Paul McKellips - Jericho 3

“What did you do during the president’s ban on animal research? Did you shut down?”

The barista handed them their drinks, and Groenwald left a $5 bill on the counter as they walked away.

“What ban?” Groenwald said with a sly smile on his face.

“Roger that!”

“So in a nutshell, we’re trying to develop new and improved diagnostics, treatments, and vaccines for diseases caused by naturally occurring infectious agents as well as microbes that may be intentionally released into a civilian population.”

“Very impressive, Dr. Groenwald; I can’t wait to get started.”

“Colonel, please forgive me, but I’m required to give you a very basic briefing. I’d have to do this even if you were the Secretary of Defense.”

“I completely understand.”

Groenwald led her over to some open seats.

“We have all levels of biosafety level laboratory suites in this facility. In the BSL-1, we generally do not deal with agents typically associated with disease in healthy people. In the BSL-2 labs, we are dealing with agents associated with human disease. You’ll see biohazard signs, and you need to take extra precaution with sharps as most of your work done in a BSL-2 will be done on a bench top. In the BSL-3 labs, we’ll be working with agents associated with human disease caused by contamination through the air, or aerosol. These diseases have serious, sometimes lethal, consequences.”

“I presume decontamination of all waste?”

“Waste and decontamination of all lab garments and PPE before laundering is mandatory. You’ll see Class One and Class Two biological safety cabinets, and the labs are physically separated from access corridors. These labs have self-closing, double-door access. The exhaust air is not recirculated but negative air is pumped into each BSL-3 lab.”

“And your BSL-4? Based on my orders, I presume that’s where I’ll be assigned?”

“It’s the smallest lab in here but the most potent. We’ll be working with agents that spread disease through aerosol contamination, and in many of them we don’t know the cause of transmission. They are usually life-threatening and possibly on a global scale. All clothing is changed upon entry including undergarments. Shower on exit, and all material goes through decontamination on exit. I presume you have worn the suits?”

“Yes, sir, but only in a facility that wasn’t ‘hot’. It was a training exercise.”

“Your breathing suit weighs about 10 pounds, and that’ll add an extra six inches to your natural height. Both BPS 400 suit options are full-bodied, air-supplied, positive-pressured personnel suits. You’ll be tethered to an overhead air hose at all times. Our BSL-4 labs are in separate, isolated zones within the building. The labs have a dedicated supply of exhaust, vacuum and decontamination systems. Throw in two-foot walls of solid concrete, and I can assure you, Colonel Raines, that nothing is getting out of this building.”

Raines smiled but was hardly relieved. Nothing from the federal government seemed reassuring.

“That’s my briefing, any questions?”

“No, sir. I’d love to see the facility and my office. Sir, my orders don’t delineate exactly what infectious disease I’ll be working on.”

“Well, according to the classified information I received from General Ferguson’s office, I think they want to exploit your expertise on hemorrhagic fevers — Marburg in particular.”

All levity vanished as Raines began to process the work at hand.

“Marburg. A far cry from working with dolphins or second-guessing SARS.”

“You are familiar with Marburg, are you not?” Groenwald asked with some hesitation.

“Seven days after infection, patients suffer flu-like symptoms before the virus multiplies. Blood starts to seep from the skin, the mouth, the eyes and the ears. Internal organs hemorrhage into bloody, unrecognizable masses. Up to 90 percent die within weeks, and they can be passed to another person by a kiss, a touch or even a sneeze. Yes Dr. Groenwald, I’m familiar with Marburg; it’s a highly communicable pathogen.”

“Your mission is to understand it, defend against it, and hopefully limit it to an outbreak, God willing, and not an epidemic… God forbid.”

An elevator with card reader and a biometric took them automatically to the appropriate floor. No floor buttons were displayed within the elevator car. Raines and Groenwald emerged and stood in a dividing corridor between two labs. The outer lab was the BSL-3 where scientists, medical doctors, researchers and veterinarians were busy working on dangerous infectious diseases. The inner lab was the BSL-4 where Raines would work on the most dangerous pathogens in the world.

“Your old friend and his sister, the bubonic plague, are in there,” Groenwald said as he pointed to BSL-3. “Ebola, Marburg and a few others that I’m not permitted to identify are here in the inner sanctum. These killers are transmissible, currently incurable and under quarantine.”

“How long have you been at Fort Detrick, Dr. Groenwald?”

“Thirteen years now, mostly doing infectious disease work before this facility was built.”

“Before that?”

“Baltimore at the ADRC, the Johns Hopkins Alzheimer’s Disease Research Center. Mostly mouse models, Drosophila and some non-human primates.”

“Fruit flies for Alzheimer’s disease? Amazing.”

“Unfortunately AD will kill 79,000 Americans this year, and next year, and more the year after that as our population ages. Let’s just hope that Marburg fever doesn’t ever exceed those numbers, or we’ll all be in trouble.”

FOB Lightning

Paktya Province, Afghanistan

The convoy of Mine Resistant Ambush Protected MRAPs, long-bed flats and a wrecker team paused outside the checkpoint at FOB Lightning. Camp and Billy Finn exited the back access door of their MRAP. They showed their badges to two AK-47 toting Gurkha guards and walked up the gravel walk between T-walls to the checkpoint turnstile where US Army guards welcomed them in. Passing the path to Terp Village, they unbolted the wooden gate as the convoy drove out and exited the main checkpoint on FOB Thunder next door, before driving over to the city of Gardez.

US Navy Captain “Camp” Campbell fired off a stiff salute to an approaching soldier, a salute that was instantly, though hesitantly, returned.

“Specialist, where can I find the Mayor Cell?”

“Sir, veer to the right, about 700 yards up and on your right, next door to the Tactical Operations Center. And sir?”

“Yes, specialist.”

“This is a non-salute base, so… you know.”

Camp rolled his eyes and shrugged his shoulders as he and Finn made their way up the gravel road toward the Mayor Cell. The ominous hilltop fortresses of Alexander the Great began to emerge over FOB Lightning as they knocked on the Mayor’s door.

First Sergeant Ramirez was the Mayor of FOB Lightning and was responsible for heating, air conditioning, plumbing, and food and billeting.

“Good morning, sergeant, Mr. Finn and I just arrived by convoy, and we’ll be needing some rooms.”

“Rooms? Would you like carpeting, granite counter-tops, a mini-bar and indoor plumbing, too?” Ramirez asked with less than subtle contempt for a high-ranking military officer. “This ain’t no Hilton, captain. How long will you be here?”

“Several weeks, a couple of months, not really sure.”

Ramirez looked at Camp’s insignia badge.

“You’re a doctor. Replacement for Major Banks?”

“Yes, something like that. “

“Civilian or contractor?” Ramirez asked Finn.

“Civilian,” snapped Finn. He hated the question.