Dead Promise Page 8

  “Not yet, sir. Our investigation is ongoing, and it’s possible that there’s a connection between the vaccine that was found at the Edgewood lab and the manufacturer of the weaponized H5N1,” he answered.

  The president remained silent for a few moments. “Let us know when you find out something,” he said.

  “Yes, sir.”

  ”Dr. Ambrose, we need that vaccine, if that is what it is,” stated President Howland.

  “Yes, sir. As soon as it’s confirmed and tested, we can begin dispensing the doses.”

  “You mentioned manufacturing a vaccine. Is three months the soonest you can get it?” the president asked.

  “It may be possible to get a viable vaccine sooner than the three months,” Ambrose answered. “The new technology allows for a quicker process. But we still have to test it. That will add some time.”

  “How many diagnosed cases do we have now?” Howland asked, looking up from his legal pad.

  “We don’t have exact numbers. At least four hundred are being treated in NYC, and we are approaching fifty in Miami. Chicago reports about sixty-five. And these are only cases that are confirmed. Many people are sick at home, and the hospitals in NYC are filled to capacity, not all with H5N1, but they’re maxed out in terms of ability to treat patients. We’re short of medical care and diagnostic analysis to determine exact case numbers. Exposure and spread began long before we knew what we were dealing with.”

  “How do we stop it, and how fast can we stop it?” asked the president.

  “Containment is our only option at this time, Mr. President,” he answered. There was a lengthy pause. “I can’t answer the second part of your question.”

  “What’s the worst-case scenario?” Jake persisted.

  “From what I know of previous viral epidemics, one of this nature can last one year, possibly two. No one can be certain.”

  The room was dead still.

  “Anyone have questions for Dr. Ambrose?”

  No one spoke.

  “I have another question, Dr. Ambrose,” said the president. “What exactly are we dealing with?”

  Everyone in the room focused on the screen.

  Ambrose took off his glasses.

  “We’re dealing with a genetically altered avian flu virus. The virus was mutated to spread from human to human, airborne, through a cough or sneeze, and it can cause severe illness or possibly death in four to six hours.”

  He paused, lost in thought, staring at the map.

  The room was silent.

  “Have any cases of this H5N1 flu been diagnosed outside the United States?”

  “None have been reported, sir. But we can expect the virus to travel beyond our borders.”

  “We need continuing updates on the spread of this thing. Please stay in frequent contact with the HHS director and the World Health Organization director.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Thanks, Dr. Ambrose.”

  The screen went blank.

  The president said to the HHS director, “I assume that you’re in contact with the Illinois and Florida HHS departments and that they are following protocol for containing the virus?”

  “Yes, Mr. President. Hospitals are reporting to us, and both Florida and Illinois are under emergency containment status, with shelter-in-place orders. State police and National Guard troops are on alert, some on patrol in NYC.”

  Jake turned his attention to the New York City mayor.

  “Mayor Donnelly, you’ve shut down the subways, airports, and all public transportation, plus given the shelter-in-place order?”

  “Yes, sir. We are doing our best to keep people at home, and we thank Homeland Security regional director Tom Bennett for his assistance in getting us supplied with masks and other necessary items. We also have public service announcements, explaining to residents that their best course of action is to stay home,” he replied.

  “I understand that many of those who lost their lives worked on the subway platform the day of the attack. Is that correct?” he asked.

  “Yes, sir. A subway worker spotted the canister and turned it in to his post manager, no doubt saving many lives. He was a victim of the attack, among the other workers and police officers who worked on the platform yesterday morning,” said the mayor.

  “What about other transit systems? Have they been checked for possible threats?” asked the president.

  “Yes, sir,” answered Director Bennett. “We’ve contacted all cities with public transportation systems. They’re doing full inspections.”

  “I assume all airline flights in and out of these affected cities have been canceled,” he said to transportation secretary Matthews.

