The Oval Office, The White House
November 11, 4:01 P.M.
“How is that possible?” Harward asked.
The national security advisor, President Midkiff, Matt Berry, and Angie Brunner had listened to the recording of the call to the East London police station. There was an advisory that followed by exactly seven minutes, stating that triangulation of the call, pinpointing the number, and identifying the owner had proven fruitless.
The call was being analyzed by every intelligence agency to which the material had been sent. That was Europe and the United States to start, followed by Russia, China, and the rest of Asia.
“It is possible,” Berry said, “if you buy a prepaid phone, purchase minutes using another phone, and activate them. That buys you thirty days till they expire.”
“But activation leaves a trail, doesn’t it?” the president asked.
“To nowhere,” Berry replied. “You call a number, usually somewhere in India, and provide the IMEI number from the burner phone. You also give the operator your name.”
“Your actual name,” the president asked.
“The name on the existing account,” Berry replied. “That one is fake. The account is typically paid for with stolen credit card information. That data is hacked moments before the transfer is done. Hacks like that are done in time zones where people are likely asleep. By the time it’s discovered, the minutes have already been transferred to the unknown burner.”
“How the hell did we keep inventing technology without built-in safeguards?” Midkiff wondered.
“Mr. President,” Harward said, returning to the reason they had gathered, “what about this Chinese presence our ships and satellites are watching?”
“They went right to Prince Edward, not to Marion Island where the plane came down,” Berry said.
Midkiff regarded him. “Beijing may have had the same intelligence you did.”
“Did I miss something?” Harward asked.
“My gemologist talked about light being emitted from a point on the island,” Berry reminded him.
“Something no one else reported,” Harward said.
“When you’re looking for and at navies, you may miss geologic phenomena, Trevor.”
“And the Chinese did see it? With what satellites? What ships? They had no eyes on that tactically insignificant nature sanctuary.”
Before the conversation could continue, Dr. Rajini jumped into the meeting by phone.
“What have you got?” the president asked.
“Two things,” she said. “The South African Navy dispatched a medical team to Marion Island, which just arrived. A patrol helicopter set down earlier when the pilot became ill near a location called Ship Rock on Prince Edward Island.”
Harward looked at his map. “Northern coast. Where there’s been recent sea traffic.”
Dr. Rajini did not have security clearance to let her know about the Chinese ship.
“Ill but still alive?” Berry asked.
“We believe so, along with a passenger who was apparently uninfected. Wind currents and proximity may have blunted the impact—we do not have enough information to say.”
“What’s the other news?” Midkiff asked.
“The helicopter that came down in East London was feeding video to the Department of Energy,” the science advisor said. “The camera missed whatever ‘vehicle zero’ might have been but the incidents definitely spread west along the bridge while rising: cars not yet on the bridge were not affected but the helicopter was.”
“Lifted by thermal currents,” Harward said.
“It would seem so. The government immediately ordered the skyways cleared along the path the air currents were moving. But what we are trying to ascertain is whether this contagion has an expiration date once released.”
“Which you’ll only know if someone accidentally gets in the way,” the president said.
“There’s nothing but mountains for some two hundred miles heading west,” she said. “Radios, TV, and social media are warning people to stay indoors, close windows, turn off any air conditioners or fans, and cover their mouths with anything they have. The military is dispatching helicopters with protected pilots to get up there and warn residents—and assess casualties, if any.”
“Is there a shelf life for these things in general?” Harward asked.
“That’s a good question and I’ve had my staff focusing on it,” she replied. “Bacteria that we sneeze or cough out won’t last an hour. Outside the body. The consensus is that this strain—and we still don’t know exactly what it is, bacteria or virus or still, possibly, chemical—we hope it wasn’t somehow bioengineered to have a longer life span.”
“Though we can’t rule that out,” the president said.
The men did not mention what their shared looks told them. If the Chinese ship was anchored offshore, it suggested the crew was safe, that the disease did not in fact live for very long in the atmosphere.
“Anything from the surgeon general?” the president asked.
“Dr. Young and the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention are in contact with their counterparts at the South African CDC to try and find out whether this microbe is natural or came from a lab.”
“Dr. Rajini, do you still think there’s a possibility that this is a natural phenomenon tied to the geology down there?” the president asked.
“It cannot be ruled out,” she said.
“Why?” Midkiff asked.
Harward answered, “Because the virulence and speed and cruelty of what it does has the stink of a military bioweapon program.”
“The South Africans are not known to have conducted bioweapon research,” Berry pointed out.
“With respect, Matt, we are looking into the apartheid era,” Dr. Rajini said, adding gravely, “There were rumors of using disease for domestic intervention.”
Midkiff thanked her and terminated the call.
“The old Pretoria-created-AIDS canard,” Berry scoffed.
“True or not, there is apparently a South African who isn’t afraid to use this thing,” Midkiff pointed out.
“Which brings up the obvious question,” Harward said. “Why wasn’t there a warning before the attack on the jetliner?”
