“CJ, wait—” But the line clicked over.
“Nick? It’s Pat.”
Nick closed his eyes. “How long does she have?”
Dr. Heldner was cold, analytical. “Twenty-four hours. Maybe less. This bug is an accelerated version of the black pox, the hemorrhagic form of smallpox. It will kill her too quickly for us to synthesize a vaccine in time.” She paused. “The infected Hashashin called himself the third and final sign, Nick. The final sign. What if this nuke is a wild goose chase to keep you off Kattan’s trail until he disappears for good?”
“You want me to abandon the search for the nuke. Go after Kattan directly to get the vaccine he’s carrying.”
“It would shorten our timeline from days to hours.”
Nick processed the idea for a moment and then rejected it. “No. Whatever that guy said, the nuke is real. Going after it is our best hope on all fronts. Kattan wants revenge, a very personal revenge against me. He’ll be there in Jerusalem, and he’ll have the vaccine with him.”
“You’d better hope so,” said Heldner. “Because CJ and the pump station weren’t the only targets for this virus.”
CHAPTER 67
At nine P.M., after much deliberation with his advisers and six minutes after the seven-hundredth case of the black pox was diagnosed, the president of the United States held a press conference to declare a federal state of emergency. Before he finished eloquently delivering what CNN declared a presidency-defining speech of hope and comfort, fifty-two more cases appeared. The spread of the virus was accelerating. The FEMA disaster area encompassed half of the eastern seaboard, from Virginia to Vermont.
Helicopters flew over the capital, their spotlights searching for looters. The National Guard patrolled the streets in Humvees and hazmat gear. On the great green lawn of the Washington Mall stood a glowing white tent that rivaled Barnum and Bailey. The eastern wing housed the CDC’s main conference room.
Dr. Heldner paused in a narrow hallway formed from undulating white laminate. She needed a moment to gather her wits before jumping into the shark tank. She took a deep breath, squared her shoulders, and then pushed through the plastic flap.
A barrage of questions hit her the moment she stepped into the room. A few of the voices sounded angry, all of them sounded scared. As Heldner stepped up to a freestanding smartboard, she held up her hands for silence. “Ladies and gentlemen, please. I’ll answer your questions after I complete my briefing.” She picked up a remote from the smartboard’s tray and pointed it at the screen. Nothing happened. She scowled at a tech standing at the back of the room. “Could we?”
While the kid hunted for the source of the problem, Heldner scanned the worried faces at the long folding table — doctors, generals, politicians. Several wore latex gloves. Two of them, including Senator Cartwright, wore surgical masks over their faces.
She snorted. “This bug isn’t airborne, Senator. You don’t have to wear a mask.”
The senator’s cheeks rose beneath the blue covering, in what Heldner presumed was a smile. “I find this mask very comfortable, Doctor,” he said in his Virginia drawl. “I think I’ll keep it for a while.”
The kid in the back found the problem, and the smartboard lit up, showing Heldner’s first slide. There were gasps all around the room, a reaction to the massive numbers on the screen. She held up her hands again. “Take it easy. This is the might-have-been. I wanted you to see it because I want to stress the lethality of the weapon these terrorists have produced.” She used the laser pointer in the remote to highlight her figures. “Had they succeeded in getting this virus into the DC water supply, a half million people would have died within the first forty-eight hours. And there is little we could have done to save them. Even if we had had a vaccine, we could not have reproduced it fast enough on that scale. Consequently, another one and a half to two million would have died before we got control of the outbreak.”
“We don’t need the might-have-beens, Doctor. We need the here and now,” said Cartwright.
Heldner directed a frown at the politician and then continued. “By stopping the terrorist at the pump station, our tactical response blocked a major portion of the attack. However, they were smart. There was an additional means of distribution for the virus.”
The doctor flipped to a new slide, a map of Washington, DC. Dozens of red dots populated the screen, showing diagnosed cases. The spidery branches were clearly centered on Union Station, twelve hundred meters from the very tent they were meeting in. One branch leading away from the station was thicker than the others. Heldner pressed her remote and a map of the DC Metro system overlaid the first. The heavier branch of smallpox cases coincided with the Metro line running from Union Station up to a stop near Salem Park.
“He used the rail system, and that wasn’t just for lack of a car. Look.” Heldner expanded the map until it showed the upper East Coast. There were now hundreds of tiny red dots, and their branches centered on the train stations along the line from Albany to New York City to Washington, DC.
“We found a spent vial on the train the terrorist took from New York City to Union Station. CDC doctors are using the remains to synthesize a cure, but that cure is seventy-two hours away, at best. It may be ninety-six, and every hour we lose has an exponential consequence.” Heldner pressed her remote again, and the red dots grew outward at an exponential rate until the spidery arms stretched as far south as the Carolinas and as far west as the Mississippi.
“Is that your worst case, Doctor?” asked Cartwright.
Heldner shook her head. “This is our best case. Even if we have a working vaccine in three days, reproduction and dissemination will still be a nightmare. Many won’t respond to treatment. There will be riots that slow us down. Within a week, twelve thousand Americans will die. Within two weeks, twenty thousand.”
CHAPTER 68
In the narrow crew locker between the Dagger’s aft bay and its cockpit, Nick and Drake found the equipment Walker had ordered for them. Two green waterproof duffels lay on the floor in front of a long bench. There was also a rubber submersible crate, four feet square and three feet tall, propped against the bulkhead behind it. Molly came up on SATCOM to brief them.
“We sent you FN-303 nonlethal dispensers,” said the analyst as each man pulled a black polymer rifle out of his duffel.
Nick checked the seal on the air canister fixed to the side of the weapon and then eyed the large red rounds in the drum magazine. “What kind of grenades are these?”
“Eighteen-millimeter nanosecond electric pulse.”
“You’re kidding.” He pulled out one of the rounds to examine it. NEP grenades were far superior to conventional Tasers and stun grenades, but they weren’t supposed to be fielded yet. “I thought these were developmental only.”
“So did I,” said Molly. “But when Lighthart heard you were going to Israel, he offered them up. Those are a gift from his unit.”
“Ouch,” said Drake, clutching his chest like he’d been wounded.
Nick glanced at his teammate and nodded his agreement. Apparently Lighthart had access to ops technology that the Triple Seven Chase didn’t. He was jealous.
The bags also contained a change of clothes, modified Sig Sauer P290 micro-compact pistols with suppressors, and various other mission necessities. Molly struggled through the rest of the list; it was clear she was reading off her computer, unfamiliar with the actual gear.
“Scott usually handles equipment checks,” said Nick, sensing her discomfort. “Why the switch? I thought he was back with us.”