  “Yes, Mr. President,” answered John Matthews. “We’ve closed BWI, Miami International, and all airports in Chicago, as well as JFK and LaGuardia.”

  “In your opinion, should we close all airports for a two-week period, as we did after the World Trade Center attack?”

  “I think it’s a valid option,” answered Matthews.

  “Let’s do it.”

  Treasury secretary Alfred Menendez spoke up. “We’ve stopped trading for now, Mr. President. Wall Street is closed.”

  “Yes, that makes sense,” Howland responded. He knew it would temporarily stop the economic fallout from the attack. The last time trading had stopped was following the 9/11 attack. Wall Street had shut down for two weeks, and the financial markets had almost collapsed. It had taken months to dig out of that hole.

  “Yes, sir.”

  The president continued, turning to FBI director Hamler. “Has any group claimed responsibility?”

  “No specific group, sir. But NYC Bureau Field Office director Fran Jacobs has a strong lead. She believes she knows the identity of the person who may have developed the delivery system. The suspect was contacted by a group known only as the Organization, headed by someone called the Director. We have strong evidence and are investigating all the leads.”

  “Why didn’t you bring the suspect in?” The president was neutral in tone, but the implication was obvious.

  “We hoped the suspect would lead us to the Director, sir,” answered Hamler.

  “What’s the next step?” asked the president, ignoring the FBI director’s response. President Howland had known Director Hamler a long time and knew not to second-guess him. If he hadn’t brought the person of interest in for questioning, he had his reasons.

  “We’re interrogating the Edgewood lab director, who may have a role in the attack, but, so far, nothing conclusive. All lab records, e-mails, surveillance videos, personnel background checks, bank accounts—everything is being scrutinized. All the staff had security clearance, but everyone is suspect. We’re approaching from all angles: the money trail, terrorist activity, and any contacts of the suspect, who, so far, is our only key link to the Director of this Organization.”

  “What is the status of this key link?” asked the president.

  “Respectfully, I can’t answer at this time, sir.”

  “Why not?” he asked impatiently.

  “May we speak privately after the meeting, Mr. President?” Director Hamler asked.

  “I assume you have your reasons for keeping everyone in the dark,” he replied.

  “Yes, sir.”

  “How close are we to finding this Organization?”

  “I can’t give specifics, but our agents are investigating all leads.”

  “You will find those responsible,” the president said, making it a statement.

  “Yes, sir.”

  President Howland thanked everyone for coming and told them to report any developments to him immediately. He asked FBI director Hamler, as well as the vice president and the CIA director, to remain after the meeting. Everyone else slowly walked out, talking in hushed whispers. The press secretary, Andie Marks, remained seated behind the president.

  Howland leaned back. “I’d like you to stick around,” he said.

  Andie said, “Y
es, sir.”

  “What’s going on?” Howland asked Hamler.

  Hamler looked at the press secretary. “Maybe you should wait outside.”

  “No, she stays.” The president turned to Andie. “This is off the record.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Andie Marks, a young African American woman, was new to the Washington scene. Howland had read some of her pieces in a well-known national newspaper and liked her perspective. In spite of what his critics said, political correctness hadn’t landed her the job. She was trustworthy and smart. And if this thing turned political, and it would, he would have an eyewitness and ally. He hated political games, but he’d learned to play them fast and well.

  “Go ahead,” said the president.

  “The suspect, Dr. Chen, sir. She took a head shot, point-blank range. An assassination attempt.”

  “Is she dead?”

  “No, sir. At least not yet. We have her at Walter Reed. We are keeping her under wraps for the moment. Early reports are that she’ll make it, but she has a severe concussion, possible memory loss. Only a handful of people know that she’s alive.”

  “Keep it that way,” said the president.

  “Our agents will question her as soon as she’s able to respond,” said Hamler.

  Jake was used to seeing things at thirty thousand feet and sighting the enemy. But this was an invisible enemy. He had to address the nation and keep every citizen informed. The more information, the more secure people would feel. He also had to steel the nation for what they were facing. He would be reassuring but factual. He recognized no-option situations. And this was one of them.

