The Shift: Book II of the Wildfire Saga (33 page)

C
HAPTER
17

Denver, Colorado.

Emergency National Reserve Operations Center.

Presidential Wing.

B
RENDA
GAVE
A
POLITE
nod to the Marine guard standing at the entrance to the President’s office.
 
He checked her badge and ID information against his list and smiled as he opened the door for her.
 

"This way ma'am.”

She stepped into the President's temporary Oval Office and paused.
 
President Harris had been forced to use a room without windows.
 
He was the leader—the legitimate leader—of the free world.
 
He’d been Speaker of the House when President Denton died—Brenda would never forget the speech the old President made as he died in front of her, naming Harris to replace him.
 
It wasn’t the most auspicious start to a presidency, but with Barron playing king, she figured Harris at least acted more like a President—even if he did have to work in an office without a window.
 

As she found her seat, she reciprocated the nods of greeting from the gathered Cabinet.
 
This was not her first briefing in the new Oval Office.
   
Brenda braced herself—she did not want to be here at the center of power.
 
She believed her expertise was better suited to treating the wounded.
 
Besides, there seemed to be no shortage of patients—they seemed to arrive almost hourly at the Denver International Airport, high above them on the surface.

The Office, as everyone had started calling it, had a large executive desk at one end of the room and a few temporary metal bookcases lining the walls.
 

The new President was nothing if not practical.
 
He preferred action over pomp and circumstance, results over tradition.
 
Furniture could wait—there were people dying topside.
 
That kind of attitude made him very popular among those who served in uniform.

Brenda took a seat—a folding chair—at the plain-looking conference table surrounded by computer terminals and a few cushioned chairs occupied by the higher ranking Cabinet members.
 
She idly wondered if President Harris’s austerity would enable him to be a good leader. Perhaps that was his secret—avoid the distractions of wealth and power and focus on what really mattered.
 

Lost in thought, she realized she’d been staring at the newly appointed Director of the Department of Homeland Security.
 
The older man offered a slight smile.
 
Brenda blinked and looked down at her notes, trying to hide the warmth in her cheeks.
 
I need more sleep…how long was I staring at him?

The President was situated at the head of the long, simple conference table in a high-backed chair.
 
He looked up from the stack of papers in his hands and adjusted the glasses on his nose.
 
Peering over the rims, he signaled the newly-appointed Secretary of Defense, Samuel Thaler.
 

“Are we ready?” he asked quietly.
 
The room fell silent.

“Yes, Mr. President,” said the Chief of Staff of the Navy, Vice Admiral Roger Bennet.
 
She didn’t know him personally, but Cooper liked him.
 
That was good enough for her.
 

The President nodded.
 
“Very good.
 
I know you’ve got a lot for me Roger, but I’d like to get the overview from Sam today, if you please.”

“Of course, Mr. President.”

Secretary Thaler frowned.
 
“The situation is grave, Mr. President, and getting worse by the hour.
 
The military is beginning to feel the effects of the flu.”
 
He glanced at a page in his hand.
 
“All estimates thus far point at a significant force reduction as a result, if something isn't done soon.”
 

Admiral Bennet agreed.
 
“We won't have enough soldiers, sailors, airmen, and Marines left on their feet to protect our civilians and prosecute this war at the same time."

Secretary of State Lewis Strettall cleared his throat.
 
“What war would that be, Roger?”
 

Brenda watched Bennet’s face flush.
 
"You know damn well what I'm talking about.”
 
He turned to the President.
 
“We need to stop pussyfooting around the issue and call it what it is—Barron has decided to initiate a civil war.
 
We've got to stop him in his tracks
now
.
 
We can’t fight him and the Koreans.”

The President cleared his throat.
 
He looked decidedly uncomfortable discussing a civil war.
 
“This isn’t the time for Americans to be fighting each other.
 
I’m not going to give Barron what he wants.
 
Regardless of who leads this country, we as a people must be united against the common enemy we face in the North Koreans and the flu.”
 
Almost with relief on his face, he turned to look at Brenda.
 
"I believe Major Alston has some new information on the flu.
 
Is that correct, Major Alston?”

Brenda nodded.
 
She was the lowest ranking person in the room, most likely with the lowest security clearance.
 
Some of the officials regarded her with guarded expressions, as if they hadn’t yet made up their minds if listening to her was worth their time or not.
 
The Director of the CIA watched her like a corpulent bird of prey.

Brenda hoped that the butterflies in her stomach did not flutter up to the surface as she struggled to maintain an air of detached calm.
 
“Yes, sir, I do.
 
I have to begin by saying that we if don't authorize the appropriate resources and take drastic action against this flu—right now—it’s going to sideline everyone on
both
sides, and the civil war you’re talking about will be stopped before anyone gets started."
 

She handed copies of her briefing around the room.
 
As they were being passed out, she reminded everyone: "Ladies and gentlemen, what I'm giving you right now is to be considered classified material.
 
