Chapter 1
Optimised PCR methods for detection of (the) TTV (virus) found, to our amazement, that thirty three percent of volunteer blood donors are infected with it. The virus is ubiquitous. In another PCR-improved study by Japanese researchers, TTV was detected in ninety two percent of the general population... There are a lot of healthy people carrying the virus (Mushahwar says) which raises the question: 'What are these viruses doing in humans and not causing disease?'
-Leslie Pray: The Mysterious TT Virus -What Is It? The Scientist 15[15]:22 July 23, 2001
Maybe it was the unremitting panic, Jean Simmons decided. Certainly the lethargy beginning to overtake her wasn't stress. As with everyone in the White House she viewed stress as a necessary food source, like caffeine. Panic was different. Panic was what happened when twenty-seven heads of state decided that they just had to meet in person in Petrapavlovsk one final time before… Well, that was the problem, wasn't it? Before what exactly? The systematic dismantling of society?
Jean pushed her hair from her face, closed her eyes and fantasised about going home and sleeping for, oh, maybe a week. She might even find a few moments to finalise negotiations for her marriage dissolution. Snorting softly to herself, she opened her eyes and peered out through the dingy window to the snow splattered White House lawns. What year had the term divorce been replaced by marriage dissolution? There wasn't a person on staff that hadn't been or wasn't going through the same process. They came to work every day, smiled, planned, plotted, connived, backstabbed and played the ugliest, most addictive game on the planet without thinking twice about being publicly declared unfit spouses. In fact, most of them wore it as a badge of honour, a declaration of their sacrifice in support of the administration. How noble.
Delving into her handbag, Jean pulled out her compact mirror to freshen her lipstick, and then examined her tired face. Yeah, but how many of them had to deal with their husbands having an affair with a boy twenty years his junior? Maybe it wasn't that uncommon, but it still rankled. Not only had she failed as a wife, she had failed as a woman.
She snapped the compact closed and slipped it into her pocket, picked up her copy of the bulky Kamchatka Statement and dropped it into her briefcase. The resounding thunk lent a decisiveness to its contents. It sure as hell trivialized her personal problems, which was where the panic came in. The Statement was an admission that the world's last superpower was finally being humbled-by an ocean current.
Jean went to shut down her computer, but the desktop file on Dr. Kristin Baker stared at her accusingly. She attached the document to an email then added, 'This was the State Department's idea, not mine,' and sent a copy to Commander Nicholas Page. Nick knew, of course, that she would never have dreamed up such a preposterous scheme, but she couldn't help venting.
The door to her office burst opened and a flurry of waving papers appeared ahead of two men. Jean was about to snap at the intruders when she saw that one of them was Andreas Clem, the Director of the CDC.
'I'm telling you, Jack,' Andreas was saying to the short, obese man waddling in behind him, 'the President better be informed before he leaves because the implications are already trickling out on the Internet. You've got days at the most before some science journalist comes up with a very realistic prognosis.'
'There's enough apocalyptic garbage being bandied about in Kamchatka without you adding to the hysteria,' retorted Jack Obermann, the Assistant Secretary of Health.
Both men seemed oblivious to Jean's presence. Not such a bad thing. It gave her a moment to stand, straighten her jacket and adopt the expected professional mien of polite concern.
'Hysteria.' Andreas glared at Obermann. 'You'll know all about hysteria once this hits the wire services. Jesus, you've got this bureaucratic idée fixe that the CDC's mandate is to react to rather than prevent epidemics. This government spent more money and resources on Congressional finger pointing after the 2011 cholera outbreak than containing the damned disease! So here we are again.' He tossed his hands in the air. 'You stuck your damned heads in the sand and hoped Rhesus would go away. Well it hasn't. Jean!' Andreas finally turned to her. 'You tell him.'
'Tell him what, Andreas?' Jean walked around her desk, shutting her briefcase as she went. 'That Earth's defence mechanisms are finally going to wipe out the human plague with an immune response?' Concern was one thing but if Andreas had come here to bleat the same tired horn, his timing was spectacularly bad.
'You haven't read my email, have you?' The CDC Director's dark eyes narrowed. 'God dammit, Jean, this is not some imaginary scenario we're playing here. We've been collecting data on Rhesus for six years and-'
'It can wait a couple more days.' Obermann placed a pacifying hand on Andreas' arm and sent Jean an apologetic look. 'I'll set up a meeting with the chief of staff when the President returns from Kamchatka.'