  31

  Laura spread a blanket over Lisa, one of the stranded flight attendants in the lounge. She was a young girl, only twenty, and over a thousand miles from home. Lisa looked up and smiled her thanks. Laura took a deep breath and shook her head, smiling, remembering her early days of flying. Feeling so alone, many times, but still caught up in the glamour and adventure of it all.

  “Gosh, was I ever that young?” she thought.

  Laura had often been stranded due to weather or equipment problems or a crew member no-show. But nothing could match the situation they were all facing now. They were trained for emergencies, but this was an entirely new type of threat. Laura’s heart was broken over the loss of Terry, and Maggie was still in the hospital in Baltimore. The rest of the crew were still in Miami. Many others were stranded in Miami and Chicago. Anyone flying anywhere in the country was facing unknown delays. It was hard to wrap her thoughts around it all.

  After checking on the others resting in the recliners, some looking at their cell phones or watching television, with the constant background noise of news commentators, Laura went back to her office. She was going to stay at LaGuardia until this was over or until everyone was safely home, whichever came first. September 11 gave her more experience than she had ever wanted in handling canceled flights. Fortunately the lounge was comfortable, with great shower facilities, and thankfully, Century Air had a great food-service department, so they wouldn’t starve.

  “Give me a freakin’ snowstorm anytime,” she thought.

  Her phone was ringing when she sat down at her desk.

  “Laura Cameron,” she answered.

  It was Dwight Hatfield at crew scheduling. “Hey, Laura,” he said.

  “Hey, Dwight, guess you’re stuck here, too,” she said.

  “Yep. I’m not sure how long this thing will last. I want to be here when we go online again,” he said.

  “Do you know how long it will be?” Laura knew the answer, but she needed to ask.

  “No. I’ve heard all flights are canceled indefinitely, until we know for sure what’s going on. But don’t say you heard it from me.”

  “I won’t, Dwight,” she answered. “I’m just glad you’re here.”

  Dwight was a company man, too. Laura couldn’t remember when he hadn’t been in crew scheduling. She felt a certain comfort just hearing his voice.

  “You might be glad to know that someone else is here, too,” he said, a sudden lilt to his voice.

  “Who is it?” she asked. Her heart lurched.

  “A Captain Wittwer,” he answered. “He says he’s your boyfriend. Can I send him in?”

  He had emphasized the word “boyfriend.” She could tell Dwight was smirking. No one in their business ever lost his or her sense of humor, especially during a crisis. And if a crew member was involved with one of the “girls,” it always led to innuendo and snide remarks. But she didn’t care.

  “Sure, Dwight. Send him to my office,” she said.

  She didn’t care what anyone thought. Why not spice up their day? God knows, they all needed some spice. And he was just what she needed right now. Loving arms around her.

  He was tall, handsome, and looked like a former football player. Several of the flight attendants stared as he walked through the lounge and down the hall toward Laura’s office. Dressed in jeans, a blue dress shirt, and loafers, carrying a Century Air flight bag, he drew lots of attention. Captain Bud Wittwer stopped at the partially opened door with the nameplate: Laura Cameron, Supervisor. He tapped twice with the back of his hand and stuck his head in.

  “Want to shack up?” he asked, holding up the small carry-on bag.

  Laura gave him a warm smile and got up from her desk. “I’m game.”

  She leaned back against the door, and as it closed, he dropped his bag and wrapped her small frame in his arms. His open mouth was on hers as he pulled her toward the comfortable plaid sofa across from her desk.

  “I think this will be a nice place to shack up for a few days, don’t you?” he asked, breathing hard as he pulled her blouse loose from her slacks and slid his hand underneath, cupping one of her breasts.

  “Yes, perfect.” Laura was overwhelmed that he was actually there.

  “Did you lock the door?” he asked.

  “Yes,” she whispered.

