The Nightmare Scenario (22 page)

Rebecca walked up to a patient lying absolutely still on a bed pushed up against the corridor wall. She felt for a pulse. There was none. Out of habit, she called the time of death and noted it on the sheet attached to his bed. Not that it mattered. The sheet did not even have a name on it.

AUGUST 6
^TH
, 9 AM, WHO HEADQUARTERS, GENEVA

A
eolus was not in a good mood as he marched through the revolving doors of the WHO headquarters.

He was angry with Ed for getting all worked up about a suspected case in Hong Kong, which Aeolus knew had to be a false alarm. They did not have enough time to waste scarce resources on red herrings. Ed should have been able to screen it out.

He was frustrated that he’d been forced to resort to bilateral talks about quarantine measures on a country-by-country basis, with the absence of stronger support from the Security Council.

He was weighed down by the fact that there was always a time zone where people were awake. Always there was someone he could, and had to, try to persuade to take preventive action. He was a man who could manage with little sleep, but his current schedule was taxing even for him.

But most of all he was disappointed with himself for having achieved so little.

True, some countries had responded well. Japan had stopped all inbound flights from Southeast Asia and was quarantining everyone arriving who had been in the region since the outbreak. Australia had enforced a similar quarantine, but Aeolus was convinced that it was futile, given their proximity to Indonesia and the ease with which people could cross the waters in small, undetectable boats.

In Europe, the reaction was mixed. Most countries had stopped accepting flights from Jakarta, and a couple had enforced a broader quarantine covering the whole of Southeast Asia. Still, some decisions, though they sounded reassuring, seemed ridiculously ineffective in practice. The prime example was France, which had declared a stop to inbound flights from Southeast Asia, but allowed an exception for their former colonies in Indochina, which was effectively half the region.

The ECDC had once again proven its impotence by failing to arrange a European-wide response. Their recommendations were absolutely the right ones, but getting the leaders to follow through was beyond their capabilities. The Council of Ministers would apparently debate the issue at their next gathering, but even if called into an emergency session, this was at least days, and more likely weeks, away.

He had, and not for lack of trying, failed to get the airport in Jakarta shut down for outbound flights and several countries still accepted flights from Indonesia. The worst, unsurprisingly, was Malaysia, who had put
no restrictions at all on travel of what they considered to be their “brothers.”

Yet the greatest disappointment had been the reaction of the United States. The “measured response” Hank Wiley finally proposed consisted of a form that passengers filled out upon entering the nation, stating if they had been to Indonesia the week preceding their entry into the country, and if so, whether they had any symptoms of illness.

It was the same problem as with the question on the same form that asked whether one was carrying fissile material. Whoever gave a positive answer was, most certainly, clinically insane, but was, with equal certainty, not carrying a bomb. Needless to say, Hank’s form had so far not screened out a single traveler.

Ed, Kevin and Walt were already in his office. There was another man in the room who Aeolus recognized, though he wasn’t sure from where. Aeolus shot a questioning look at the tall redheaded man with freckles sprinkled across his face, dressed in a US Air Force uniform with single metal rectangle insignia on his shoulders indicating his rank was First Lieutenant. Walt explained that Richard Lane was a representative from the White House and that he was here to ensure alignment with the US.

“Fine,” said Aeolus without enthusiasm, “welcome aboard.”

Aeolus asked Ed if he now understood why the case in Hong Kong was no cause for worry. Ed’s answer was too equivocal and longwinded for Aeolus’s taste and he interrupted him. “Ed, it’s about timing! If this was a
consequence of a new jump, we we’d have other cases in Indonesia, and if it was a consequence of the jump in Limbong there’d be other cases in Hong Kong by now. Too much time has passed. It’s as simple as that.

“This brings me to my second point. How are we on the diagnostic test?”

“Dr. Chen-Ung Loo has managed to create reliable and accurate reagents,” Walt answered.

“Immunofluorescence?”

“Yes. He’ll ramp up production and send them to other labs as they become available.”

“Atta boy, Loo. Atta boy. And a set is already on its way to Hong Kong, I presume?”

“Yes.”