Picking up her briefcase to leave, Jean hesitated when Clem stood directly in her path and demanded, 'What blood type are you?'
She froze. 'Why?'
'Because at the rate the Rhesus virus is spreading, especially through D.C., it's entirely possible you're already infected.' Andreas' gaze turned to Obermann. 'Both of you.'
She skirted around Clem, strode outside, pausing just long enough for them to follow. A perfect reason to excuse myself from this trip. But before that thought had fully taken hold, Jean's professionalism cut in. Rhesus had been around for years; everyone knew it was harmless. So what was agitating the normally soft-spoken CDC director?
Pausing, she turned to the men. Jack Obermann's ruddy features had darkened and the spidery veins on his nose were throbbing. 'Your blood pressure's showing again, Jack.' Shifting her gaze to Clem she added, 'Okay, Andreas, walk with me. Tell me the latest and if I think you have a case, you can come with us on Air Force One to Kamchatka, because that's the only way you're going to see the President in any kind of hurry.' Bowing to what she expected would be the inevitable, she tossed him a grim smile. 'Better call your wife and tell her you're going to be late for dinner.'
*
Andreas Clem glanced out the tiny window of Air Force One. He'd risen to his position over the bodies-literally-of good men who'd worked themselves into an early grave. He had resolved that he wasn't going out the same way, but right now, he wasn't so sure. Despite the air conditioning he was sweating and his heart was racing. Wiping a paper napkin across his face, he noticed that his hands had the shakes. Shit, he was scared. No, be honest, you're terrified.
When antibiotic and chlorine resistant cholera, ARC, had broken out in the US in 2011, USAMRIID-the US Army Institute for Infectious Diseases-had usurped the CDC's role in investigating and managing disease outbreaks on the basis that all such cases should be regarded as suspicious. That had left the CDC with a new mandate, one that arguably would tackle the grass roots problems of epidemiology: the country's disastrous public health care system. Economically gored by the Iraq War, the federal government had tossed the burden of public hospitals and health care programmes onto state and county budgets teetering on bankruptcy. Across the country hundreds of hospitals and clinics had closed, a factor that had only exacerbated the spread ARC. The deadly cholera had quickly become a pandemic, killing more people in eighteen weeks that the 1916 outbreak of Spanish Flu outbreak had in eighteen months. Worse, insurance companies already teetering on collapse had folded, triggering further hospital closures. Now, on the eve of discovering a new pandemic, American Insurance, the country's single largest underwriter, had folded. And the CDC's job was to wave a magic wand and make it all better. What's not to be terrified of?
Taking a few deep breaths to calm himself, Andreas peered at the stars in the sky. The edges of the horizon fell away into a vast curve as Air Force One, the newest of the ramjet Space Planes, reached the apex of its flight and began to descend. He wasn't impressed by the view; it served only to remind him how small the planet was. International flights were the perfect vector for plague organisms.
A tap on his shoulder startled him. 'You're up,' said Jean.
Andreas turned and stared at her, trying to divine something from her expression. All he saw was deep-seated exhaustion. 'Guess I'm not on your Christmas list anymore.'
Her quick smile vanished. 'I'm not a shoot-the-messenger type.'
'You read my report?' He released his seatbelt and stood, bending slightly in the cramped space.
'The whole thing. I've briefed the President; he'll give you a couple of minutes.'
Andreas adjusted his rumpled coat and tie, wishing he'd had the time to get cleaned up and changed. His bags were still in the D.C. hotel.
'And Andreas,' Jean added, walking ahead of him. 'You have my unequivocal support-if you agree to hold off announcing this until we formulate a response.'
He could see Obermann hovering just outside the door to the President's office, which was no mean feat considering the size of the guy. 'Fine, but it's like I said, some journalist is likely to beat you to the punch.'
Obermann went to say something but Andreas ignored him and followed Jean into the sparsely furnished Presidential office.
Following the most perfunctory of introductions, the President said, 'Jean tells me that a plague virus has infected a significant percentage of the American population. After what we went through in 2011, why wasn't I informed sooner?' While he didn't seem angry, his voice carried a depth of annoyance.
'Sir,' Obermann cut in. 'The Rhesus virus doesn't kill people. It doesn't even make them sick.'
Doesn't kill people. It irked Andreas that he was even in on the briefing. Party politics, not professional competence had landed Obermann the role of Assistant Secretary of Health, and still thought like a doctor-a mediocre one at that-not a public health professional.
