“Yes, sir,” the provost marshal said.
“You had better impound the golf cart on which the package was moved—bring it and the two security people who drove it here. Dennis will see to their bath. Just a precaution. Better safe than sorry, I always say.”
Master Sergeant Dennis came back into the room carrying a plastic bag in his prosthetic hand. He handed it to Hamilton.
“Good man,” Hamilton said as he took it. Then he said, “Dennis, they are going to bring the golf cart and the security drivers here. See that they get a complete bath. Then do the same to the golf cart.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Colonel Russell, Mr. Powell, if you’ll be good enough to come with me?”
“Am I correctly inferring, Colonel, that I was not included in that invitation?” Mason Andrews asked icily. He didn’t wait for Hamilton to reply, and—obviously on the edge of losing his temper—went on: “Perhaps you didn’t hear me, Colonel, when I told you that I am the assistant secretary of Homeland Security.”
If he had intended to cow Hamilton, he failed.
“Mr. Secretary ... or is it Mr. Assistant Secretary?” Hamilton replied. “I know that Mr. Powell is cleared for this sort of information. I don’t know how much the President wants you to know. I am not about to risk the ire of the President by telling you any more than I already have.”
Andrews flared: “Now, goddamn it, you listen to me, Colonel—”
“Mr. Andrews,” DCI Powell interrupted, “why don’t you let the President settle this? You’re welcome to ride with us to the White House.”
The assistant secretary of Homeland Security took a moment to get his temper under control.
“Perhaps that would be best,” he said finally. “Thank you.”
[FIVE]
The Oval Office
The White House
1600 Pennsylvania Avenue, N.W.
Washington, D.C.
1205 4 February 2007
“Thank you for coming so quickly, Colonel,” President Clendennen said.
The sarcasm was lost on Hamilton.
“I came as quickly as I could, Mr. President,” Hamilton said.
“I know. You were on Wolf. We all saw you both taking off from Fort Detrick and landing here. And we all saw C. Harry Whelan, Jr., tell his several million viewers he believes you were coming here to deliver the bad news. Please tell me he’s wrong.”
“Actually, Mr. President, it’s a mixed bag. The news could be much, much worse.”
“Well,” Clendennen drawled, pronouncing the word whale, “tell me the good news.”
“There is no cause for immediate alarm. I told Colonel Russell what was necessary for her to do, and that once she had done that, she could lift the shut-down. I have changed the Potential Level Four Biological Hazard Disaster to Level Two Biological Hazard Incident.”
“What does that mean, exactly?”
“That, in my judgment, there is reason to believe that all Congo-X under my control is contained in a safe environment, and there is no immediate risk to the general public.”
“‘Congo-X’? What is that?”
“It is what I call this virus. Or organism. Or whatever it is. What I brought from the Congo just before the Fish Farm was attacked.”