“Of course.”
She stared at him, relieved and surprised at his pragmatism. He was a lot more complicated than she had suspected. Also a lot more decisive.
She was almost ready to apologize when he said, “You’re tired. I can see it in your face. Get some sleep. We’ve got a busy day tomorrow.”
He had ice in his veins. But that was what she needed. Without ever saying so, he had agreed to work with her. As she turned away and closed her eyes, she said a silent prayer that they would succeed.
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PART FOUR
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CHAPTER
THIRTY EIGHT
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5:32 P.M., Wednesday, October 22
Washington, D.C.
At last count, nearly a million had died worldwide. Tragically, hundreds of millions were ill with the symptoms of a heavy cold that could be the first onslaught of the deadly virus no one had a scientific name for yet. Hysteria swept across the hemispheres like the four horsemen of the Apocalypse. In the United States, hospitals were flooded with the ill and the frightened, and the loss of confidence over the past few days had driven down the stock market by a shocking fifty percent.
In President Castilla’s private office in the White House Treaty Room, a row of colorful Kachina dolls with feather headdresses and leather loincloths stood on the marble mantelpiece. As he studied them, he could almost hear the heavy, rhythmic stamp of Indian feet and the hortatory medicine chants to save the world.
He had left the frantic West Wing to find respite in his home office so he could polish an important speech he was scheduled to deliver to a dinner of Midwest party leaders in Chicago next week. But he could not write. The words seemed trivial.
Would any of them even be alive next week?
He answered his own question: Not unless some miracle stopped the raging pestilence that had been loosed upon the world, and that would take more than the dances and chants of Kachinas, real or imaginary.
He pushed the legal pad and its offending words away. He was about to stand and leave the room when a heavy knock sounded on the closed door.
Samuel Adams Castilla stared at it. For a second, he held his breath. “Come in.”
Surgeon General Jesse Oxnard entered, not running but walking very fast. Behind him, HHS Secretary Nancy Petrelli trotted to keep up. White House Chief of Staff Charles Ouray strode in after her. Bringing up the rear was Secretary of State Norman Knight, who carried his metal-rimmed reading glasses as if he had just pulled them from his nose. He looked solemn and uneasy.
But Surgeon General Oxnard’s heavy jowls quivered with excitement. “They’re out of danger, sir!” His thick mustache pumped up and down as he continued, “The volunteer virus victims… Blanchard’s serum cured them. Every last one!”
Nancy Petrelli was triumphant in a baby-blue knit suit: “They’re recovering rapidly, sir. All of them.” She nodded her silver head. “It’s like a miracle.”
“Thank God.” The president slumped back into his chair as if he had suddenly gone weak. “You’re absolutely sure, Jesse? Nancy?”
“Yessir,” Nancy Petrelli assured him.
“Absolutely,” the surgeon general enthused.
“What’s the status at Blanchard?”
“Victor Tremont is waiting to be told to start shipping the serum.”
Charles Ouray explained, “He’s waiting for the FDA to approve it.” The White House chief of staff’s voice had an ominous tone. He crossed thick arms over his round paunch. “Director Cormano over there says that’ll take at least three months.”
“Three months? God in heaven.” The president reached for his phone. “Zora, get me Henry Cormano over at the FDA. Right now!” He returned the handset to its cradle. He stared at it, outraged. “Are we all to perish under our own stupidity?”
The secretary of state cleared his throat. “The FDA is there to protect us from the mistakes of overeagerness and fear, Mr. President. That’s why we have the agency.”
The president’s lips turned down with irritation. “There’s a time to know when the fear is so big and so real that the protection is irrelevant, Norm. When the caution is more dangerous than the possible mistake.”
The phone buzzed, and President Castilla snatched it.