  “Good.” He started unbuttoning her blouse, touching her gently as they lay down next to each other. He took his shirt off and tossed it on the floor.

  “Bud, we can’t do this here,” said Laura, trying to sit up and button her blouse. She was coming to her senses.

  “Why not? No one cares, and no one can come in.”

  “I don’t want to lose my job,” she said, but he was persistent.

  “Damn!” Bud’s cellphone started ringing. He leaned down and grabbed the phone from his shirt pocket.

  “Wittwer,” he answered.

  Laura sat up, buttoning her blouse and walked to the bathroom, closing the door.

  “Yeah, man,” said Bud. “I lucked out. My flight to Chicago was canceled. What’s up?”

  Silence.

  “I’m sorry to hear that.” More silence. “Guess you’re stuck there for a while. At least you have a good crew and nice hotel.” He listened for a few minutes. “Order some Guinness and good eats. Call me when you hear anything about the passengers.”

  Laura came out of the bathroom and sat down next to Bud.

  “Yes, I’ll be around. I’m going to stay at LaGuardia for a few days and keep Laura company,” he said, looking at her. “Seriously, stay in touch.” He disconnected and grabbed his shirt off of the floor.

  “What’s going on?” she asked.

  “One of my friends. His crew’s stuck in London. Two passengers got pretty sick on their New York-to-London flight. They were admitted to the hospital. Now the whole crew is quarantined. Along with all the other passengers who were on the flight.”

  “No, Bud,” Laura said with a gasp. “I’m frightened. I can’t believe this is happening.”

  “It’s too soon to worry. Maybe they had too much to drink. The authorities aren’t taking any chances, just in case.”

  “I know,” she said. “But I’m still worried.”

  He gathered her into his arms and held her close. “Don’t worry, Laura. Everything’s going to work out.” The normally lighthearted to
ne of his voice was missing.

  She prayed he was right.

  “I’m so glad you’re here,” she said, resting her head on his shoulder.

  “Me, too,” he said. “Now, where were we?”

  Their kisses were deep and slow, more than longing, a need for closeness they were both feeling.

  32

  “Tell me what’s going on,” said Max.

  George looked at Mark, who appeared in the doorway of Max’s bedroom. Max saw the looks they exchanged. George seemed to be glad about whatever it was.

  “It’s about Suzy, right? What aren’t you telling me?” he asked, almost whispering.

  “I’ll be right back, Colonel,” answered Georgiana. She walked out of the room to talk to Mark.

  Graham was on his feet. “What the fuck is it?” he asked, his jaw clenched. “Tell me now, goddamn it!”

  He sensed something was going on, a feeling, intuition, or whatever you want to call it. He knew how to read people. He even knew something had gone down between the two agents. They had a look that was telling. He had seen it before. When people at work had gotten involved. Especially when they shouldn’t have. They really put up the barriers, but he knew. And he knew something was up, something big. About Suzy.

  Max followed George into the hallway. George grabbed his arm, and he shook her off.

  “Calm down, Colonel,” she said, her voice steady. “Let me make a call.”

  “I’m waiting,” he said, trying to control his mounting anger.

  Mark Strickland said, “Come on, Graham. We need to get some clearance on this.”

  He led Colonel Graham back into the bedroom, but Max wouldn’t sit down. He wanted to know what was happening, and he wanted to know now.

  “She’s alive, right?” he asked, looking Mark directly in the eyes.

  “Agent Reed will talk to you in a minute, sir.”

  “You guys are shit, you know that?” He spit out the words. “God damn you.”

  Mark heard George’s tone as she was speaking to Jacobs. Georgiana was making the case for Max to talk to Suzy, so they could get out of her what they needed. They had to get to her as soon as she was conscious and able to talk. Her emotions would be high, and seeing Max might help her respond. He couldn’t see a negative in having Max in the loop. Max Graham had the credentials and security clearance. Maybe only one problem. His anger toward Suzy. Tough shit. Max would have to deal with it sooner or later.