A Heartbeat Away (9 page)

“When?”

“About eight or nine months ago.”

Griff felt himself sink. He had warned Sylvia Chen that the project was too dangerous, the virus too unstable in terms of mutation. He had warned all of them.

“You know we don’t have any treatment,” he said.

“That’s why I’m bringing you to Washington, Dr. Rhodes. I need you to come up with one.”

Griff respected Allaire’s acumen for biology and physiology. According to Sylvia Chen, the president had not only read Griff’s lengthy scientific reports, he understood them as well. The president must have been aware of his slow progress toward an antimicrobial treatment for WRX3883, which meant he also knew he was asking the impossible.

“Mr. President, before we go any farther, there is something I need to know.”

“Go ahead.”

“Were you the one who authorized my arrest?”

There was a prolonged pause.

“We had evidence,” the president said, “irrefutable security film of you stealing canisters of the virus on which you were working. Under the provisions of the Patriot Act, you were a terrorist. What would you have done?”

“I am no terrorist and I stole nothing. Now tell me, did you authorize my arrest?”

“Will my answer affect your decision about helping us?”

I can’t help you because there is nothing I can do before you and the others are dead
.

“Regardless of what you say, I will do what I can. But I want the truth.”

“The truth is, yes. Yes, I did authorize your arrest, and I would do it again.”

“And the solitary confinement?”

“I was convinced you had turned. I believed you were a terrorist and a severe threat to the United States of America. I did what I thought was in the best interests of our country. Our plan was to isolate you, and then eventually—”

“To torture me.”

“There were those close to me who wanted to do it immediately,” the president said.

CHAPTER 13

DAY 2
3:00 A.M. (EST)

Allaire had done all he could. Despite his obvious contempt for Rhodes, the man was now en route to Washington. The first of two planned portable airlocks with connecting tunnels was in place. Boxes of supplies were now being sent into the Capitol along a bed of metal rollers. At last report, the second tunnel was nearing completion.

The military continued to request expanded access to the Capitol, but Allaire was keeping them at bay. Until Griffin Rhodes had a chance to evaluate the situation and provide a preliminary assessment, the Capitol would remain off-limits to anyone who wasn’t absolutely essential.

Using House Chamber surveillance video, Allaire and Salitas sorted out the group assignments faster than either thought possible. They used the location of the fifteen aerosol blasts to define the breakdown. Group B, those with moderate exposure, numbered just above three hundred. Group A, lowest exposure, were allowed to remain in the House Chamber. There were sixty people whom Allaire marked as having the heaviest exposure. Those individuals were assigned to Admiral Jakes’s C Group.

They would be the first to die.

Gratefully, Rebecca and Samantha were As.

Sylvia Chen’s reports detailing how WRX3883 spread from host to prospective host gave Allaire the idea to establish the quarantine groups. Chen had presented compelling evidence that extended exposure to carriers with later-stage infection increased the amount of virus passed to a new host. Allaire had good reason to believe those with heavy exposure to WRX3883 would speed up the progression of symptoms in people with less virus in their system.

The president understood that he was largely responsible for this disaster. He should have pulled the plug on Veritas sooner. Perhaps he should have taken more people into his confidence before authorizing the program in the first place. He always felt his job was about being true to himself and standing up for what he believed in.

But this time, he had been wrong. His closest friend and advisor, Gary Salitas, had been wrong. And worst of all, given his background as a physician, the scientists he had decided to believe in had been wrong. They had convinced him that the power of WRX3883 could be harnessed—that the adverse effects of the virus could be eliminated. Now, by having supported their view, he had, in all likelihood, signed his own death warrant, as well as those of his wife and daughter, and many, many others.

The report of crusty Harlan Mackey’s grisly demise had been a terrible jolt. Now, death from the virus had a face—probably the first of many.

