DEPUTY SECRETARY Merton Gains adjusted the receiver to give his neck a break. He’d been on hold for ten minutes despite the assurances that the president would take his call immediately. Immediately had always meant a short wait, but ten minutes? This was the new meaning of immediately—the one that came after a week of beating their heads against this brick wall called the Raison Strain.
Gains always vaguely feared it would come down to something like this. It was why he’d introduced his bill to change the way vaccines were used in the United States. Of course, he’d never anticipated a crisis as widespread and terminal as this one, but the danger had always lurked out there. Now it had bitten them in the rear end without so much as a warning.
He’d seen Raison Strain simulations a dozen times. It grew quietly and then struck with a vengeance, rupturing cells in indiscriminate, systemic fashion. It was precisely how the political fallout from the crisis would develop, he thought.
At this very moment, a hundred governments were on the verge of ending the silence they’d managed so far. A thousand reporters were sniffing and starting to come up with questions no one could answer. The world’s genetics labs were working overtime, and the thousands of scientists on the Raison Strain were murmuring already.
This didn’t include the military personnel who had been involved in the massive movement of hardware to the eastern seaports. They’d been trained to keep their questions to themselves and their mouths firmly shut. But all told, over ten thousand people now directly engaged the Raison Strain, and most of those suspected that the new virus that had been restricted to a small island south of Java wasn’t nearly so isolated as everyone was saying.
He’d taken a call yesterday from Mike Orear with CNN. The man was on to them. He didn’t say how he’d uncovered his information, but he knew that terrorists had released a virus of some kind, and he threatened to break the story in twenty-four hours if the president didn’t come clean. It was all Gains could do to hold the man back. He couldn’t very well refuse to comment, and a flat denial might push Orear over the edge. Gains had threatened the man with a long list of national security violations, but in the end, it was apparent the man knew too much. Orear had finally agreed to hold off until Gains had spoken with the president.
That was twenty-four hours ago, and the president had seemed surprisingly ambivalent about the prospect of CNN breaking the story. When the news broke, it would boil over and swamp the world. God only knew to what end.
There was only one way to temper the news.
“Merton?” The president’s voice took him off guard.
“Yes, hello, Mr. President. I, um . . . I just got off the phone with England, sir.”
“I don’t mean to push, but I’m late for a meeting with the World Health Organization.”
“Yes, sir. I just got off the phone with Monique de Raison. She called me from Dover about twenty—”
“She’s alive?”
“She evidently escaped from an undisclosed location in France. She managed to get across the English Channel.”
“And Thomas?”
“He was killed during the escape.”
The receiver hissed quietly.
“You’re sure about this?”
“About which—”
“About Hunter! You’re sure he’s dead?”
“Monique seems quite sure.”
Gains hadn’t realized how much stock the president had put in Thomas, and hearing the admission in his tone brought surprising comfort. Amazing that certain things didn’t change even in the face of crisis.
“Does she have it?” the president demanded.
“She thinks so. At least a very strong lead.”
“Okay. I want her here now. Put her on the fastest plane we have out of our air base in Lakenheath. Use an F-16—use whatever we have that can make the flight. The British are aware of this?”
“I’m waiting for a callback.”
“Callback? This isn’t a time for callbacks! I want her here in four hours, you understand? And make sure that she’s under a heavy guard the whole way. Send an air escort with her. Treat her like she’s me. Clear?”
“Yes sir.”