Chapter 16: Connecting the Dots

“We’ve picked up his trail,” Anderson reported. “Seems he was able to head out to the Pacific Northwest on a commercial airliner by …”. He cleared his throat. “…by impersonating an airline captain and riding in the jump seat.”

The President just shook his already lowered head. “What a wasted talent.”

“Maybe not. Who knows, Sir. Maybe he has an important role to play in some future event. At any rate, we know he disembarked at Sea-Tac and we have a lead that he stopped in an Army surplus store downtown. We have a number of leads at that point, including a ferry across the sound to Bremerton, a rental car up to Anacortes, and a run for the Canadian border hitchhiking among a few others. We’re following these up and should have another report for you at 1430.”

“Okay. Good work. I wish we had some idea what was driving him. But then, I rarely do. I’ll look forward to your next report.”

***********************************************************

There was a sharp knock on the stateroom door.

“Who’s there?” asked Jane.

“Capt. Eichmann, ma’am. I have a letter for you.”

She opened the door. The Captain was tall, and even if he hadn’t been an officer he would have commanded attention wherever he went. For a moment she wasn’t sure what this was about and wished John were there. Then he smiled.

“Do like my attempt at the southern speaking? I have learned that when we dock in New Orleans I am supposed to say ma’am to all the ladies, Ja?”

“Yes, that is very nice. And appropriate. What can I do for you? You said you had a letter?”

“An envelope. And I need you to follow me. There is some equipment in the hold I need you to see.”

“One moment.” She walked through the connecting doorway. “Henry, watch your brother and sister and don’t anyone leave the stateroom until I get back.”

“Sure, Mama. We’re making a story. You can hear it when you get back.”

She followed the captain down a number of passageways until they arrived at a portion of the hold near the stern. It was separate from where most of the bananas were kept.

“I was given a number of unusual instructions for this trip and this is just one of them. I was supposed to bring you here as soon as possible, but while the doctor was engaged elsewhere. There is some equipment here you are supposed to check and then let me know if it is satisfactory.”

He turned a key and opened the door. The crates had already been opened and most of the equipment set up. It looked like a high school chemistry lab. Jane slowly walked around the area, and then began picking up certain items for closer inspection. The Captain waited quietly by the door, alert for passing sailors, though who would wander into this remote part of the ship was a good question. After a few minutes she turned.

“Very good. More than I expected in fact. It would be nice to have a condensate distiller, though. Maybe 24 inch tubing.”

“I’ll let them know right away. Let me show you way back through the labyrinth to your room.”

Chapter 15: Julio Martinez

Julio Martinez made his way toward La Ceiba along the rugged Cangrejal River. The pain from the bullet in his knee had now become a familiar throb, and he marveled that he no longer thought of it as painful; it was just massively inconvenient.

Julio was a dreamer. He was highly educated, and a skeptical scientist. But he had never lost the mysterious power of imagination that fuels all great discoveries. As he made his way along the muddy banks, he recounted the series of accidents that led to his latest titration of an antiviral solution. He had never actually set out to find a cure for anything other than for one of his howler monkeys. The animal had contracted an extremely rare hyperplasia, and, mostly just as a side experiment, Julio tried to cure it. Oral focal epithelial hyperplasia was known in some native tribes, even Eskimos, but Julio had never heard of it in a new world primate. That was how he had begun. The implications of his findings were, well, possibly revolutionary.

On the other hand, he knew that Wilhelm Roentgen had never set out to find the X-ray; Edward Jenner’s intuition with the milkmaid Sarah Nelms led to vaccinations for smallpox; Dr. Alexander Flemming (only thirty years ago) decided not to toss out a moldy flu culture and discovered penicillin. And Julio knew very well the story of the Inca Indian who ingested the “poisonous” chinchona (which the natives called quina-quina) and so, with “quinine” was cured of malaria.

Governments the world over, however, often sought new discoveries and inventions as a means of controlling each other. Something in Julio’s vial had struck a chord somewhere in the world. Someone wanted his discovery, or at least wanted it suppressed.

Julio had not devised a plan once he arrived at La Ceiba, other than to get to the French Hospital d’Antoni and have this bullet removed. He had noticed a persistent headache and sore muscles, but ignored these as self-evident. He couldn’t understand why his fingers and toes tingled though. He just knew that he had to keep going.

