7.15 P.M.
The President of the United States of America dropped his chin onto his chest and clasped his head in his hands. He was sitting at his desk in the Oval Office. On the right-hand side of his desk was the vice president. Seated in front of them, in a rough U shape, were the heads of the dozen or so government departments which manage America’s National Response Plan. The atmosphere was tense, depressed, and angry.
‘A hundred thousand people dead so far,’ said the President quietly, shaking his head. ‘And the very best brains in this government are telling me that, one – this is going to get worse. It may reach a million. Two – that you still don’t know what’s causing it, and three – that our hospitals can’t cure it?’
Nobody in the room answered and nobody dared to catch the President’s eye. There was a gentle knock on the door and an aide ushered in Dr Kim Scholler, Professor Ghent, Dr Charles Steelman, Detective John Wyse and Maria Cabrini.
‘Excuse me, Mr President. This is the medical team from the Center for Disease Control and Prevention in New York.’
‘You may have to change the name of your organisation, doctors,’ said the President, grimly.
‘And this is Detective John Wyse, New York Police Department and Ms Cabrini is a technician at St Vincent’s University Hospital in Manhattan.’
The President waved a tired hand at a few empty chairs on his left. There weren’t enough for everyone, so Wyse and Maria Cabrini stayed standing.
The vice president spoke. ‘Detective Wyse, I believe you have something to contribute?’
‘All suggestions welcome,’ said the President. ‘I haven’t heard any good news in a long time.’
John Wyse’s knees were shaking as he took a couple of steps forward on the deep, gold carpet and faced the President.
‘Mr President, I’m a detective, not a doctor. I was assigned to assist the CDCP in Manhattan.’ He paused.
‘Go on,’ said the President.
Wyse cleared his throat. ‘Mr President, I believe we have been looking at this whole thing the wrong way around.’
‘How do you mean?’
‘Everyone has assumed that this is a, let’s say, routine public health issue, that’s got out of control. And we’ve been assessing it from that viewpoint only.’ Wyse swallowed and continued. ‘Mr President, I believe this whole disaster is a deliberate terrorist attack.’
The President raised his eyebrows in surprise. There was a shuffling of feet around the room and a couple of nervous coughs.
‘Well, well, Detective Wyse, and what makes you think that?’
‘Mr President, it’s kinda hard to explain but please bear with me. I’m going to go through it backwards.’ Wyse had planned his approach during the helicopter journey.
‘Go ahead.’
‘Okay. Now, one of the reasons we haven’t found the source is because of the sheer numbers of people infected. Our systems couldn’t cope and there were too many options to investigate. The terrorists counted on that. We seem to have had well over a million people infected in the last week or so. That’s huge. I think that looks deliberate. Despite the normal routine checks of our water supply, air and food supply, nothing turns up. The food manufacturers, the suppliers, the restaurant chains, etc., clean their equipment and because we can’t pin it down, we get stuck.’
The President nodded.
‘Yet,’ Wyse continued, ‘every day sees new patients turning up with infections. But the incubation period for the bug must be about the same for everyone, so that means that new infections continue to happen every single day. That also looks deliberate to me.’
‘Okay, detective, so who’s doing it?’
Wyse scrabbled in the brown folder under his arm and pulled out a copy of that day’s New York Times. He opened it on page three and displayed a bright red and yellow advert for BurgerFantastic.
‘Home cooking without the hassle,’ read the President. ‘Ninety-nine cents for every BurgerFantastic. Ninety-nine cents? That’s giving them away.’
‘Mr President, this company has undertaken the heaviest marketing campaign ever seen in New York, over the last eighteen months. They’ve spent tens of millions. They sell more burgers than anyone. Heading for three million a week. That easily gives us two million-plus infections.’
There was a pause.
‘But why,’ asked the vice president a little impatiently, ‘if they can infect over two million people in a week, would they bother doing all this marketing for eighteen months?’
‘Firstly,’ replied Wyse, ‘they wanted to build up the customer base to the highest possible number. Secondly,’ he hesitated for a moment, ‘and this is where it gets a bit complicated . . .’
