Pandemic

Kabaal looked up to see Abdul Sabri filling his doorway and thoughts of Khalila slid from his mind. Kabaal wasn't surprised by the major's sudden stealth presence. He had grown to expect the abrupt appearances. When he chose to, the hulking man could move with the speed and silence of a tiger. "Major Abdul, please come in," Kabaal said.

In a plain white robe, Sabri sauntered across the room and sat in the leather chair across from Kabaal.

Kabaal was struck again by the paradox of Sabri's delicate features born on his dangerous frame. "The news from abroad is good," Kabaal said.

Sabri shrugged as if there was no other possible outcome.

"Both operations were successful," Kabaal added, annoyed that Sabri did not seem to share his pride in the news.

"It might be premature to label the operations a success," Sabri said emotionlessly.

Kabaal shook his head. "Major, I've learned in my business that it is important to celebrate all victories in life. They are at times few and far between."

Sabri shrugged again. "And I've learned from my business that premature celebration can cost you victory."

"Not if you keep your guard up," Kabaal countered.

"Always advisable," Sabri agreed.

"Speaking of which, I heard from our people in Cairo this morning."

When Sabri didn't respond, Kabaal continued. "Someone at the mosque has been asking questions as to my whereabouts."

Sabri leaned forward in his seat. His blue eyes narrowed. "Who?"

"His name is Bishr Gamal."

Sabri shook his head.

"I have not heard of him either," Kabaal said. "Apparently, he is not a man worthy of much respect. And I am quite certain he has no legitimate reason to be looking for me."

Sabri nodded. "I will take care of it."

"Personally?"

"Yes."

"Good," Kabaal said

Sabri stood from the chair. He took two steps toward the door before he turned and eyed Kabaal intently. "When will you let them know?"

"Not yet," Kabaal said.

Sabri tilted his head, questioning.

Kabaal held his palms open in front of him and smiled mischievously, as if letting Sabri in on an inside joke. "We will let them think nature has taken its own course."

"Why?"

"When terror is your weapon, the unknown adds to its potency." Kabaal stopped smiling. "We will let the panic simmer. That way, when we are prepared to announce ourselves, we will have their absolute attention."

CHAPTER 16

COMMUNIST PARTY HEADQUARTERS, JIAYUGUAN CITY, CHINA

Five nail-biting days had passed without a new case of ARCS reported in Jiayuguan City or anywhere else in the Gansu province. With the tacit approval of Noah Haldane and the WHO team, the provincial authorities declared "absolute victory over the Gansu Flu." They intended to trumpet their triumph to the whole world. The provincial governor had flown in from Lanzhou, while the Deputy Premier had come from Beijing. Scores of party officials and dignitaries had collected from all across China for the occasion. And the international press, who had been barred from the region during the epidemic, was welcomed to the celebratory gala dinner where the members of the WHO team were the guests of honor.

Haldane was itching to get home. He hadn't seen Chloe in almost three weeks, and he hated the idea of another day passing without seeing his daughter. He wouldn't have delayed his departure one minute for the self-congratulatory feast, but there weren't any flights leaving until the morning. Along with a navy sports jacket, a blue casual shirt, and black cotton pants, he put on a brave face and headed down to the banquet.

Any concern of being the most underdressed at the event evaporated when he laid eyes on Duncan McLeod. The redhead had tamed his hair with at least one pass of a brush, but he still carried deep bags under his eyes from the bender of three nights before. Wearing rumpled wool pants and a tattered sweater, he stood out even more than usual among the formally dressed crowd.

Haldane sat between McLeod and Jean Nantal, the WHO's Executive Director of Communicable Diseases, who had flown in that morning from Geneva. The silver-haired Frenchman wore a natty four-button black suit along with a beaming smile that he hadn't shed since arriving. For the third time that evening, he raised his wineglass and individually toasted each of the four WHO members at his table. "You have made me so proud." He beamed.

"I'm not toasting me or anyone else," McLeod said, leaving the full wineglass untouched in front of him. "I'm through with drink."

Helmut Streicher put down his own glass and let out an uncharacteristic laugh. "Ja, for a Scotsman, you don't hold your alcohol so well. Hah!"

"Ah, there's that wonderful Germanic sense of humor," McLeod grunted sarcastically.

Milly Yuen, who had turned beet-red after two sips of wine, giggled at the exchange.

Haldane tipped his glass to Nantal. "Jean, the Chinese didn't need us this time. They were going to contain the virus at any and all cost."