Chapter 14: Oceans Apart

The S.S. Aldenburg pulled slowly away from the two tugs that had pushed it from the wharf at the end of 24^th Street. In another twenty nautical miles it would clear the last official portion of the harbor and Capt. Eichmann would put the harbor pilot back on his boat, taking command his ship. Of course he understood the logic, yet it always irritated him that he was trusted with ten million dollars of cargo and three million dollars of cargo vessel across the toughest oceans of the world, yet when he came to even the most hospitable harbor he had to relinquish command to the local boy.

Down below the Selby family was getting squared away in their staterooms. On the one hand, they had been given the best rooms on the ship that weren’t reserved for the ship’s officers. On the other hand, it was a fruit boat.

“Is this really my bed? Cool!” said Bayne.

“Really,” said Hank. “Really? This is what we’re sleeping on. Really? Was everyone a miget when this ship was built?”

“You should be grateful to be sleeping the way the elite did in the 19^th century,” said a voice from behind them. “A real Merchant Marine today would be sleeping in half the space you have. Quit complaining or I’ll ask the Captain to see if he can find you some quarters with the rest of the crew.”

Mama never sugar coated it. Hank, now the dour teenager, simply scowled and jumped on the bunk.

“We’ve prepared an ‘office’ for you Col. Selby,” said Capt. Eichmann. “Follow me.”

They went down the companionway , through a couple of watertight hatches and then made a quick left into a compartment. Inside the room was more electronic equipment than was present on the bridge. Selby whistled under his breath.

“Ja, I was pretty impressed too. Maybe if we complete this “favor” for you guys, some of this stuff can remain with the Aldenburg, vielleicht.”

“I am to convey our government’s sincere thanks for this ride. I’m sure they will show their appreciation. Is it okay if I do a little work right now?”

“Ja. Ja wohl. You and Mrs. Selby and the boys will dine with me at the Captain’s table tonight at eighteen hundred.”

“We’ll be there. Thanks.”

Capt. Eichmann spun on his heel and exited. Selby turned back to the equipment and began a quick survey – radios, facsimile, and in the corner even the latest Microcomputer. Good grief he thought to himself, they can now make these less than six feet tall and able to fit in a corner. Where will it end?

He pulled a sheet of paper out of his jacket pocket, quickly decoded some numbers, then punched a frequency into the VHF omnidirectional device. He then punched the communication frequency and fired it up.

“Trophy boat, this is Dorado. Trophy boat, this is Dorado”.

He waited a few seconds. Nothing.

“Trophy boat, this is Dorado.”

Suddenly the radio gave out a burst of static.

“Dorado. This is Trophy Boat. Stand by.”

After about 30 seconds the radio crackled again.

“Well, well, well. Selby, that you?”

“Sure is. Good to hear your voice, Stephen.”

Chapter 13: Rabbit

--"Rabbit. That’s what we called him when he was a teenager,” President Douglas mused, staring down at his hands. “He was relatively normal until around his sixteenth birthday. Oh Billy," he sighed quietly. "Oh, Billy Rowe. Rabbit." He suddenly looked very tired.

Marilyn remained silent, wondering if the President would continue to share at this intimate level. After all, Senator James was still in the Oval Office. This unusual openness could have unintended consequences in the infinite complexity of politics.

--“They started giving him this drug.” He paused. “What was that stuff?"

--“Mellaril,” his secretary murmured, not knowing if the President really wanted an answer.

--“Yeah. Thioridazine, that was it. I’ll never forget the label on that bottle. After they started that stuff his mouth and lips would twitch just like a rabbit. Weird. Looked just like a rabbit. Kept him sort of straight, though."

Harold James cleared his throat and the President looked up. Their eyes locked, and two things were immediately clear. First, the President was assured that James would not use this information as political leverage. Secondly, James knew that his own sexual orientation would also be off-limits. Marilyn had seen this sort of non-verbal communication for her entire life in Washington. It still astounded her.

James nodded respectfully to the President and left the room. Marilyn picked up the receiver of the black phone and rapidly dialed a series of numbers. She handed the receiver to the President.

--“This is Henry Douglas,” he said. Pull out all the stops. Get him back using any means necessary.”

Chapter 12: Running Deep

The Lockheed P-3 sub hunters had given the all clear for the northwest coastal Pacific waters and returned to their base on Whidbey Island. The sub moved silently down the well traveled route from Puget Sound towards Pearl Harbor. They were due west of the Oregon-California border and about 300 nautical miles offshore. The initial rendezvous would take place in less than six hours. At that time they would pick up the necessary equipment, receive updated orders, and set a new course, the one not towards Pearl Harbor.

