A Heartbeat Away

CHAPTER 64

The intercom conversation with Griffin Rhodes was about what Rappaport had anticipated—as icy as the Kansas morning, and as informative as a weather report. Yes, his computer program seemed to have succeeded in creating a program for an antivirus treatment, and yes he trusted his work enough to try it out on himself. Now, there was nothing to do but wait. He would be running tests on himself throughout the day, and as soon as he was confident things were still going well, he would notify Rappaport as well as the president. And finally, yes, he was aware that time was of the essence.

That was all.

Rhodes was impossible to deal with.

Frustrated and anxious, Rappaport did an hour of calisthenics and weights, caught up on some correspondence, and wandered over to the Staghorn Headquarters to check on progress with the video monitoring. There were technical delays, he was told, before their people could be suited up and sent into the hot zone. Another four hours, Corum told him. Maybe five. Marguerite Prideaux made him some tea, but then had to leave when one of her team reported on the technical problems.

Rappaport returned to his office, and called to check in on his daughter, who was still living at their home and was absolutely paranoid about the Secret Service presence there. She was also upset that the latest series of meds weren’t working, and she wondered if she should be back in the hospital.

After terminating their conversation as quickly as he could, Rappaport decided to check in on Rhodes again. He was crossing to the intercom when the satellite phone on his desk chirped, announcing an incoming call. He quickly pushed the key sequence required to connect with it. Then he put it on speaker and set his feet up on the desk.

“Secretary Rappaport,” he announced.

“Paul, it’s Jim. We need to talk.”

Rappaport felt himself tense.

Is this it?

“I may have some important news for you as well,” he said.

Allaire went on as if he hadn’t heard.

“A few minutes ago, I called Dr. Rhodes to check on his progress.”

“And you learned that he had dosed himself with the WRX virus.”

“You know?”

“Sir, I’ve been preparing a report for you. A few hours ago, Staghorn Technologies intercepted a lengthy, unauthorized communication from the Kalvesta labs to the cell phone of Angela Fletcher, the reporter who disappeared from here. She’s—”

“In Manhattan. I know.” Allaire’s voice had a weakness to it—an odd quaver, as if he had aged.

At that moment, there was a knock on Rappaport’s door.

“Excuse me for just a moment, sir,” he said. “Someone’s at the door. Come in.”

One of the day-shift agents stepped inside and announced that Roger Corum was there, that he had been checked over next door, and that it was important. Rappaport nodded to show him in.

The head of Staghorn entered, holding up another transmission.

“It’s Roger Corum, sir, the CEO of Staghorn Security.”

“I suspect what he is there for has something to do with why I’m calling. Mr. Corum, is this regarding the conversation I just had with Dr. Rhodes?”

“Yes, sir, it is. I have a transcript of it in my hand.”

“Remarkably quick work. Rhodes said there was no safe line down there in the lab. I guess he’s right. Just leave it there, Mr. Corum. The secretary can read it over after we’ve spoken.”

“Yes, Mr. President.”

Corum mouthed the words good luck, and backed out.

“I’ve been told Staghorn has highest clearance,” Allaire said.

“Yes, sir. I feel strongly that they can be trusted with whatever is in this transmission.”

“Excellent. Gary will brief you,” Allaire said. “You’re on speaker.”

After a beat, the secretary of defense took over.

“Paul. You holding up all right?”

“Very worried about you all, Gary.”

“With good reason. But there may be a glimmer of light at the end of the tunnel. One that isn’t an approaching freight train.”

“Go on.”

“I may be repeating things you already know, but at oh one hundred hours, Griffin Rhodes ran a successful computer simulation of his antiviral treatment program named Orion. Following that simulation, Rhodes intentionally and very bravely injected himself with a high concentration of WRX virus to prove that it would work on those of us who have been exposed here in the Capitol.”

“Did the treatment involve the blood he came back with from the inmate at El Dorado?”

“Ex-inmate,” Salitas said. “President Allaire pardoned him. The bastard wouldn’t cooperate if he didn’t.”

“I would have done the same thing you did, Mr. President.”

“Thank you,” Allaire said.

“He’s the only known survivor of a WRX exposure,” Salitas went on. “Rhodes mixed his serum with a chemical called an adjuvant, that’s used to boost the level of a specific blood protein.”

“And was the treatment a success?”

“It was not,” Salitas said flatly. “Within hours of dosing himself with a purposely massive amount of virus, Rhodes developed shortness of breath, cough, and curious markings on his palms that we know are symptoms and a sign of mid-stage infection.”

“Good lord,” Rappaport said.

