“I was with the entire CDC contingent in a conference room, going over our case notes and findings on this disease, when the three National Guard guys burst into the room. They’ve got us locked down.”
“What do you mean? Locked down as in your movement is restricted?”
Harper laughed. “I suppose you could put it that way. It was really more like nobody’s going anywhere until the governor says so. That kinda lockdown.”
Dr. Reitherman paused for a moment and then let out a noticeable sigh. “I received a call from their head of the DPBH earlier today. I gave him what we know and advised him we’ve barely scratched the surface as to what we’re dealing with here. He specifically asked whether a quarantine was in order, and my response was no, not at this juncture.” The Nevada Department of Public and Behavioral Health was a part of the Department of Health and Human Services in Nevada.
“Yet they did it anyway,” interjected Harper. Her mind raced as she recalled the conversation with the president.
“Yes, they did. The entire Fremont Street Experience is cordoned off.”
Harper took a deep breath and relayed her encounter with the president. “Dr. Reitherman, there may be another reason for what has happened.” After several minutes of explanation, Reitherman issued his orders.
“I still have friends in President Taylor’s administration. Let me look for a connection between the governor’s knee-jerk reaction and your conversation. On the surface, it appears they didn’t get what they wanted from me, so they roped you into Air Force One to try a different angle.”
“That’s bullshit, sir.”
“It is. Sit tight and let me find a way for you to get out of there. For now, you might be safer in that conference room anyway.”
“Why’s that?” asked Harper as she whipped her head around to the double doors leading to the hallway.
Dr. Reitherman lowered his voice. “In a word, chaos.”
Chapter Two
Gold Palace Hotel
Fremont Street Experience
Downtown Las Vegas, Nevada
“Dr. Randolph! You’ve gotta see this!”
As soon as Harper disconnected the call and paused to gather her thoughts, one of her epidemiologists called for her. They were all hovered around Becker, who sat near the refreshments with her iPad held in front of her.
KSNV News 3 in Las Vegas, the NBC affiliate, was broadcasting live from the Fremont Street Experience. Their reporter, his producer, and a cameraman had been covering the Poker Stars tournament. They braved the melee to provide a live report from just outside the Gold Palace.
“Make room for Dr. Randolph,” ordered Becker. The group created an opening, and Harper eased in behind Becker to look over her shoulder.
“Turn it up, please,” someone in the back asked. Becker obliged as the reporter responded to the news anchor’s questions.
“I’ve never seen anything like this in my twenty years of covering news here in the valley. Even the 2017 shooting, as horrific and fear-inducing as it was, paled in comparison to what people are experiencing here on Fremont Street at the moment.”
The news anchor interrupted with a question. “How does it differ?”
“Well, Reed, you and I both covered the MGM shooting, and we commented to one another that the outside venue helped reduce loss of life and injuries. There were many places to exit the concert grounds during the panic.
“That is not the case tonight. As word spread, gamblers and hotel guests poured out of the casinos’ exits. They tried to escape into the Fremont Street Experience but were prevented from doing so.
“The hotels began to lock their entry doors for security reasons, leaving many thousands of people running throughout Fremont Street, seeking an exit. Then shots were fired. It’s unknown whether the gunfire came from the weapons of the National Guard or not, but the 2017 shooting is still fresh in everyone’s mind, as you know.”
Reed Cowan, award-winning journalist and a highly respected fixture in Las Vegas, asked, “Was there any kind of announcement by the Guard or the Fremont Street management team as to the reason behind the action?”
The reporter couldn’t hear the question due to the screaming and shouting. The female producer ran to his side and cupped her hands over his left ear to shout the question to him.
“No, Reed. None it all. In fact, they still haven’t. This is purely speculation on my part, but it’s as if they were as much in the dark about this decision as the hotels and their guests.”
Cowan furrowed his brow as he addressed the reporter. “I can tell you, from our end, there has been no formal statement from the governor’s office or local law enforcement. We’ve reached out to the mayor’s office, and they’ve not responded other than saying the situation is, quote, fluid.”
The reporter spun around and the camera panned the crowd in the street. People were pushing and shoving one another. The elderly could be seen being knocked to the ground, and very few bothered to assist them to their feet. Many people exhibited superficial wounds like bruises and cuts, although one person in the camera’s view had a bloodied nose.
“Fluid is not the word I’d use to describe the scene here. Mayhem, bedlam, or pandemonium seem more appropriate. Back to you, Reed.”
As the reporter outside the hotel handed the broadcast back to the newsroom, Harper patted Becker on the shoulder and stepped away from the group. Seconds later, Becker joined her side.
“What are we gonna do? We can’t just sit in here.”
“I don’t know that we have a choice,” replied Harper.
“I think we have an option,” said Becker. She pointed to a side exit door that led through a partition wall into another conference room. “When I discussed the room choices with Figueroa, he said these partition walls could be removed to give us more space if we needed it.”
Alejandro Figueroa was the Gold Palace’s chief of security and had been very cooperative with the CDC personnel during their investigation. His level of professionalism stood in stark contrast to Donald Wallace, the ill-tempered general manager of the hotel and casino, who was more interested in profits than the protection of his guests.
Harper asked, “Have you tried to call him?”
“Yes, but I just get his voicemail box, which is full. I can’t even leave a message.”
“I don’t think we can break through the partition without our friends outside hearing us,” said Harper.
“I have another idea,” said Becker. She allowed herself a sly grin and then looked directly over her head.
“Divine intervention?” asked Harper.
“No, ductwork.”
Harper looked up at the two-foot-by-three-foot air-conditioning vent blowing cool air onto their heads. She rolled her eyes and laughed. “This isn’t the movies, Becker. You can’t crawl through the air ducts to freedom. You’ll get stuck.”
“I’m already stuck,” Becker countered.
“This is different and you know it,” said Harper, pointing to the ceiling. “That’s a different kind of stuck.”
Becker pulled her shoulders back in an attempt to lock eyes with the much taller Harper. “I’ve done it before.”