“Cormano—” he began and then sat in smoldering silence, foot tapping impatiently, as the FDA director stated his case. At last the president snapped, “Okay, Cormano, hold it. What can happen that’s worse than what is happening? Uh-huh. Dammit, it’s horrible now.” He listened for another angry minute. “Henry, listen to rne. Really listen. The rest of the world will approve this serum now that it’s cured victims of a virus you scientists can’t even tell me where it came from. You want Americans to be the only ones continuing to die while you `protect’ them? Yes, I know that’s unfair, but it’s what they’ll say and it’s true. Approve the serum, Henry. Then you can write a long memo blasting me with why you didn’t want to and what a goddamned ogre I am.” He paused to listen, gave up, and shouted, “No! Do it now!”
Castilla slammed the phone into its cradle and glared at everyone in the Treaty Room until his gaze settled on the surgeon general.
He barked, “When can they ship?”
Jesse Oxnard shot back, “Tomorrow afternoon.”
“They’ll need to pay their costs,” Nancy Petrelli pointed out. “Plus a reasonable return on investment. It’s what we agreed to, and it’s fair.”
“Money will be wired tomorrow,” the president decided, “right after the first batch leaves their lab.”
“What if a nation can’t pay?” Nancy Petrelli asked.
“Advanced nations will have to cover the impoverished nations’ costs,” the president told them. “It’s been arranged.”
Secretary of State Knight was shocked. “The pharmaceutical company wants money up front?”
Chief of Staff Ouray scowled. “I thought this was pro bono.”
The surgeon general shook his head, chiding them. “No one provides vaccines or serums for nothing, Charlie. You think the flu vaccine we want everyone in the nation to have every winter is free?”
Nancy Petrelli explained, “Blanchard incurred enormous expense developing the biotechnology and facilities to produce the antiserum in quantity to see if it could be done so we’d have such facilities in the future. They expected to recoup over a long period. But now we need it all and fast. They’re way out on a financial limb.”
“I don’t know about this, Mr. President,” Norman Knight worried. “I guess I have some reservations about `miracles.’ ”
“Especially when they don’t come cheap,” Ouray added, an edge of sarcasm in his voice.
The president slammed his fist onto his desk, jumped up, and paced into the center of the room. “Dammit, Charlie, what’s the matter with you? Haven’t you been listening these last few days?” He prowled back behind his desk and leaned over it, facing them. “Almost one million dead! Untold millions who could be dying any day. And you want to argue about dollars? About a reasonable return for stockholders? In this country? We preach that economic view as the only right and fair way, dammit! We can end the scourge of this awful virus right now. This minute. And it’ll be fast and cheap compared to what we spend every year fighting flu, cancer, malaria, and AIDS.” He spun on his heel to peer out the Treaty Room window as if looking out on the entire planet. “It could really be a miracle, people!”
They waited unspeaking, awed by the righteous rage of their taciturn leader.
But when he turned to face them again, he had calmed himself. His voice was quiet and compelling. “Call it God’s will, if you like. You cynics and secularists are always doubting the unknown, the spiritual. Well, there are more things on heaven and earth, gentlemen and lady, than are dreamed of in your philosophies. If that’s too highbrow for you, how about `Don’t look a gift horse in the friggin’ mouth’?”
“It doesn’t appear it’s going to be exactly a gift,” Ouray said.
“Oh, for God’s sake, Charlie. Give it up. It’s a miracle. Let’s enjoy it. Let’s celebrate. We’ll have a big ceremony accepting the first shipment up there at Blanchard’s headquarters in the Adirondacks. A beautiful setting. I’ll fly there, too.” He smiled as the ramifications struck him. At last there was good news, and he knew exactly how to use it. His voice rose again, but this time in excited anticipation. “In fact, let’s bring all the world leaders in by closed-circuit TV. I’ll give Tremont the Medal of Freedom. We’re going to stop this epidemic in its tracks and honor those who’ve helped us.” He gave a wicked grin. “Of course, it’s not too shabby for our political aspirations either. After all, we’ve got to think of the next election.”
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5:37 P.M.
Lima, Peru
Amid the gilt and marble of his office, the deputy minister smiled.
The important Englishman said, “Everyone who goes into Amazonia needs a permit from your ministry, correct?”