Still with his eyes fixed on Andreas, President Blake sat back in his chair and tapped his steepled fingers together. 'So what's the problem?'
Jean held up the report. 'The CDC has just discovered a staggering side-effect.'
'I gathered that much,' President Blake sent a quick, pointed glance at Obermann. 'What I'd like is an explanation, preferably sometime before we reach Petrapavlovsk.'
Taking that as his cue, Andreas dived right in. 'Sir, we initially thought the Rhesus virus only attacked a protein coating on human blood cells. This protein is an agglutinogen that alerts the immune system to produce antibodies against disease.'
Frowning, Blake leaned towards him. 'So it's another immunodeficiency virus like AIDS?'
'No, sir. As far as we know-well, knew-this protein didn't play a significant role in protecting the body from disease.' He could see the President's eyes glazing over. Shit, how the hell was he supposed to get across such a complex issue in two minutes? He ran his hands through his wiry black hair, a mannerism that his wife said was a dead giveaway that he was nervous, but he had been unable to break himself of the habit.
'Blood groups,' Jean stepped in quickly, 'are defined by the Rhesus or RH Factor. If you're A-positive, for example, you have the proteins. If you're A-neg, you don't.' She glanced warily at Andreas. 'The virus' destruction of the proteins is just a symptom of a vastly more complex condition. Andreas is worried about the ultimate consequences.'
'Sterility,' Andreas said, ignored Obermann's pleading look.
'So it's a secondary complication, like the mumps, right?' Blake said, his eyes darting between them.
'No, sir.' Jean shook her head. 'Sterility is the primary consequence of the disease. The Rhesus virus is spreading fast and it's-'
'One hundred percent contagious,' Andreas said flatly, his eyes focused on the President's.
'In Rh-positive blood groups only,' Obermann piped up.
Shooting him a look of disdain, Andreas finished, 'And one hundred percent of victims become sterile.'
It took several seconds, but the President suddenly blanched. 'Are you saying that everyone with RH-positive blood is catching a bug that makes every one of them sterile?' Ignoring Obermann's frantic gesticulations, Andreas nodded. Now that he had the President's attention, he felt a little calmer.
Head snapping around, Blake pinned Obermann with the stare of an enraged rattlesnake. 'How long have you known this?'
Obermann swallowed and looked at Jean-who had the grace to blush. As much as he was loath to pull Obermann's nuts out of the fire, the man was dangerously incompetent. Any accusations now would only goad him into saying, or worse, doing something even more monumentally stupid than crawling into denial. 'We've lived with the possibility of a doomsday bug since Ebola became an airborne disease,' Andreas said. 'And AIDS is, in effect, a slow burning Andromeda. We knew Rhesus was destroying these proteins. And we knew it was spreading fast, but as Dr. Obermann has pointed out, no one's been getting sick. Hell, Rh-negatives don't even have the protein so the virus was considered a harmless curiosity.'
'After ARC the CDC should have been alerted to such a possibility!' Blake turned his attention to Andreas. 'Need I remind you of what happened to your predecessor?'
Smugness surged across Obermann's face. Andreas, clenching his jaw in a physical effort to restrain himself, replied, 'After which the previous administration ordered the CDC to hand over all of our research on Rhesus to USAMRIID.'
'In all fairness to the Army,' Jean said, sending Andreas a cautionary look, 'there are hundreds of thousands of bacteria and viruses in existence, any one of which has the potential to become a plague organism. Back in 2011, USAMRIID could not have justifiably allocated resources to study one of hundreds of seemingly innocuous viruses while the worst epidemic since Swine Flu ravaged the country.'
The draconian methods the Army had used to control ARC cholera had worked, but they had been deeply offensive to the American people and had arguably cost the previous administration the election. 'Although your administration reinstated the CDC's original mandate,' Andreas said, 'and we've been collecting data on the epidemiology of Rhesus, our budget is still a joke-and USAMRIID still has control of our research.'
With a keen eye on his political butt, Blake declared, 'It's the damned Republican dominated Congress. They keep vetoing the budget.'
'Yes, sir.' Andreas nodded agreeably. In this instance the President was justified in shifting the blame. 'However you look at it the CDC has been set up to take the fall-again. We're not in a position to deal with any major disease outbreak. We're fighting a losing battle against incurable tuberculosis and STDs, West Nile virus, dengue, toxic algae blooms, bird flu-the list is endless and exacerbated by climate change-while trying to re-establish ourselves as a creditable institution. I've spent hours juggling our budget and personnel in a desperate bid to fund the most basic investigations into the epidemiology of Rhesus. There's no money to study the virus itself. I'm not having the CDC wear this; there are too many dedicated people there. You need a scapegoat? Here's my letter of resignation.'
