"The operative word is 'potential.' We may have, repeat may have, a biological hazard disaster, Level Four. The most serious kind."
"What happened?"
"All I can tell you, Mr. Parker, is that our chief scientific officer, Colonel J. Porter Hamilton, has declared a Potential Level Four biological hazard disaster, and we have taken the necessary actions to deal with that."
"Colonel Russell, I repeat: What does that mean?"
"Per SOP, we have shut down the post, alerted the hospital, and notified the proper authorities. Until we hear from Colonel Hamilton, that's all we can do."
"May I speak with Colonel Hamilton, please?"
"I'm afraid that's not possible at the moment, Mr. Parker."
"Why not?"
"Colonel Hamilton is in Level Four BioLab Two."
"And there's no telephone in there?"
"There's a telephone. He's not answering it."
"Perhaps if you told him the White House is calling, he might change his mind."
"To do that, Mr. Parker, I would have to get him on the line. And he's not picking up."
"Can you tell me what he's doing?"
"I can tell you what I think he's doing. A package was delivered to him shortly before he declared the potential disaster. I think it's reasonable to presume he's examining the contents of that package."
"To what end, Colonel?"
"To see if what it contains justifies changing the current status from 'potential' to 'actual.' Or from 'Potential Level Four' to a lesser threat designation. We won't know until he tells us."
"The President, Colonel, is going to want to know."
"Colonel Hamilton is not answering the telephone in the laboratory, Mr. Parker."
"I understand DCI Powell is there."
"Yes, he is. Would you like to speak with him, Mr. Parker?"
"Not right now. Colonel, you understand that I'm going to have to tell the President that the only person who seems to know what's going on won't answer his telephone?"
"I suppose that's true," Colonel Russell said.
"I'll get back to you, Colonel," Parker said, and then feverishly tapped the switchhook in the telephone handset cradle to get the switchboard operator back on the line.
"Yes, Mr. Parker?"
"Get me DCI Powell." "Powell."
"Mr. Parker is calling, Mr. Powell. The line is secure."
"Mr. Powell, John Parker. What the hell is going on over there?"
"John…" the director of Central Intelligence began, and then stopped. After a long moment, he resumed: "John, I was just about to call the President. I think it would be best if he decided what to tell you about this."
Parker heard the click that told him Powell had just broken the connection. Porky Parker normally had unquestioned access to the President, anywhere, at any time. But now when he approached the door to the Oval Office, one of the two Secret Service men on duty put on an insincere smile and held up his hand to bar him.
The second Secret Service agent then opened the door, and called in, "Mr. President, Mr. Parker?"
Parker heard President Clendennen's impatient reply: "Not now."
Then he heard another male voice: "Mr. President, may I respectfully suggest that we're going to need Parker."
After a moment, Parker recognized the voice as that of Ambassador Charles M. Montvale, the director of National Intelligence.
There was a brief pause, and then Clendennen, even more impatiently, drawled, "All right. Let him in."
The Secret Service agent at the door waved Parker into the Oval Office.
The President was at his desk, slumped back in his high-backed blue leather-upholstered judge's chair. Ambassador Montvale was sitting in an armchair looking up at the wall-mounted television monitor. Secretary of State Natalie Cohen was sitting sideward on the couch facing Montvale, also looking at the television.
The President looked at Parker and pointed to the television. Parker moved to the opposite wall, leaned on it, and looked up at the television.
Surprising Parker not at all, the President was watching Wolf News.
There was a flashing banner across the bottom on the screen: BREAKING NEWS! BREAKING NEWS!
The Wolf News anchor-on-duty was sitting at his desk, facing C. Harry Whelan, Jr. A banner read: C. HARRY WHELAN, JR., WOLF NEWS DISTINGUISHED CONTRIBUTOR.
Whelan was answering a question, and although he hadn't heard it, Parker knew what the question was: "What's going on at Fort Detrick?"
"Well, of course I don't know, Steven," C. Harry Whelan, Jr., said, somewhat pontifically, "but it seems to me, with the director of Central Intelligence there-plus that unnamed senior official from Homeland Security-that the situation there, whatever it is, is under control. If I had to hazard a guess, I would say we have a case of high-level arf-arf."
"'Arf-arf,' Harry?"
"You don't know the term?" Whelan asked, surprised.
The anchor-on-duty shook his head.
"Well, far be it from me to suggest anything at all that would cast any aspersion whatever on my good friend, Central Intelligence Agency Director Jack Powell-or for that matter on the unidentified senior Homeland Security official-but, hypothetically speaking, if President Clendennen had two dogs-say, a Labrador and a cocker spaniel-and they started chasing their tails, the sound they would be making would be arf-arf."
The camera paused for a moment on Mr. Whelan's face-he looked very pleased with himself-and then a picture of the front page of The Wall Street Journal replaced it and a voice-over deeply intoned, "For only pennies a day…"
The screen went black.
"I hate that sonofabitch," President Clendennen said.
A full thirty seconds later, Porky Parker broke the silence: "May I ask what's going on at Fort Detrick?"
President Clendennen glared at him.
Secretary of State Natalie Cohen came to his rescue.
"Mr. President, you're either going to have to make a statement, or have Jack make one in your name."
"That might prove to be difficult, Madam Secretary," President Clendennen said sarcastically, "as we don't seem to have the first goddamn clue about what's going on at Fort Detrick."
He let that sink in, and then went on: "And if what the DCI has just told me is true, I don't think we should broadcast that little gem from the White House."
"Mr. President, what exactly did DCI Powell say?" Ambassador Montvale asked.
"He said this colonel had gotten word to him that he 'strongly suspects' that the attack we made on the quote unquote Fish Farm in the Congo-the attack that brought us this close"-he held his thumb and index fingers perhaps a quarter of an inch apart-"to a nuclear exchange-did not kill all the fishes."
"You're talking about Colonel Hamilton, Mr. President?" Montvale asked.
The President nodded.
"How could he know that?"
"That's what Powell said; that he got a message to that effect from Hamilton."
"What does Hamilton say?"
"He's not answering his telephone," the President said bitterly, then picked up his telephone.
"Get me Powell," he ordered, and then, not twenty seconds later, said, "Is he still not answering his phone?"
There was a short reply.
"The minute he comes out of that laboratory, put him in your helicopter and bring him here."
He put the telephone handset into its cradle.
"And now we wait," Clendennen said. "The President of the United States, the secretary of State, and the director of National Intelligence wait for some lousy colonel to find time for us…" [FOUR] U.S. Army Medical Research Institute Fort Detrick, Maryland 1035 4 February 2007 Colonel J. Porter Hamilton, Medical Corps, U.S. Army, came through the outer portal of Level Four BioLab Two wearing only a bathrobe. The crest of the United States Military Academy was on the breast, and the legend WEST POINT was on the back.
He found in the room the garrison commander, the director of Central Intelligence, the assistant secretary of Homeland Security, the special agent in charge at the Department of Homeland Security, the Fort Detrick provost marshal, two Secret Service agents, and Master Sergeant Dennis.