from her, he again fired sharp questions at the guards, who only shrugged. One said, “Hey, we don’t know anything. We’re just doing our jobs here, you know?”
Cahner started to berate the two men, but Hallie said, “It’s not them, Al,” and he let it go. So all he could do was stand and gape during the ten minutes it took for her to collect the pictures of her family, epidemiology reference books, laptop, back issues of
Science
. By the time she finished, she saw that he had composed himself somewhat.
As they shook hands for the last time, he held on and said, “This is horrible, Hallie. I don’t know what to say. But if you ever need anything that I can provide, you must call.”
She nodded and, still holding his hand, leaned forward and kissed him on the cheek, which made his eyes fill with tears.
Barnard pulled her back from those recollections. He said, “There has been no breakthrough.”
She understood. “Or else you wouldn’t have me here.”
“Right.”
With the coffee and sandwiches, she was feeling better, but sensed she was missing something still. “Why haven’t I heard anything about this in the media?”
“Damage control at the highest levels. President O’Neil hascalled in quite a few chits. But it won’t stay contained for long.” Lathrop sounded pained.
“How many military hospitals are there?” Hallie wanted to run the numbers.
“More than two thousand in the U.S. More overseas.”
“How many patients in those?”
“As of six P.M . yesterday, 217,452.”
“And not just from this war, but from others, right? Plus all those dependents hospitalized to give birth, get hernias fixed, whatever.”
“That’s right.”
Hallie felt sick. “So it’s not only active-duty soldiers. Families packed into bases, circulating through movie theaters, clinics, gyms, kindergartens. My God, the list is endless. You could not create better pandemic conditions if you tried. What’s the transmission factor?”
“Unknown,” said Barnard. “The other ACE is similar to smallpox.”
Lew Casey continued: “Smallpox carriers take about seven days to become contagious. After that, in an urban environment, they infect an average of twelve people every twenty-four hours. Those carriers infect others. Exponential growth. A million or more in two weeks.”
Lathrop rubbed his face. “Military bases, with higher population densities than cities, would be much worse. Ships at sea, submarines—the
Pentagon
, for God’s sake.”
Then Barnard spoke, in a tone Hallie had never heard him use before:
“ ‘Potentially the worst threat since Pearl Harbor.’ Those are not my words, but President O’Neil’s.”
HALLIE POURED HERSELF MORE COFFEE. SHE TURNED TO LATHROP .
“Is anything else being done?”
“Yes, of course. Everything possible with the information still on close hold, anyway. But it’s all reactive.”
“How long do you think we have, Don?”
“With colistin and aggressive containment, ten to fourteen days. No more.”
“That’s not enough time.”
“No.”
“So the only real hope is …”
“That highly classified work you had been doing here at BARDA.”
Classified. BARDA
.
She had been so focused on the burgeoning catastrophe that she had all but forgotten what had happened thirteen months earlier. Now those two words took her back to the small and windowless room—its smells of cigarette smoke and body odor, its contents a metal conference table, six chairs, and two men. The table and chairs were gray, the men were black and white.
“Please close the door and have a seat.”
The black man’s voice was cool, neutral. Neither rose or offered to shake hands.
“My name is David Rhodes. I’m the ARILO—agency research integrity liaison officer with the CDC’s Office of General Counsel—for your case.” He spoke slowly, carefully, sculpting each word, the cadence of a preacher at a funeral.
“My
case
?” Hallie had been peremptorily summoned
Cahner started to berate the two men, but Hallie said, “It’s not them, Al,” and he let it go. So all he could do was stand and gape during the ten minutes it took for her to collect the pictures of her family, epidemiology reference books, laptop, back issues of
Science
. By the time she finished, she saw that he had composed himself somewhat.
As they shook hands for the last time, he held on and said, “This is horrible, Hallie. I don’t know what to say. But if you ever need anything that I can provide, you must call.”
She nodded and, still holding his hand, leaned forward and kissed him on the cheek, which made his eyes fill with tears.
Barnard pulled her back from those recollections. He said, “There has been no breakthrough.”
She understood. “Or else you wouldn’t have me here.”
“Right.”
With the coffee and sandwiches, she was feeling better, but sensed she was missing something still. “Why haven’t I heard anything about this in the media?”
“Damage control at the highest levels. President O’Neil hascalled in quite a few chits. But it won’t stay contained for long.” Lathrop sounded pained.
“How many military hospitals are there?” Hallie wanted to run the numbers.
“More than two thousand in the U.S. More overseas.”
“How many patients in those?”
“As of six P.M . yesterday, 217,452.”
“And not just from this war, but from others, right? Plus all those dependents hospitalized to give birth, get hernias fixed, whatever.”
“That’s right.”
Hallie felt sick. “So it’s not only active-duty soldiers. Families packed into bases, circulating through movie theaters, clinics, gyms, kindergartens. My God, the list is endless. You could not create better pandemic conditions if you tried. What’s the transmission factor?”
“Unknown,” said Barnard. “The other ACE is similar to smallpox.”
Lew Casey continued: “Smallpox carriers take about seven days to become contagious. After that, in an urban environment, they infect an average of twelve people every twenty-four hours. Those carriers infect others. Exponential growth. A million or more in two weeks.”
Lathrop rubbed his face. “Military bases, with higher population densities than cities, would be much worse. Ships at sea, submarines—the
Pentagon
, for God’s sake.”
Then Barnard spoke, in a tone Hallie had never heard him use before:
“ ‘Potentially the worst threat since Pearl Harbor.’ Those are not my words, but President O’Neil’s.”
HALLIE POURED HERSELF MORE COFFEE. SHE TURNED TO LATHROP .
“Is anything else being done?”
“Yes, of course. Everything possible with the information still on close hold, anyway. But it’s all reactive.”
“How long do you think we have, Don?”
“With colistin and aggressive containment, ten to fourteen days. No more.”
“That’s not enough time.”
“No.”
“So the only real hope is …”
“That highly classified work you had been doing here at BARDA.”
Classified. BARDA
.
She had been so focused on the burgeoning catastrophe that she had all but forgotten what had happened thirteen months earlier. Now those two words took her back to the small and windowless room—its smells of cigarette smoke and body odor, its contents a metal conference table, six chairs, and two men. The table and chairs were gray, the men were black and white.
“Please close the door and have a seat.”
The black man’s voice was cool, neutral. Neither rose or offered to shake hands.
“My name is David Rhodes. I’m the ARILO—agency research integrity liaison officer with the CDC’s Office of General Counsel—for your case.” He spoke slowly, carefully, sculpting each word, the cadence of a preacher at a funeral.
“My
case
?” Hallie had been peremptorily summoned
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