‘Go on.’
‘I believe they were putting an antibiotic in the burgers for those eighteen months.’
‘An antibiotic?’ said the President incredulously. ‘Look, detective, this is all sounding a bit off the wall –’
‘Mr President, please hear me out?’
The President saw the desperation in Wyse’s face. ‘Okay, but keep it quick.’
‘Mr President, the whole reason that this has gotten so bad is that the hospitals can’t treat the patients. The antibiotic doesn’t work any more. That’s because, for over eighteen months, the terrorists were putting the antibiotic into the burgers. Then, they chose their moment and switched the antibiotic for an e-coli bacterium.’
He scrabbled again in the folder and pulled out a handful of newspapers and magazines.
‘Look, Mr President,’ he said, flicking through a selection of adverts for SuperVerve. ‘There has been another massive marketing campaign for this drug – SuperVerve. In New York only. Half the city’s taking it. The campaign coincides with the BurgerFantastic campaign. And they’re by the same advertising agency.’
The President read through one of the adverts. ‘SuperVerve – putting the verve back into your life. Hummm,’ he said, putting the newspaper down. ‘So, what is this SuperVerve?’
Wyse answered quickly. ‘Mr President, it’s more of this cephalosporin antibiotic. It’s exactly what the sick people need to cure their food poisoning. Problem is, the population’s already been deliberately used to accelerate this antibiotic resistance. The people may have been conned into taking cephalosporin by all this advertising. New Yorkers have been buying the antibiotic in the drug stores and getting it, without knowing it, in the burgers from BurgerFantastic. So, we’re sitting around waiting for the antibiotics to work and, Mr President,’ Wyse was breathless now, ‘I don’t think they’re going to.’
The President leaned forward on his chair. He looked enquiringly to his left at the group of medics. ‘Doctors?’
Dr Kim Scholler nodded slowly. ‘Medically, it’s entirely plausible, sir.’
Professor Ghent added, ‘Antibiotic resistance is a ticking time bomb – it looks like something may well have accelerated this.’
The President sat back in his chair and looked at the selection of faces around him.
‘So, who’s behind BurgerFantastic?’ he asked.
Wyse replied, ‘It’s owned by a Takar el Sayden. His retired partner was murdered about two years ago. That may have been to keep him quiet.’
The FBI and CIA directors both started writing. Wyse noticed and added, ‘He’s gone. He flew out of New York with his family this morning. We found traces of cephalosporin powder all over his office. And in his car.’
‘Where has he gone?’ asked the CIA head.
‘Tripoli. Libya.’
The President and vice president exchanged glances.
‘And SuperVerve? Is there a connection?’ prompted the vice president.
‘Yes,’ said Wyse. ‘Yamoura Pharmaceuticals. They’re a huge multinational drug company. Japanese. The boss is a guy called Tsan Yohoto, in Tokyo. Mr President, he was born in Hiroshima and he was five years old when we dropped the bomb. His brother and sister were killed. This could be him taking revenge.’
The CIA head turned to the President. ‘Revenge is a dish best served cold. I believe that would fit the Japanese mentality. And where is this Mr Yohoto, at the moment?’ he asked.
‘Just gone on vacation too, apparently,’ said Wyse. Cabrini had made a few calls for him.
‘So, Detective Wyse, if your theory is correct, what do you think we should do?’ asked the President.
‘Sir, first thing is, I suspect that the e-coli infecting was being done by el Sayden at BurgerFantastic. He was putting it in the sauce blender before the sauce got sent out to the restaurants. So, only good news is, I think the infecting’s stopped. The exception to that,’ he said looking around him, ‘is last night’s batch, which is being consumed as we speak. I suggest you shut down BurgerFantastic straightaway and broadcast warning messages on TV, radio, social media.’ People all around him were furiously taking notes. ‘Starting, I suggest, by alerting big venues.’
‘How do you mean?’ asked the vice president.
