Amazonia

“Yes, sir.” Jacques retreated to gather and organize his men.

Louis noticed that Tshui still stood by the impaled creature. If he wasn’t mistaken, there was a trace of fear in the woman’s eyes. But Louis wasn’t sure. How could he be? He had never seen such an emotion displayed by the Indian witch. He crossed to her and pulled her into his arms.

She trembled ever so slightly under his hand.

“Hush, ma chérie. There is nothing to fear.”

Tshui leaned against him, but her eyes flicked to the stake. She pulled tighter to him, a slight moan escaping her lips.

Louis frowned. Maybe he should heed his lover’s unspoken warning. From here, they should proceed with more caution, more stealth. The other team had almost been destroyed by these aquatic predators, something never seen before. A clear sign they were probably on the right path. But what if there are more hidden dangers out there?

As he pondered this risk, he realized his team possessed a certain inherent advantage. Last night, it had taken all his opponents’ cunning and ingenuity to survive the assault—a battle which inadvertently had opened a safer path for Louis’s group to follow. So why not again? Why not let the other team flush out any other threats?

Louis mumbled, “Then we’ll waltz in over their dead bodies and collect the prize.” Pleased once again, he leaned and kissed the top of Tshui’s head. “Fear not, my love. We cannot lose.”

10:09 A.M.

HOSPITAL WARD OF THE INSTAR INSTITUTE

LANGLEY, VIRGINIA

Lauren O’Brien sat beside the bed, a book forgotten in her lap. Dr. Seuss’s Green Eggs and Ham, Jessie’s favorite. Her grandchild was asleep, curled on her side. Her fever had broken with the rising of the sun. The cocktail of antiinflammatories and antipyretics had done the job, slowly dropping the child’s temperature from 102 back to 98.6. No one was sure if Jessie had contracted the jungle contagion—childhood fevers were common and plentiful—but no one was taking any chances.

The ward in which her granddaughter now slept was a closed system, sealed and vented against the spread of any potential germ. Lauren herself wore a one-piece disposable quarantine suit, outfitted with a self-breathing mask. She had refused at first, fearing the garb would further alarm Jessie. But policy dictated that all hospital staff and visitors wear proper isolation gear.

When Lauren had first entered the room, all suited up, Jessie had indeed appeared frightened, but the clear face-plate of the mask and a few reassuring words calmed her. Lauren had remained bedside all morning as Jessie was examined, blood samples collected, and drugs administered. With the resilience of the young, she now slept soundly.

A slight whoosh announced a newcomer to the room. Lauren awkwardly turned in her suit. She saw a familiar face behind another mask. She placed the book on a table and stood. “Marshall.”

Her husband crossed to her and enveloped her in his plastic-clad arms. “I read her chart before coming in,” he said, his voice sounding slightly tinny and distant. “Fever’s down.”

“Yes, it broke a couple of hours ago.”

“Any word yet on the lab work?” Lauren heard the fear in his voice.

“No…it’s too soon to tell if this is the plague.” Without knowing the causative agent, there was no quick test. Diagnosis was made on a trio of clinical signs: oral ulcerations, tiny submucosal hemorrhages, and a dramatic drop in total white blood cell counts. But these symptoms typically would not manifest until thirty-six hours after the initial fever. It would be a long wait. Unless…

Lauren tried to change the subject. “How did your conference call go with the CDC and the folks in the Cabinet?”

Marshall shook his head. “A waste of time. It’ll be days until all the politicking settles and a true course of action can be administered. The only good news is that Blaine at the CDC supported my idea to close Florida’s border. That surprised me.”

“It shouldn’t,” Lauren said. “I’ve been sending him case data all week, including what’s happening in Brazil. The implications are pretty damn frightening.”

“Well, you must have shaken him up.” He squeezed her hand. “Thanks.”

Lauren let out a long rattling sigh as she stared at the bed.

“Why don’t you take a break? I can watch over Jessie for a while. You should try to catch a nap. You’ve been up all night.”

“I’ll never be able to sleep.”

Marshall put his arm around her waist. “Then at least get some coffee and a little breakfast. We have the midday call with Kelly and Frank scheduled in a couple hours.”

Lauren leaned against him. “What are we going to tell Kelly?”

“The truth. Jessie has a fever, but it’s nothing to panic about. We still don’t know for sure if it’s the disease or not.”

Lauren nodded. They remained silent for a bit, then Marshall guided her gently to the door. “Go.”

Lauren passed through the air-locked doors and crossed down the hall to the locker room, where she stripped out of the suit and changed into scrubs. As she left the locker room, she stopped by the nurses’ station. “Did any of the labs come back yet?”

A small Asian nurse flipped a plastic case file to her. “These were faxed just a minute ago.”

Lauren flipped the file open and thumbed to the page of blood chemistries and hematology results. Her finger ran down the long list. The chemistries were all normal, as expected. But her nail stopped at the line for the total white blood cell count:

TWBC: 2130 (L) 6,000–15,000

It was low, significantly low, one of the trio of signs expected with the plague.

With her finger trembling, she ran down the report to the section that detailed the different white blood cell levels. There was one piece of news that the team’s epidemiologist, Dr. Alvisio, had mentioned to her late last night, a possible pattern in the lab data that his computer model for the disease had noted: an unusual spike of a specific line of white blood cells, basophils, that occurred early in the disease as the total white blood cell levels were dropping. Though it was too soon to say for certain, it seemed to be consistent in all cases of the disease. It was perhaps a way to accelerate early detection.

Lauren read the last line.

BASOPHIL COUNT: 12 (H) 0–4

“Oh, God.” She lowered the chart to the nurses’ station. Jessie’s basophil levels were spiked above normal, well above normal.

Lauren closed her eyes.