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From: Secretary HHS
To: Director CDC
Re: Strategic National Stockpile
Following the provisions of H.R. 307 and the CRI, you’ll be getting via overnight mail this morning the official authorization in hard copy to release these SNS drugs and supplies to the following states for distribution to hospitals.
We should expect to have the rest distributed within six months, holding some back for the major population centers on the West Coast and keeping aside a final 10% in all stockpiles for emergencies we cannot yet foresee.
I’m starting to get pressure about the distribution of the stockpile from members of Congress, particularly the oversight committee. If you get any calls from them, refer them right back to me.
Lorraine, you and I both know that no matter how we handle this, people will demand what we cannot give and there will be Monday morning quarterbacking. We did this too soon, we did it too late: both will be said. We’ll probably both have to retire to Guam when it’s all over.
Be well.
————
From: Director of CDC
To: SSAG staff
Re: SNS distribution
We’re go on the first push packages of antivirals and respirators to the following destinations. I need you to coordinate with the designated local authorities and deploy yourselves to the warehouses by tomorrow morning. I’m contacting the U.S. Marshals Service to initiate escort assignments.
Remember, secrecy is imperative. Don’t mention to coworkers or families why you’re traveling or where.
––––––––
JULISSA RIDING, U.S. Deputy Marshal, recently promoted to GS-11, was checking her 12-gauge Remington shotgun when her least favorite fellow agent, Ben Maldonado, walked in, just under the wire.
“I’m going to be riding with Riding, I see,” he said, for maybe the thirtieth time since they’d been working together.
Julissa thought that qualified neither as pun nor joke. Junior high teasing, perhaps. Another woman in the Service said he was just awkward around women, to ignore him, but Julissa couldn’t ignore him today. With a four-person team, she’d be with him until the bitter end of the assignment, whenever that was.
“Maldonado, get yourself in motion,” said the senior DUSM, Byatt. “Briefing in five minutes. Bring your gear.”
Julissa had already checked her weapons, and she picked up her tac gear and moved off in Byatt’s wake.
Byatt had a computer projector set up and, once everyone was seated, he ran through the assignment. “We’re starting at a warehouse here.” He showed a photo of a nondescript white building. “In an unmarked vehicle hauling a cargo of pallets.” A shot of an unmarked white truck came on, about thirty feet long, Julissa guessed. “Here’s our route.” A map showed a red line. “We end up here.” He showed a photo of a nondescript parking lot that could have been anywhere. “Ninety minutes on an interstate, and after that another half-hour to an hour on surface streets, depending on traffic. No stops. I’ll be up front with the driver. You four will stay with the cargo.”
He went on to detail the operation. In a way, it was no different than transporting a prisoner, like one from organized crime. Four marshals plus a senior, be ready for attack and an attempt to capture the prisoner—or in this case, cargo.
Maldonado said, “What’s on the pallets?”
“That’s need-to-know,” Byatt said. “And right now, you don’t need to know. Personal cell phones, you leave here. We’ll be back by tonight. Radios only.” He reviewed communication protocol for a few minutes—unnecessarily, Julissa thought. But it was interesting that he emphasized it. She wondered what the chances were of running into trouble, naturally, but she was seasoned enough to know the answer to the question. Behave as if there will be trouble, stay alert but calm, and if trouble does arrive, you’ll be in the best position to deal with it.
In another fifteen minutes they were on the road, headed toward the rendezvous at the nondescript warehouse, Byatt driving them in an unmarked SUV. He pulled off once on a dead end street he must have chosen earlier, and had them don their vests and helmets.
Twelve minutes later, Byatt pulled up by the warehouse, turned off the engine of the SUV, and told them to hang on while he knocked on an unmarked steel door. In a couple minutes, the door opened and he disappeared inside.
This was really odd. It felt less like government work and more like—hell, running drugs for a cartel or something. Of course that wouldn’t be the case, but she couldn’t shake the thought. Maybe it was drugs, evidence for a case. Not likely, but not entirely impossible.
Byatt came back out, looked around the industrial park, then motioned them in, holding the door open. He waved his hand continuously, hurrying them inside. He beeped the SUV locked and led them through an empty office space and into a high-ceilinged garage, where two men in white jumpsuits were loading boxes into a white truck, the one in the photo Byatt had shown them or an identical one.
There was a third person there, a woman in a pantsuit. She had a clipboard and was checking off items as the men loaded. Behind her was row after row of shelving with brown and white cardboard boxes. It looked like a Costco, but none of the goods inside the boxes were on display.
