It was one of the key reasons why BSL-4 facilities were designed and created, biocontainment labs where epidemics inside could be prevented from escaping outside.
Raines knew that tularemia was one of the fastest sprinters among all infections. It took only 10 microbes of the bacterium to cause an extremely dangerous disease. The disease had a very fast and acute beginning. It was the three-to-five day infection window that caused her the most angst.
A weapon using airborne tularemia might not even be detected within five days. Without treatment, the clinical course could progress to respiratory failure, shock, and death. By the time a true diagnosis was rendered, millions could be ill if not dead.
But the most alarming conclusion for Raines was the status of the vaccination: incomplete. In volunteer studies, the live attenuated vaccine did not protect all recipients against aerosol virulent tularemia.
This was the aspect of animal research that bothered Raines the most. If she and her technicians had cooked up a lethal recipe of inhalation tularemia, all four rhesus monkeys would be sick within three to five days and dead soon thereafter. If not, then they had to go back to the biological pantry of ingredients and try a new recipe.
If the monkeys died, then the research team knew they had achieved sufficiently lethal inhalation tularemia. They could then get busy developing vaccines and antibiotics to protect the next batch of monkeys from dying.
Dr. Groenwald walked into the command center as Raines watched her technicians load the SkitoMister with the fourth recipe they had concocted of inhalation tularemia.
“What’s the plan, colonel?” Groenwald asked.
“We’ve cracked the so-called vaccine-resistant tularemia the Soviets developed in 1982. Now we’re trying to cook a recipe that even we can’t solve. We’re simultaneously working on microbes of bacteria and vaccines.”
“Progress?”
“Not yet, all four NHPs have handled each recipe thanks to their vaccines.”
Groenwald looked out over the TV monitors feeding images of the technicians working with the SkitoMister and the non-human primates.
“Keep me posted, colonel.”
Four rhesus monkeys or four million people? In order to save four million people, Raines needed to make sure four monkeys died.
It was an easy choice, even if she didn’t like to make it.
Combat Outpost Chergotah
Khost Province, Afghanistan
Emerging out of the Hindu Kush, Alpha Team stumbled into the Combat Outpost, deprived of a badly needed, four-hour sleep break and pushed to cover almost a kilometer an hour through the high country, all the while fearing that they were being chased by a hot pursuit.
Dex unpacked the SAT phone as the others stripped out of their frozen snow camo and into warm battle dress uniforms. The soldiers from the 4th Brigade Combat Team, 25th Infantry Division stoked the fires and put some water on the cook stoves for the weary Alpha Team members.
Dex connected with Creech Air Force Base and confirmed that all 17 had indeed made successful egress over the Hindu Kush. The duty sergeant asked him to hold so he could patch in General Ferguson at ISAF headquarters in Kabul.
“Captain, need you here, sir,” Dex yelled. “They’re patching in Command at ISAF.”
Captain “Sonny” Sanchez grabbed the SAT phone as Camp walked over to listen.
“Captain Sanchez.”
“Major Spann here at ISAF, please hold for General Ferguson.”
“Captain, this is not a secure transmission,” Ferguson barked.
“Roger that, sir, all 17 safe and warming up at base camp.”
“Seventeen?”
“Affirmative, sir. We recovered the mission target, sir, that was a KIA, and we have returned with that mission objective.”
“Captain, Creech has been tracking 18 beacons. One went the opposite direction of your team.”
“Affirmative, sir. I’m going to put Camp on the phone.”
“General.”
“Welcome back, Camp. What’s the story on the 18th beacon? We picked it up about two and a half days ago,” Ferguson asked.
“Sir, can’t really get into that on this transmission for security reasons. Suffice it to say, I authorized placing a beacon on an item. Sir, I’d highly recommend that you turn that beacon off… permanently, sir.”
Ferguson and his coffee-pouring majors appeared puzzled.
“I can’t really authorize that until I have some more information. How long before you get to a FOB and get on SIPR?”
“Twenty-four to 36 hours, sir. Air is red, roads are red. Nasty weather.”
“Understood. We’ll continue to keep an eye on number 18.”
Camp paused and thought for a few seconds. “Sir, I wanted to let you know that I need to cancel my leave.”
“Your leave? You just got here.”
“Roger that, sir, but you know I was planning to take Marcy and the kids to International Falls, Minnesota for some canoeing. But Marcy said the mosquitoes are out, and they’d kill us. So we’re going to have to postpone that trip.”
Ferguson got up and paced the room.
“Roger that, Camp, roger that. Listen, I know how much this trip means to you and Mary — ah, correction — Marcy, so I’m going to send my birds to pick you up. Sometimes the air for my birds isn’t quite as red as it can be for those boys who fly the ring routes.”
Camp hung up the SAT phone wondering if his old friend and former XO from Iraq understood what he was saying or concluded that he had finally lost his mind.
Major Spann was at the phone and dialing Special Agent Daniels’ home number even before Ferguson could issue the order.
“What time is it in Virginia, major?”
“Sir, 0240 hours.”
Ferguson smiled.
“Perfect.”
18
ISAF Headquarters
Kabul, Afghanistan
General Ferguson’s two Blackhawk helicopters made the round trip flight to and from Combat Outpost Chergotah, with one stop on the return to Bagram Air Base, in less than two hours. Camp and Billy Finn remained on their bird at Bagram in respect until six soldiers from mortuary affairs removed the body of Major Dean Banks. A throng of 40 soldiers, sailors, airmen and Marines stood ramrod straight and held their salutes until Major Banks was placed in an ambulance on the tarmac.
At just past 0930 hours Major Spann greeted Camp and Finn at the ISAF helo pad and walked them over to Ferguson’s office. The hot shower and warm meal could wait until they briefed the General. Ferguson rose from his desk as Camp and Finn entered.
“You need a shave, sailor.”
“Aye, aye, sir, it’s on the schedule,” Camp said as he shook Ferguson’s hand.
“How are you, Billy?”
“Cold, wet and hungry, but I’ll survive,” Finn chided.
“Well, let me guess,” Ferguson said as he took a seat behind his desk. “You found a SkitoMister.”
Camp and Finn were surprised.
“You knew about it?” Camp asked.
“Not in time, unfortunately. Special Agent Daniels from CIA called me while you two were hiking up the Hindu Kush. The Agency traced two of these units from Illinois, to Hamburg, to Jakarta and finally Islamabad. Had no idea you’d stumble across one in North Waziristan, not that that would be much of a surprise given the FATA. What did you see in there, Camp?”