“We’re in a very dire situation, Paul. We believe most of the population in Group C is now deceased, locked inside the Senate Chamber. Group B, in Statuary Hall, is worsening. And the president, who is in Group A, is showing signs of viral spread as well. Like Rhodes, red markings have appeared on his palms. And his temper is becoming more labile.”

“This is terrible,” Rappaport said, wondering about the light in the tunnel Salitas had spoken about.

“To make matters even worse,” the defense secretary said, “we can’t find the vice president.”

“Henry’s vanished?”

“He’s been missing for a couple of days. We’re still looking, but so far, nothing.”

“Do you think he left the Capitol?”

“We haven’t dismissed any possibility. On top of everything, that harpy Ursula Ellis has convinced the architect of the Capitol to resume television broadcasts from inside the House Chamber.”

“She’s done what!?”

“It appears she’s been in touch with Genesis. Don’t ask us how. She’s been an obstruction on every level. In fact, she’s drafted legislation which she claims Genesis wants to have passed.”

“Legislation? What are you talking about?”

“A bill,” Salitas said. “Like a real, legal bill. Most of Congress is here, so they can do it. She’s distributed the bill, it’s been debated for days, and now she’s pushing for a vote. Apparently Genesis are some sort of ultra left-wing whackjobs. An ACLU on steroids. The legislation they are demanding will repeal the Patriot Act, make wiretapping illegal, and dismantle almost every advancement we’ve made in bolstering our national security.”

“We can’t let that happen!”

“It very well might,” the president said, taking over the line once more. “Ellis is prepared to share what she knows about the virus with the American people. I did my best to hold back the truth. I wanted to avoid a panic. It appears now that decision will be used against me.”

“Why does she want this bill passed?”

“If it passes,” Allaire said, “Genesis is promising they’ll deliver her the antiviral treatment. She’ll be a hero. And with Henry missing, if I die, she won’t have any trouble taking over.”

“Is that true about Genesis having a treatment?”

“No, of course not! Whoever the hell they are, they’re playing her like a rented fiddle. Why? Stalling, I’ll bet. Stalling until … until we’re all dead.”

The weakness in Allaire’s voice had become even more pronounced.

“Isn’t there anyone who can reason with her?” Rappaport asked.

“Gary here, again,” Salitas said. “Ellis won’t listen to reason. She’s crazy for power. She’s even got Bethany Townsend, the president’s doctor, watching his every move for signs that he’s not fit to remain in office. Jim is ready to veto Ellis’s bill. But at the moment it looks like she’s going to outlast him.”

“My God!”

Again, Allaire took over.

“I might not be president long enough to stop its passage. Paul, the situation is truly at its most desperate. But there is a ray of hope.”

The light.

“I’m listening,” Rappaport said.

“The communication we received from Rhodes included a summary of his research data. He believes his mistake was in the ratio of the adjuvant he used to the amount of serum. He’s convinced a fifty percent greater amount of this protein is required in order to be effective against the virus—the ratio is something his program sent out that he misinterpreted. His only mistake, he’s calling it.”

“Can’t Rhodes just give himself another treatment with that added boost?” Rappaport asked.

“Too late,” Allaire said. “The massive dose of virus he shot into himself is overwhelming the treatment. The virus is already mutating—causing new symptoms. He’s bleeding from his nose, just like many of the people here. He admits it was overconfidence to inject such a large amount, but Rhodes is certain that a fifty percent increase will work for most, if not all of us.”

“So what’s the next step, Mr. President?”

“The serum is the key,” Allaire said. “But it is also unique. We can’t get another batch.”

“How can I help?”

“The FBI and the CDC are setting up a lab to prepare a new batch of treatment according to the specifications given to us by Rhodes.”

“Where?”

“One of our safe houses here in Washington. Gary will give the address to you. We need you and the Secret Service people guarding you to bring the serum to that lab. Genesis has been a step ahead of us at every turn, so secrecy has got to be your highest priority.”

“I understand. Consider it done, Mr. President.”

“Paul, this is it for us. This is the only chance we have. I don’t trust anybody but you to handle things. We’re sending three choppers in to get you. The pilots will know what to do from there.”

“I won’t let you down, Jim. How do I get the serum out of the lab?”

“Rhodes decontaminated the cooler containing the serum and is leaving it for you outside the door into the lab. You can retrieve it without having to put on a biocontainment suit.”

“What about Rhodes?”

Again there was a long pause.

“Rhodes is already quite ill,” Allaire said finally. “According to his estimates, he’ll be dead in a matter of a few hours.”