The President spoke again. “The sequences are still there?”
“Exactly,” Colonel Simmons answered. “This superpox virus was created by someone who knows enough to be dangerous, but isn’t exactly on the cutting edge of the molecular biology community. The key piece of information for us is that they had access to some seriously nasty smallpox genes.”
“And that brings us back to this morning’s crazy phone call to Iran.” Shackleton knew everyone in the room had already been briefed on the NSA intercept, probably before he was, but he wasn’t sure if they had really put the pieces together yet. “If we accept the Congolese mining minister’s allegation that this outbreak was somehow purposeful, started among the gorillas to clear the way for an Iranian mining project in Virunga National Park, that gives us a pretty clear culprit to point—”
“Dr. Shackleton,” General Howard cut in. “While we appreciate your input as it relates to the virus itself, I think we’re quite capable of addressing the higher-level national security implications on our own. Thank you both for coming this afternoon.” He looked pointedly at Shackleton and Simmons, then to the door.
“Hang on, Chuck,” the president said. “I’m not sure we’re done with them yet. I still don’t see how Iran could have gotten these smallpox genes, if that’s what we’re going to assume now. Does this mean Russia is tied up in the game as well?”
“Not necessarily.” Shackleton tried not to glare at the national security advisor. Didn’t he realize they were playing for the same team? “We do have a pretty good theory, a way to explain that piece without blaming the Russians, at least not directly.”
“Go on.”
“With the end of the Cold War and subsequent crash of the Russian economy, there were thousands of government scientists newly out of work—no way to support themselves or their families. Most of these scientists were former Biopreparat, employees of the USSR’s massive biological weapons program.” Shackleton paused. It was important that they understood this now, before any hawks like Howard started getting ideas about World War III. “So what do you think they did? A bunch immigrated to Europe and the U.S., that’s true. But most of them have simply disappeared. It doesn’t require much of a stretch to imagine that one hungry scientist may have made his way to Tehran, a tiny vial of weaponized smallpox hidden away in his briefcase.”
“That’s all it would take?” The president shook his head slowly.
“And now twenty years later, Iran decides it has a good reason to try out one of these bugs they’ve been playing around with. They’re running out of yellowcake uranium and don’t have any legal means of procuring more.
When the gorillas are gone, there will be no further objections to our project
. Isn’t that what this government official said on the call we all heard?”
“Farrukh Torabi, Deputy Minister for Nuclear Energy.” General Howard nodded. Maybe he’d finally stop being such a doubter. “It’s a crazy story.”
The president brought a hand to his forehead, pushing the fingers through thinning silver hair. “But it might be the best one we’ve got.”
Anna McBride had to force herself to keep from hovering outside the imposing double doors. The rest of the aides and interns lounged easily, taking advantage of the break to discuss Fourth of July plans or check their phones.
Not Anna. Her boss, Andrew Mills, was in there—so why wasn’t she with him? Of course, he’d made some comment about the discussion being above her clearance level, but she thought it probably had more to do with her
personal interest
in the situation, as he’d put it so delicately. The news of Cole’s capture had been hard to bear, sure, but the worst part was not being able to tell anyone else in the family—not even Chase. How keeping her in the dark was going to help anything, she didn’t know. Right now, it was only making her even more stressed than she’d already been.
Cole, her invincible older brother, overpowered, probably wounded, and unable to escape from a remote jungle prison. She bit her lip. And here she was—just a few feet away from the people making decisions that could have life or death implications for him—yet totally powerless to have any impact on the outcome.
Anna wasn’t used to feeling so helpless.
“You heard right,” Shackleton said. “Her father, the very same Farrukh Torabi, was a grad student here at George Washington University when she was born. That was just before the hostage crisis and severing of diplomatic ties, so Leila has been an American citizen all along.”
“Pretty nice cover, if she’s really been playing for their side,” General Howard said. “I just can’t believe they really cleared her for this type of work, given that relationship.”
