The Nightmare Scenario (12 page)

Aeolus knew he was out of line, but could not keep himself from blurting, “Mr. President, we’re talking about amateurs here. This is the National Guard, not Seal Team Six. You can’t expect them to have that type of discipline you are used to from the troops you usually command.”

“I am well aware of the capabilities of the forces at my command, thank you,” said the president in a very dry tone. “I would strongly suggest that you stick to your area of expertise if you want to remain in this room.”

“Fine. I am, as a representative of the WHO, formally advising you against this course of action. In my opinion, sir, you are making a mistake – a huge one.”

The president smacked his hand on the table and responded, “Well, hello Mr. Fancy Pants. Let me set one thing straight. This is the United States, not some small banana republic that considers the UN the ultimate authority on earth. We don’t extradite our soldiers to your pitiful court for war crimes. We have our own CDC for a reason. You have no authority here. This is
my
country and I make the decisions.”

“Mr. President, I doubt you could find any constitutional scholar in this country, or any other for that matter, who would agree that the United States belongs to you, but aside from that, you’re right. I have no authority here beyond providing counsel. As my counsel is no longer needed, I will take my leave. Just one last thing, Major Wiley, I know what some say about the incubation period, but it is five, not fifteen, days. If you have nothing after five days, you’re in the clear.

“I’ll be staying at the Marriott. Would you inform me about any other cases reported – as you are required by your charter with the WHO – so that I can coordinate with Geneva?”

“Yes, we will,” Hank said, gritting his teeth. He had no choice, and he knew it.

Aeolus rose, grabbed his cane and headed for the door.

The president called after him, “We’re locking down the White House, you know. Once you leave you
won’t be able to get back in. Are you sure you don’t want to stay? I’m sure we can make you comfortable.”

“No, Mr. President, I am going to the Marriott, and it’s going to be risk-free, because there’s not going to be any epidemic.”

“And you’re completely sure of that?” the president said, locking Aeolus’s eyes with his most powerful commander-in-chief stare.

“Yes, Mr. President. I am,” Aeolus responded, meeting the president’s glare with his steel-blue eyes, shining like sapphires in his alabaster face. They held each other’s gaze for a second or two. The president was the first to turn away. Aeolus had never lost a stare-down in his life; and had no more respect for the leader of the free world than any other representative of humanity.

Days passed, by and large, as Aeolus had expected, apart from one point. The government really had gotten a firm grip on the press, and the word “Ebola” was never mentioned. The cover story was skillfully crafted. In a hospital, by chance, a human carrier of the foot-and-mouth-disease had been encountered. Although the virus posed no threat to human health, the potential effects on national agriculture, if it got out of Washington, could be devastating, with mass slaughter of livestock as an inevitable consequence. The explanation for the quarantine was that the government was tracing the origin of the contamination and locating all
other potential carriers. A perfectly good explanation for keeping the city locked down without causing panic amongst the public.

Of course, there were a few medical professionals, experts on prions, who saw through the bluff. The foot-and-mouth virus was only contagious for twenty-four hours outside of an animal host, and could not constitute a reason for containment lasting several days. The doctors who raised objections, typically young, idealistic, just out of med school, were quickly silenced by CDC experts who explained with authority that this particular strain had different properties, allowing it to survive longer.

The doctors who had the stature required to blow a hole in the government’s web of lies were seasoned enough to understand that there was a reason for the deception. They knew something else was going on, and they realized there was probably a good reason for the lock-down. So they stayed silent.

Life went about its regular pace and the little news coverage there was focused on the inconveniences of not being able to leave the city. The government had succeeded in its prime objective – to keep the word “Ebola” out of everyone’s mind.

As Aeolus had expected, though, this sense of false security eventually came under assault.

Public information was scarce, but Aeolus kept himself updated through old colleagues at the NSA who had access to the military information feeds.

It started with a family whose daughter had been in an accident in Boston and was in intensive care. Her
father didn’t care about the National Guard’s roadblocks. He had a Hummer, and believed what the brochure had told him: He always had the right of way. He simply ran through the roadblocks that were built to stop Toyotas, not military vehicles reconditioned for civilian use. As Aeolus had predicted, the National Guard couldn’t maintain their discipline. One soldier started firing at the vehicle and several others followed suit. That it was a disaster waiting to happen was clear, but that an incendiary round, loaded by what must for sure have been a mistake, would hit the gasoline tank and ignite it, resulting in an explosion large enough for all the people gathered at the quarantine zone border to see, was not. A family of four died in that car.

Although there was nothing in the press, the rumor mill started, and the local bloggers went haywire, posting theories online at a faster pace than the government could shut them down.

