the history-making teleconference.
As one of thirteen major operating components of the federal Department of Health and Human Services, the CDC served as a sentinel for the health of people in the United States and throughout the world.
One of the CDC’s mandates was to protect the health and safety of the public through the prevention and monitoring of infectious diseases and the creation of new, more effective vaccines — the very subject of the briefing that was about to begin.
At precisely eight o’clock, Dr. Henry Johnston Garnett’s digital wristwatch issued a series of quiet staccato beeps. The Director of the Centers for Disease Control quickly muted the alarm on his wrist and promptly called the briefing to order. The tall, white-haired African-American physician and researcher offered the audience his greetings, then turned the floor over to Dr. Colin Fife, Head of Immunology Research and Development for Paxton Pharmaceuticals in New York City.
Dr. Fife, stocky man with a thick red beard and a partially bald head, stepped up to the podium. Waving away the scattered applause, he began to speak.
“As the former Administrator for the Bacterial, Viral, and Infectious Diseases Registry, my colleague Dr. Garnett was instrumental in setting today’s historic events into motion, and for that I thank him.”
This time Dr. Fife waited patiently for the applause to fade.
“As many of us know, the worst outbreak of Type A influenza in history was the 1918 pandemic that killed more than twenty million people worldwide. Striking America just as the nation was gearing up for the First World War, the disease ultimately killed more soldiers than combat in that conflict. If that same influenza strain were to return today, up to a hundred million Americans would die for one reason — because there is still no effective vaccine in existence, or under development.”
Dr. Fife glanced at his notes before continuing.
“In 1918, the Type A strain of influenza, which seemed no different from the Type B and C strains of previous years, suddenly and inexplicably turned lethal, killing its victims within hours of the first signs of infection. The virus induced in its victims an uncontrollable hemorrhaging that filled the lungs, and the victims drowned in their own body fluids.
“This strain was so virulent, the normal age distribution for flu mortality was reversed — instead of children, the old, and infirm, in the 1918 pandemic the vast majority of the infected were young healthy adults. Thus society’s very infrastructure was ravaged as the bulk of those responsible for civilization’s day-to-day maintenance perished of the disease. Those who survived believed the social order was breaking down — it very nearly did.”
Dr. Fife paused. “So you see why Paxton Pharmaceuticals’ breakthrough experiments are so important. With our new techniques in vaccine development and production, we at Paxton are optimistic that using the 1918 influenza cultures the CDC is providing, our researchers will be able to develop the first wide-spectrum Type A influenza vaccine ever developed.”
Dr. Fife looked up from his notes. He did not need them for the next part of his talk.
“Think of it, ladies and gentlemen. Imagine a time when, like polio or typhus, influenza might be eradicated completely. Within a decade influenza will pass from one of humanity’s greatest threats to a minor health problem solved by the proper vaccinations.”
No longer able to hold back, a young woman in a business suit stood up in the second row. “But Dr.
Fife,” she began, “is it not terribly dangerous to move these cultures?”
Dr. Fife seemed unfazed by the outburst. “Of course, if these cultures were to be released into the general population, the nightmare scenario I just described could be repeated. That is why every possible precaution has been taken.”
“But are those precautions enough?” the woman demanded in an urgent tone.
Dr. Fife nodded, acknowledging her concerns. “You tell me if our precautions are adequate,” he countered. “For instance, hazardous material and biological contamination specialists will be present to facilitate the movement of the cultures at every step of the transfer, from the time they leave the CDC labs until they reach Paxton’s research facilities in Manhattan.
“There will be a team at the Atlanta airport, another at JFK to meet the aircraft when it arrives. And a third biohazard team will be aboard the aircraft, riding with the cultures in full hazard gear. The FBI will be notified of the flight, and will send out alerts to all pertinent local and federal law enforcement agencies.”
Dr. Fife offered the woman his most benign smile. “When those influenza cultures are placed aboard a chartered 727 jet in just a few hours, you may rest assured that all steps have been taken to assure safety, and that absolutely nothing has been left to chance.”
In a state of stunned bewilderment, Liam watched the three-story brownstone on the southeast corner of Clinton and Atlantic — his destination — collapse in a
rolling rumble of brick, plaster, wood, and glass.
“Jesus, Mary, and Joseph…”
Well over an hour before, Liam had emerged from the Hoyt Street subway station on the heels of the transit cop who’d been summoned to a police action. He watched as the officer hopped into a waiting Transit Police car driven by another cop. They sped down Fulton Street and turned toward Atlantic Avenue, out of sight.
Liam had followed Fulton until he’d reached Boerum Place, a quiet, shady boulevard only a few blocks from downtown Brooklyn. Even from a distance, Liam had been able to see the emergency vehicles rushing down Atlantic Avenue, hear the sirens wailing. He hadn’t thought much about it then, and when he caught the smell of bacon frying, he could no longer ignore his exhausted condition.
He’d been through a lot — the long ride, the mugging, the subway train nearly killing him, then the cop getting suspicious. He felt cold, clammy, shaky all over. He hoped getting some food into him would help him make the final hike to Taj’s store. So he’d sat at the counter of a small neighborhood diner and ordered up a good fry — bacon, sausage, eggs, toast— then washed it all down with a cup of hot tea.
The food had done the trick. He was still bloody fah’ed out, but the hot food and the caffeine in the
The officers had seemed preoccupied with watching the drama unfold, so Liam had followed the line of yellow tape and wooden barricades until he’d found an unguarded spot and slipped through. He’d walked another block, to the corner of Court Street. It had been impossible to go farther than that. Police were everywhere, and emergency vehicles had blocked every street. Fire trucks were scattered about, and fire hoses jutted from hydrants and snaked along the pavement. Finally Liam had joined a group of Middle Eastern men who’d emerged from a greengrocer to watch the action from a fairly close vantage point.
Liam had been stunned to discover that black FBI vans had circled Kahlil’s delicatessen — his destination— and armored assault teams had just entered the store. Sirens had continued to blare, emergency lights flashed as more vehicles moved through the cordon. Police, fire department, and traffic helicopters were circling overhead, the sound of their beating rotors reverberating from the surrounding buildings. Among the air traffic a chopper belonging to Fox Five News dipped low, cameras rolling to provide live coverage to its millions of viewers.
Then the staccato sound of gunfire had shattered the bright blue morning. Shocked outcries had greeted the shots and many had fled the sidewalks, taking shelter in the surrounding stores and shops. A second assault team entered the building to join the first, and Liam had heard another burst of gunfire. Then he’d heard the muffled explosion, saw the flashes inside the brown-brick building, and the brownstone literally folded in on itself, to vanish in a massive cloud of billowing dust and debris that washed over emergency vehicles and law enforcement officials close to the collapse. Almost immediately, a dozen fires sprang up among the rubble.
“Back! Everyone back!”
A fireman was on the sidewalk now, in helmet and full gear. He was waving everyone into the surrounding buildings. As he forced the crowd back, away from the toppled structure, a dozen more firemen hurried forward, toward the conflagration.
Liam knew that the law enforcement officials who had charged into that building had been buried in tons of rubble. As fires began to spread, Liam was amazed by the courage of the firemen who rushed toward the site of the explosion instead of away from it.
“Clear the area!” a fireman’s bullhorn blared.
Liam considered retreating, but didn’t. Instead, he slipped through the crowd and moved forward. He was
