Pestilence: The Infection Begins (12 page)

“So it is this flu from Europe that’s broken out inside the hospital?” the NSA contact asked Calgleef. He hadn’t been briefed on anything more than a “possible outbreak,” but now with the need to isolate people becoming a reality, he had to find out for his own peace of mind.

“We can’t be sure until we test the first group who escaped earlier, but in my opinion it appears to be.”

“Strictly between the two of us,” the government agent said in a hushed voice, “how was this flu able to take hold so rapidly? I mean, wasn’t this supposed to be a vaccination program aimed at preventing it from getting a foothold in this country?”

Calgleef sensed a need to know from the NSA operative, but the need was more of a personal nature. This was almost a revelation in itself; NSA operatives, like their CIA cousins, practiced their craft of protecting the state by finding out everything there is to know about everyone, and they do it with a zeal. They never questioned their role in gathering information on fellow Americans or foreigners.

Perhaps he lives here in Des Moines, or his family does, and he’s concerned about returning? Calgleef reasoned to himself. But though his NSA contact was most likely cleared with a much higher security level, he wasn’t about to fill him in on any specific details. Besides, he may just be trying to find out how much the director of the CDC knew—or was involved in.

Thinking quickly on his feet, Calgleef placed the blame on the only feasible explanation for the Baltic flu’s arrival in the country—Moya.

In the worldwide game of deception, friends and trusted colleagues are a rare commodity.

“Just between the two of us then, Mr. Jones,” he doubted his contact’s name was Jones, but whatever, “the European doctor who came over to assist with the program, and as a representative of the manufacturer, had experience with the Baltic flu from its inception. He’s renowned for his work with infectious diseases. His name is Dr. Moya.”

The silence that greeted Calgleef at the other end of the phone filled him with dread. Did I say too much… is he already passing this information on to his superiors?

“Dr. Moya? But he was cleared to enter the country and wasn’t showing any signs of being infected.”

“Appears he may have been a host. As you know, hosts don’t always exhibit any symptoms.” Calgleef looked at his watch impatiently as he was greeted by further silence.

“Where is Dr. Moya now?”

Calgleef was sure he was being pumped for information now. The tone of his contact’s voice changed, more authoritative. The NSA had every available area of communication into and out of the hospital covered, as well as all departments and individuals concerned thoroughly monitored.

Just whose side are these guys on? Calgleef asked himself. He knows full well where Moya is, he just wants to see if I’ll give him up or not.

“He told me on the phone not long ago that he was in Kansas City. I, of course, have no way to verify that and—”

“But we do, Director Calgleef. Leave it with us and thank you.”

Calgleef put his cell phone down on his desk and tapped a nervous finger over the buttons. Moya was Thorncroft’s man here in the United States, but the whole stratagem to fleece the US for billions of dollars was in jeopardy unless he came up with a credible reason for why the Baltic flu broke out so suddenly.

“‘Strictly between the two of us,’ yeah sure and my ass too,” Calgleef mocked. The heat was being applied, and he wondered how much the NSA knew and what they planned to do about it.

He snatched at his cell and was about to call Moya when he thought better of it. “They’re monitoring everything, they’ll know straightaway.” He put the phone back down. “Best leave it alone, break off all contact, and let the cards fall where they may.” Calgleef wasn’t concerned that Moya might talk and mention their involvement in a hundred-billion-dollar worldwide fraud. If he did, he would have to include Thorncroft too. And Thorncroft and his colleagues were part of the very cartel that the NSA really protected. Calgleef knew that, though he would never dare say so publicly.

“But it would make for a convenient way to clean up all the loose ends, would it not?” Calgleef loosened his neck tie and undid the top button. He looked outside to the overcast day in Atlanta. It had become quite warm in his office, quite warm.

* * *

“
W
ho are you people
? Doctors?” Steve squatted on the floor, his back to the pilot seat so he could fire questions at Delaney, Tilford and Sanders and give Richard enough room to film.

“I’m a doctor.” Tilford looked while his eyes darted from his colleagues to the reporter, the camera and the back of the pilot. They made it out—alive—but the expression on their faces wasn’t a relieved one. “This is Dr. Delaney from the CDC and Beth Sanders, a Riverside nurse.”

“You’re with the Center for Disease Control?” Steve had to shout to be heard over the noise of the rotors. He addressed Delaney directly, instantly having lost interest in a plain old doctor from a local hospital. It wasn’t just her position at the CDC that made her more interesting either. Fancying himself quite the ladies’ man and allowed his eyes to follow the curves of her body, before settling on her chest.

“Yes… I came in with the team to conduct the first of the vaccinations,” Delaney told the reporter before adding, “a routine job… or so I thought.”

The reporter noted the exchange of looks between the CDC officer and the doctor.

“What, what is it?” Steve showed his aptitude to pick up on certain triggers; a must-have ability for a TV reporter.

Tilford reached over and grabbed Delaney’s hand and gave it a squeeze. “Go ahead, we have to.”

Steve looked at them inquisitively. He couldn’t hear over the noise but it appeared to him as if the doctor was giving her some encouragement. He didn’t know about what but was about to find out. Delaney looked directly into the camera, then yelled out to Steve to turn it off if he wanted to know what was happening at the hospital.