“It seems obvious now—I realize that,” Shackleton said. “But there was no reason for us to be suspicious, and I still have a hard time understanding how she could have been involved. Yes, it’s odd that she’s run off to Iran right at this moment, but—”
“And that she was observed collaborating with a known terrorist sympathizer,” Howard said. “Yes, that’s more than odd, I would argue.”
“Who also happens to be a respected Syrian surgeon and former classmate of hers at Oxford,” Shackleton said. That piece of intel had just come in as the meeting got underway.
“Which gives us all the more reason to question her motives from the start.”
Shackleton knew Howard was right. Much as he hated to implicate one of his own, there was no way to get around the eyebrow-raising nature of Leila’s recent activities. The buzz of a smartphone on the glass-topped table in front of the national security advisor interrupted the conversation. He glanced at it briefly, then turned to the president.
“Sir, your assault team is prepped and ready in Uganda, all set to move out on your command.”
President Rogers didn’t even bat an eye. “Let’s do this.”
Leila could use a drink. Not the hot milky tea in front of her, either. A real drink. She speared a dripping chunk of watermelon and brought it to her mouth. Refreshing, sure, but it would be so much better soaked in vodka. How in the world did Sohrab survive like this, year after year abstaining from the glorious ability to self-medicate through life’s frustrations? They’d grown up side by side, enjoying the comfortable cosmopolitan existence of diplomats’ children, but they might as well be living on different planets now.
Sohrab’s tall form appeared through the back door again, and the only light in her parents’ sprawling mansion went out. She’d been surprised to learn that he was living there too, but it made sense. They had moved in when Maman first got sick, his young wife insisting on taking care of her new mother-in-law by herself. The kids were already asleep when Leila arrived from the hospital that evening, and now she didn’t know if she would even get to meet them.
“Still not home?” Leila asked as he walked up to the small patio table where she was sitting. The manicured gardens stretched out behind her, and the scent of jasmine hung heavy in the night air.
“No, he may not come at all. He’s been spending a lot of nights away these last few months.”
“And the other guys?”
“They’re still here, out on the street.” Sohrab sat in a chair across from her. “As long as you stay out of trouble, they won’t give you any themselves.”
“I thought you said Baba gave his blessing for my visit.”
“He did.” Sohrab lifted the delicate porcelain mug to his mouth and took a long sip. “But then he learned about your trip to Rwanda. Why did you bring those virus samples back to the States before beginning your journey here?”
“Excuse me?” Leila was confused. Why would Baba know or care about the outbreak? “I didn’t know Maman was so close to the edge.”
“I told you in my e-mail.”
“And I thought there would be time. Of course I would have come straight here if I knew there was a chance I’d be too late.”
“That’s not it, Leila.”
She felt his stare drilling straight through her eyes and into the back of her skull. Like she was supposed to know something else, as yet unspoken. The same look he used to give her years ago, unfairly accusing her of losing a favorite book, or later, at the Singapore International School, when he found out she was hooking up with that French boy.
“Yes, he was upset that you didn’t arrive in time to say goodbye, fulfill her final wish. But that’s not the real issue.”
Leila shook her head. “You’ve lost me.”
Sohrab leaned across the low table toward her. “I’m on your side. It will be better for both of us if we can speak freely.”
“Speak freely? What do you think I’m doing?” She clenched her jaw. “I’m here because I wanted to say goodbye to my dying mother—maybe even start the healing process with the rest of our screwed up family. I have nothing to hide.”
“And the virus?”
Even in the late-night silence of the shadowy garden, Sohrab’s voice was barely audible.
“The virus is my job.” She had to control the urge to shout. “That’s it.”
Her brother’s questions were the last thing Leila had expected. She knew reconciliation wasn’t going to be easy—maybe not even possible—but what did the week’s nightmarish adventure in Rwanda have anything to do with it?
Sohrab’s eyes had been locked on her own for what felt like an eternity, but now he dropped them and sat back into his chair. “You really don’t know. I believe you.”
“Thank you.” Leila took a deep breath, willing her pounding heart to slow down. “Now what in the world are you talking about?”
