The Deadliest Strain

Chapter Thirty-Two

Faas moved the phone from one ear to the other and rubbed a spot in the center of his chest. With the diet of fast food he'd been on, the pack-a-day smoking again, the lack of sleep except for ten-minute catnaps here and there, and the steady stress that had his ulcer acting up again, having a heart attack would be the next natural thing.

He reached into the drawer of his desk and took out a couple more antacid pills, popping them in his mouth and downing them with the cold black coffee left at the bottom of his mug.

"Sir, I have Austyn Newman on the line," his secretary told him through the intercom.

Faas clicked over from the president's line to speak with Austyn. Penn had him on hold, but Faas was certain he'd understand.

"Okay, I know you're en route to those camps, and we haven't given you enough time to get there…" Faas started without any greeting.

That's correct."

"But I called to tell you that we're in deep shit."

"That's what I've been hearing," Austyn said from the other end through the static.

"You heard about Bagram Air Base. That's a total mess. But now, on top of it, we have cases reported from six more goddamn cities across the country. At this point, we don't know what's real and what's hysteria. Are you there?" he asked as the static subsided.

"Yeah. I'm listening."

"Good. Then listen to this." Faas grabbed a list off his desk. "Every government health organization is now involved in this. We've got Centers for Disease Control, the FDA, the FDA for Kids — whatever the hell that is — NIH and the World Health Organization. And you know what?"

"None of them have any answers?" Austyn asked.

"You got it. None of these big-budget, highly paid directors has been able to get their people to produce shit. And on top of it all, the Secretary of HHS is breathing down my neck every five minutes… like I report to him."

"What about the connection with all the victims having a cold?"

"Not conclusive," Faas snapped. "They can't tie it to a single product. No, wait, what am I talking about? They can't tie it to anything. They have no fucking idea how these people contracted the damn disease."

"They really haven't had much time for their testing," Austyn replied.

He would say that, the director thought. Austyn was a research scientist, first and foremost. He'd been recruited to work for Homeland Security by Faas. The files on the young man had been beyond impressive. Ivy League education, excellent track record in NIH. Later, he'd worked in the private sector as a top manager. He had the knowledge, intensity and work habits. He was the kind of person they wanted at Homeland Security.

"Quit defending them," he growled. "You work for us and not them. They're all lazy bastards. Idiots!"

There was a chuckle from the other end of the line.

"I don't know how the hell you can laugh in the middle of this."

"Nobody's laughing here," the other man lied. "But I will find Rahaf. I think she has the answer, but that's no guarantee that if she does have it, she'll cooperate with us. Still, I'm almost positive she has nothing to do with what's going on over there or at Bagram."

"And how do you know that?"

"She contracted this disease herself, lost a leg to it, and for the past five years has been doing humanitarian aid in refugee camps on the border of Iran and Iraq. I personally can't see someone who spends her life helping others that way being filled with vengeance, can you?"

Faas was silent for a moment. "You just made me a very happy man."

"And how's that?"

"You said she had the disease and that she's alive today, five years later," Faas said, thoroughly pleased. This was the first break he'd had. "Who gives a shit about losing a leg? We can't keep these people alive long enough to get them to a hospital."

"Don't build your hopes up. The possibility exists that there's a difference between what she had and what we're facing now. What she contracted doesn't seem to have been as contagious, for one."

"You told me the DNA of the microbes were virtually the same."

"Virtually the same… but mutations can occur over five years. Be prepared for complications."

"Don't be a wet blanket, Newman," Faas told him. "Accept it — you're our only hope."

"Stop harassing me."

"You haven't seen harassment yet," he corrected. "Now, what do you need?"

"Nothing. I have what I need for now."

There was a knock on the door, and Faas's secretary poked her head in. He motioned her inside. "This woman only brings me bad news. Is it bad news?" he asked her.

She nodded gravely, dropping a message in front of him.

"What's happening?" Austyn asked.

Faas read the message. The pain in his chest was back.

"We've got another circus on our hands." He looked up at his secretary. "The president will be on the phone any second. Put him right through to me."

She nodded and left the room.

"We have a research boat in the Atlantic carrying a bunch of kids with cancer. The head of the expedition has come down with NFL The coast guard is on its way, but news helicopters are already overhead and they're broadcasting live footage."

"How the hell did news crews get there before the coast guard?" Austyn asked.

"Depends on how many channels they used to send their Mayday signal." Faas read over the message again. "A boatload of sick kids. What a nightmare."

A light appeared on his phone set. His secretary's voice rang through. "I have President Penn on the line."

"Put him through. You know what you have to do, Austyn," Faas said before switching to speak to the president. "And I don't care if you have to put a gun to her head."