“You can talk to me!” a man shouted from down the hallway. The voice was familiar, so Harper craned her neck to look past the captors to identify the person. She saw Wallace lumbering toward the doorway.
“Okay, I’ll talk to you,” said Harper assertively. “Tell these men to stand aside and let us out. Do you know what false imprisonment is, Mr. Wallace?”
“We’re under quarantine orders,” he barked back. “Thanks to you, I might add.”
“That’s wrong. It wasn’t my—”
Wallace was frustrated and livid. “I don’t want to hear it, Dr. Randolph. We tried to accommodate your every request. I practically assigned Figueroa to you and your people full time. And what thanks do I get? A heads-up? A text message saying, hey, I’m about to shut down your casino? Nada. Zero. Zip. Not even the slightest courtesy.”
Harper tried to argue her point. “This was not my idea. I never suggested—”
The man was sweating profusely. She’d only interacted with him on a couple of occasions and she’d recalled that he was overweight. But this was different. She was about to speak again when Wallace’s chest heaved as he started to cough.
Instinctively, Harper jumped back and pulled her tee shirt over her face, exposing her stomach. Wallace had a coughing fit. He doubled over and tried to suppress it, to no avail.
Under the circumstances, Harper became concerned for her team and the two onlooking guardsmen as well.
“Stand away from him and cover your nose and mouth!” She was being intentionally overdramatic.
The guards retreated, leaving Wallace to finish the hacking.
“It’s nothing,” he insisted. “I take lisinopril. It makes me—”
Cough. More violent this time. Wallace couldn’t finish his sentence.
Lisinopril was a commonly prescribed ACE inhibitor used to widen, or dilate, the body’s blood vessels. In so doing, the enzyme increased the amount of blood the heart pumped and therefore lowered blood pressure. However, for ten percent of patients, it also generated a common side effect in the form of a somewhat annoying cough.
Through years of experience gained investigating infectious diseases, Harper had learned that a seemingly innocent cough or sneeze, coupled with the body sweating in an effort to break a fever, could portend something much worse.
The two guardsmen began to shut the doors to lock them back in. Harper did something totally out of character for her, and definitely considered unprofessional. She shouted at Wallace to get in the final word.
“Hey! Wallace! Let us out of here and we’ll make sure that cough isn’t related to the disease.”
The doors slammed shut and Harper held her breath. After thirty seconds, they didn’t reopen and she knew her ploy didn’t work.
Dejected, her shoulders slumped and her chin dropped to her chest. For the first time, Harper felt herself on the verge of tears. She felt helpless and frustrated. Moreover, she took full blame and responsibility for her team being dragged into this fiasco. Yet it was her team who snapped her out of her doldrums.
“You just gave him something to think about!” shouted one.
Another joined in. “I guarantee he just ran to the hospital.”
“They won’t let the windbag out of the hotel. Talk about having a fit.”
“Yeah, a damn hissy fit!”
The group began to laugh uproariously.
Harper joined the group and sought out Becker first. She sheepishly appeared from the back of the group.
“What happened while you were out there?” asked Harper.
“Well, I made it through the ductwork all the way to the front of the conference center. I was above a hallway, and those soldiers were milling about the entrance. Then some kind of emergency call came over their radios, and they all took off toward the casino. I used that as an opportunity to drop out of the ceiling.”
“Did you go looking for Figueroa?”
“I never got that far. I waited for a minute to make sure nobody saw me. Then, just as I stepped into the corridor and headed toward the lobby, big boy rounded the corner with two of his security people. I don’t know how they knew—”
“Cameras,” interjected one of the epidemiologists. “There are probably two thousand or more scattered throughout the property.”
“That fast?” she asked.
“For sure,” he replied. “My guess is they’ve really ramped up surveillance because of the chaos.”
“Chaos is right,” said Becker. “I thought I was at a Falcons game. It was crazy loud as people shouted over one another.”
“Did you see anything?” asked Harper.
“Not really. Just people trying to get out.”
Ding!
Harper received another text message. It wasn’t from one of her regular contacts.
+1 (702) 778 – 4749: The cavalry is coming.
She read the message aloud to the group.
“Who’s it from?” asked Becker.
Harper shrugged. “I have no idea.”
Chapter Eight
CDC Headquarters
Atlanta, Georgia
As the director of the Center for Surveillance, Epidemiology, and Laboratory Services, CSELS, Dr. Berger Reitherman was very much aware of the political machinations of Washington, DC. Prior to coming on board with the CDC, he had been a program manager in the infectious disease office at DARPA, the Defense Advanced Research Projects Agency, an agency of the U.S. Department of Defense known for its secrecy and innovative breakthroughs on behalf of the nation’s military.
At times, he missed his days at DARPA. The agency wasn’t used as a political football like the CDC was. Politicians on both sides of the aisle understood DARPA’s importance in maintaining America’s status as the world’s dominant democratic superpower, ensuring national security through advanced technology. The ability to bring new defense weapons systems online and make them operational ready was invaluable. As was the agency’s ability to combat infectious diseases.
When he left DARPA to join the CDC, he was admittedly interested in taking on a more high-profile job. He’d fought in the trenches during the COVID-19 pandemic of ten years prior, and now he was mentally gearing up for a similar battle against this newly discovered disease in Las Vegas.
As the chief administrator of CSELS, and Harper’s superior, he was also responsible for her actions. He’d been awakened in the middle of the night by the overnight communications director at the CDC with the breaking news from Las Vegas. He hurriedly dressed and hustled into the office. His goal was to gather as much information as possible so the CDC could get out in front of the news story.
He’d been summoned by the deputy director for Public Health Science and Surveillance, his immediate superior, to a meeting with the principal deputy director of the CDC and the associate director for Communications, Mitchell Bonds.
He and Bonds had been friends for many years, as they were required to coordinate press releases on new outbreaks. They’d met earlier in the day just prior to Dr. Reitherman receiving the phone call from Carson City.
The early morning meeting was highly unusual, but the suddenness of the Nevada governor’s actions warranted it. Dr. Reitherman appeared to be the last to arrive at the meeting. He looked down at his watch to confirm it was seven, and not a moment later. Puzzled, he glanced around the deputy director’s conference room and observed empty cups of coffee together with half-eaten pastries. He immediately got the sense he had intentionally been excluded from an earlier part of the conversation.