Center for Disease Control and Prevention, Arlen Specter Headquarters and Emergency Operations Center, Atlanta, Georgia
Rafael sat in the back of the van and squinted through a pair of ATN Night Vision Goggles. They cut through the darkness and illuminated his next target, Dr. Katherine Whelan, the director of the Center for Disease Control and Prevention. He then looked up at the ten-story building behind her, a tightly controlled government facility nestled into the sprawling campus of Emory University in Atlanta. It was silhouetted against the night sky and looked more like the corporate headquarters of a Wall Street darling than an arm of the federal government. But the property had tight security; of that, Rafael was sure. Years of threat assessments from the FBI and counterintelligence think tanks had seen to it that the facility had become a fortress. The CDC itself was spread across a campus that included several buildings. This one, the main headquarters, was the very definition of government overspend.
In addition to playing host for the CDC, Emory was also known as “the Ivy League of the South,” and housed the state’s most esteemed medical college and teaching hospital.
As Dr. Whelan walked across the secure parking lot, Rafael heard the familiar chirp of a BMW 5-series sedan being unlocked by her key fob. Rafael had memorized the car and every detail about it. It was a brand new 4-door, metallic black in color, and still had the price sticker affixed to the rear window.
He spoke out loud as if the doctor could hear him. “Your new BMW was a waste of money, Dr. Whelan. By tomorrow you will be dead, and my bank account will be flush with cash.” He smirked. “It is too bad that you are a little old for my tastes, good doctor. And you have let your body become soft. Otherwise I would have loved to become better acquainted. Yes, not up to my standards. It is too bad for you, doctor. Most of the women I spend time with seem to enjoy my company greatly.” Rafael thought about his assignment. “I do have to admit that I have no idea why he wants you dead, and in this particular way, but mine is not to question, mine is to kill. I’d love to pull this off inside your office, Katherine, but there are too many risks. No, I think your home will do nicely.”
Dr. Whelan lived three miles away in the Candler Park area, and unlike the CDC offices, had no security cameras, no fence, no armed guards, no biometric scanners perched beside steel doors, and no barking dog. Only a basic home-security system stood between her and the outside world.
As director of the CDC, Dr. Whelan spent much of her time directing budgetary meetings, listening to threat assessments, and allocating resources to fight new biological contaminants. This day was not unlike many others. She had prepared a briefing for the president which would take place the following morning and had not left the office until 8:21 p.m.
When she turned down the twisting road of her suburban street, shrouded by oak and pine trees, it never occurred to her that this might be the last time she would make this trek home. Had she known her time on earth was numbered by hours, she would have set aside her steely exterior and thought about what her life had become, a stress-filled world of bureaucracy entangled in the warfare of modern medicine against man and nature.
In all likelihood she would have called her mother to say goodbye, her best friend Lillian to tell her how much she appreciated her over the years, and to apologize for not being there when her husband had fought cancer.
She would tell Lillian that she had been right all along. Life is not meant to be lived in a cubicle. Each day is meant to be spent reveling in the sun, and noticing things like the sound of rustling leaves on the trees, the simple smell of fresh-cut pine, and the glow of an afternoon’s last light as the sun disappears below the horizon. And, most importantly, life is meant to be shared with loved ones.
But this was not to be. Dr. Whelan had no idea that moments after she stepped into the house, six freshly killed rats would be placed in the crawlspace underneath. The flea-infested rats were infected with bubonic plague. The fleas, the main transmitters of the disease, would soon detect the decrease in body temperature of the rat and seek out a new host.