Authors: Daniel Kalla
Pandemic (36 page)
She smiled warmly, which wiped the fragility from her face but left the melancholy in her eyes. "You're sweet, Noah, but it's not a fair comparison." She touched his hand. "Anyway, don't worry about me. My capacity for self-recrimination is very limited. And I can handle the press ... I think."
He grabbed her hand and squeezed it in his. She held on to his hand for a few moments, before giving it one long squeeze and then releasing her grip.
WASHINGTON,
D.C.
It was late afternoon by the time they touched down at Dulles International Airport. An entourage from the Department of Homeland Security's staff met them at the gates and led them out to waiting limos. Outside, in the brisk Washington afternoon, the light was waning in the gray sky. A wind blew occasional flakes of wet snow into their faces.
Treading carefully, McLeod avoided the slushy snow on the sidewalk. "Christ, Haldane! And I thought Glasgow was dreary in the wintertime," he said.
As they loaded into the waiting limo, one of the DHS staffers said almost apologetically, "Secretary Hart left strict instructions to take you straight to his office for a debriefing."
Gwen shook her head. "We need to make a stop, first."
"Where, ma'am?" the young aide asked.
"Langley," she said.
Haldane vacillated as to whether to join the others at the CIA headquarters or race straight home. In the end, he decided that business matters had to take precedence, but as the cars pulled up in front of the steel and glass buildings on the west side of the sprawling CIA complex he felt anguished knowing that he was less than three miles from Chloe on the other side of the Potomac.
After clearing security, which included metal detectors and a manual pat-down, they were ushered into a wide-open hallway with marble walls and pillars. A man dressed in an expensive-looking navy suit and pale blue shirt, but no tie, strode purposefully toward them. Haldane estimated that the man with the gelled black hair and Mediterranean good looks was, like him, straddling forty.
The man walked straight up to Gwen and gathered her in a tight hug, causing Noah an unexpected pang of jealousy. After he released her, Gwen pointed to her two companions. "Alex, these are my colleagues Noah Haldane and Duncan McLeod."
"It's a pleasure, Doctors. Alex Clayton." He shook their hands and flashed his best Pierce-Brosnan-playing-007 smile.
In spite of Clayton's affability, Haldane resolved not to like the CIA man.
Clayton led them through a maze of corridors and up two separate elevators, before they reached his spacious office with the gold nameplate that read: "A Clayton, Deputy Director of Operations." In front of his mahogany desk, a circular meeting table stood with six chairs around it. Lost in conversation with Gwen, Clayton nodded at the table, indicating to Haldane and McLeod to take a seat
"Shite, Haldane, my whole department could be run out of this office," McLeod grumbled as he joined Haldane in a seat beside him.
Eventually, Gwen sat down beside Haldane, and Clayton beside her. Once seated, she continued to update Clayton on the developments in Moskor's laboratory. He nodded several times and once even whistled appreciatively. When she finished, he beamed. "Gwen, this could be the break we needed."
"Or it could be absolutely nothing," McLeod grunted with his arms folded on the table and his head perched on them.
Clayton turned from Gwen and appraised McLeod with an amused smile. "You're not exactly 'the glass is half full' kind of a guy are you, Dr. McLeod?"
"Depends what's in the glass," McLeod said without lifting his head. "If it's just a bunch of monkey piss, I don't get too excited even if the glass is flowing over the top."
"Touche." Clayton laughed.
"Alex, I think I've shared all our developments with you," Savard said. "Your turn."
"Fair enough." Clayton nodded. He pointed at a white screen on the far wall as he opened his laptop computer. "I'll need visuals for this."
"Let's begin with the intercepted e-mail from the Cairo police detective, Achmed Eleish." Clayton tapped a few keystrokes and the picture of the murdered Vancouver terrorist popped up on the screen. "The Egyptian government has corroborated most of Eleish's story. This woman is exactly who he said she was, Sharifa Sha'rawi. She used to be a regular at the Al-Futuh Mosque, home to many of Cairo's extremists. So far the Egyptians and our people have got nothing out of the mosque's Sheikh and his followers, but it's still a work in progress."
