Pandora's Legion

Derringer stepped back a few feet and regarded the plaque, arms folded. “You know, some board members didn’t want us to put this up. They said it could be a security risk but I don’t buy that. I think they just didn’t want it known that we lose people.”

“Well, it’s no secret that PMCs take casualties. But I don’t think the public has any idea how many have been killed in Iraq alone. Must be hundreds by now.”

Derringer turned toward his colleague. “I’ll tell you something, Joe. I damn well want people to know our losses. Everyone who walks into this building needs to look at that list and consider what it means — what’s behind it.” He stopped for a few seconds, focusing his thoughts. “I don’t know about you, but I think it’s part of our responsibility to the people we hire.”

The retired admiral turned on a heel and marched away, his purposeful steps echoing off the polished tile.

LONDON

“She certainly looks better,” Charles Padgett-Smith said.

Margaret Keene, Doctor of Naturopathic Medicine, almost smiled. Carolyn’s husband was a dear man, but still steeped in the stiff-upper-lip tradition. Or maybe he’s afraid of being let doum after weathering such a terrible siege. We almost lost her. “Yes, she’s much improved.” She gestured toward the cafeteria, just down the hallway. With a sideways glance, Keene assessed the man’s mental state. In that regard he was more at risk than Carolyn.

“Charles, it’s a complex situation, as you know. But I’ll try to summarize. Generally, Marburg is twenty-five percent fatal. As filoviruses go, that is not bad odds. But Carolyn’s case was compounded by the means of exposure. The deep injection of a particularly strong strain ensured rapid dispersal throughout her body. She really was quite foolish to remain at home those extra two days.” Dr. Keene’s expressive eyebrows furrowed in a mild rebuke toward an indulgent husband.

He inhaled, exhaled, and nodded. “Yes, I know that now. She seemed to prefer dying at home rather than entering hospital, even if it meant risking exposure throughout the house. If she hadn’t called you when she landed…”

Keene permitted herself a rare pat on the man’s arm. “When she got off the aeroplane she was still thinking clearly. But when the virus went active, she lost some of her reasoning ability. I can’t blame her entirely. We have both seen people die of hemorrhagic fever. It’s terrible — just terrible.”

“Well, your snake blend must have done the trick.”

Keene shook her head slightly. “I like to think so, but as I say, this was a complex case. Carolyn may have survived without the Crotalus, but she also might have suffered more debilitating effects — possibly permanent. In any case, I suspect she’s going to be a case study for quite some time.”

Charles realized that he knew little about Keene’s medicine. “Doctor, just what is this Crotalus? I mean, other than it’s derived from venom.”

“Crotalus horridus is a homeopathic remedy for disorganization of the blood. That includes hemorrhages plus tropical and semi-tropical diseases such as jaundice, yellow fever, plague, and cholera.”

“My lord, does it cure the common cold, too?” He grinned. “How does it work?”

“Well, many of those symptoms are similar to rattlesnake or viper bites, so some of my colleagues and I realized that Crotalus might help fight Ebola. Logic said that if it could work against Ebola, Marburg must be worth a try. So we proceeded accordingly.”

“Thank God that you did.” He shrugged. “Honestly, I never gave much thought to naturopathy. I was only vaguely aware of it, though Carolyn used to mention it.”

“Well, the medical establishment is slow to accept new thinking. Doctors are trained in the allopathic way, and frequently they treat symptoms rather than causes. My friends and I believe there’s room for both methods.” She paused, ordering her thoughts, then looked at her friend’s husband. “Charles, let me ask you a question. Once she’s recovered her health, how are you going to deal with Carolyn’s emotional trauma?”

“I’ve wondered about that. She’s a strong woman but she’s been through so much — a war zone, really. Professional soldiers aren’t immune, you know: post-traumatic stress and all that.” He raised his hands. “If we need professional counseling, we’ll get it. Meanwhile, I think it best for me just to be available. I’ll listen as long as she wants to talk. If she doesn’t want to talk, I’ll encourage her to do so.”

“Good. That’s what she needs. It also might be helpful for her to see some of the people she worked with over there. I know that travel is inconvenient, but when she’s ready, you might suggest a week or two in America. She really is quite fond of some of those chaps.”

“I’ve had calls once and twice a week from Dr. Catterly in Virginia. Carolyn respects him, and that chap Omar Mohammed, too. But there seems a real affection for some of the others, though they’re just names to me. Blokes like Frank and J. J. and Jeffrey.” He grinned despite himself. “Then there’s a rare pair called Bosco and Breezy.”

Dr. Margaret Keene arched her eyebrows. “Americans!”

37

SSI OFFICES

Derringer plopped the morning paper onto Joe Wolf’s desk. “Read all about it. Not only were we not involved, it wasn’t even a terrorist act.” The admiral’s gray eyes held a trace of a gleam.

Wolf barely registered the page-two story below the fold. “Hell, Mike, your pal Burridge wouldn’t want to draw undue attention, would he?”

“I suppose not. But he might wait till later. You know — budget hearings and jockeying for position in the counterterror hierarchy. Bruce is a good guy, but that doesn’t mean he can’t play the game.”

Wolf was philosophical. “Well, he does have Homeland Security to look out for. Besides, at St. Mary’s I learned from Sister Agatha that there is no limit to the good we can do if we don’t care who gets the credit.”

Derringer, an occasional Lutheran, grinned despite himself. “Sister Agatha? Seems that every other nun I ever heard of was Sister Mary Margaret.”

“Oh, we had a couple of those. MM1 was deadly accurate with an eraser, clear to the back of the room, and MM2 was hellacious with a ruler. Sometimes we used to debate if it was a sin to duck a nun’s punch.” He gave a thin, tight-lipped smile at the recollection. “But you know — I got a hell of a good education.”

A knock on the open door interrupted the discussion. Derringer and Wolf turned to see Terry Keegan’s crew- cut head. “Uh, sorry if I interrupted something. I just wanted to let you know the Jurassic Jet is up and running again. We’re caught up with the deferred maintenance.”

Derringer motioned the aviator in. “No, you didn’t interrupt much. Joe was just explaining the benefits of parochial schools.”

“Hoo-boy. I still have scars on my knuckles. Sister Teresa caught me reading unauthorized material in class.”

Wolf swiveled in his chair. “Let me guess: Catcher in the Rye.”

Keegan chuckled at the thought. “God Is My Co-Pilot. I figured it was okay because General Scott was, you know, religious.”

“The good sister did not share your ecclesiastical assessment?”

“Not only no but hell no.”

Derringer decided to leave his colleagues to their Catholic esoterica. “Well, excuse me, gentlemen. I’m going to take my paper and read between the lines about the bioterror threat.” He paced to the door, then stopped and turned. “You know, without getting denominational about it, we have a lot to be grateful for. I don’t want to minimize the losses we sustained, but things could have been awfully damn worse.”

Wolf nodded solemnly, staring at the carpeted floor. “I think I’ll go to midnight mass and light some candles.”

Terrence John Keegan, who decades ago had shunned the Church of Rome, thought of the deliverance he had sustained on the restroom floor. He heard himself say, “I’ll go with you.”