At the president’s request, Gary Salitas, Jordan Lamar, and Dr. Bethany Townsend remained in the Hard Room. Allaire strained to get his mind around the enormity of what lay beyond the door. This wasn’t the time for remorse and self-pity. Now, more than ever, he had to connect with what it meant to be presidential, knowing his actions might be among the last of his administration.

The others watched and waited.

“How much are you going to tell them?” the defense secretary asked finally.

“I don’t know. I’d like to hold back on talking about Mackey.”

“Agree. So long as no one starts making a big deal about where he is. And even then I think we can just speculate. What about the virus?”

The president shrugged. “Bit by bit might be best,” he said.

Townsend looked at the two friends curiously, but said nothing. She had been the Allaires’ physician since the man was first nominated, and was widely respected for her candor with the media, and her loyalty to the first family. She had grown comfortable issuing warnings about rising cholesterol levels in the most powerful man on earth, but in this situation, she felt helpless. She was a Group A, but how long before the horrific symptoms that claimed the Jackson family materialized inside her? She could not access the Kalvesta, Kansas, files from within the Capitol, but she could recall specifics from the case in gruesome detail.

Townsend’s vision blurred as a bolt of pain hit just above the bridge of her nose. Another migraine. They occurred infrequently, usually under tense situations, but nobody really knew about them. Or could it be the virus, attacking her body in unexpected ways? From now on, every twinge, every cough or pain would be seen as a possible harbinger of debilitation and death.

Townsend had decided to resign her position as first doctor following Allaire’s initial debriefing. The revulsion she felt over biological warfare of any kind cast doubt over her ability to support the president as his physician, his friend, or even, for that matter, as a fellow citizen.

Then, as he spoke to her, one to one, and requested she remain with him in the Hard Room—he knew her well and sensed her revulsion at his decision to develop WRX3883, and he needed her scientific brilliance and insight, as well as her deep compassion—her anger began to lessen. She had often tried to imagine herself in his position, making gut-wrenching choices on a daily basis that had the potential to affect millions, even billions of lives. In the end, she had learned to think carefully before second-guessing his decisions.

“Gary, what’s our ETA on Rhodes?” Allaire asked.

“He’ll be arriving here at Bolling AFB at approximately oh six hundred hours, Mr. President. We’ve got a chopper standing by to bring him here.”

“Good. I want you to coordinate his entry into the Capitol. How are we progressing in getting ahold of the guy Rhodes wanted?”

“That would be his former lab assistant,” Salitas said, consulting his BlackBerry. “Forbush … Melvin Forbush. We’re ready to set up a call when Rhodes arrives.”

“Do we have anything on the guy? Do you think he was involved in the theft of the virus?”

“The answer appears to be no. We’re checking into all that again right now.”

“And where is he?”

“He’s still at the lab in Kansas.”

“But we closed the place.”

“He’s the only one there, Jim. Sort of a caretaker.”

“But why?”

“Apparently no one else wanted to stay. There were just a couple of dozen in the whole lab installation to begin with. Now, with their only project shut down, it’s just Forbush. We keep the place ready because we don’t have that many Level Four containment facilities, and you never know when we might need one.”

“What a mess. We throw one guy into prison for bioterrorism, and we leave his assistant in charge of the lab.”

“It’s just a shell of a lab, sir.”

“I don’t care. I don’t trust Rhodes, and if this Forbush worked for him, I don’t trust him either.”

“That’s understandable.”

“But Rhodes is our best hope for finding a treatment, or … or a cure.”

“I believe that’s true, Jim.”

“Our best chance to survive this nightmare.”

“I understand.”

Salitas paused and pursed his lips.

“Jim, if you believe he might in some way be responsible for the attack, may I ask why you think he’s cooperating?”

The president glanced over at Townsend and Lamar, then back at Salitas.

“I don’t know that he
is
cooperating,” he said. “Before I brought you in on all this, Gary, I met in secret with Dr. Sylvia Chen.”

“The Dragon Lady. I know. Smart woman. WRX3883 was her baby.”