He tapped away at his keyboard before Hazzir Kabaal's groomed image filled the screen. "Okay, Hazzir Kabaal. Up to now only a financer of terrorism, but when the Egyptians raided his home and office they found all kinds of material--from Islamist literature to books on microbiology and viruses--that fit the bill."
Clayton hit two more keys. Abdul Sabri's photo from his military record popped up on the screen. "Now, this guy is by far the most interesting character of the motley crew. The Egyptians have given us his file, and it's a doozy. As a major with their Special Forces, Sabri developed a talent and appetite for brutal operations. Massacres might be a better word. Some of the stuff he carried out ..." Clayton shook his head.
"Don't be too jealous," McLeod said. "Your agency carries out more than its share of global atrocities."
Clayton shot him an annoyed glance, which lacked any sign of his earlier amusement "Even the Egyptian Special Forces eventually washed their hands of Abdul Sabri, declaring him too violent. But the most bizarre thing? Sabri used to torture and slaughter the same extremists he now works for. Makes little sense."
"Maybe the 'what' is more important than the 'who' for Major Sabri," Haldane said.
"Maybe." Clayton frowned skeptically. "Regardless, Sabri is one dangerous S.O.B. And the Egyptians are convinced that he was behind the murder of the policeman in Cairo. In fact, they believe Eleish jumped over his own railing to avoid Sabri's notorious torture technique."
"Poor man." Gwen shook her head in disgust. "Are we any closer to locating Kabaal, Sabri, or their lab?"
Clayton tapped a key. A map of Somalia, sandwiched between Ethiopia and the Indian Ocean, appeared on screen. Lines and colors divided it into various states and political allegiances. "We're still working under the assumption they're in Somalia." Clayton cracked his neck from side to side. "We have several leads, but.. He held up his hands and sighed.
"But nothing concrete?" Gwen asked.
"Problem is, Somalia isn't really a country in any traditional sense. It's just a hodgepodge of gangs, tribes, and secessionists. The northern region regards itself as an independent state called Somaliland. As does the middle region, Puntland. The south is in disarray. Political and ethnic parties compete with the warlords and other opportunists for every square inch."
Gwen leaned forward in her chair. "So it's impossible to, get any government cooperation with tracking these terrorists down?"
"To begin with, there's no government to cooperate with," Clayton said. "But a bigger problem is that there are so many people up to no good--smugglers, drug traffickers, and other terrorist networks--that we're finding all kinds of criminals crawling out of the woodwork. They know we watch from the skies with our satellites, so their movements are calculated to confuse." Clayton hit a key and a few points on the map
flashed
in red. "We have picked up some unusual hot spots of cell phone and Internet activity at a number of sites. One just south of Mogadishu in Marka. Another outside Kismaayo. And one a few miles north of Hargeysa. We're keeping a close eye on all of them."
flashed
in red. "We have picked up some unusual hot spots of cell phone and Internet activity at a number of sites. One just south of Mogadishu in Marka. Another outside Kismaayo. And one a few miles north of Hargeysa. We're keeping a close eye on all of them."
Clayton tapped a key and the screen went blank. "We've put several more agents on the ground. I think the key to finding Kabaal and his lab will be human intelligence."
"Doesn't sound like there's much of that in the region," McLeod deadpanned.
Clayton ignored the remark. "Information is very cheap in Somalia. For twenty U.S. dollars many of the locals would sell out their own mothers. My gut tells me that's how we're going to find him."
Clayton nodded to himself and then, as if in afterthought, he pointed at Haldane. "Oh, yeah." He grinned. "We're bird hunting, too. See if we can find us some infected turkeys or something to lead us to the terrorists."
Just as Haldane was about to reply, Gwen touched him on the wrist and said to Clayton, "Alex, we scientists might surprise you yet with our usefulness."
GLEN ECHO HEIGHTS, BETHESDA MARYLANDAt just before 8:00 P.M., the limo pulled up to Haldane's colonial-style home in the middle-class Washington suburb.