“I’ll grant you an exclusive later when we land but not now.”

Steve complied with a nod then leaned over and told Richard to turn the camera off. He didn’t want to, his instinct said no but she promised him an exclusive, so he would honor his word.

“Okay the camera’s off now what’s going on at the hospital that you can’t say on camera?”

* * *

D
elaney was
under no illusions as to her fate. She knew there would cops, the National Guard and the CDC security waiting for them when they landed. As a high-level CDC officer, she expected they would be taken to a place of isolation, probably a temporary one for now, before being transferred to a military base hospital where the security was tight, and (considering all she knew) probably never heard of again.

Tilford was right, she knew. Others had to be told. The more who were informed the more chances of the public becoming aware that the vaccine wasn’t going to save them from the flu. It was only going to make a few men richer than they already were—much richer. She told the reporter as much as she could in the short time they had before landing.

When she’d finished the reporter could only stare at her, his mouth wide open. If he had been in Australia, he would have swallowed a thousand flies by now. She watched as his eyes darted over to Tilford, who responded with a single nod. She didn’t tell him everything; there wasn’t time. The important part was that the Baltic flu most likely had broken out in the hospital, and that was the reason for the lockdown not Legionnaires ’ disease, and the patients in the hospital, already weak from illness, didn’t survive. Delaney didn’t tell him about the ones she shot, including a nurse she had just recently got to know and work with and above liked. She didn’t tell him how she leveled the revolver and squeezed the trigger and ended the life of a colleague. She was trying not to think about—trying being the key word.

“They didn’t all die,” Nurse Sanders spoke for the first time, “they, some of them, are still alive and their eyes are filled red with blood and… and…” She repeated over and over.

Delaney squeezed passed Tilford, took a quick look out the window of the chopper. She hated helicopters. They rattled, were noisy, and were easily buffeted by the wind. They were far from a perfect way to fly, far from it.

“It’s okay, it’s okay. We’re safe now.” Delaney put an arm around Sanders’s shoulder and comforted her and also checked her pupils. She was afraid Sanders might be slipping into a catatonic state.

“What does she mean, ‘still alive’ and ‘eyes filled with blood?’ Are these the patients?” Steve obviously paid enough attention to hear that much.

Tilford leaned forward, he was closer to the reporter now with Delaney comforting Sanders. Even with the doors closed, the rotors and the engine of the Bell 407GXP made quite a racket, and Tilford could feel an irritation begin in his throat from all the yelling.

He hoped… it was from the yelling.

“Let me tell you this much,” he said to the reporter as they leaned toward each other, “within an hour of receiving the shots, the patients—”

“Steve, Steve!” The pilot reached around and grabbed Steve by the shoulder. Mike pointed to his headphones indicating to Steve to put his on.

“We have a welcoming committee,” Mike told the reporter the instant he put his headphones on.

“What do you mean?” Steve, still shouting, got out of his seat and turned to look out the large angled front screen of the chopper.

At least a dozen police vehicles waited at the heliport, their blue and red lights flashing. They were accompanied by several Humvee’s of the National Guard and two white vans belonging to the CDC.

“How did they know we’d be coming?”

“Simple, just contact air traffic control. They probably already have FAA approval. This is a state emergency, remember?” Steve nodded and patted the pilot on the shoulder—lightly—Mike knew the machinations of the various services involved better than he did.

“What should we do?”

“We’re gonna land, that’s what we’ll do!” The pilot answered sharply.

A
s the chopper touched down
, the edge of the heliport wasn’t a comforting picture, ringed as it was by police and National Guardsmen all wearing white surgical masks over their faces; the cops also wore rubber gloves. The Guard were behind them, but it was the CDC team in their yellow hazmat suits who stood out.

The phrase, they’re coming to take me away, popped into Tilford’s head.

And they were.

T
he heliport was
at a sectioned-off area of the TV station’s parking lot. The two white CDC vans parked in a spot in front of the Bell 470, which always landed facing the same direction.

“Step out from the helicopter and head toward the two white vans ahead of you,” came an announcement over a loudspeaker.

As the sound of the rotor abated in volume, the doors on the side of the chopper were eased open. Tilford, Steve, and Richard (without camera) stepped exited on the side in full view of the cops, while Delaney, shielding Sanders’s face stepped out on the other side. Mike opened the cockpit door last and joined them on the pad. Once they’d passed the outer edge of the slowing rotors, they received further instructions.

“Raise your hands, raise your hands and drop to your knees… now, do it now!” The tone had changed from that of a traffic cop giving directions to a more authoritative and anxious one.

Tilford, Steve, Richard and Mike complied straightaway. However, when Delaney struggled with Sanders the nervous sounding voice behind the loudspeaker came back: “Remove yourself from each other and get on your knees.”

The sound of the chopper, the loudspeaker, the flashing lights and all the uniformed personnel had an effect on Sanders, and not a good one. “What’s going on, what is this, what… oh my God! There’re more of them, more, there’s more” she screamed, and threw her arms frantically and tore herself away from Delaney.

“Nurse Sanders, Nurse Sanders, get a hold of you—” Delaney attempted.

“No, no they’re trying to kill us, kill us all.” She pushed away from Delaney and ran in the opposite direction. Delaney got up to go after her.