Biowar

80

Rubens leaned back against the wooden chair, an ornate French piece that had allegedly been brought to Washington by Jefferson, though that provenance seemed highly unlikely. It was, however, very old, and Rubens felt it creaking and shifted his weight forward.

Marcke got up and began pacing back and forth. One of the President’s assistants appeared at the door to tell him that the others were waiting outside; Marcke waved him away, wordlessly telling him to keep them waiting.

Hadash, meanwhile, remained in his seat, his legs spread and his arms hanging down between them. He alternately cupped and uncupped his hands.

“Billy, you’re recommending blowing up a hospital,” said the President. “And potentially starting a world war with Russia.”

“With respect, sir,” said Rubens, “the plan won’t destroy the hospital, just the lab. We’d use F-47Cs. We’ve penetrated Russian airspace before without detection. If we want to eliminate the bacteria, this is the time and place to do it.”

“If we have a cure, the bacteria is useless,” said Marcke.

“If it works,” said Hadash. “There’s no guarantee yet that it does.”

“I think it does work,” said Rubens. “But we don’t know how much we can make, or how fast. As a natural substance, it’s pretty rare. We’re not sure we can get enough to take care of even the confirmed cases in upstate New York. And that’s if the disease proceeds in the manner Dr. Lester projects. In any event, having a cure does not eliminate the potency of the disease, or the threat. We can fight anthrax, after all. That doesn’t make it any less dangerous.”

“I agree that with or without a cure, the bacterial agent is a big problem,” said Marcke. “But not a reason to go to war.”

“If you had a chance to eliminate weaponized anthrax from the planet, wouldn’t you take it?” asked Rubens. He glanced at Hadash. “Wouldn’t the risk of collateral damage be worth it?”

Neither man said anything.

“This isn’t an act of war,” said Rubens. “It would be a preemptive strike against a threat not just to us but the entire world.”

“On the contrary. I would consider a Russian attack on a hospital in Washington or anywhere else an act of war,” said Marcke.

“We’re not hitting the hospital. Only a small portion of the lab beneath it. We can put a two-thousand-pound bomb down one of the ventilation shafts,” said Rubens. “The attack will appear to have been launched by separatists using a remote detonator. There’ll be radio transmission for the Russians to overhear.”

Marcke stared at him.

“It’s doable. We can blow it up with no fingerprints. The odds are that no innocent people would die,” added Rubens.

“You can guarantee that?” asked Hadash.

“I can say with ninety-eight percent certainty, yes.”

“That leaves a two percent chance of a world war.”

“There’s another risk,” said Rubens. “If the bacteria is shipped to Chechnya and the Russians lose control of it, it will undoubtedly be used. The disease will spread throughout Russia, and then Europe, and then here. We’ll have lost the easiest chance we had to contain it. And if the so-called antidote turns out to be as effective as we believe, the results will be beyond catastrophic.”

“Show me the details of the plan,” said the President, pointing to Rubens’ briefcase. “Then we’ll let the others in.”