“Haven’t you been listening? We have over three hundred infected people right now,” snapped Dr. Panjay, and then suddenly regretted her tone of voice. Dr. Arjeta Hlasek was the Regional Director for the World Health Organization and a major political force in the United Nations. She was one of Switzerland’s most celebrated doctors and had three times been part of teams nominated for the Nobel Prize. Hlasek was not, however, a patient or tolerant person, and she wilted Panjay with a blast from her ice blue eyes.
Dr. Panjay dropped her eyes and stammered a quick apology.
“Arjeta,” said Smithwick in a mollifying tone, “my young friend here is exhausted. She’s been in the thick of this, caring for dozens of patients at her clinic and doing fieldwork to collect samples and helping to bury the dead. She’s running on fumes right now.”
“I appreciate the diligence and dedication,” said Dr. Hlasek with asperity. “Still… I find this rather a lot to swallow. Our organization is built on veracity. We’ve had bad calls in the past that have weakened public trust, and weakened financial support.”
Smithwick shook his head, his own patience beginning to erode. “This isn’t like the cock-up with the Ebola scare last year. This is a real crisis backed by irrefutable evidence.” He took his entire stack of notes and thumped them down on Hlasek’s desk. “This is immediate and it requires immediate action.”
The Swiss doctor blew out her cheeks and studied the papers and then the two doctors.
“Understand me, Thomas… and Dr. Panjay,” she began in a measured tone. “I will act. But this needs to be handled with the greatest of care. What you’ve just put on my desk is a time bomb. If you’re right about this-and I warn you now that I will have another laboratory verify these test results-then we will act, but this could blow up out of control very easily. Between political and religious tensions and the shoddiness of the public health and education systems, we are going to have to plan how to release this information.”
“But people are dying!” urged Panjay.
“Yes, they are,” agreed Hlasek, “and more are going to die before we verify the results and map out a protocol for handling this. However, if we don’t move with the greatest care then many, many more will die in the ensuing panic. Thomas, you’ve seen this happen; you tell her.”
Smithwick nodded and patted Panjay’s hand. “She’s right. A panic breaks down the lines of communication that are, quite literally, the lifelines for the people. You’ll not only have masses of people fleeing blindly, which would make effective treatment impossible, you’ll also see warlords and criminals raiding our supplies for treatments, food, pure water… no, Dr. Hlasek is quite correct. This needs to be handled correctly or we’ll have thrown gasoline onto this fire you’ve discovered.”
Panjay turned away to hide the tears that jeweled her eyes. Her mind was filled with the faces of all of the people in the village where she ran her clinic. Half were already dead, the rest sick. She understood what Hlasek and Smithwick were saying, could accept the reality of it, but just as certainly she knew that it was a death sentence for everyone in the village. Maybe for everyone in the region.
She could feel the eyes of the other doctors on her, and though it cost her to do it, she nodded her acceptance.
“Very good,” said Hlasek. “I’ll make the necessary calls to get things in motion. We need to make sure that everyone else who knows about this is brought into our confidence. It’s important that everyone be made to understand the vital importance of keeping this quiet until we’re ready to move. Who else have you told?”
“Just the people in the village,” Panjay said thickly. “And my two nurses. They’re at the clinic.”
“I don’t mean to be indelicate,” said Hlasek, “but what race are they? This disease affects sub-Saharan blacks, as you know. We’ll need to rely on those persons who are not likely to become infected; otherwise we’ll lose our workforce. Our ground troops, so to speak.”
Panjay cleared her throat. “Both of my nurses are African. Black African. One from Angola, the other from Ghana. We’ve taken every prophylactic measure-”
“I’m sure that will be fine. I’ll call them myself at the clinic. And we’ll get a truckload of supplies out this afternoon.”
She stood up. “Dr. Panjay, Dr. Smithwick, you probably think I’m a heartless monster, but please let me assure you that I appreciate the seriousness of this, and I respect the work you’ve put in here. I also want to thank you for bringing this directly to me. We will work together to do whatever is necessary to get in front of this dreadful matter.” She extended her hand and they all shook. Hlasek remained standing as Smithwick and Panjay left.
When they were gone, Hlasek sank back into her chair and stared at the stack of lab reports for a long minute. Then she picked up her phone and punched a long international number.
“Otto?” she said when the call was answered. “We have a problem.”
“Tell me.”
She told him everything that Panjay and Smithwick had told her. The man on the other end of the call, Otto Wirths, listened patiently and then sighed.
“That was careless, Arjeta. We shouldn’t be at this point for three days.” He made a clucking sound of disapproval. “You’re sure that only four people know about this? The two doctors and the nurses?”
“Yes. They came to me first.”
“How long before anyone else is likely to make the same kind of report?”
“I don’t know… it’s still confined to the Akpro-Missérété Commune. I can quarantine it quietly. Say, two weeks. Three at the outside.”
“We only need a week,” he said, “but we need the full week. Find out what hotel the doctors are staying in.”
“I don’t want any of this to land on me, Otto. Headlines won’t help.”
Otto laughed. “An electrical fire in a cheap hotel in Cotonou will barely make headlines even in Cotonou. And as for the nurses… something will be arranged.”
“Do whatever you have to do, but keep me out of it.”
Otto chuckled again and disconnected.
Dr. Hlasek hung up the phone and stared at the stack of reports. Then she stood up, straightened her skirt, picked up the reports on the sickle-cell outbreak, and carried them over to the paper shredder.
Chapter Fifteen
Druid Hill Park, Baltimore, Maryland
Saturday, August 28, 10:13 A.M.
Time Remaining on Extinction Clock: 97 hours, 47 minutes
I drove randomly for another hour, then pulled in behind a Cineplex and swapped license plates with another car. I stopped in a McDonald’s to wash up as best I could, and then I closed myself in a toilet stall, leaned against the wall, and tried to sort this out. The reality of what was happening caught up to me again, and shock outran adrenaline. My hands were shaking and I forced myself to go still and quiet, taking long, deep breaths until the panic eased its stranglehold on my nerves.
I was on the run from the NSA, and there was a real possibility that the whole DMS could get torn down. If that happened I was screwed. I’d already passed up the opportunity to start at the FBI academy. My old job with Baltimore PD was probably still there if it came to that, but a bad report in my jacket wouldn’t do much for my career.
The main thing, though, was that since I’ve been running Echo Team for the DMS I’ve seen a much bigger picture of the world and how it works-and of the major wackos who were trying to burn it down. The DMS was doing good work here; I knew that for a fact. Hell, even I was doing good work here. Having this organization destroyed would do a lot more harm than just screwing up my career path. How could the Vice President not see the value of the Department of Military Sciences? Hell, we’d saved his wife’s life less than two months ago.