Pulling an envelope from inside his coat pocket, Andreas caught the look of predatory anticipation in Obermann's eyes. Tough. The envelope was empty. He had no intention of being tossed into career obscurity by failing to navigate the treacherous waters of high-level government.
The President waved the envelope aside. 'No, not this time. This time Congress is gonna wear the burden of its stonewalling, I'll see to that. What I need is your recommendations. Can we contain thus bug? Forcibly quarantine the infected, like the Army did with ARC victims?'
Jean eased a finger across her wrist mobile, gesturing to Andreas that they were over time.
'No, sir,' Andreas replied, tucking the envelope back into his pocket. 'Quarantine is useless because Rhesus is not infectious. Although I used the term contagious, that's not strictly accurate. People can't catch Rhesus from one another because it's already inside of them-it's what we call an endogenous retrovirus. That means it's hitchhiking in the DNA of everyone with Rhesus positive blood, just waiting to be switched on. The trigger, not the virus itself, is spreading like a contagion.' He stared at each of them in turn before adding, 'I've seen some nightmare microbes but Rhesus scares the hell out of me because it's in our genes. It's part of what makes us human.'
A shocked silence followed. The President ran a hand across the back of his neck, then asked, 'What percentage of the population are threatened?'
'Rh-negative is a genetically recessive trait that should have evolved into extinction. Why it hasn't-well, maybe a genetic failsafe evolved simultaneously with the virus. If we can't stop Rhesus, at least Rh-negatives assure the continuation of the human species.'
'Don't beat about the bush,' Blake snapped.
'With all due respect, sir, I'm not. Ninety-two percent of the US population is Rh-positive-and up to sixty percent of these have already been infected. But politically, that's not the worst of it.' He paused before delivering the punch line. 'Despite the current low rate of Rhesus activation in Asia and Africa, unchecked, the virus will go active in almost one hundred percent of non-Caucasians.'
'Good God!' The President visibly paled, sat back in his chair and turned to Obermann. 'Jack, talk to me.'
The assistant secretary swallowed and stammered. Jean mercifully stepped into the void, and said, 'Sir, if Rhesus really is in the genes of everyone who's Rh-positive, the demographics are undeniable. Virtually one hundred percent of all Amerindians and subgroups: South American Indians, Eskimos, Pacific Islanders and Asians, are Rh-positive. For African Americans-' She examined the file Andreas had given her. 'It's as high as ninety-six percent. Even the Rh-negatives in that demographic are the result of an injection of Caucasian genes in previous centuries. For native Africans it's near enough to one hundred percent.'
'We're still running down statistics.' Obermann had finally found his voice. 'Hispanics are better off because the Rh-negative gene originated in Spain, where thirty percent of the Basques are negative-'
'Okay, okay, I get the picture,' Blake interrupted, pushing his chair back and standing. 'But Caucasians are almost as badly off, right?'
'About eighty-seven percent,' Jean replied. 'But we're talking racial extinction for non-Caucasians.'
'How soon before you have a cure?'
'Sir,' Obermann said, 'no one has ever developed a cure for a virus.'
'What do you mean?' Blake frowned. 'Of course they have!'
Obermann shook his head. 'Vaccinations to prevent catching some viruses, and anti-virals that inhibit the reproduction of others, yes, but no silver bullet.'
'Besides, Rhesus is endogenous.' Andreas was vaguely surprised that Obermann had managed to get something right. 'It's already in every cell of the human body, and there's been next to no research on it. When we first learned about AIDS we thought we'd have it licked within five years. Forty years on-'
The President stopped him with a raised hand. 'So unless you prevent it from spreading, ninety-two percent of the population will be sterile in... How long do you estimate?'
'No reliable estimates, sir.' Obermann stared upwards, apparently at some invisible calculator. 'Based on the CDC's figures-which are yet to be verified-and given whatever triggered it will probably circulate the planet in a number of waves-'
'Get on with it!' the President snapped.
'It's not ninety-two percent,' Andreas corrected. 'That's just Europe and the US. Factoring in Asia and Africa, over ninety-nine point nine percent of mankind will be sterile within ten years.'
