Pandemic

"Take Al Qaeda," he said. "Those fanatics multiply like bacteria into their own 'cells.' But colonies might be a better word, sticking with the micro analogy. Each colony functions entirely independently from the others. None of the traditional hierarchy of the KGB or any state-sponsored insurgency," he said with another melancholic sigh. "These colonies are totally self-sufficient with their own finances, operations, and leadership. You take one down, you still have nothing on the others. It's so damn frustrating. Like cutting off a head of the Hydra only to have two more spring up in its place."

Gwen wasn't used to such intensity from Clayton. Normally, he favored the cavalier, unflappable "superspy" routine salted with a trace of charming seff-parody. She felt a rush of genuine empathy for Clayton, realizing that in spite of his pretense none of this was a game to him.

"Gwen, no one remembers our success in dismantling cells from New Jersey to Pakistan," Clayton sighed. "Everyone remembers the misses."

Gwen knew he was referring to 9/11, but she didn't comment. "What does the chatter have to do with the concerns I raised?" she asked.

"Nothing, maybe." Clayton shrugged. "But we overheard pieces of conversations concerning lab equipment and transport. At least, that's what we think they were talking about. It's hard to be sure."

Savard nodded. "Anything else?"

Clayton nodded. "Last week, we tracked a shipment of high-tech laboratory equipment — incubators, centrifuges, hoods, and other supplies — from Germany to Algeria. But our sources in Algeria can find no record of any hospital or lab ordering any of it. What's more, the stuff seems to have disappeared after arrival."

"Disappeared?" Gwen bit her lip. "Sounds like a lot of equipment How would it just disappear?"

"Gwen, are you kidding me?" Clayton leaned back in his seat and laughed bitterly. "This is Africa we're talking about. With enough money and connections you could make Kenya disappear without a trace."

Savard stared at the video screen's picture of herself locked in a hug with her estranged husband. Without looking up she said, "What now?"

"We're focusing resources on Africa. We're even sending agents in to see what they can dig up." He adjusted the collar on his shirt. "We're surprisingly well connected in Algeria and northern Africa."

"But?"

"East Africa…" He held his hands up, as if to say that half of the continent was a write-off.

"We should tell the Secretary," Gwen said.

"Mine already knows," Clayton said, referring to the CIA Director. "What you want to tell the Homeland Security Secretary is up to you."

Gwen nodded distractedly.

"Do we take this to the weekly council meeting?" Clayton asked.

She shook her head. "Why? Not much to tell them now, is there?"

"Fine by me. The less I have to say to Moira and the rest of the happy-go-lucky gang at the FBI, the happier I am." He grinned as his placid self-confident demeanor resurfaced. "You know, I'm sure we could work this whole thing out over a plate of sushi and a couple of sakis."

Gwen smiled in spite of herself. "There's a high potential for all kinds of nasty bugs in uncooked fish."

Clayton rolled his eyes. "Right now, I get the feeling uncooked fish is the least of my worries."

"I suppose," she said. "But I've barely gotten used to the emptiness of my condo. Alex, I don't know if I'm ready for sushi and saki just yet."

Hopping to his feet, he slapped his forehead in mock embarrassment. "What am I thinking? I completely forgot about the minimum-six-months-before-having-Japanese-after-a-breakup law." He headed for the door. "The offer stands, though," he called over his shoulder without turning back.

After he was gone, Gwen sat and stared at her embracing image on the screen. What was the harm in going out for dinner with the handsome spy? she thought. She reached for her mouse and scrolled through the options until she chose a new screensaver: an image of a robin's nest in which baby birds were breaking free of their shells. Maybe a little heavy on the schmaltz, but what the hell, she thought. She needed it now. Barring a catastrophe befalling them during the rest of the week, she resolved that she would call Clayton and accept his offer.

She clicked back open the CDC web site. She read the rest of the CDC's failing report card on global infection control, but she couldn't concentrate. The similarities between the coverage of this new Chinese virus and the early days of SARS were uncanny. But last time, there were no laboratory supplies missing in Africa to compound her concerns.

CHAPTER 10

CAIRO, EGYPT