“If anyone feels like calling the former WHO country head in Indonesia and reminding him that if he hadn’t disregarded the nun’s original message, we would’ve had these tests weeks ago, now would be a good time.”

“I have some good news, though, I think,” said Kevin, tapping a folder with a pen and turning around to show Aeolus its contents. “The teams hunting bats have progressed well. There are twenty bat species native to Indonesia, out of which they’ve captured fourteen specimens. So far, the only bat that has proven to carry influenza is the Northern Tube-Nosed Bat or…” Kevin flipped through the pages, “…
Nyctimene cephalotes.”

“Geographic spread?” asked Aeolus, throwing his overcoat over his chair so hard the chair went spinning.

“That’s the good news. Its natural habitat is Eastern Indonesia, New Guinea and Torres Strait. Even though
Torres Strait is technically part of Australia, it’s thirty miles north of the mainland and the population is only 6,800. It’s
not
present on the Australian mainland. As to its spread within Indonesia, the experts can’t say for certain, but think it’s probably within the current quarantine zone.”

“
Finally
, something is going our way.” Aeolus exclaimed, looking around for the cup of coffee that should have been on his desk. He found it in the hands of Mandy, standing in the doorway.

And then there was Ed. “But you have to keep in mind that first of all we haven’t found specimens of all the bat species yet and secondly we only know that it carries a strain of influenza, not that it’s the actual strain we’re looking for. Also, it’s apparently one hell of a bat year in Indonesia.”

“How come you can’t tell whether it carries the strain?” asked Richard.

Aeolus turned to Richard and studied him with slight suspicion. He hadn’t expected that the liaison would be of the habit of speaking in his presence. Anyway he humored him. “Because the way we determine that it’s influenza is by putting it under an electron microscope. We know what the virus looks on the outside, but we don’t have the resolution required to look inside the virus and determine its precise makeup. We have to do what’s called PCR sequencing to establish its type, and that can take weeks.”

“But, and excuse me if I’m asking stupid questions,” pursued Richard, “if researchers at IBM have a microscope that can look at individual atoms, how come you
can’t see inside the virus? It must be much bigger than an atom?”

“That’s actually not a stupid question at all,” answered Aeolus, pausing briefly to reflect on the fact that his lack of interest in physics had apparently led him to not have this, obviously useful, and definitely available, piece of information at his fingertips. “I’ve never understood that either. I assume it has something to do with quantum mechanics, tennis balls passing through walls, dead cats in boxes, and all that.”

“Anything else?” he asked, casting a hungry glance at the stack of binders Mandy put on top of his desk; a consequence of a filtering process orchestrated by Tomomi that would have run during the night, involving many great minds across five continents.

“Yes, one more thing,” said Ed. “What about the children?”

“Yes, what
about
the children?” countered Aeolus.

“They have much less severe infections and the survival rate is markedly higher.”

“Yes, that’s like one last sick joke from the gods that have abandoned us.”

“I’m sorry,” said Richard, “surely this is a good thing.”

“No, it’s not, and if you don’t understand why yet, you will in due course.”

“But shouldn’t we investigate it further?” demanded Ed. “Maybe it can provide us with a clue as to how to increase the survival rates among the adults?”

“That would be utterly pointless,” came Aeolus’s harsh reply. “The reason the adults die to a greater
extent is that they have antibodies to some previous strain, which the children do not. These antibodies go mad for some reason and kick off the self-reinforcing cycle of cytokine overproduction. This information is useless. We have known for fifty years that this is why dengue fever is lethal the second time you get it but not the first, and we have made absolutely no progress because of that knowledge. You should really know this stuff, Ed. But by all means, if you want to look into it in your abundant spare time, knock yourself out.

“Are we done now?”

When there was no answer, Aeolus hesitated, choosing between the briefs he wanted to read and the task he should be doing. Deciding on the latter, he left the room and headed for Stan’s office to resume his efforts to get countries to enforce stricter quarantines.

AUGUST 6
^TH
, 8 PM, MAKESHIFT CAMP, MARE, MALUKU ISLANDS, EASTERN INDONESIA

R
ebecca was midway through her evening walk. She needed time alone, away from the others. Their way of coping was to socialize, but she didn’t have any laughs left in her.

