MANHATTAN – 11 DECEMBER – 10.15 A.M.
The Center for Disease Control and Prevention has its headquarters in an eight-storey, 1970s office block on Catherine Street, on the southern end of the island, near the financial district. The administrator, Dr Kim Scholler, was having a hectic morning and had just called her boss, Brian Holzman, at the Department of Health and Human Services.
‘Brian, this is big. Of the thirty-five hospitals in the metropolitan area, fourteen have reported that they’re overrun with possible food poisoning cases.’
‘Jesus. Okay, Kim, let’s watch our procedures on this. Does it look like food poisoning to you?’
‘You know, that’s one of the first things you’re going to suspect, but the numbers look way too high. And it’s too widespread. We’ve got multiple cases centred on Manhattan, but there’s plenty coming in from New Jersey, Queens, Brooklyn – all five boroughs.’
‘Could be an airborne infection then?’
‘Yeah, or something in the water supply.’
‘Let’s go Code Red,’ Holzman decided. ‘We invoke full alert procedures to the hospitals, doctors and the public. Keep the public announcements nice and calm – we don’t want a panic.’
‘Okay.’
‘I’ll notify the National Institute of Allergy and Infectious Diseases.’
‘Okay.’
‘And the Office of Emergency Management. And you get the hospitals to send as many blood samples and stool samples as they can to the labs. Quicker we can find out what this is, the better.’
*
11.00 A.M.
At the Patrick J. Brock Memorial Hospital, the administrator, Irene Sefton, had called an emergency meeting of the department heads. The atmosphere in the room was charged with tension.
‘Guys, thanks for coming. As you know, we’ve invoked our emergency plan. I’m cancelling all leave and calling in all staff on leave. As of now, we have no available beds. ER is overfull and we have,’ she hesitated and looked at her notes, ‘forty-seven patients on trolleys in the corridors, or in chairs, awaiting admission.’
‘And it’s getting worse, Irene,’ chipped in Valerie Mahler. ‘The ambulance dispatcher tells me they’ve a three-hour delay on calls, partly because they can’t get patients out of the ambulances and into ER. We’ve run out of trolleys.’
Silence.
‘Jesus,’ said someone down the back. ‘This is unheard of.’
‘Okay, the Center for Disease Control and Prevention has issued an alert for New York State. All the hospitals are reporting a similar level of admissions, so it looks like it’s something in the water supply or possibly airborne.’
‘Any deaths?’ asked Valerie Mahler.
‘No, thank God. So far, we have a big chunk of the population presenting at a similar stage of illness. I’ve checked the National Diseases Surveillance System and there’s no fatalities reported.’ She grimaced. ‘Hopefully, it’ll stay that way.’ She referred again to an email printout on her clipboard.
‘Priority now is to get as many samples as we can to the labs. Problem is, it’s gonna take another two to three days until we know exactly what we’re dealing with here. Until then, treat every case as you see fit.’
*
2 P.M.
The open plan second floor of the Fifth Precinct station on Elizabeth Street was packed with plainclothes and uniformed officers. Word of the wave of illness had reached the station.
Sergeant Jim Connolly had called the meeting.
‘Listen up guys, looks like this city’s got a crisis.’ He had their immediate attention. ‘One – we’ve got gridlock around all the hospitals. Sullivan, Rodisky – I want a traffic management plan for our precinct in operation by 4 p.m. Keep the routes to the hospitals clear.
‘Two – there’s nothing like a crisis to make the bad guys think we’ve got our eye off the ball. All leave cancelled until further notice.’
There was a groan around the room.
‘I’m authorising full overtime rates.’
A small cheer.
‘Leonard, Peters: I want a plan for increased protection on all the banks, galleries, you name it. Anywhere our gangster friends might take a pop at.’
Peters nodded. ‘On your desk in an hour, sergeant.’
‘Three – the Center for Disease Control’s office in Manhattan just happens to be in our patch at Catherine Street. They’ve set up a task force there which is gonna be workin’ around the clock on this. They’re lookin’ for a law enforcement presence on the team. They’re also looking for help securing public utilities, public buildings – whatever places they think they may have to shut down and search for germs, or whatever it is they’re lookin’ for. Cabrini, Wyse, you go see what you can do to help.’
‘On it, sergeant,’ said Wyse.
‘I want to be kept in the loop on everything, twenty-four seven until this is sorted. Ain’t no one gonna say that the Fifth wasn’t right on its game.’
‘Hmmm – there’s a change of scene,’ said a grinning Cabrini to Wyse as they tramped down the old wooden stairs. ‘All the crap you talk, this diarrhoea thing could be just your scene!’
John Wyse punched his buddy’s shoulder. ‘Let’s get round there.’
As they walked down the steps of the station, out of the corner of his eye, Wyse spotted a man ducking around a corner, further down the street. Dark. Swarthy. Middle aged. It could be nothing, but his instinct told him he was up to no good. If they’d had the time, he would have gone back to see what the guy was up to.