Glancing at her notes, Jessie summed up the facts. “We have thousands of citizens dead and missing. There’s evidence of animal attacks — rodents — that have wiped out a major American city. There’s no overt indication of chemical, biological, or radiological agents as the cause, at least not yet. No evidence of foreign government involvement, no evidence of terrorist organization involvement, no evidence of any nation making a move in another part of the world while we’re dealing with this situation, no evidence of anything.” She met the eyes of the other principals before continuing. “We don’t know a whole lot right now, and that’s not good. We’re going to be in front of the American people in an hour and forty-three minutes, and we don’t have any facts.” She shifted in her chair, turning slightly to face the president directly. “You said it yourself, sir. Public panic is a possibility we need to act to prevent immediately. We saw what happened in Cleveland. We waited to act, and we lost citizens because of it. We need to evacuate whoever is left in the city, and in the surrounding rural areas as well. Until we’re absolutely sure what we’re dealing with, we need to get our citizens out of there.”
Hugo spoke up. “Ms. Hruska is right, sir. It would be prudent to isolate this region as best we can, to get our people out. People will start moving out of the area of their own volition as soon as the news starts to spread, and it is spreading. We need to manage it.”
The president turned his attention to the screen on the wall. His vice president had been silent so far, listening and, he knew, analyzing every bit of information.
“Allison, your thoughts?”
“Sir, I agree with the actions that have been taken so far. I also agree with Ms. Hruska that we first need to figure out exactly what message we’ll be sending to the American people, and second, get our people clear of the Kansas City area. When you address the nation, sir, people are going to want to hear the facts. They’ll need assurances their government is in complete control of the situation. They’re going to want to hear what actions we’re taking, and they’re going to want to know what they’ll need to do. Instructions, sir, where to go and how to get there. I suggest Mr. McIntyre provide that information immediately after you finish your comments.”
As always, he and Allison Perez were on the exact same page. “I agree, Allison,” Andrew said. “I’m going to tell them what we know. Kansas City, and the nation, has suffered a terrible tragedy. If we have evidence that shows this is not a biological or chemical attack by the time I go live, I’ll tell them that, too. If we don’t have evidence of what this is, I’ll tell them we’re doing everything possible to find it.” Andrew pushed his chair away from the table, signaling that the meeting was nearly concluded. “Hugo, you’ll follow my comments with instructions for our citizens still in the area. We need to get them out of there in an orderly fashion. The Guard troops moving into the area, along with local police, will handle that task.” He turned to his SECDEF. “Tank, as soon as we can, we need to get boots on the ground in there. I don’t know what has caused these… animals to start a massacre like this, but we need to make sure they’re contained. As soon as our citizens are out, I want these things dead. Bring me options as soon as you can.”
“Roger that, Mr. President.”
Andrew stood. “We’re facing an unknown here. Each one of you has to keep your ears open and your agencies moving. I’m not sure where this situation will lead. You’ll need to be ready to execute when I call on you, but be flexible. In twenty-four hours, we may be facing a completely different landscape of challenges. We’ll convene again following my remarks to the nation. I’ll expect more clarity on this situation by then.” He smiled, ever so slightly. “You’ve all done good work. Keep pressing.”
With that, the president left the room.
CHAPTER 8
It took Carolyn fifteen minutes to travel to the surface from her subterranean work area, the normal time it took to travel through the decontamination chambers, the guard stations, the series of airlocks, and a long elevator ride two hundred feet up to the desert floor of the Dugway Proving Ground.
Dugway was the US Army’s chemical and biological warfare proving ground; that part of its mission was public knowledge. The sprawling facility belowground, however, was another matter. Carolyn’s job was hidden from the view of most of the personnel working on the secure facility, some of whom held pretty hefty security clearances. Not everyone had a need to know, regardless of how high their clearance was. So, they didn’t.
She and her coworkers were at the cutting edge of radiological, biological, and chemical warfare research. After the threat of America being attacked with these types of weapons became a very real possibility — and after the Cleveland attack, a sobering event — the government brought the best of the best from academia, from the scientific world, and from the military to the deserts of Utah and handed them a large chunk of the classified black world budget to build the organization that now existed two hundred feet underground. Their mission was not to develop these weapons for use by the United States, a course of action the nation had abandoned decades earlier, but rather to do everything possible to prevent their use through improved detection capabilities, negate their use through intensive study of foreign capabilities, and control the situation if they were used against the United States or allies by providing immediate expertise to an on-scene commander.
Chemical weapons were once called the poor man’s nuclear weapon. They still were, but these days the poor man could also get his hands on some exquisitely nasty little viruses and quantities of deadly radioactive waste materials that served the same function rather well. They were the weapons of terror. And some were damned frightening.
She sat near her favorite window of the dining facility, which offered a wide view of the desert landscape, while slowly sipping a cup of coffee generously sugared and creamed to her liking. As the caffeine entered her bloodstream, the throbbing in her head began to subside. Few people would admit it, but the guy with the donkey from Colombia was probably the most successful drug dealer on the planet.
Having been born and raised in the green environs of Kentucky, Carolyn found the desert landscape surrounding Dugway quite difficult to warm to. It wasn’t lush like home, but in its own way, it was just as wondrous. Out on the desert at night when the sky was clear, she felt as if she were staring directly into the far reaches of the universe. It was the most beautiful nighttime sky she’d ever seen.
After a while, she’d begun to look forward to making the eighty-five-mile trip from Salt Lake City, where she and most of her coworkers lived on the weekends, to the nearly 800,000-acre Dugway complex. The work was tough and demanding, and it required a meticulous focus, but the reward was more than enough to make it all worthwhile. She and the other members of the ultraclassified Vanguard organization were making a real difference. Through their hard work, they could save innocent lives. Nothing was more rewarding than that.
As she took another sip of her beloved light brown fluid of life, she saw her reflection in the window staring back at her. Here she was, thirty-two years old, single, and by her own estimation very attractive, sitting in the middle of the Utah desert doing a job she couldn’t talk about. Not what she’d expected to be doing at this point in her life.