“Healthy people carrying Capellaviridae have no antibodies,” I offered. “It’s not that their bodies are fighting it off. There is nothing to fight off. It’s innocuous—until it’s not.”
“Okay, yes,” Giscard said, encouraging this line of thought. I felt like an elementary school student who has answered a math problem correctly, basking in the admiration of my teacher. I hated myself for it, but I wanted Giscard to appreciate my input.
“So what’s happening is not a difference in reaction to the virus,” I continued. “It’s not that some people fight it off and others don’t. The virus itself appears to be behaving differently. Maybe there is a difference at the molecular level.”[26]
“Exactly,” Giscard said.
“The President is going to speak in about twenty-five minutes,” Tie Guy said.
Giscard turned to him, seemingly annoyed by the interruption. “The President is not going to help us understand the virus,” he said.
“I’d like to watch,” one of the CDC scientists said with a hint of hostility.
“We have time to waste?” Giscard asked.
“I’ll stream it on my laptop,” I said. “We don’t have to interrupt what we’re doing.”
The rest of the meeting is the subject of what might generously be called “competing memories” (which have in turn generated competing news accounts, competing lawsuits, competing memoirs, and even one pathetically inaccurate French documentary, The Hero in the Room). Here is what we do know: (1) the biochemists began comparing the molecular structures of the dormant and virulent Capellaviridae viruses; (2) we proposed a hypothesis whereby Capellaviridae is rendered indolent by the disruption of a key protein; and (3) we further hypothesized that the North American dust mite transfers an enzyme to humans that renders Capellaviridae harmless. Our theory left some crucial questions unanswered (e.g., Why did this effect appear to be only temporary?). But for the first time, we had an elegant and testable hypothesis that could explain not just Capellaviridae, but potentially all lurking viruses. Most important, if we were correct, we would in theory have an antidote for the virulent form of Capellaviridae: the mystery enzyme.
The biochemists immediately reached out to their colleagues at the NIH and in academe to begin examining the protein structures of the virulent and indolent Capellaviridae viruses. I briefed the NIH Director on our progress. She in turn called the Chief of Staff to report the potential breakthrough. And Lionel Giscard, as best as I can tell, immediately set to work claiming credit for all the important work we had done.
PART 8
THE HYPOTHESIS AND THE EGO
70.
THE PRESIDENT WOULD SPEAK FROM AIR FORCE ONE immediately after the Acting HHS Secretary gave his briefing to Congress. The Communications Director was adamant that there be as little time as possible between the congressional briefing and the beginning of the President’s speech. “I don’t want them to have time to make a single tweet—not even two hundred and eighty characters,” he told the Acting HHS Secretary. “And keep it simple: here’s what’s happening, here’s what we’re doing, and here is our plan in the unlikely event that we encounter a temporary shortage of Dormigen.”
“Is that still an unlikely event?” the Acting Secretary asked. “I thought the whole point of the briefing was to make people aware of the seriousness of the situation.”
“Okay, don’t say ‘unlikely.’” the Communications Director conceded. “But I want it clear that we are still pursuing multiple options to forestall a shortage.”
“How about I just say that?” the Acting Secretary asked.
“Fine,” the Communications Director said. “But whatever you do, don’t use the word ‘ration.’”
“We are going to prioritize who gets Dormigen in the event of a shortage,” the Acting Secretary suggested.
“Perfect.”
“Because that’s not rationing.”
“No one in this administration is going to use that word,” the Communications Director declared.
“And what about Cecelia Dodds?” the Acting Secretary asked.
“What about her?” the Communications Director asked impatiently.
“It’s hard to say everything is going to be okay as she drifts in and out of consciousness.” That was the latest update from the hospital. Cecelia Dodds was being treated with an experimental German antibiotic that had proven effective against respiratory infections. So far, she had not responded positively.
“We can say something about the German drug,” the Communications Director offered. “That’s the kind of thing we’ll do in the absence of Dormigen.”
“And if she dies while I’m giving my briefing—”
“I don’t know what the fuck we should say!” the Communications Director exploded. He composed himself and continued. “I think maybe we just don’t say anything.”
The administration had vowed not to use the word “ration.” The Speaker of the House was intent on using that word as frequently as possible. She had taken a beating for her position on the South China Sea Agreement and as the putative leader of a Hispanic separatist movement before that. Those news cycles were now past. One does not get to be Speaker of the House, let alone a credible presidential candidate, without taking a few punches to the gut. The Speaker had arranged a press briefing in the Capitol forty-five minutes before the Acting HHS Secretary was scheduled to brief Congress. “How is she going to react to the briefing before the briefing?” the Chief of Staff asked sarcastically upon learning of the Speaker’s plans.
“Call her,” the President directed. “Tell her we all need to be on the same page.” The Chief of Staff phoned the Speaker, who was unavailable, according to the young staffer who answered the Speaker’s cell phone. “Tell her that if she doesn’t become available, I’m going to take away her plane,” the President growled in the background, loud enough for the staffer to hear.[27] Miraculously, the Speaker became available.
“The President would like to know what you plan to say at your press briefing,” the Chief of Staff said. There were no pleasantries exchanged.
“May I speak with the President, please?” the Speaker asked. The President, who could overhear the conversation, shook his head no.
“He’s working on his remarks,” the Chief of Staff said. “We all need to be on the same page here.”
“Of course,” the Speaker agreed.
“Then why are you doing a media availability before we brief Congress?” the Chief of Staff asked.
“I have a pretty good idea what you’re going to say,” the Speaker replied. It was true that the President had done an informal briefing for the Senate Majority Leader and for many of the Conventioneers. There was no doubt that the content of these conversations had been leaked to the Speaker, if not more broadly. “Congress is a coequal branch here,” the Speaker said. “I want the public to understand that we are a partner in dealing with this crisis.”
“So you’re calling the press to the Capitol to give them a civics lesson?” the Chief of Staff asked facetiously. “I don’t believe that.” In the background, the President was shaking his head in anger and frustration. Before the Speaker could answer, the Chief of Staff continued, “Could you just support us here for five minutes?”
26
I am certain that I was the first person in the room to suggest that the virulent form of
27
At the beginning of the administration, some observers had suggested—presciently, it would appear—that the President had passed out the military planes to legislative leaders so that he could threaten to take them away, not unlike giving a teenager a car and then using it as leverage.