Enter the survivalists. A group of them with cabins in Montana formed an unexpected alliance with some members of West Virginia White Pride, who were in Washington for a meet. They were all convinced that this was the start of the “Big Government Takeover” their conspiracy theories had foretold, and for which they’d been preparing a long time. This event was worse, because these people were just as motivated as the father driving to meet his injured daughter. And they were well armed. Although the young neo-Nazis mainly had handguns, the hardcore survivalists had heavier artillery at their disposal. Thirty of them attacked the quarantine checkpoint in the north towards Maryland. It was a massacre. It started as
a straight firefight against the National Guard but rapidly spiraled out of control, with automatic machine-gun fire and hand grenades flying through the air. When it was all over, five escapees had gotten through the checkpoint and were heading toward their mountain hideouts. They left behind twenty-five dead civilians, fifteen dead National Guard members, and several more wounded.

All witnesses were rounded up by the police.

After five days had passed, Aeolus called Jitsuko.

“Jitsuko, I need to talk to a man named Hank Wiley, who is currently in the White House, which I believe is under lockdown. I have no idea how to do it, but you’ve never failed me before, so I have complete faith in you.”

Twenty minutes later, Jitsuko had Hank on the phone.

“Major Wiley, this is Dr. Hughes. I’m just checking in. Do you have any other infected patients?”

“Well, we have some pretty severe fevers at Providence Hospital, but nothing conclusive, no.”

“Can any of these cases be linked to the index patient?”

“No, but that doesn’t mean…”

“It does. It’s been five days. It’s over. Lift the quarantine before more people get hurt.”

Hank was silent for a moment.

“Anyway, I’m leaving. This is not a hot zone anymore, and my presence isn’t needed,” said Aeolus.

“You can’t leave. We’re under quarantine!”

“First of all, as far as I’ve been told, I actually can. All I need to do is find some members of the West Virginia White Pride and make a run for it.”

“How could you possible know that? That’s classified information!”

“Well, let’s just say I have more talents than you think. Seriously, you guys made the wrong call and it was stupid. But not owning up to it just makes you look even more stupid.”

“Look, I don’t like your tone. And let me ask you this. If an Ebola outbreak is not a reason to quarantine a city, then what is?”

“A bad flu,” Aeolus answered quietly, and hung up.

The aftermath was surprising. Even though the strategy had been Hank Wiley’s, he got none of the heat. Instead, the Director of the CDC was forced to resign. By a series of unexpected events over the next few years, Hank left the military position he had, to himself assume the role as the leader of CDC.

Aeolus didn’t follow the news post the event. He really didn’t care. Somehow, the US government managed to put out a believable backstory, which explained what had happened and hushed up the truth.

Aeolus had been right about the Old Man. Two years later, he resigned for health reasons. Aeolus Pentecost Hughes was immediately promoted to Director-General of the WHO. There was no other candidate and no discussion. It was a foregone conclusion.

EQIUTAT IN PESTILENTIA

(Pestilence rides in)

JULY 30
^TH
, MORNING MEETING, DIRECTOR-GENERAL’S OFFICE, WHO HEADQUARTERS, GENEVA

“S
tatus report?” asked Aeolus, once he’d sunk into the chair behind his mahogany desk, aiming the question at his two new Deputy Directors-General, who had just entered his office together with Walt.

Kevin began. “Well, sir, I’ve read a lot, and I mean
a lot
about the Spanish flu. I think I’ve covered most of the literature that matters…”

Kevin was silenced by a typical Aeolusian comment: “with many cheerful facts about the square of the hypotenuse?”

Walt stifled a smile. The first time he met Aeolus, he’d been just as baffled by his ridiculing by intellectual inference as Kevin was now. Over time, he’d come to enjoy it. Especially since he himself was, was for some reason, usually spared from it.

Aeolus continued. “This isn’t Show-and-Tell in your first grade class. When I ask for a status report, I’m not interested in what you’ve done; I’m interested in what you have learned. Have you acquired any knowledge I need? Do you have any new information that will affect the decisions we need to make now, or later on during the day?”

“No, sir.”

“In which case, your answer should be: ‘Nothing to report.’ Is that clear?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Ed?”

“Nothing to report, sir,” answered Ed, straightening his back in an awkward attempt to project self-confidence.

“Okay, well I haven’t learned a lot either. Rebecca is on the ground trying to get a handle on things. I think we should let her have the day to summarize her findings before we bother her. I propose we set up a call with her at fifteen hundred hours. Be back by then. Anything else?”

The room fell silent and Walt, being a long timer within the WHO, once again reflected on how different the organization had become under Aeolus’s leadership. He remembered how it used to be, an organization run by committee and consensus, nothing like Aeolus’s almost military-like command structure.

The first time Walt met Aeolus, then a newly appointed Assistant Director-General of Tropical Diseases, he had discounted him completely, assuming that the organization would reject him, and that his tenure would be short. And it almost had been. SARS changed all that.