“Cold in here,” Maldonado muttered.
He was right. It was cold, air-conditioned well below a typical office temperature.
The truck was loaded, the boxes were tied down, and clipboard woman got on a cell phone. “We’re about to leave,” she said into it. Then she asked one of the guys in the jumpsuits to give her a hand up. She disappeared into the dim interior of the truck.
One of the men stripped off his jumpsuit and climbed into the truck and started it, filling the warehouse space with the sound of the diesel engine. The other waited at the rear of the truck.
Byatt said, “All right, Marshals, get yourselves inside.”
Julissa led the way. The truck had short, narrow bench seats on either side. Behind those, the woman was standing with her clipboard, apparently counting boxes again.
Julissa settled on one bench, and Maldonado was on the other side with his partner Qualls. Her new partner, Reed, sat next to her, closest to the door. The jumpsuit guy closed the doors, and the woman flipped on interior lights and locked the doors from the inside. She sat next to Julissa on the bench seat. “Ann Parker, SSAG,” she said.
The letters meant nothing to Julissa. “AG” could be Attorney General, she supposed, which gave support to her theory they were hauling evidence for a federal case. But the boxes seemed awfully neat and clean, like they’d hardly been touched by human hands before today.
Well, they’d tell her what was in them or not.
Her earpiece came on. “Moving out,” Byatt said. “Stay sharp.”
Two hours was a long time to stay on high alert, but Julissa figured that the most dangerous times for the load would be now, at the beginning of their trip, and during the last half-hour. When the truck was at slow speeds, in other words. Otherwise, if something happened on the highway, the truck would slow or swerve, and there’d be plenty of time to come to attention. Or it’d just blow up from a shoulder-launched missile or something like that, and she’d be dead before she knew they were in trouble.
For fifteen minutes, she could feel the truck swaying as it made turns. The load was well secured and nothing shifted back there. No one spoke, including the SSAG (Special Staff, Attorney General? Secret Service Assistant gggg. Gunner? Grenadier? Gofer? Nope.)
The truck sped up, and she thought they were likely on the interstate now. She let her guard down fractionally and settled in for the ride.
The radio went live again. “Hand me over to Ms. Parker. The SSAG.”
Julissa was closest to her, so she took off her helmet and handed her headset to the woman.
“Do I need to press something?” the woman asked.
Julissa shook her head.
She could barely hear Byatt’s voice. “Ms. Parker, go on if you would and explain now to the deputies what we’re doing here. ETA, two hours.”
“Okay. Um, roger?” Parker definitely wasn’t military or law enforcement, that much was clear. She handed back the headset to Julissa.
Julissa said, “What’s SSAG?”
“Stockpile Service Advance Group. From the Centers for Disease Control.”
“Oh,” said Maldonado. “It has to do with the New Flu.”
“Right. These are antivirals, plus some respirators and filters. We deliver them to state officials, who sign that they’ve gotten them, and then our job is done. They get them out to hospitals.”
Julissa said, “So wherever we’re going, the flu is bad.”
“Yes, but you’re in no danger. Stay six feet away from people, and don’t touch any surfaces, and you’ll be fine.”
“I wasn’t worried about that,” Julissa said, though now that she was thinking about it, it might worry her on the drive home. “How many people will be there to meet the truck?”
“Not many. A half-dozen at most, all state or local government people.”
Maldonado said, “This is coming back to me from training. It was one of those oddball assignments that hardly ever comes up.”
Julissa wondered how the U.S. Marshals ended up getting the assignment. Probably written into some law, but why not someone else? Army, National Guard, whoever. Well, no matter. It was her job, and she’d do it well. “What sort of secrecy is there around this?”
“Very good,” Parker said. “The locals didn’t even have a precise time for arrival until just a few minutes ago. From our end, it’s purely need-to-know. Even the Director of the CDC only knows it’s all going out today, not the operational details of any single shipment.”
“How many times has this been done before?” Reed leaned around Julissa to make eye contact with Parker.
“2009 was the last time.”
That was before Julissa had been a Marshal.
Maldonado said, “Are these drugs rare?”
“They weren’t a month ago, but they are now. And every hospital and pharmacy in the country has ordered extra supplies, so the manufacturers are now months behind in meeting those orders.”
“If someone gets sick in three or four months, will there be any left?” Reed asked. He had a wife and kid, so he was probably worried about them.
“They’re upping production, but....” She shrugged.
“Is it hard stuff to make?” Reed asked.
