
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male and a little girl. The man died. The child survived. That was weeks ago, too. We have blood samples from the Index Case. We’ve been experimenting with that one for a while now.”
“How do you do that?”
“You culture the virus in tissue. Monkey kidneys, as a matter of fact–oh, yeah,” he remembered.
“What’s that?”
“I put in an order for some African greens. That’s the monkey we use. You euthanatize them and extract the kidneys. Somebody got there first, and I had to wait for another order.”
“Do you know who it was?”
Lorenz shook his head. “No, never found out. Put me back a week, ten days, that’s all.”
“Who else would want the monkeys?” the SAC asked.
“Pharmaceutical houses, medical labs, like that.”
“Who would I talk to about that?”
“You serious?”
“Yes, sir.”
Lorenz shrugged and pulled the card off his Rolodex. “Here.”
THE BREAKFAST MEETING had taken a little time to arrange. Ambassador David L. Williams left his car, then was escorted into the Prime Minister’s official residence. He was grateful for the time of day. India could be a furnace, and at his age the heat became increasingly oppressive, especially since he had to dress like an Ambassador, instead of a governor of Pennsylvania, where it was okay to look working class. In this country, working class meant even more informal clothing, and that made the upper crust even haughtier with their beloved symbols of status. World’s largest democracy they liked to call this place, the retired politician thought. Sure.
The P.M. was already seated at the table. She rose when he entered the room, took his hand and conveyed him to his seat. The china was gold-trimmed, and a liveried servant came in to serve coffee. Breakfast started with melon.
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“Thank you for receiving me,” Williams said.
“You are always welcome in my house,” the P.M. replied graciously. About as much as a snake, the Ambassador knew. The hi-how-are-you chitchat lasted for ten minutes. Spouses were fine. Children were fine. Grandchildren were fine. Yes, it was warming up with the approach of summer. “So what business do we have to discuss?”
“I understand that your navy has sailed.”
“Yes, it has, I believe. After the unpleasantness your forces inflicted on us, they had to make repairs. I suppose they are making sure all their machines work,” the P.M. replied.
“Just exercises?” Williams asked. “My government merely asks the question, madam.”
“Mr. Ambassador, I remind you that we are a sovereign nation. Our armed forces operate under our law, and you keep reminding us that the sea is free for the innocent passage of all. Are you now telling me that your country wishes to deny us that right?”
“Not at all, Prime Minister. We merely find it curious that you are evidently staging so large an exercise.” He didn’t add, with your limited resources.
“Mr. Ambassador, no one likes to be bullied. Only a few months ago you falsely accused us of harboring aggressive intentions to a neighbor. You threatened our country. You actually staged an attack on our navy and damaged our ships. What have we done to merit such unfriendly acts?” she asked, leaning back in her chair.
Unfriendly acts was not a phrase used lightly, the Ambassador noted, and was not accidentally spoken here.
“Madam, there has been no such act. I would suggest that if there were misperceptions, perhaps they were mutual, and to prevent further such errors, I come here to ask a simple question. America makes no threats. We simply inquire as to the intentions of your naval forces.”
“And I have answered. We are conducting exercises.” A moment before, Williams noted, she had supposed that something was going on. Now she seemed more certain of it. “Nothing more.”
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“Then my question is answered,” Williams commented with a benign smile. Jesus, but she thought she was clever. Williams had grown up in one of America’s most complex political environments, the Pennsylvania Democratic party, and had fought his way to the top of it. He’d met people like her before, just less sanctimonious. Lying was such a habit for political figures that they thought they could always get away with it. “Thank you, Prime Minister.”
THE ENGAGEMENT WAS a wipeout, the first such in this training rotation. Pretty bad timing, Hamm thought, watching the vehicle returning up the dirt roads. They’d headed into it just after the President’s announcement. They were Guardsmen, and they were far from home, and they were worried about their families. That had distracted them badly, since they hadn’t had time to let things settle down a little, to call home and make sure things were okay with Mom and Dad, or honey and the kids. And they’d paid for it, but professional soldier that he was, Hamm knew it wasn’t fair to mark this one down against the Carolina brigade. This sort of thing wouldn’t happen in the field. Realistic as the NTC was, it was still play. Nobody died here except by accident, while at home the real thing might well be taking place. That wasn’t how it was supposed to be with soldiers, was it?
CLARK AND CHAVEZ had their blood drawn by an Army medic who also ran the screening test. They watched it with morbid fascination, especially since the medic wore thick gloves and a mask.
“You’re both clean,” he told them, with a sigh of his own.
“Thanks, Sarge,” Chavez said. It was very real now. His dark Latino eyes were showing something other than relief. Like John, Domingo was putting on his mission face.
With that, they bundled into an official car for the drive to Andrews. The streets in the Washington metropolitan
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area were unusually empty. It made for a swift passage that didn’t assuage the sense of foreboding they both felt. Crossing one of the bridges, they stopped and had to wait for three other vehicles to pass a checkpoint. There was a National Guard Hummer in the middle of the eastbound lanes, and when Clark pulled up, he showed his CIA picture-pass.