“Quite mad,” Bateman said. “Doctor, what are your plans?”
“I’m thinking island in the Carribean,” Dr. Curry said. “But Mr. Smith has made me a very generous offer of semi-permanent consultant until this is over one way or the other. I’ve been around enough research and on WHO teams to have stared this sort of death, in general, in the eye before. Not looking forward to losing my mind, mind you. It’s my only real asset. If you’re asking if I’ll hang in there with one of the richest and best prepared banks in the world…We’ll talk. Depends on the fringe benefits.”
“Such as?” Bateman asked.
“I understand you have a retreat point,” Curry said, shrugging. “I don’t, really. Assuming we get to that point, I and one other are guaranteed a slot on the planes or whatever.”
“Do we have a retreat point?” Depene asked. “And why aren’t we going there now?”
“Because we’re not anywhere near that point, Brad,” Bateman said with a sigh. “It’s not about a downtick in the stock market. We evacuate only when that point has been reached.”
“And when is ‘that point’?” Depene asked.
“I’ll let Mr. Smith cover that,” Bateman said. “Tom?”
“There is a specific condition under which the Federal Reserve ‘temporarily’ terminates operations,” Tom said. “For the duration of a global emergency. But upon either suspension of trade ‘for the duration of the emergency’ or upon vote of the board to suspend business activities for same, we then and only then activate the Executive and Special Personnel Evacuation Exercise. Which is generally called E-S-P. Meaning ‘when’ is ultimately up to Mr. Bateman and/or the Board and/or the Fed, which means I’ll be reading my crystal ball. If, in my opinion, the security situation, including biological security situation, has degraded past operability I will request Mr. Bateman to so inform the Board. But that is only if the Fed doesn’t act first. So… You may know before I do, Dr. Depene. As to Dr. Curry’s request, I’d suggest that that be discussed in a separate meeting as well as any hostile environment business plans.”
“Agreed,” Bateman said. “Dr. Curry, your contract is at the least extended for the duration of the emergency. Usual bonuses. And we’ll be with you by Monday on inclusion in the evacuation plan.”
“I can wait that long,” Curry said. “I need to get back into the information stream.”
“We all do,” Bateman said, blowing out a heavy breath. “And I need to get a statement prepared for investors…”
CHAPTER 3
“Is the boat going to be able to hold all of this?” Faith asked. “And how are we getting it there? Pushing?”
When you’ve basically bought a Costco out of toilet paper and feminine hygiene products, these were reasonable questions, if poorly timed.
“We can strap some to the roof of the Nissan,” Stacey said, looking around the pile of toilet paper on the pallet. She certainly couldn’t see over it. They’d gotten some very odd looks but no serious questions. “Stocking up for hurricane season” was the simplest answer. And it wasn’t like anyone in Williamsburg knew who they were. She grimaced in annoyance when her phone rang. But it was Tom’s burn phone number.
“Tom?” Stacey said. “Hang on a second. We’re walking across a parking lot.”
“Roger,” Tom asked. “What’s your status?”
“Nominal so far,” Stacey said, keying open the doors. “Inside for the chat, girls.”
“Public places are to be avoided,” Tom pointed out.
“Toilet paper is a right not a privilege,” Stacey said getting in the car and putting the phone on speaker. “Okay, we’re all in. Go.”
“Everybody there?” Tom asked over the speakerphone.
“Steve’s negotiating the boat,” Stacey said. “Go.”
Tom covered the highlights, such as they were, of Dr. Curry’s analysis.
“Naked zombies?” Faith said. “Gross!”
“Makes sense to me,” Stacey said. “If they kept their clothes on and are still ‘alive’ they’d have difficulty with waste passage.”
“That means they couldn’t shit, Faith,” Sophia said.
“I know what it means!” Faith said. “Yuck again!”
“Short time, here,” Tom said seriously. “End of the world stuff.”
“Sorry, Uncle Tom,” Sophia said, just as seriously. “We’re just having a hard time…”
“Go, Tom,” Stacey said.
“Increasing incoherency to an essentially animal state. In that state hyperaggression. May be just the cases so far identified but aggression seems to be increased. Very bitey from the reports from the West Coast-which also spreads because of the blood pathogen effect. At least one cop who dealt with a case is infected. Six confirmed cases on the East Coast, four in Asia. Confirmed. CDC has decided to go public at noon. News media is already asking questions.
“They’re looking at a vaccine. Go.”
“Any pre-symptoms notable other than ‘flulike’?” Sophia asked.
“Nothing particular,” Tom said. “Not until second stage. May not be blood pathogen until then. General flu prevention procedures, which is what the ‘powers-that-be’ are going to be calling for. Swine flu again but this is already spread, probably world-wide, and spreading fast. Stand by… Pasteur confirms cases in England and France… Six now in Hong Kong alone…I need to cut this short. I’ve got another meeting.”
“We’re using the Aurelius Corporation plan,” Stacey said. “Can you…do something about it? We’d prefer to avoid actually stealing the yacht.”
“How much?” Tom asked.
“One forty,” Stacey said with a wince.
“Done,” Tom said. “I’ll authorize the transfer as soon as we’re off the phone. What’s the cover name?”
“Jason Ranseld. R-A-N-S-E-L-D.”
“I’ll take care of it. Just get offshore.”
“How is your jump plan?” Stacey asked.
“If they come up with a vaccine, nominal,” Tom said. “If they don’t, you don’t want me infecting you. Out here.”
* * *
Steve waved to bemused looking Felix as the wind carried the boat away from the dock. He could tell that the broker was wondering if he’d somehow been taken.
It certainly would hold for a couple of weeks. By which time this would either be a false alarm and the Smiths, one and all, would have to start their lives over, probably in Australia, or the world would be so clearly headed to hell in a handbasket that nobody would care.
“Jason Ranseld” had some very interesting papers indeed. Among others was a mate’s license. It wasn’t forged. Steve had gotten it while he was living the “Jason Ranseld” life many years agone. So he had some experience working with boats this big. In wind even. Twenty years agone.
He thus managed to maneuver out of the marina without major incident. What he hadn’t thought to bring was a coat. And it was bloody chilly. The clouds were high, thin and rippled in a regular humped pattern, and the sun shone through them weak and grey. There was a name for that type of cloud formation, but Steve couldn’t quite recall it.
He was worried about Stacey and the girls. Against direct threats they could take care of themselves, but a plague… There just wasn’t any way to truly prevent it absent quarantine gear. And it was in the general population.…