These findings indicate the Korean flu is undergoing a significant antigen drift—possibly even a shift.”

Cindy Vacher, Secretary of Health and Human Services, looked up from her handout.
 
“How can you be sure?”
 

Secretary Thaler raised his hand as Brenda started to speak.
 
"I'm afraid I’m going to have to stop you right there, Major.
 
How significant?”
 

Brenda closed her mouth and thought for a moment.
 
She definitely needed more sleep.
 
And a drink or two.
 
She began to translate medical jargon into layman's terms.
 
"Mr. Secretary, think of everything we’ve seen in the last few weeks as the opening act.”

The heads gathered around the conference table nodded.
 
Mumbles rippled among the more well-briefed officials.
 
The Pandemic had started out as just a really severe flu strain before it had ‘drifted’ into the danger zone.
 
She took a deep breath and held up two glossy photos, one in each hand.

"This is what the virus looked like two weeks ago, when we first encountered it in Los Angeles.”
 
She blocked the memories from her brief stay at All Saint’s Memorial and hoped her colleagues were still alive somewhere.
 
Brenda held up the latest image in her left hand.
 
"This is what it looks like
now
."

“I see,” said Admiral Bennet, comparing his own copy of the two images.
 
“You’re right, there’s a subtle change in the newest picture.
 
The shapes at the end of those little arms are more rounded now.”

She watched as the Cabinet members looked on and began to mumble to themselves.
 
More than one held up their own copies of the images and looked back and forth, seeking the changes.

The President adjusted his glasses and said, “Major Alston, I may just be an old pig farmer from Iowa, but I have no idea what a small change like this means.”

“How will this affect our strategic ability to project force, Major?” asked Secretary Thaler.
 
“How bad will this ‘drift’ compromise our combat readiness?"

Brenda put the pictures down and collected her thoughts.
 
“Sir, the probability of death increases exponentially if someone is infected with the new strain.
 
I want to make clear that so far, we’ve only encountered the drifted strain in a few states—but it’s widespread enough that I’m confident it will progress across the country.”

"So you're telling us that this antigen drift means someone will get a worse case of the flu and that the chance of them dying might increase a little," said President
 
Harris.
 
“Have I got the gist of it?"

"Yes and no, sir."
 
Brenda said.
 
Politicians could be so dense, always trying to dumb down everything into a sound byte.
 
"Yes, in that the virus will make people sicker and it will be easier for people to catch because their bodies will be looking for the original strain, not the new one.”
 
She angled her head and continued, “No, in that the virus will only give us a
slightly
increased chance of fatality.”
 

She looked around the gathered men and women, making sure they were with her so far before she continued: “The problem, ladies and gentlemen, is that this virus was genetically altered from its natural state—from the Great Pandemic strain—into something much more unstable.
 
When the North Koreans changed the genetic structure of this virus, they unleashed something the world has never seen before.
 
Yes, it was and is the flu virus, but it's
different
.
 
The human immune system is having a hard enough time coping with the original strain.
 
Basically, when the virus undergoes an antigen drift, it's kind of like putting on a different set of clothes."
 

“It won’t have that much of an impact on force projection,” muttered Secretary Thaler.
 
He smiled at Brenda, his eyes showing nothing but contempt. “That’s all you had to say, Major.
 
Thank you.”
 
He turned back to President Harris and opened his mouth to speak.

“Sam, I’d like her to keep going.”

“But, sir—“

“Please continue, Major.”

“Yes, Mr. President.”
 
It was arrogance like that which had nearly wiped out mankind ten years earlier—fatal hubris.
 
She took a deep breath.
 
“Mr. Secretary, we’re looking at a statistically significant increase in the rates of infection and deaths caused by this mutated strain.”

“Is that a fact?” asked Secretary Thaler.

“Yes sir, that's what the data is suggesting at this point.”

The Secretary of Defense took his glasses off and tossed them on the conference table with a clatter.
 
“‘Suggesting’?
 
What the hell are we supposed to do with your guesses and suggestions, Major Alston?
 
We’re talking about not only the lives of millions of military servicemen and women, but—“
 

“Sir,” interjected Brenda with a little more heat in her voice than she’d wanted, “if we still had access to up-to-the-minute data and near-instant communication, I could give you a much better idea where this thing is going.
 
As things stand today…we’re only getting sporadic reports from around the country and I have to say, in general, those reports are not looking good."

“Not looking good,” repeated Secretary Thaler, the color rising in his neck.
 
“Major—”

“Enough, Sam!
 
Let her talk,” barked the President.
 
The Secretary of Defense flushed and slowly retrieved his glasses from the table.
   

Director of the CIA, Adrian Stylau cleared his throat.
 
All heads turned to face him.
 
“Is there any particular area of the country that seems to be getting hit hardest?”
 
Brenda had been in four Cabinet meetings since arriving at Denver.
 
His greetings were polite but hollow.