keep the peace — or even defend themselves. The usual UN crowd was all hot and bothered because of EO’s South African origins, but you know what? Most of the troops were black, and they were saving thousands of black lives. EO did the same thing in Sierra Leone and elsewhere, but the facts didn’t matter then, did they?”
The Secretary of State returned her rival’s gaze without speaking. As the ambient temperature in the room dropped ten degrees, the president resumed control.
“Well, there you go. State says the situation in Pakistan doesn’t allow us to insert military forces, so we have two other options: rely on the locals, some of whom support the terrorists, or go with a PMC.” He visually polled each secretary in turn.
Secretary Lombardi had recovered enough to find her tongue. “One moment, sir. I think we should know what we’re getting into. I mean, have we ever used this SSI company before?”
Quincannon looked to Hooper, who said, “Sure, and several other PMCs besides. You know, Donna, in Iraq we don’t have enough troops for convoy escorts and contractor security. In fact, our soldiers will tell you that the PMCs and military are working pretty well together.”
Lombardi shook her head. “No, no. I mean, have you hired this firm for other covert operations?”
SecDef exercised his best press-conference blank face while the commander in chief regarded SecState for two heartbeats. President Quincannon smiled and looked around the room.
Michael Derringer convened the briefing in SSI’s most secure facility. There was seating for sixteen people in the room known as “the cone of silence.”
“Gentlemen.” He nodded at Sandra Carmichael, the firm’s head of operations. “Lady. Dr. Catterly is one of the leading immunologists in the country. He’s worked all over the world and now chairs a crisis response committee with representatives of WHO, CDC, and other agencies. He’s here to familiarize you with the threat we face. You’ve all heard of Ebola; well, we’re up against something almost as bad: Marburg virus.
“Three days ago, an American citizen collapsed at Heathrow Airport with advanced Marburg. He won’t last much longer. We know a little about him and the feds are looking closer. Briefly, he was a disaffected youngster who converted to Islam and spent quite some time in Arabia and Pakistan. It’s likely that he was intentionally infected with the virus as a means of spreading a serious disease in the western world. His travel plans included the UK, U.S., and Canada.” Derringer turned to Catterly. “Doctor.”
Phil Catterly cleared his throat. “I’ve spent a few years in Africa and Asia and I’ve seen some terrible sights. But based on the images I received from a colleague in Britain, this young American is far worse than anything I’ve ever seen. He had one of the worst cases of Marburg
“While driving out here, I tried to think of a phrase to communicate the severity of this case for you. The best I’ve come up with is from a book called
Derringer scanned the faces around the table, assessing the reaction. Most remained impassive. Sandy Carmichael covered her mouth with one hand. She had two daughters.
Catterly stopped to gather his thoughts. “The worst cases are almost indescribable. The virus attacks nearly every system and organ except the bones and some skeletal muscles. It replicates itself in the body, and accumulates small clots in the bloodstream. Circulation suffers. After a while, the patient develops red spots that are hemorrhages beneath the skin. As they grow, they burst through the surface, and often the skin just drops off. Finally, the heart begins bleeding into itself. You can tell at that point because the eyes turn red from excess blood.” He spread his hands on the table, palms up. “The pain is horrible. Just horrible. Without heavy sedation, the patient dies trying to scream, but sometimes the tongue is gone.”
The firm’s domestic ops chief uttered, “Jesus wept.” It was a cross between a whisper and a croak. Derringer knew Joseph Wolf, former FBI assistant director, to be a devout Catholic.
SSI’s president, Marshall Wilmot, tapped his pencil on the table. “What’s the likely mortality, Doctor?”
“Best case: about twenty-five percent.”
Wilmot nodded, apparently unaffected. Derringer thought,
“There’s something else,” Catterly added. “It got little notice, but there’s already been an outbreak in the U.S. In fact, in this area.”
Derringer already knew about it. “Reston.”
“Correct. In 1989 a shipment of laboratory monkeys from the Philippines was imported by a legitimate contractor. At least one of them was a carrier and infected many of the others. CDC and the Army were both called in. The only thing to do was euthanize all the monkeys, decontaminate the facility, and close it up. We were just damned lucky that no humans died, though a few were infected.”
A chilly silence descended over the room. Finally Wolf asked, “Okay. How do we fit in?”
Derringer leaned back, flipping some notes he did not need. The hard drive of his memory was almost infallible, but a lifetime of habit had sunk deep roots. “You heard about the C-130 crash in Karachi a few days ago. It was loaded with disaster relief supplies for delivery up-country but it went down in a populated area. At least thirty people died on the ground. Of course, the radical elements in Pakistan turned it into an Evil Satan situation — never mind that we were trying to help the locals. The responsible agencies in Islamabad understand the facts, but there are unsympathetic people in the government. State says that an increased U.S. military presence in the country is not acceptable at present.” He shrugged. “They’ve offered the job to us. I wanted a consensus before accepting.”
Wilmot gave Derringer an arched-eyebrows expression with a slight nod toward Catterly. Derringer nodded, then turned to the researcher. “Phil, we need to discuss some discreet business. May I ask you to…”
“Surely.” Catterly read the signs all too well.
As the researcher closed the door, Wilmot continued. “Just as background, I think everybody should know that Mike and I haven’t had much time to discuss this contract. He was still fuming about The One That Got Away when I picked him up.”
There was laughter in the room; some knew that Wilmot was only mildly exaggerating.
“Anyway, because I’m working with Corin Pilong on contracts, I think it only fair to note that this is a seller’s market. Now, maybe that makes me an evil bastard, considering what we’re up against. But I’d be remiss if I didn’t point that out.”
“Marsh is right,” Derringer added. “Because this is a covert op on a tight schedule, there’s no competition. We can maximize the profits on this one because there’s relatively little overhead. We envision probably three dozen operators and maybe a few helos. Plus the cost of getting there and back, of course.”
Sandra Carmichael had enough experience with international PMC ops to raise a cynical question. “What are the chances we may run into other operators over there? You know, somebody working as a backup in case we fail.” She shrugged. “And what about the Brits?” It was the kind of question that Derringer liked.
“Sandy, unless Greg Hooper is leading me on, it won’t happen. And I’ve known him over twenty years. We have the lead on this project, but the administration is keeping London informed in general terms.”
Derringer almost smiled at Carmichael’s mission-oriented attitude. It was one of the things he appreciated about the small-town Alabama girl who finished her army career as a lieutenant colonel. He suspected that deep down, the rural squirrel shooter still stirred in her; she liked to play with subguns and pistols, which gave her credibility with Frank Leopole, chief of SSI’s foreign operations division. The former marine 0–5 looked the part: high-and-tight haircut and perennial scowl. While he enjoyed plinking with Carmichael, he still felt that it should be beneath a lady’s dignity to kill anyone.
Derringer proceeded to the next items on the agenda. “Very well. We’ll push the contract right along but we’ll begin planning today to save time.” He looked at Leopole. “Frank, unless we have an operator fluent in Urdu and Pashto, you’ll want to put Omar on this one. Of course, he also speaks Arabic.”
Leopole nodded, grunting, “Roger that.” Though suspicious of all Muslims, he respected Dr. Omar Mohammed’s awesome linguistic ability — the native Iranian was fluent in four languages and conversant in half a dozen others.
“One more thing,” Derringer added. “Given the medical and scientific nature of the mission, we would benefit by having a specialist on the team. I’ll talk to Dr. Catterly but he’s on the shady side of sixty, and he wouldn’t
