Samuel woke up at midnight. In his medical opinion, three hours of sleep really wasn’t adequate. But his body didn’t listen.
Insomnia was part of the process. When he’d been in Africa doing fieldwork, he was up nearly around the clock for the entire trip. There was too much to do in too-little time, and the promise of an answer always called from just around the next corner. He slept a few hours each night and then woke up wired, and ready to get back to work.
So now, hours before dawn, he lay wide awake. DNA structures and chemical compounds raced around his brain as he tried to fit them all into a big picture that would yield a cure for the blight of Q Island.
He slipped on some clothes and a jacket, and crept away from the sleeping area. Yesterday he’d been inside the whole day, breathing the terminal’s stale, sterilized atmosphere. He needed some fresh air, or at least as fresh as New York City could provide.
The lower level exited to the airport tarmac. He popped open the door. The rush of cold air from outside made his skin tingle. He stepped outside and took a deep, cleansing breath. The welcome marshy smell of the nearby bay was like a tonic as it swept out the terminal’s stagnant scent. The residual sleepy fuzziness in his brain melted away.
On his second deep breath, it struck him. The silence. New York City was never quiet, not at any time. Even in the morning’s wee hours, subways rumbled by, sirens wailed, reverse-warning horns beeped and dumpsters clanged. Planes screamed by overhead bound for one of the nearby tristate airports. Samuel now stood on what had been the busiest airport in one of the world’s busiest cities, and the world stood silent. Streetlights’ glows lit the sky on the other side of the airport’s fences. Samuel imagined it looked like a ghost town over there.
From over the water rolled the drone of propellers. The sound came closer, but its source stayed invisible. Then the dark bulk of a C-130 cargo plane uncloaked at the end of the farthest runway. Without landing or position lights, it was almost indiscernible in the gloom. It landed with a distant screech of tires. It rolled to the end of the runway, but did not approach the terminal. The two outer engines of the four spun to a stop. The rear cargo door dropped to form a ramp. Dim light spilled from the aircraft’s interior. A few airmen stepped out onto the runway, only visible by the blue-green glow of the night-vision goggles on their flight helmets.
Two military cargo trucks drove out from Terminal 4 across the ramp. Their lights were out as well, as if the C-130 had started a trend. They pulled up next to the cargo plane and disgorged a dozen soldiers, all with night-vision goggles. Like ants at work, they formed a ragged, glowing line, and began to shift boxes and crates from the aircraft to the trucks.
It seemed odd that the plane wouldn’t taxi up to the terminal. Of course, it was odd that it landed in the middle of the night without lights. There was the possibility that the commanders wanted to spare everyone’s sleep by not thundering into the terminal at this hour. Samuel shook his head, unable to imagine that conversation taking place.
As soon as the trucks cleared the runway, the C-130’s idle engines roared back to life. The gate cranked up as the plane began to turn and taxi. The crew apparently wanted no extra time sharing space with the newfound virus. The plane was airborne by the time the trucks arrived back at Terminal 4.
Samuel stepped sideways into the shadow of the jetway. No rules kept him from being out here, but the clandestine vibe of the soldiers’ actions made him uneasy about being seen.
The trucks stopped at one of the Terminal 4 jetways across from Samuel. The jetway was lowered almost to the ground. Boards made a ramp from the tarmac to its open door. The unloading began. Most of the boxes were nondescript, but Samuel swore he recognized a few of the odder-shaped ones as medical equipment still bearing the manufacturer’s shipping labels. One was the same centrifuge he had in his lab, and another looked a lot like a field MRI.
Certainly all that should have been coming to Terminal 2. His first impulse was to walk over and tell the soldiers their mistake. But the same nagging feeling that had backed him into the shadows a minute ago told him he’d better stay there. This was something better addressed in the light of day.
A notice posted by the breakfast line later that morning told Samuel he might not get his questions answered after all.
For security reasons, the ramp and taxiways of the airfield are off-limits to all nonmilitary personnel until further notice. In addition, Terminals 4 through 8 are not to be approached for any reason. Guards are authorized to use lethal force without warning.
People in line wondered about what brought this notice on. They speculated about a new incident along the wire or some kind of reaction to the infected rush on the Whitestone Bridge yesterday. Samuel had his own theory, and it had nothing to do with any outside threat.
“It’s a normal security procedure,” Vanessa said. She barely looked up from her laptop screen.
Samuel stood alone beside her desk. Sheets acting as makeshift blinds tried in vain to block the low morning sun. Cubicle walls now surrounded her workspace and gave them some privacy.
“Shoot without warning is normal?” Samuel said.
“No, not that. The separation of the military and civilians. They’re from two different worlds. They need their rules and structure. You need your freedom to pursue your research whenever needed. They have soldiers on duty three shifts a day that need some undisturbed sack time. It’s kind of an oil-and-water thing. I’ve been in these situations before. It’s for the best.”
Samuel remained unconvinced.
“Last night, some equipment was unloaded from a cargo plane,” he said. “Some medical equipment.”
Vanessa’s fingers stopped over her keyboard. She looked Samuel in the eye. “How do you know that?”
“I saw it out the window.” That sounded better than saying he was out on the tarmac. “After all these years, I know what field medical equipment looks like.”
“We have backup equipment,” she said. “Some of it came in last night. We aren’t going to store it here and clutter the place up. Terminal Four is storage. If any of your equipment breaks down, I want your spare available right away.”
“Vanessa, even during our government-backed fieldwork, I don’t remember ever having a spare anything.”
“Samuel, there’s a big difference between now and then. The fate of humanity hangs in the balance here. The full resources of the federal government are at play. Whatever the cost, failure is not an option.”
Samuel couldn’t help but give her an incredulous look at such an uncharacteristic response.
She broke into a more familiar smile. “Sorry, Samuel. The last week, I think I’ve been spending way too much time with the military. I can’t share everything I know with you, but these steps, the security steps, the organization at JFK, they’re all proper. They are what we need to do to beat this thing. Trust me.”
Samuel’s experience was that when people had to tell you to trust them, it meant you most certainly couldn’t.
“No problem. I’ll get back to my team.”
“Find us a cure, Bosi Daktari.”
Samuel returned to his lab. He now had a fight on two fronts, an all-out war with the virus on one side, and some sort of shadowy cat-and-mouse game with the CDC on the other. He’d have to make sure winning the second fight didn’t endanger winning the first.