“No. Or yes, it takes some time, but it’s not the most delicate drug to manufacture. Problem is, it doesn’t work very well. It isn’t a cure, and it only seems to reduce the death rate by ten percent or so. That’s better than nothing, of course. But we’d like to see better.”
Reed continued to lean across Julissa. “Why? I mean, has the stuff never worked?”
“It works fine on other viruses. It’s the nature of this flu,” Parker said. “It’s a very nasty one.”
Julissa pointed at the doors and raised her eyebrows at Reed. Meaning, “Pay attention to your job.” He backed off.
They rode in silence for nearly an hour more. And then the truck slowed. Julissa adjusted her helmet.
Byatt came over the radio. “If anything is going to happen, it’ll likely be in the next half-hour.”
Julissa double-checked the Remington. She strained to hear anything beyond the diesel engine of the truck, but between her helmet and the earphone, she could not. The truck stopped. Must be a stop light. Then it began moving again, running up through the gears. Her throat was dry. Probably nothing was going to happen, but that didn’t stop her body from preparing for battle.
Ms. Parker said, “When we get off, how are we going to do it? Do you guys go first or what?”
No one else answered, so Julissa said, “Yes, ma’am. You sit here, and we’ll make sure the area is clear. What exactly is it we’re driving up to, a government office?”
“The parking lot of a mostly-abandoned strip mall,” Parker said. “There are only two little stores open, from what they tell me. The pavement hasn’t been kept up. There’s a restaurant to the side, you know, like they build? It’s empty too. We’re pulling up behind the restaurant so that the exchange is mostly blocked from the street.”
“Okay, right.” The building hadn’t been in the shot Byatt had shown them earlier. She checked with Byatt. “Sir, if there’s going to be an empty building right by us, do we clear it first?”
She never heard his answer. The truck swerved, and then rounds started to hit the back doors.
“Get down!” she said to Parker. The woman scrambled off the bench, and Julissa forgot about her. She tapped Reed. “Stay low.”
He nodded and climbed down from the bench. They watched the back door pucker with every hit of a bullet. But none penetrated.
“What are they shooting with? .22s?” muttered Maldonado.
Was that a wish for them to bring out heavier weapons? Julissa hoped it was nothing worse than a couple of guys with .22s. That, they could take. It’d be over within seconds.
A superstitious person would have blamed the thought for what happened next. A round tore through the other side of the truck and hit Maldonado, who grunted with the impact. He slid off the bench.
“Maldonado! You okay?” she said.
“Vest,” he hissed. “I’m fine.”
She heard tires laying down rubber, and the truck turned sharply to her right, and then it bumped over something big. She felt it start to tilt, thought, Oh shit, and then gravity took it, and it rolled over.
Behind her, Parker screamed. The truck stopped on its side—her side. She had slid easily with the roll and now was standing on the former side of the truck. She waited a heartbeat to see if it kept rolling, but this seemed to be the end of it. It rocked back and settled flat on its side.
Byatt’s voice came over her earpiece. “Five unfriendlies. Hit the door and prepare to fire to your left. No civilians in sight. Come out firing.”
“Okay, guys,” Julissa said. “Let’s go.” She pulled the bar and unlatched the doors and then gave a quick countdown and let go, firing to her left as the bottom door fell, trusting Byatt.
Reed, who had a better line of sight, said, “Too far for the Glocks.”
She heard the sound of Byatt’s AR-15. She ducked her head out, quick, and saw a man outside falling, hit. His rifle clattered to the asphalt. Four others were scattering. She jumped down, using the bottom open door as a slide, and pursued, reporting her location in her radio so Byatt wouldn’t hit her. Reed yelled for them to halt, and they didn’t.
Julissa fired. She caught one guy in the back, and he went down. Two picked up speed, and went tearing out of her range. The last guy was chubby and was slowing, looking winded already. He turned around and raised a rifle and a three-round burst came from behind her, dropping him. The other two were still running, a half block away by now.
“Pursue, sir?” she asked.
“Negative. Secure the cargo. Secure the cargo.”
“Reed,” she said, “cover me while I make sure those three are down.”
The one she had shot was still wheezing, but blood was coming from his mouth. “One alive.” Then the thought came: Shit, I’m touching them. What if they have it? She shoved the thought aside, checked the other two and said, “We have two dead, one circling the drain. Ambulances. Oh, and Maldonado was hit.”
“I’m fine,” he said, though he sounded like he was wincing still.
