Smith whirled from his nervous pacing, stunned by the large number of deaths. Compassion filled him. Then he realized… this could be the answer: “Were these victims also in the Gulf War? Or from the Kuwait border?”
Dr. Mahuk sighed. “Unfortunately, the answer is not that simple. Only a few were in the war and none was from near Kuwait.”
“Any contact with the original six of a year ago?”
Her voice was discouraged. “None at all.”
Jon thought of his beloved Sophia and then of General Kielburger, Melanie Curtis, and the 167th MASH from ten years before. “But how could fifty people unknowingly be injected with the virus simultaneously— especially in a sealed-off nation like yours? Were they from one single area? Had they been abroad? Did they have contact with foreigners?”
Dr. Mahuk did not answer immediately. She peeled away from her listening post at the door. She fished in a skirt pocket and took out what looked like a Russian cigarette. As she paced across the room to the examining table, she lit it, tense and nervous. The pungent barnyard aroma characteristic of Russian tobacco filled the Spartan office.
At last she said, “Because of my work with the virus victims last year, I was asked to study the new cases. I looked for all the possible sources of infection you mentioned. But I found none. I also found no connection among the victims. They appeared to be a random sampling of both sexes, all ages, occupations, ethnic groups, and geographic regions.” She inhaled again, letting the smoke out slowly as if still forming her thoughts. “They did not appear to have infected each other or their families. I cannot say whether that is significant, but it is curious.”
“It’s consistent. Everything I’ve found so far indicates the virus has almost no contagious factor.”
“Then how are they getting it?” Randi had been following the conversation closely. Although she had no degree in chemistry or biology, she had had enough science courses to be aware of some of the fundamentals. What the two doctors were talking about… were deeply worried about… was an epidemic. “And why only Iraq and America?”
she asked. “Could it be the result of some biological warfare weapon from Desert Storm hidden here in Iraq?”
Shaking her head, Dr. Mahuk walked to the chipped metal desk in the corner. Her cigarette smoke followed like a brown ghost. She took a sheet of paper from a drawer and handed it to Jon. Randi instantly joined him, shifting the Uzi out of the way so she could lean closely. Appalled, they read a computer printout of a Washington Post front page:
DEADLY PANDEMIC OF UNKNOWN VIRUS SWEEPS GLOBE
The story reported twenty-seven nations had fatalities of more than a half million. All the illnesses began with a cold or flu for some two weeks, then abruptly escalated into ARDS, hemorrhaging, and death. In addition, forty-two nations reported cases in the high millions of what appeared to be a heavy common cold. It was still unknown whether all or any of those had the virus.
The news took Jon’s breath away. Cold fear swept through him. A half million dead! Millions sick! “Where did you get this?” he asked.
Dr. Mahuk stubbed out her cigarette. “We have a secret computer at the hospital. We took that off the Internet this morning. Obviously, the virus is no longer confined to Iraq and America or to the Gulf War. I do not see how the cause could be a biological weapon in my country. The high number of deaths is ghastly.” Her voice broke. “That is why I knew I must speak to you.”
The ramifications of the news story and the pediatrician’s revelations shook Jon again. Quickly he reread the article, thinking about what he had learned. Dr. Mahuk had ruled out nearly every possible contact with the outside; still, the virus had exploded into a worldwide epidemic. Two weeks ago, every one of the victims had been alive except the original three in Iraq from a year ago. The velocity of the virus’s current expansion was inconceivable.
He looked up from the printout. “This is out of control. I’ve got to get home. If there really are people in America with a serum, I’ve got to find them. By now, some friends of mine may have information, too. There’s no time to lose—”
Suddenly Randi stiffened. “Wait.”
Holding up her Uzi, she raced across the room to the door that opened onto the corridor. Smith was instantly at her side, his Beretta drawn. She was tense with nervous awareness.
Suddenly from the corridor a harsh voice, snarling in Arabic, became clear. Smaller, frightened voices answered. Heavy boots thudded authoritatively down the hall in the direction of the small examination room.
Jon looked at Dr. Mahuk and asked urgently, “The Republican Guards?”
She pressed quaking fingers to her lips and listened to the words. At last she shook her head and whispered, “The police.” Her dark, expressive eyes were pits of fear.
Randi tore across the room to the other door. With her curly blond hair and long, svelte figure in the clinging skirt and jacket, she looked more like a runway model than a seasoned CIA agent. But Jon had seen her risk her life and succeed in a superb defense against the Republican Guards back in the alley behind the used-tire shop, and now she radiated that same kind of intelligent physicality.
“Police or guards. Doesn’t matter. They’ll try to kill us.” Randi’s head swiveled, her dark gaze summoning them to her. “We’ll have to leave through the ward. Hurry!” She yanked open the door, looked back, and motioned Jon and Dr. Mahuk to go through first.
It was a mistake. The police were waiting for them on the other side. It was a trap, and they had fallen into it.
A uniformed Iraqi policeman lunged and tore the Uzi from Randi’s hands before she could react. Three others poured into the room, AK47 assault rifles leveled. As Jon tried to raise his Beretta two more policemen burst through the corridor door and fell on him wrestling him to the floor. They were caught.
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CHAPTER
THIRTY THREE
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9:41 P.M.
Baghdad
Dr. Radah Mahuk stood motionless, her back to the wall, unable to move. She was brave but not foolhardy. Her job was to heal the sick, and she could not do that if she was killed. Nor could she try to save her country if she was consigned to the notorious Justice Detention Center. Like the dead Ghassan, she was a soldier in a sacred cause, but she had no gun, and she knew no self-defense. Her only weapons were her brain and the trust she had built among her countrymen. Free, she would be able to continue to help her people and perhaps the Americans, too. So she pressed back behind the counter, willing herself to be invisible. Sweat beaded up on her forehead.
Two more uniformed policemen entered from the corridor more warily, their gazes darting right and left, their weapons ready for any emergency. Behind them, a slender man dressed in a tailored uniform strolled into the room holding an Iraqi-made Beretta tariq pistol.
For the moment, no one was looking at Dr. Mahuk. She was not important, at least not yet. Terrified and heartsick, she slipped away into the hall and walked as slowly and unobtrusively as she could to locate a telephone.
In the room, the tailored officer smiled at Jon and said in lightly accented English, “Colonel Smith, yes? At last. You have been most difficult to find.”
He inclined his head to Randi with exaggerated politeness. “And this lady? I do not know her. Perhaps the CIA? It is rumored your nation finds us so fascinating that you must constantly send undercover spies to measure the temperature of our love for our leader.”
Jon’s chest was tight with anger. They had been careless. Damn!
“I don’t know her,” he lied. “She’s part of the hospital staff.” It sounded lame even to his ears, but it was worth a shot.
The officer laughed in disbelief. “A European lady is a member of this hospital? No, I do not think so.”
Angry with herself, worried for the underground organization, and frantically thinking of what they could do, Randi shot Jon a surprised look, grateful for his attempt.
But then the officer stopped smiling. He flourished his tariq. It was time to move his prisoners to wherever they were to be taken. He gave a command in Arabic, and the police pushed Randi and Jon out into the corridor. Doors quietly clicked shut ahead in the passageway as the terrified hospital personnel tried to keep themselves and their charges out of harm’s way. The two Americans were marched out through a silent, empty corridor.
Randi watched nervously everywhere for Radah Mahuk, and when she saw no sign of her, she breathed deeply, relieved. Abruptly one of the policemen shoved the muzzle of his gun into her back, hurrying her along, a painful reminder of the danger of their situation. She broke out in fresh sweat, afraid.