‘For example, the Giants play the Chicago Bears at Meadowlands in about thirty minutes from now. The Mayor’s been saying the game should go ahead, in honour of the dead. There’s probably over eighty thousand people there. There’s fifteen BurgerFantastic concessions around the stadium. You could get thousands of new infections there in the next hour –’
‘Do it!’ The President jumped to his feet. ‘Throw everything at it, police, army, shut down every damn outlet they have!’ People began scurrying from the room. The President sat down again and took a long drink of water. ‘So, Detective Wyse, if you’re right, we’ve identified the source. But we still have the dilemma of how to deal with those who’ve been infected.’
‘I believe I am right, sir. But there’s more. This is where you really need the doctors, but can I introduce you to Maria Cabrini.’
The President nodded at Maria, whose knees trembled as she stood, slightly behind John Wyse.
‘Ms Cabrini is a microbiologist at St Vincent’s University Hospital. She may have the answer to the food poisoning.’
The President raised his eyebrows. ‘Ms Cabrini?’
‘Thank you, Mr President.’ She took a tentative step forward. ‘Yes. I have been researching antibiotic resistance for some time. I’ve been developing some prototypes to make antibiotics effective again against the bugs that have learned how to resist them. One of those is for cephalosporin. I was given stool samples from the hospitals. Like everyone else, I’m running cultures, but, I believe we’re looking at a particularly virulent strain of multi-resistant e-coli. And super toxic. If Detective Wyse is right, and millions of New Yorkers have already been saturated with antibiotics, then, the antibiotics we’re doling out in the hospitals are probably just making things worse.’
‘Jesus,’ said the President, looking around him in exasperation. ‘When we get these bastards . . .’
‘It’s a big gamble, sir,’ continued Maria Cabrini, ‘but I think we have to instruct the hospitals to stop prescribing cephalosporin until we reconfigure the cephalosporin with this combination of acids.’ She pointed at her briefcase, then continued. ‘I’ve got the formulae, everything we need in here. We need to get it into mass production, quickly. If my test results follow through, the cephalosporin will become effective again and, in forty-eight hours or so, patients will begin to recover.’
Again, the President looked enquiringly in the direction of the doctors. Again, Scholler, Ghent and Steelman all looked at each other and together slowly nodded their agreement to the President.
‘It’s feasible,’ said Professor Ghent. ‘Only other option is to wait and hope.’
‘Never liked that option,’ said the President. He sat silently for thirty seconds, eyes closed as he rubbed his temples. Then he stood up again. ‘Okay, doctors, go do it. We can’t risk this getting any worse.’ The medical experts all hurriedly left the room together, taking Maria Cabrini’s briefcase with them. There was no time for handshakes or goodbyes.
The President sighed. ‘Well, Ms Cabrini, Detective Wyse, let’s hope you’ve cracked this. If so, this country owes you one hell of a debt of gratitude. Those sons of bitches. Imagine,’ he said, turning to his vice president, ‘poisoning us with our own medicine, our own cure.’
‘Mr President,’ Maria Cabrini interrupted nervously. ‘There’s one more problem. I discovered that there is a component of human DNA in the bacteria. It’s from a person of Asian descent. It must have been deliberately added. If it’s from this Tsan Yohoto, then . . .’
‘Yes?’
‘We may have another longer-term problem.’
Wyse interjected. ‘This Tsan Yohoto, sir, he survived the atomic bomb at Hiroshima, so he must have been exposed to radiation.’
Maria continued. ‘His immune system will have been compromised. He will be at a higher than normal risk of developing leukaemia.’
‘So?’ said the President, shrugging and looking puzzled, ‘can’t say I feel too sorry for him.’
‘Sir. He may have deliberately passed on that risk to every one of the New Yorkers who were infected by burgers from BurgerFantastic. We won’t know for years.’
The President was incredulous.
‘Aw, for chrissakes,’ he said, throwing his pen down on the desk. ‘Go catch these bastards,’ he snarled in the direction of the directors of the FBI and CIA.