“Do it,” Rothery said. He turned to Tony Warner. “Tony, get your people over at Crypto-City to map out every possible route the virus could travel. I want to be proactive on this, not reactive. Let’s cut it off before it gets into the general population.”
“I’ll have mock-up scenarios to Jim inside six hours,” he said.
“Craig,” J.D. said, turning to the CIA director. “You know what I need. It’s time.”
Craig Simms nodded, just a slight movement but enough to acknowledge that years of clandestine operations were about to go up in smoke. “All of them?” he asked.
“Every lab you know that’s actively producing toxins at this time. No exceptions. Even the ones in hostile territory if you can get SEAL units in place quickly enough.”
“We anticipated it may come to this and we’ve called in a few favors. Mossad and MI6 are both ready to assist with the raids. The British have one SBS unit and two SAS units they can free up immediately. We’ll use those for the raids on the Eastern European countries. The Israelis are anxious to shut down the labs operating in Egypt and Libya. I think we have enough SEAL and Delta Force teams to hit the rest. I’ll know in a few hours.”
Rothery stopped pacing and said, “I’m sorry it came to this, Craig, but we’ve got to stop this in its tracks. And finding out where this virus is coming from is number one. Getting a cure is a close second.” He looked at Tony Warner. “You were talking with Dr. Henning on this yesterday, Tony. What did he have to say about a possible antiserum against the virus?”
“His take on it was that this virus, although hemorrhagic like Ebola, is different enough that there may be the possibility of finding something to combat it. One of the keys is in the actual diameter of the virus itself. It’s double the size of Ebola, so genome replication is completely different. He thinks that some sort of viral protein, processed on the intracellular level, might stop the virus from attaching to the host cell.”
“What the hell does that mean?” Rothery asked.
Warner looked perturbed at Rothery’s lack of technical expertise but explained. “We have to treat the patient once they have the virus, J. D. And the best possibility we have to stop the virus from spreading inside the body is to keep it from attaching to host cells. If the virus can’t attach, it’s finished.”
“Okay, I get what you’re doing.” Rothery was thoughtful. “We have a lot of scientists in the government sector we can draw on for answers, but we’re missing an entire slice of the academic community.” He focused on Jim Allenby. “What about the pharmaceutical companies? Could we give them a hypothetical and see if they have an answer?”
Allenby thought about the impact of revealing the virus to the public sector for a minute, then said, “It’s a possibility. If Marcon or Frezin or one of the big guys has something in the pipeline, it’d be lax of us not to exploit that technology. But every company we ask for help would have to sign a nondisclosure agreement. We don’t need this getting out to the general public.”
“I don’t know how much longer we can keep it under wraps, Jim. This Boston incident isn’t going away anytime soon.” Rothery’s voice had an edge to it, that of a man ready to explode.
No one spoke for a minute, each one alone in the silence with his own thoughts. The attack on America with a deadly virus was now a definite reality, one that the media would be all over. And they would be relentless. They would find the connections between Austin, San Diego, Miami, and Boston, and once they did, CNN and the rest of the networks would have their top story for some time to come. And each man in the room realized that stopping the virus from reaching an epidemic had to come from within that room. The power of the country’s four largest law-enforcement and espionage communities sat waiting for their directions. And if those directions were wrong, the results could be catastrophic. But if they were right…
Rothery broke the silence. “Jim, get your agents to Boston and contain that situation. Craig, shut down the labs. Tony, ensure all our government scientists are working on this, and bring in the pharmaceutical companies that have the resources and are willing to work under a gag order.”
He took one more look at each of the men. “This is it, gentlemen. We are on the edge of losing control of this thing. We need results. And we need them now.”
36
The listing agent on Albert Rousseau’s condo arrived at the property at precisely six minutes after ten o’clock. Her being late irritated Gordon, but when she slid out of her Mercedes, Gordon mellowed a bit. She was attractive and smartly dressed in a dark pantsuit, black heels, and a white blouse cut close to the neck. Her dark hair was cut just off her shoulders and suited her tanned face. She wore an apologetic smile as she greeted him.
“I’m Arlene,” she said, offering out her hand. Her grip was firm, and she locked eyes with him as they shook. “Sorry I’m late. I got held up at another property.”
Gordon shook her hand. “Not a problem. Can we see the property?” he asked, nodding toward the burned-out shell.
She glanced over at the wreckage. “Sure. We don’t even need to open the lockbox on this one. Being there’s no front door.” Gordon chuckled at the remark, and she continued. “I just got this listing from the insurance company a week ago,” she said. “I don’t know much about it, other than there was some sort of explosion and they wanted it priced at $145,900. Lowest-priced property in the area, for obvious reasons.”
“What kind of structural damage was done in the explosion?” he asked.
She flipped through the file, stopping at a sheet covered with figures. “There is an engineering report here,” she said. “I’m not an expert on these things, but from what I can see, the major damage is to the rear of the building and the second-level floor, or first-level ceiling, depending on how you want to look at it. The front of the condo didn’t fare too well either, as you can see. The floor joists are badly damaged and need to be repaired. And the city has placed a caveat on the title that whoever buys the place has to have an engineer stamp the renovations before new flooring or drywall can be installed. They want to know the structural repairs have been done properly before they’ll let you cover anything up.”
“Okay,” Gordon said. “Can we look through what’s left of the place?”
She looked down at her high heels, then at the wreckage. “I wasn’t thinking,” she said. “I should have worn different clothes. I’m not sure I can walk around in there with you. Would you mind if I waited out here? I can answer any questions you have after you’ve finished looking about.”
“Probably a good idea,” Gordon said. In fact, as he strode up the front walk, it struck him that this was a very good thing. With no realtor at his side, he would be able to look about freely. And that was why he was here.
He entered what had been Albert Rousseau’s home through the front entrance, now just a hole in the brick exterior. Immediately upon entering the house, Gordon was struck by the extent of the damage. The explosion had blown outward from the stove, and pieces of metal and glass were embedded in what was left of the walls. The foyer was defined only by the difference in floor coverings, with ceramic tile in the entranceway and hardwood in the living room. He carefully picked his way through the remains of the living room and into the kitchen. The cabinets were almost entirely gone: Just a maple pantry in one corner remained. The sink was hanging by the drainpipe and the water lines jutted out from the walls at crazy angles.
The ends of the brass lines were shredded and water damage was everywhere. Gordon knew that some of the damage came from water pouring out of the broken lines and the remainder from the firemen pouring water onto the ensuing fire. The floor felt soggy, and he was careful where he stepped.
He spent a few minutes in the kitchen, thinking about how the scene could have played out. The damage was so extensive that there must have been quite a buildup of gas prior to the explosion. Was Albert Rousseau already dead when the stove exploded? Quite likely. Dead or unconscious. At any rate, if he was anywhere near the stove, there was probably little left of the man’s body after the gas ignited. He continued through the house, checking out the second floor for any sign of a wall safe. But there was no place in the unit where the wall thickness was sufficient to accommodate a safe of any size. Gordon returned to the main floor, then continued on into the basement.
It was dark and, with the electricity off, impossible to see anything. He gave himself a small pat on the back for thinking ahead and bringing a pocket flashlight. He pulled it out and flipped the switch. A narrow beam of light illuminated the concrete foundation. The basement was unfinished, but what was once an open storage space was
