Pandora's Legion

14

Rear Admiral Derringer met Homeland Security Secretary Burridge at SSI’s entrance. They warmly shook hands, exchanging Annapolis incantations.

“Go Navy,” Derringer intoned.

“Beat Army,” Burridge replied.

“Thanks for coming out here, Bruce. I know it’s inconvenient, but as I said, I can’t protect myself in the District.”

Burridge punched his classmate’s arm. “Hey, it’s good to get away from the office, and officially I’m in Florida. Besides, I’m traveling with more security than Gorbachev did.”

Derringer looked outside, scanning the street and buildings. “I didn’t see anything besides a couple of patrol cars.”

DHS grinned. “You’re not supposed to.”

In the secure briefing room, Burridge and his two senior bio threat officers settled down with SSI’s management team. The visitor opened the discussion. “Gentlemen, ladies, thank you for your cooperation. Ordinarily I wouldn’t inject myself into operational matters, but you appreciate the urgency of this case. There’s just too much at stake to risk something getting lost in the shuffle.”

Derringer lapsed into officialese. “Certainly, Mr. Secretary. Now, I believe we’ve both seen the reports from Pakistan and Jordan. Is there anything more recent?”

Burridge turned to the well-groomed woman on his left. “Ms. Ramirez is tracking our intel on this case.”

Consuela Ramirez was a biologist out of USC and Stanford. What she lacked in warmth — reportedly she was devoid of humor-she made up in dedication. “We’re doing it the hard way because there’s no recourse yet,” she began. “We’re working back-channel with a few Pakistani health officials, trying to narrow the search for doctors named Ali in the frontier areas. As you may imagine, that’s a huge job. Our best information shows about 108,000 doctors in Pakistan, but apparently the database is not wholly computerized.”

Derringer nodded. “Well, our teams are in-country, ready to go with a few local officials. All they need is an op area to start looking in Baluchistan. Or elsewhere, for that matter.”

Ramirez was visibly frustrated. “Excuse me, sir. We could work so much better if we could put more personnel on the ground. This way, we’re so limited.”

Burridge touched her arm. “We know, Consuela. The proverbial needle in a haystack. But State is adamant: there was eighty percent anti-American polling throughout the country before the plane crash. If anything, it’s higher now. We’re lucky to have the support we do.”

Joe Wolf tapped his pencil on the polished tabletop. “I’d like to discuss the Jordanian case. Is there anything linking that woman to the American boy? Had they been in the same areas?”

“Not yet, Joe, but that’s the way to bet.” Burridge had been out of the trenches for years; now he remembered why he had accepted a cabinet position with such reluctance. “We know the American definitely was in Baluchistan. The young woman’s extended family is from Peshawar but she left there weeks ago, presumably for treatment of pancreatitis in Islamabad. She could’ve gone anywhere, including Baluchistan.”

“Any similarities to their travel arrangements?”

Burridge looked again at Ramirez. “No. He left from Islamabad while her flight originated in Karachi. But when it turned out that she had Marburg, that was too much of a coincidence so we assume both carriers were injected by the same people. Obviously she was headed for Israel, though how she was going to enter the country is unknown.”

Derringer caught Burridge’s eye. “Then we must make another assumption: there will be more carriers, maybe from other countries. Back-tracking multiple suspects will be even harder.”

Burridge inhaled, held his breath, then expelled it. Here comes something else, Derringer thought.

“Mike, that’s not all. We’re heard from reliable sources that other bio weapons are actively under development. The most serious seems to be a plant virus that attacks grain, especially wheat. Now, obviously that’s not of immediate concern to SSI, but I think you should know that we’re possibly facing a multi-axis attack from well-organized, competent forces that may not even be working together.”

Wolf emitted a low whistle. He looked around the table and noticed that Sandy Carmichael’s hands were now clenched fists. “How might we become involved, sir?”

Burridge produced a short document and slid it across the table. “We cannot afford an attack on our food supply any more than we can afford an oil boycott. Depending on what might turn up, SSI could be deployed to other countries for purposes of deniability. That paper contains names, numbers, and the CVs of scientists and field agents who could prove helpful to you. Feel free to contact them — they’ve all been vetted.” He looked around. “We won’t be scrambling for last-minute scientific help next time.”

Derringer exchanged glances with George Ferraro, his chief financial officer. Both men realized that SSI had just been offered an open-ended contract. Discussion of that happy prospect would have to wait.

“Bruce, just for background. If Marburg or something else explodes here, how’s the government going to deal with it?”

“Well, that’s more FEMA’s bailiwick, but there’s contingency plans for local, state, and federal agencies. Most of the players know each other by now. Meanwhile, we’re still working up to full strength of thirty-two National Guard emergency response teams. They’re trained to deal with WMD attacks, though something like anthrax in a major metro area probably would be impossible to contain. As far as nukes…” He shrugged. “Hell, a couple of backpacks could come across the border on horses or burros.”

Wolf sat upright in his chair. “Animals!” He smacked the heel of his hand against his forehead — what he called “the marine salute” when Leopole was not around. He rifled through a stack of papers. “Why didn’t I think of it before?”

Derringer asked, “Think of what, Joe?”

“Here! I thought I remembered it!”

“For petesake, what?”

“Animals! In Mannock’s notes, Jason’s mother said he worked in an animal shelter. The kid wanted to be a vet but didn’t have the grades. One of his letters goes into some detail about sheep and goats.”

“Yeah? So?”

Wolf unleashed a grin that could in fact have been called wolfish. “So… maybe our Dr. Ali is a veterinarian!”