“Well, in one of our first meetings she told me about Griffin Rhodes, who was working in her lab developing a vaccine or an antiviral drug that would counter infection with the WRX virus.”

“Go on.”

“Some years before that, he had been working in Africa—Kenya to be exact. From what she told me, he was a cowboy back then when it came to tracking down the sources of outbreaks of the deadliest viruses known to man. Fearless. Like the guys who ride bulls for a living. He was also a computer whiz, who frustrated people around him by refusing to use animals in his research—only computer models.

“Well, according to Chen, back in his Africa days, he was after the source of an expanding outbreak of Ebola infection, which was moving down a mountainside toward a densely populated village. Rhodes found a cave loaded with bat guano that tested strongly positive for the virus. He brought up a crew and sealed several side openings to the cave. Then he dynamited the main entrance closed.

“On the way down the mountain, he came across a hut. Blood was everywhere inside it. The whole family was dead from hemorrhagic fever. Everyone, that is, except one child—a small girl cringing out back beneath a pile of refuse. She was just beginning to show signs of the disease. Rhodes sent all the workers down to the village to avoid them being exposed. Then he carried the child five miles down to the hospital. Seven days later, the girl died and Rhodes developed full-blown symptoms of Ebola.”

“I hadn’t heard any of that,” Salitas said.

“My fault for neglecting to tell you. The proof against him in the theft of WRX3883 was overwhelming. He stole that virus, purely and simply. We had videos of him doing it plus the pile of corroborating evidence you know about. But in the back of my head, I couldn’t get rid of that story Sylvia Chen had told me.”

“Is that why you opted against any kind of torture to find out who he was working with?”

The president shrugged.

“I don’t know. Maybe. From what I knew of the man, and I had never met him face-to-face, I decided the only logical explanation for his actions was that he had gone crazy. I couldn’t bring myself to torture him for that. Remember, that was before Genesis surfaced. I wouldn’t have connected Rhodes and them anyhow.”

“Unless he
is
Genesis. So, do you trust him now?”

“No, I don’t trust him. How could I? But we’re in real trouble, Gary. Hours? Days? Maybe a couple of weeks at the most. People are going to start dying soon. You know how contagious that damn germ is. But I also know Griffin Rhodes is the only card we have to play.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Now, I want a team on the man at all times, and I want you to organize it. Top secret, small numbers. The best we have. From the moment he sets foot off that plane, I want your people to be on him. Can’t be anybody from inside though. Because we’ve all been exposed, we can’t count on anybody to be reliable for long.”

Townsend, who had been silent, finally spoke up.

“Excuse me, sir? I … don’t understand that last statement.”

Allaire and Salitas exchanged looks.

“I’ll fill you in more later, Bethany,” the president said. “But suffice it to say, it’s why I need you here with me right now.”

“And why is that?” Townsend asked.

“Thanks to that virus, it is only a matter of time, possibly very little time, before I will no longer be mentally competent to be president.”

CHAPTER 14

DAY 2
3:15 A.M. (EST)

Dr. Bethany Townsend turned and walked away, struggling to regain composure before she could face the president again.

“No more games, Jim,” she said finally. “No more half-truths and dammit, no more outright lies. As your physician and friend I expect full disclosure, right now, or consider this my resignation.”

Allaire encouraged his physician to take a seat and poured her a glass of water.

“I agree. Promise. Bethany, I need you to devise a means by which we evaluate my mental state.”

“By ‘means,’ are you talking about some sort of test? I know from the Kalvesta files what the virus did to the Jacksons’ central nervous systems. But I thought that danger had been taken care of. Are you implying that there are mental status side effects of this incarnation of the virus as well?”

“Not exactly side effects. After the Jacksons’ disaster, before we stopped the Veritas project altogether, the virus had been working perfectly. You know what interferon is, yes?”

“Of course.”

“I remember the name,” Salitas said, “and I know certain anticancer protocols use it, but I don’t remember what role it plays here.”