An SUV was parked thirty yards away, probably the hijackers’. Julissa checked it out, but it was empty. “Black SUV clear.”
Byatt came on the radio. “Called for an ambulance. Is Ms. Parker okay?”
Julissa said, “Qualls, can you check on her?” No answer. “Qualls?” Then, “Reed, keep an eye on this guy.” She ran inside the truck. Part of the cargo had broken loose. “Ms. Parker?”
“I’m here,” came a shaky voice.
At least she was alive.
Qualls, she discovered, was not. She checked for a pulse on his neck. Nothing. “Byatt, Qualls is down.” Then to anyone who could answer her, “What the hell happened?” She felt around Qualls’s neck, trying to figure out where he had been shot.
Maldonado was still moving slowly from being hit in the vest. “I didn’t even know he’d been hit.”
Her hands touched sticky wetness. She squatted down and looked at the front of Qualls’s throat. No exit wound. He’d been shot at the base of the neck, a lucky goddamned shot, probably coming through the side of the truck into maybe the first cervical vertebrae, or maybe it ricocheted off something and up into the brain. She wasn’t sure, but she thought he’d have been dead within a second or two of being hit. Goddamn it.
All for a bunch of pills that were probably not going to work anyway.
She wiped the blood off on Quall’s pants.
“Ambulance is coming,” Byatt said, coming around the truck. “The driver needs one too. How’s Qualls?”
“He’s gone,” she said. “Check Maldonado, sir.” She turned and called out, “Ms. Parker?”
“I’m back here—pinned, I’m afraid.”
“Are you hurt?”
“I can’t tell. Bruised, definitely. What happened?”
Julissa worked her way back on the top side of the load. Most of the load was still secured to the floor, but a half-dozen layers had broken loose. Probably wasn’t very heavy stuff, if it was just pills. Julissa said, “Where are you?”
She moved toward the woman’s voice, taking care not to jostle more boxes loose to fall on top of her. In a few minutes, she had wiggled her way around to where Parker was. A pallet had pinned her against the truck’s inner wall. Julissa began tossing aside boxes that had broken loose.
“Be careful, please. Some of that may be glass.”
“Oh, I thought it’d be pills.”
“Some of each. IV antivirals and oral meds both.”
Julissa got enough of the boxes cleared that she could see where a pallet, which must have been under all the boxes, had jammed up against the woman, wedged in between her and the main stack. “I can get this. Tell me if I’m hurting you.”
In another few minutes, she had the woman freed. Ms. Parker said again that she was only bruised, though there was a scrape on her calf that was oozing blood. But with Julissa’s hand for balance, she was able to stand. “We were attacked? For the stockpile?”
“Yes, ma’am, looks like it. I guess the security wasn’t as good as you’d hoped.”
“It had to come from this end, from the state people.”
“That makes sense. If they’re sick enough, they must be frightened. And frightened people do stupid things.”
“At least we still have the drugs. I need to call the local people and get this handed off to them quickly,” she said. “Have you seen my phone?”
“No, ma’am.” She left her to finding it and joined Reed and Byatt to make sure the situation outside was still secure.
They were on a four-lane highway, the sort of place lined with small older stores. Liquor store over there, three fast food places she could see, and in this mall all that was open was one of those payday cash advance places and a nail salon. All of the storefronts badly needed a coat of fresh paint.
It looked like a ghost town. There were no cars driving by, though they were on a major road. One vehicle was parked at the nail salon and nothing at the cash place. Two cars were parked at the liquor store over there and a few were lined up at the nearest taco joint drive-through half a long block away. A car drove by on the highway, slowed as the driver gaped, and then it sped off.
“Okay, I got through to them,” Ms. Parker said, ducking down beneath the free-hanging door.
“You should stay inside, in case there’s another incident,” Julissa said, “to be on the safe side.”
“Do you think there will be?”
“There was one,” Julissa said, “so there could be a second.”
A police siren was audible now, growing closer. She patted herself for her badge. The helmet and vest were marked with “Marshal.” But as the siren drew close, she holstered her Glock. She didn’t want to get shot by panicked cops.
So much for not interacting with the locals. Qualls was dead, and so were two criminals. She was going to have a dozen people breathing germs on her before this day was done.
The adrenaline-fueled focus was dissipating, leaving her able to think about something other than what had to be done. Shit. Qualls. A side-effect of her avoidance of Maldonado had been that she’d never gotten to know him well, but out there someone did, and they’d be grieving his loss. And he was a Marshal. It was the first time she had lost one of her own.