“The two incidents may not be related,” Berry suggested.
The others considered this.
“Separate perpetrators?” Midkiff asked. “Multiple specimens out there?”
“That or someone, somehow, got a sample from the jetliner and is exploiting the damn thing.”
“The caller didn’t ask for anything,” Midkiff pointed out.
“Yet. Unless he’s a complete sociopath—which we cannot rule out—there is more to come.”
“Getting back to the Chinese,” the president said, “they may not know what to look for, or where, but there are South African naval officers on the islands who do. Beijing will find it before long.”
Berry rose. “I’m going to my office to make some calls, see what I can find out. There’s nothing I can add about China—they’re doing what China does.”
“We should do one better,” Harward said.
“What’s that?” the president asked.
“Blast Prince Edward with a sea-whiz barrage from the Carl Vinson. Let the Chinese know that the South African government has requested our assistance.”
The Phalanx CIWS was a radar-guided 20mm Vulcan cannon used primarily against antiship projectiles.
“Do you disagree?” the president asked Berry. After eight years with the man, he already knew the answer.
“Apart from the provocative nature of that action, I’m all for letting Beijing take the risks with something this deadly. If they get something, we’ll know it.”
“You don’t care if they control the source, the spigot?” Harward asked.
“Not if we can figure out what this is and find a way to lick it.”
Both the president and Berry knew there was another reason.
Angie Brunner, who had been silent the entire time, seemed to catch the look the men shared.
The deputy national security advisor left to go to his small office down the hall. There was no reason for Harward to know that Op-Center had something hopefully more effective than a Chinese landing party on route. He wanted to brief Williams about that and also tell him to lean hard on this Barbara Niekerk.
He had a feeling, an instinct that she knew something more about this, given that she suggested a “time frame” in her call to Australia. If that referred to potency rather than air currents, she definitely knew what this was.
As he walked past his secretary’s cubicle and opened the office door, a text to the men at the meeting arrived from Dr. Rajini:
Medical chopper overdue PE Is. SAN checking.
“Matt, the president wants to see you for a minute,” his secretary said as he was shutting the door.
Berry turned back and passed Harward in the corridor. The men did not speak. There was nothing to say. Angie was with him, though she was busy texting—probably President-elect Wright, wanting to brief him.
The president’s executive secretary shooed Berry in. The president was behind his desk. He motioned for the deputy national security advisor to shut the door.
“The NRO just informed us the SAN helicopter landed at Marion,” Midkiff said. “There’s also a Chinese launch moored there.”
“That would explain the silence,” Berry said.
“Matt, I’m not inclined to disagree with Trevor on this sea-whiz approach. We can’t let them land and stay where and however long they wish. But I don’t want to do that if Op-Center can do it cleaner and quieter.”
“We’ve still got at least eight hours till boots are on the ground.”
“Which worries me,” Midkiff admitted. “I don’t get the impression that even South African Command knows what’s going on out there. If the Chinese are the only ones who figure this out, that’s a lot of catch-up for us to do. And a lot of damage they can do—with clean hands.”
“Mr. President, we don’t know that. The Chinese may have been behind this, using the islands as a staging area. They’ve been pushing the territorial envelope there.”
“Naval intelligence considered that,” Midkiff said. “Communications suggest they were as surprised as everyone else.”
“Good cover, if they pull that off.”
“C’mon, Matt. The Chinese are some of the worst bluffers on the planet. If the Indian Ocean were a poker table, they’d have been busted before I was elected. No,” the president went on, “I don’t think it’s them and I don’t think it’s the Russians. We know all their bioweapons programs.”
“Who’s got eyes on the islands?”
“NRO, NASA, DNI—the fleet is listening. But now that everyone’s deep in the game, no one’s going to say anything of value. Which is the problem and why I’m back at the sea-whiz scenario. The Chinese may have a clear path to success here.”
“Unless Op-Center can stop them.”
“I prefer ‘until,’” Midkiff said. “If we see some sign of the Chinese moving in on that northern location, I’m going to give the attack order.”
“If that’s the mission, sir, the sea-whiz is not the best weapon for that job—”
“I’m aware of that. Can’t put planes in that area until we know more about the toxin,” Midkiff replied. “And I can’t risk the Chinese taking a shot at one, because then we’re in a shooting war.”
“Mr. President, I just want to point out that we don’t even know if that will work. It could make things worse, blasting particles of whatever-this-is into the ocean.”
“It’s lethal where it is, and we cannot risk any more of it getting out. The Chinese must not have it.”
Berry did not pursue the discussion further. He told the president he would emphasize all of this to Chase Williams and advise him of any developments on that end.
There was just one thing that concerned him beyond the deadline the president had just set. Unlike during their mission in Yemen, the Black Wasp unit was being sent into the eye of an ongoing storm with scrutiny from every nation in the region.
In light of that, there were three things he prayed: that the team was successful, that they got out safely … and that they got out unseen.