Their camp wasn’t large. The semi-circular area, enclosed by the hills and ocean, took about ten minutes to traverse. Walking along the edges in a slow pace, with occasional stops to inspect the fauna, made it fifteen. Going for two rounds made it thirty. Thirty minutes of solace, with only her own thoughts for company.

As she headed back to her tent, Roger, whom she hadn’t seen all day, came skipping up to her, ever the clown, his arms swinging in some sort of dance.

“Twinkie! You know what you need? You need a holiday.”

A smile spread across her face.

“Something tells me Aeolus wouldn’t take kindly to me abandoning my post.”

“Ah, forget that old fart. Let’s go tonight!”

“You’re insane,” she said in a dismissive but friendly tone.

“Who said it had to be a long vacation? Come with me!”

She frowned, not really sure what game he was playing, but followed him. Whatever prank this was, it was bound to make her laugh – you could always be certain of that with Roger Burton.

He ushered her to the base of the mountain, where he pushed the shrubbery aside, uncovering a small dirt trail running diagonally across the hill.

She shook her head.

“Don’t worry, Twinkie. It’s safe. Trust me. And it’s not far.”

Against her better judgment, she decided to follow him.

They hiked a few minutes before reaching a small beach, no bigger than a volleyball court.

Roger pointed at a small raft floating fifty yards out in the bay.

“You see that man, Twinkie? He and his two sons have taken shifts guarding this place for the last three days. No one has set foot on this beach. I can assure you of that.”

“Unbelievable, Roger.”

“No, that’s not what’s unbelievable. This is,” he said, pointing at a large box wrapped in plastic, lying in the middle of the beach.

“Don’t worry. I’ve sprayed it with chlorine.”

He pulled out a small penknife and started slicing through the plastic.

“Now let’s see what we have here. Ah… Brioche and foie gras – straight from Paris. A Sauternes. That should go well with it… Gruyere with a bit of fig marmalade. Smoked duck breast… And yes, there it is, the white truffle. Always truffles, Twinkie. A meal without truffles is like a beautiful woman with just one eye. Perfect with the quail eggs, don’t you think?

And this, my darling,” continued Roger, presenting a red-brown stew vacuum-packed in plastic, “is the crown jewel – ratatouille,prepared by one of the best chefs in Paris. All I need to do is heat this up.” Out came a frying pan and a small gasoline stove.

“Of course, we also need dessert, and I’m pretty sure there are some macarones…”

“Roger,” Rebecca interrupted, putting a hand on his shoulder, unbuttoning her shirt with her other hand. “Let’s go for a swim.”

“Huh? I’d have thought you’d want to eat. Who knows how long it is before these marvelous delicacies spoil in this heat?”

“Roger. You said the beach was safe, right? The water looks so inviting. I’ve been dying to jump in since we got here. Let’s go for a swim.”

Roger shrugged his shoulders in resignation and started taking off his shirt.

AUGUST 7
^TH
, 9 AM, DIRECTOR-GENERAL’S OFFICE, WHO HEADQUARTERS, GENEVA

A
s Aeolus entered his office’s anteroom, he saw that Mandy was already at her desk, although her shift didn’t start for an hour. Tomomi must have given her a heads-up after noticing the GPS signal from his phone move ever so slightly in his house as he went down for breakfast. The three of them had their ways of always being one step ahead – always being there when he needed them.

Gathered in front of Mandy’s desk were Walt, Kevin, Ed and Catherine, the Assistant Director-General for Maternal Health. She was a short, sturdily built Ghanaian native with short clipped hair and glasses that were way too large for the frame of her face. Catherine was all business, and the fact that she was there could only mean trouble.

“Catherine, this might not be the best time. We have a bit of a situation going on, as you know,” Aeolus began.

“Yes, Aeolus, I know, but I need you to do something for me urgently.” Catherine was the only one of the Assistant Directors-General who referred to Aeolus by his first name. Ed and Kevin exchanged surprised glances. To Walt, it was old news.

“The world doesn’t stop turning because we have an outbreak,” Catherine went on. “The rest of us have to continue work, you know. Besides, I’m sure someone with your skills, intellect and experience would have a good handle on things already.”