Waterson understood it was an extraction, but puzzled over the timing. It wasn’t like this had to be done yesterday, but it wasn’t routine either. And yet they were sending a sub on a long trip to Central America. And then his boat would end up on the wrong side of the country! He had heard the action was near La Ceiba, on the Caribbean side, but they certainly didn’t have time to get around the horn. And going through the canal, well, this was supposed to be a secret mission, wasn’t it? He wondered what the 2^nd fleet was doing and why they hadn’t been given this mission. The 3^rd fleet, of which he was a part, took the central and eastern Pacific, but the 2^nd fleet usually took care of the Caribbean.

He broke out of his reverie and returned to pricking the charts on his table. All was in order. They would surface, meet the refitted sub tender carrying a little more than the usual stuff, load up and be on their way. He was unclear on whether they would add any personnel.

The course he had plotted from the rendezvous point to their final destination was unexciting. He had estimated three days, pushing the ship to the max. Then came the fun part. Submarines weren’t meant to have helicopters land on them. They also weren’t designed to beach themselves like some kind of whale with nematodes in its ear. Yet those were the two options for the extraction.

There wasn’t much of a shelf along the Pacific side of Central America; that’s what made it a surfer’s paradise. Only the surfers didn’t know it yet. They were only now really investigating Hawaii, and it would be years before Costa Rica or Nicaragua would become playground for adventurous Americans. But the lack of a shelf could allow a sub to approach much closer to shore without any real danger of hull damage. Waterson smiled to himself. He was pretty sure they’d end up using the helicopter, but damn, he’d love to tell stories of the time he ran his boat up on the beach!

Chapter 11: New Orleans

It was a straight and long drive from Knoxville to New Orleans. The children were happy in their new station wagon, joining with their parents singing road songs along the six-hundred mile route. With such a late start, they spent a night in Chattanooga before heading out early the next morning. Gadsden, Birmingham, Tuscaloosa, Meridian, Hattiesburg: the towns of colorful names in the deep South swept by. Outside the car were seemingly endless fields of cotton, tobacco, and peanuts. They saw no evidence of “Freedom Riders” that Bill had warned them about.

Once, near Slidell and only an hour from New Orleans, Selby became concerned about a truck following too closely. His hand strayed from the steering wheel to a red lever protruding from under the dash. The children were ignorant of its implications, but Jane had heard the briefing regarding the car’s “goodies”. Her jaws clenched, but she trained her eyes on the road ahead, unwilling to risk even the slightest indication of alarm. The truck pulled off at a Sinclair gas station, however, and John relaxed.

Even so, he found a mom-and-pop motel and decided to stop for the night. He wanted to have his wits about him for the next step. The motel was actually a series of small cottages which delighted the children. Shortly after their arrival, a rusty pickup truck came to pick up their luggage.

________

The SS Aldenburg at Pier 7 was to weigh at ten in the morning. Dunnage stowed the night before gave the children a chance to enjoy sleeping in their clothes instead of pajamas.

Pier 7 was actually a wharf near the French Quarter, and this had given the family a chance to stop at Café du Monde for beignets and coffee. In a nod to his surroundings, John ordered café au lait, but Jane couldn’t deviate from her usual cup of strong, black coffee. Beka was trying to put powdered sugar on Bayne’s nose when a man behind the counter discreetly motioned toward the table.

--“Watch the kids for a minute honey, I need to be excused.”

The man slid from behind the counter and spoke rapidly, in hushed tones.

--“Selby?”

--“Yes. I was told I might be contacted here.”

--“Well, you fit the description. I’ve got an envelope. Unopened of course. Do you need a private place to look at it? The office is open.”

--“Thanks, I’ll only be a minute. And can you refill this please, that’s good coffee.”

--“Milk?”

--“No, just black please.”

Inside the envelope was a small roll of dictaphone tape. It was inserted quickly into a portable recorder. Then, a quick turn away from the noisy patrons; deft placement of an earpiece into position:

“As usual, this will degrade within 4 hours, but please dispose of it carefully. I think you have an inkling of the main mission, but we’ve just learned something else, something we need some extra talent to handle. There is a biochemical element to this and we may need some immediate field analysis from an expert like you. A portable lab with all necessary supplies will be made available. The message we got was garbled, but it appears there is either a new biological weapon in the making, or possibly a cure for a biological weapon. Or maybe something entirely different. Sorry for the limited intel, but that’s all we have. If the target is carrying something and the extraction is successful, we need you to give a quick analysis. Glad you’re along for this mission. Good luck!”