“Interferon is a protein made naturally in the body,” Townsend said. “It’s produced in response to certain infections, and also to attacks by cancer cells—particularly those cancers caused by viruses.”

“Sort of like an antibody,” the president added.

“Only not nearly as specific and probably not as powerful. Think about cold sores or other herpes infections. The outbreak happens, then goes away, but the virus is usually not completely removed from the body. Instead some of the germs remain in the skin or along nerve roots in a dormant state. Then a stress or other some factor awakens them. There’s an outbreak, and the cycle is repeated again. We believe that interferon is one of the natural chemicals that drives the virus underground, so to speak. It is manufactured in response to an outbreak.”

“Got it,” Salitas said. “So common colds might be good for us if they stimulate interferon production.”

“Exactly,” Townsend replied. “The interferon produced in response to a common cold could be protective against viruses that cause leukemia. That possibility is still being investigated.”

The president took over the explanation.

“Well, it appeared as if the WRX3883 virus was held in check or even destroyed by interferon and antibodies.… Until it wasn’t.”

“Mutation,” Townsend said in more of a statement than a question.

“All of a sudden Dr. Chen and her team just couldn’t keep it in check. It was as if the virus had become immune to interferon. Remember what I told you about their clinical trials—getting cats to willingly swim across a pool, or mother monkeys to stop feeding their young?”

“Yes.”

“Well, just as Chen thought the virus was under control, her animal subjects, mostly monkeys, began to undergo a progressive neurological degeneration—dementia, erratic mood swings, serious aggression, weakness.”

“Jesus,” Townsend muttered, shaking her head. “I can’t believe this is happening.”

“There was no reversal once their animals began to come apart. The virus continued to replicate and attack their brains. Death was due to seizures and central nervous system shutdown.”

“So you think we’re all headed for dementia and death.”

“I do.”

“And you want me to come up with a psychological test that will demonstrate when you are mentally no longer able to be president.”

“Yes.”

“And what then?”

“Gary, is Paul Rappaport in a secure location now?” Allaire asked.

Salitas nodded.

“He’s being transported to the 934th Airlift Wing, Minneapolis-St. Paul Air Reserve Station on the north side of the Minneapolis-St. Paul International Airport. They have an encrypted line. Actually, he may be there already.”

“Good. Get ahold of him for me, please.”

“Yes, Mr. President.”

Salitas’s return to formality was his way of asking Bethany Townsend if she was in or out in terms of unencumbered support for her patient.

“Mr. President,” Townsend said by way of response, “what can we expect with this virus now? How will it manifest?”

“Working that out is your second assignment, though I want you to stay clear of Group C—Chief of Staff Jakes’s group. We have to assume they’ll soon all be causalities.”

“How so?”

“Anybody at ground zero, say within ten feet of any of the blasts, will initially suffer several hours of uncontrollable coughing, vomiting, dizziness, profound headache, loss of balance, lethargy. Within seven to ten days the bleeding will start due to the destruction of clotting factors. In that respect, WRX3883 is like the Marburg hemorrhagic fever viruses, specifically Ebola. Massive bruising will develop, along with bloody diarrhea. The victim’s skin will begin to loosen and detach from the underlying tissues. The sclerae of their eyes will turn bright red. Black, soupy vomiting will hail the end. Death will occur from dehydration and hemorrhage anytime between ten and fourteen days after infection.”

“Mr. President, Group C is over sixty people. Is there anything we can do for them—anything at all?”

“I’ve sent for the virologist who was in charge of developing a treatment for WRX. Hopefully he’ll be able to come up with something. Meanwhile, Dr. Broussard is arranging for every antiviral drug we have to be delivered here in large quantities. You and she will be responsible for coordinating their administration. It’s your decision, but I would focus on groups B and A. I don’t think we have the means to kill this bug, but maybe you’ll be able to slow it down.”

“What can we expect neurologically?”