Haldane had never formed much of an attachment to this house or any other place he had ever lived, but his heart pounded when he stepped out of the car. He took his suitcase from the driver and raced up the path to his front door, desperate to see Chloe though nervous at the prospect of facing Anna again.
The door opened before he reached it, and Chloe, dressed in her Snow White outfit, raced out to meet him. She jumped into her dad's arms while he swung her around in the air, stopping only to cover her face with kisses while she laughed gleefully.
Leaving his bag on the doorstep, he carried his daughter into the foyer where Anna waited. "Daddy's really home!" Chloe squealed, still wrapped around Noah's chest
There was an awkward moment when Anna leaned forward to kiss Noah, and it was clear that neither knew where her lips should land. They had once shared such physical synchrony, but now they experienced a clumsy moment as his nose bopped her chin before her lips brushed dryly against his cheek.
"Welcome home, Noah," Anna said with a tentative smile. Then she turned to her daughter with a feigned frown. "Remember what I said? Right to bed once Daddy comes home."
Chloe looked at her dad with pleading, saucer-shaped brown eyes. "You'll put me to bed, right, Daddy?"
"Well... " he said "Only if I get to read all our favorite stories."
"Deal, Daddy-o!" she said, holding up a palm for Noah to slap it in a high five.
He twirled her 360 degrees in his arms. "Let's go!"
As he carried her up the stairs, Anna's voice called after them, "Don't forget her teem, Noah."
After brushing her teeth and changing her into her new favorite Barbie nightie, Noah curled up with his daughter in her single bed. He read all six stories, which Chloe had carefully selected from her bookshelf, even though she was asleep by the time he started the fourth one. He lay beside her for at least half an hour, savoring her warmth and the sound of her snores, before he wiggled his arm free and rose from her bed.
When he got downstairs, Anna sat in a familiar pose, facing sideways on the couch with her knees pulled up to her chest and a big mug of tea in her hand. His earlier indifference from their videoconference gave way to a wave of nostalgia as he sat down beside her on the couch. For a moment, he thought she might stretch her legs out across his lap as once was her wont, but she kept her feet where they were.
"You must be relieved," Anna said, staring at her cup.
"Yes and no," Haldane said. "Our risk was always pretty low. Besides, the bigger picture isn't any better than it was before my quarantine."
"Still, it's good to be home, isn't it?" she asked quietly.
"Yeah."
Her brown eyes looked up and held his. "Are you going to stay awhile?"
He hesitated. "Probably not." He shook his head slightly. "I might have to go to Chicago to consult on the outbreak there. Or maybe overseas again. Kind of depends what happens next."
She broke off the eye contact and nodded distantly. They fell into an awkward silence. He reached for the remote control and switched the TV on to CNN.
Haldane was surprised to see Gwen's face staring back at him. Still in her green suit with her hair pinned behind her ears, she stood at a podium behind numerous microphones.
"Dr. Savard, when will the Chicago outbreak be contained?" a man asked off-camera.
Gwen stared ahead confidently. "There have been no new cases reported in Illinois today, which fits with the trend of the past three days. It is of course too early to call the outbreak contained, but it's a promising sign." She folded her arms across her chest. "The problem in Chicago was the geographical distribution of the original case clusters following the terrorist attack at Soldier Field. The virus was disseminated farther than in any other place. As you can imagine, the farther the virus is spread, the harder it is to contain."
"But, Dr. Savard," the same reporter persisted, "isn't it partly a reflection of poor planning on the Public Health and your department's behalf?"
She uncrossed her arms. "This is a brand-new form of terrorist threat, involving a flulike virus that has only existed for months," Gwen said calmly. She glared into the audience of reporters, her face devoid of the doubt Haldane had seen on the plane. "To my knowledge, no authority has ever succeeded in preventing the spread of the flu. Medical personnel and others in Chicago have been tireless in their efforts to manage the epidemic. They should be lauded, not questioned. Put the blame where it belongs, with the terrorists. No one else."
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