Breathing a deep sigh, Selby glanced back out to the kids and her husband. She allowed herself a private smile: to think this all started with analyzing milk . . . a part time biochemical job at American Smelting and Refining in Baltimore . . . World War II . . . college tuition. She wondered how much John knew.

The Possibilities of Epidemics and Pandemics

The human immune system is astonishing. As an oversimplified explanation, populations are exposed to many harmful biological factors, but the body responds by recognizing the threat and mounting a response or building a “resistance”. Some die, but those who survive are immune. This immunity is particularly visible in isolated populations.

Imagine a mysterious bacteria recently arrived from outer space. The initial result would be devastating. No one’s body would be prepared for the exact nature of the insult. Over time, however, and assuming the entire human race did not die, resistance would develop among the survivors. If then a similar bacterium arrived the next year, the surviving humans would have a much higher survival rate. Ultimately the insult would become a common disease, but one with which we could live.

Important examples of this insult and occasional immunity occur throughout history. They can be seen in the rapid decline, and sometimes total decimation, of indigenous populations in the “new world” after the arrival of Europeans. Diseases that were fairly standard to European populations had catastrophic effects on new populations. The Native American tribes in the Pacific Northwest had 11,000 fatalities in the 1770’s out of a population of 37,000 when smallpox appeared, probably courtesy of early trappers. Ultimately the tribe reached a low point of about 9,000 survivors after other diseases including measles and influenza also took their toll. The Sewee Indians of modern day South Carolina lost huge numbers to smallpox and other viruses. In 1701 John Lawson wrote of the effect of smallpox on the Sewee:

“These Sewees have been formerly a large Nation, though now very much decreas’d since the English hath seated their Land, and all other Nations of Indians are observ’d to partake of the same fate, where the Europeans come, the Indians being a People very apt to catch any Distemper they are afflicted withal; the Small-Pox has destroy’d many thousands of the Natives, who no sooner than they are attack’d with the violent Fevers and the Burning …by which Means Death most commonly ensues”.

A more devastating example may be the Yamani population of Tierra del Fuego. They had managed to live in the harshest conditions for many centuries. They wore no clothes, keeping fires going constantly, even in their canoes (hence the name “Land of Fire”). The women would dive in to the harsh Southern ocean to retrieve mussels for food. Surely these were hardy people. When the Rev. Thomas Bridges, one of the early missionaries, arrived in South America in the late 1800’s, he was so taken with their culture that he translated their entire language. Sadly, it is a book that will no longer be read except by linguistic scholars. Diseases familiar to the Europeans, but completely unknown to the Yamani, ultimately wiped out the entire population.

We are not really expecting an unknown disease from outer space, but the possibility of devastating agents exist closer to home. Consider the smallpox again, a disease we have eradicated. It killed many in its history, but many lived as well. It has been many years since any living human has been exposed to the smallpox virus; indeed, we no longer vaccinate for it. But it’s gone isn’t it? Eradicated from the face of the earth?

Not exactly. It is an established, and not very well hidden fact, that small vials exist in a top security biolab of the British, at a Soviet facility in Siberia, and at the Centers for Disease Control in Atlanta. The rationale for keeping a specimen is, well, there are reasons. But if it ever got loose …

Again, past history did not involve premeditated military applications (Although Lord Jeffrey Amherst, commanding general of British force in America during the French and Indian War, 1756-1763, did distribute blankets from smallpox victims to crush an Indian uprising). And there are certainly other viruses, bacteria, rickettsia, deformed self replicating proteins, etc, that exist somewhere on the earth, currently in a caged environment of nature’s own making. They may be trapped in glacier that is now melting. They may be carried by a little known or unknown animal species that we are about to come in contact with through the encroachment of civilization. At any rate, the possibility exists that such biologic agents are already on Earth. And further, that they could appear without warning. With all our scientific advances since the days of the Yamani, we would still be helpless against such a novel threat.

Pure Research, often funded by government grants, frequently comes under fire for its lack of direct utility and immediate application. Yet one should consider the vast array of antigenics and antibiotics that have emerged from such enterprises.

Today, an estimated 33 million people are living with, and dying from, AIDS. There is no antigen.