“From what I got from Dr. Chen’s report of her animals, with moderate exposure there will be a period of progressive confusion and emotional lability, followed by a loss of will and profound suggestibility. That somewhat stable period will last for two or three days. That’s when the infection was supposed to subside.”

“After that?”

“Neurologic deterioration—staggering, grunting, salivating, uncontrollable arm and leg spasms, progressive dementia, violence, and finally grand mal seizures, high fevers, and death.”

“Damn. So the three of us are in Group A?”

“Gary is close to being a B, but yes.”

“So how long have we got?”

The president shrugged.

“Two weeks. Maybe three. Eventually, death will be due to seizures and central nervous system shutdown.”

“So while I’m testing your mental status,” Townsend said bitterly, “who’s going to be testing mine?”

“Mr. President,” Salitas cut in, “I have Paul Rappaport on the line.”

Allaire flashed on Rappaport’s daughter, the reason his Homeland Security secretary had asked to fill the role of designated survivor. He had met her at Rappaport’s swearing-in ceremony. She was a pale, rail-thin, somewhat mousy woman. The people who had vetted the nominee reported her as having two past hospitalizations for anxiety and depression, but Allaire saw no reason her psychiatric history should lead to withdrawing his support for what was otherwise a nearly spotless résumé. In fact, if anything, Rappaport’s devotion to his daughter was a mark in the man’s favor.

Over the first four years the one-time governor of Minnesota had been in the Cabinet, he had overstepped his bounds from time to time. But by and large, he had been a good and loyal soldier to the president.

Allaire took the satellite phone from Salitas, set it on speaker, and sat down on the high-backed oxblood leather chair at the head of the conference table.

“Mr. President,” Rappaport began, “is everything okay? Media speculation is that there was some sort of terrorist attack using a biological weapon.”

The president gave Rappaport a full briefing. No half-truths. No withheld information. Afterward, there was only silence from the man. Allaire wondered if their connection had dropped.

“You still with me?” he asked.

“I am, Mr. President. I’m at your disposal and ready to do whatever is necessary.” There was a force behind his words, a confidence that was actually startling to Allaire. “What’s next?”

The president cleared his throat.

“Dr. Townsend will devise a test to evaluate my mental function—to assess if my will or intellect have in any way become compromised.”

“How long?”

“Given my level of exposure, two weeks. Maybe more, maybe less.”

“What are you suggesting we do, sir?”

“After the Kennedy assassination, Lyndon Johnson was sworn in aboard Air Force One. When it’s time, we’ll send transportation out to bring you to the White House.”

“When it’s time?”

“When my physician says so, and assuming no one ahead of you is in shape to succeed me, you will take the presidential oath of office.”

“My God. That is quite a lot to absorb, Mr. President.”

“A man does what he must—in spite of personal consequences, in spite of obstacles and dangers and pressures—and that is the basis of all human morality.”

“John F. Kennedy.”

“Very good, my friend. Let’s hope your moment doesn’t come, but if it does, I trust you to do what is right and just.”

“Thank you for your confidence.”

“What’s your security situation there, Paul?”

“I have two Secret Service agents with me and my family. That’s all.”

“Not good enough,” Allaire said. “You have twenty-four hours to get your family settled and safe. By then I want your home secured as if it were the White House. Biometric scanners. Infrared perimeter alarms. Video surveillance, the works. I’ll get Gary Salitas to work on that for you. We’ll send a detachment of Secret Service agents out there ASAP.”

“No need for the security measures, Mr. President,” Rappaport said. “Except for the Secret Service protection. Through my office of Homeland Security I have access to the best systems professionals in the world. I’ll phone Roger Corum. He’s the CEO of Staghorn Security and has connections to all the major players in the industry. He’s already an approved vendor, and he’s done a lot of work for us.”

“Very well. Good luck, Paul. We’ll be back in touch soon.”

“Yes, Mr. President. And sir?”

“Yes?”

“If the time does come, I promise I’ll be a great president.”