He scooted his chair around the small table until he was right beside her, both of them facing the back of the darkened house. “You know I’m a microbiologist, yes?”
“I heard that much, at least,” Leila said. “Can’t believe Baba let you go off to Harvard, though, after putting up such a fight with me.”
“He didn’t have any reason to worry on my behalf. I was his faithful son.” He took another slow sip of tea. “Still am, I think.”
Leila looked at him questioningly.
You think?
She’d let it slide, for now. “So what do you work on?”
“I’m at a military lab outside the city. You wouldn’t have heard of it. No one has.”
“Following in Baba’s footsteps, I guess?” She tried not to let the skepticism drip too heavily from her words, but she knew it was there.
“Something like that. The government is one of our only stable employers.” Sohrab’s face hardened. “It means I can provide for my family. But I know you don’t understand that sentiment.”
“I’m sorry.” She really was. They were actually talking now—no reason to risk this baby step in the right direction. “Please, go on.”
“We study biological weapons.” He slowly stabbed a fork in and out of the last piece of watermelon on their little plate. “Defensive use only, just like at your own military labs.” A pause. “That’s what I thought, at least.”
Leila followed his eyes back to the house and then out into the gardens around them. He was scared. Her big brother was scared of something, here at his own house.
“Do I really want to hear this?” she said. “I mean, I appreciate your honesty, but I’m a doctor. Not a reporter. Or a spy.”
“If you care about the oath you took to become a doctor, then yes, you want to hear this.”
“Okay, but—”
“Just listen.” She’d always hated when he said that. “The virus that killed those gorillas in the Congo—”
“Not just gorillas. A woman died in my arms, Sohrab, only two days ago.”
“I created it.” Her brother closed his eyes. One of his knees shook uncontrollably. “I’ve been working on it for years.”
Leila stared at him, her mouth slightly open. She suddenly felt lightheaded, and grabbed for the edge of the table. “You created it.”
“Crazy, I know.” He looked up at her, then back over his shoulder again. “But I never thought it would see the light of day. It almost became a game, seeing how I could improve this composition with each new generation.”
“Improve?” She could barely hear her own voice.
“Making it more contagious, giving it a shorter incubation period, generally increasing the efficiency with which it kills its victims. The virus is a lot hardier now, too. It can survive for hours in the environment after being dispersed in a simple aqueous base.”
“Those don’t sound like improvements to me.”
“It hasn’t all been successful, though. My current project is figuring out how to get around the pox vaccine’s protective effects, but I’m not there yet.”
“Thank God.”
“Or Allah.”
Leila snorted. “Right.” Did he really still believe all that?
“But yes,” Sohrab continued. “I agree with you on that, at least. Better that the vaccine is still effective, with an uncontrolled release like this.”
“This vaccine is the only reason I’m not dying right now in front of you,” Leila said, rubbing the raised scar on her left shoulder. “I mean, we tried to be careful with the patient, but I’m sure I was exposed.”
“And that was the idea. We wanted something that would spread fast through a population, impossible to stop without mass vaccination or the strictest of biosafety controls.”
“But why monkeypox? If Iran wanted a biological weapon…”
She didn’t realize how loud she was speaking until he put a finger to his lips and shook his head vigorously.
“I could be executed for telling you this,” he said, even quieter than before. “And it’s not only the monkeypox. The virus has changed over the years, picking up modified genes from a slightly more dangerous cousin. But your colleagues at the CDC have surely figured this out already?”
Leila lifted her phone off the table and shook it in front of him. “I wouldn’t know.” She hadn’t been able to connect since turning it off on the plane in Amsterdam. “Are you telling me you’ve created some kind of hybrid, then? A viral chimera?”
He nodded. “I promise you, though, I thought it was for a doomsday scenario only. Your Americans put boots on the ground here in Tehran, something like that. We retaliate by releasing the virus in the States, or even just sending infected martyrs that direction.”
“My Americans.”
“Yes.”
A light went on in the house, and Sohrab stood up. She’d never seen such terror in his flashing eyes.