Pandemic

"And people recover quickly from it," Roberts continued as if Gwen hadn't spoken. "So the index case might have already recovered without thinking he ever had anything more than a bad flu. Or conversely, he might have died somewhere and no one has connected his death to the outbreak."

"So two people carry the virus over from China to London and Hong Kong, simultaneously, and then both die in obscurity? What are the chances?" Savard held out her hands, palms up.

"I'm simply suggesting that there are several reasons aside from terrorism for the index cases not to have materialized." Roberts nodded to Gwen, as if mollifying an irrational child.

"Moira, Moira, Moira," Clayton said with an exaggerated sigh. "I've heard the Tony Robbins tapes too, but wishful thinking isn't going to make everything okay this time."

Several people laughed. Even Savard had to bite her lip. Roberts glared at Clayton with undisguised contempt.

"Correct me, if I'm wrong," interjected Jack Elinda, a weedy balding man from the Department of the Environment. "But this is a form of influenza, true?" He cocked his finger and thumb into an imaginary gun at Gwen, which he had a tendency to do whenever he was trying to make a point.

"A mutated form," Savard said. "One that has undergone massive reassortment of its genetic code. Effectively, it's a virus that man has never seen before."

"Still, if it's an influenza virus we should be able to use a vaccine, true?" Elinda pressed.

"The current flu vaccine would be useless," Savard said.

"But we could manufacture a new vaccine for this particular strain, true?" Elinda cocked his finger at Gwen again.

"Theoretically." Savard nodded. She turned to the Assistant Secretary of the Department of Health and Human Services. "Any thoughts, Dr. Menck?"

Dr. Harold Menck was an epidemiologist in his early sixties. Of medium build with a slight paunch and a tight crew cut, he always wore the same blue suit and white shirt with a rotation of bland ties. He rarely spoke at the Bioterrorism Preparedness Council meetings. Gwen had the suspicion that in spite of his high-profile appointment Menck was biding time while awaiting the golden parachute of retirement.

Leaning back in his chair with his hands folded on top of his head, Menck said, "I tend to agree with Ms. Roberts."

"That wasn't the question," Savard said.

"I know." Menck shrugged. "But I have no idea how long it will take to create a vaccine. I hear scientists have started to look into it, but remember they are still nowhere near a SARS vaccine."

"This is influenza, though," Savard said.

"That should make it easier," Menck said with as much interest as if they were talking about genetically altered peaches. "But even if they had already developed the vaccine, it would take several months to produce enough of it to immunize the country. And I think we should be careful not to overreact. Young lady, you probably don't remember the Swine Flu fiasco, but I lived through it."

"I remember, Dr. Menck," Savard said coolly.

"Well I don't." Clayton shot her a playful smile. "Then again I'm way younger than Dr. Savard."

Gwen rolled her eyes, but chuckled in spite of herself.

"In 1975, a nineteen-year-old recruit died on a Louisiana army base after developing flulike symptoms," Menck said. "Tests confirmed he had acquired a strain of Swine Flu, thought to be closely related to the original Spanish Flu. Everyone panicked. The then president, Gerald Ford, authorized production of 150 million doses of vaccine against Swine Flu. Six months later no one else had died of the virus. They even began to wonder if that first soldier had died of heatstroke. But by then, Ford was into an election year and he didn't want to admit a costly mistake. So he listened to the CDC advisors and let them proceed with a mass-scale immunization. Problem was the vaccine started to kill people. A couple hundred people died of vaccine complications before they stopped. It turned into the most costly class-action lawsuit in medico-legal history. And for what?"

"No offence, Dr. Menck." Savard shook her head. "Three hundred people in China did not die of heatstroke in November."

"I understand," Menck said, resuming his disinterested pose with hands on top of his head. "I am merely suggesting we should consider all options, but balance our response. No point in people throwing on gas masks and climbing into backyard bunkers, like we did in the fifties every time the Soviets got out of sorts."

"With all due respect, Dr. Menck," Savard said evenly. "A man-made pandemic is the one occurrence that could make a nuclear event look tame by comparison."

* * *

After the meeting broke up, Clayton lagged behind with Savard. Standing at the doorway, he asked, "What happened to your foot?"

Gwen shrugged. "Just a little sprain."

Clayton flashed his openmouthed GO smile. "I was kind of hoping you had broken it on the ass of a certain unnamed deputy director of the FBI."