Dance of the Innocents

Dance of the Innocents
Opening, Chapter 1

Jerome Roberts agonized over how he’d break the news to Catherine, the flight attendant he met online. They hadn’t met face to face yet, but Jerome knew it was only a matter of time. Sooner or later, he’d have to come clean. Catherine knew practically everything about Jerome—his taste in music, his favorite foods, his hobbies. She’d even seen his picture. The problem was his job. Jerome told Catherine that he worked for the Centers for Disease Control in Atlanta, which was true. What he neglected to mention was his job description: janitor. Jerome’s pager let out a shriek, and a new message appeared:

Prepare Room 99 for 9:00 a.m. meeting

Jerome parked his floor polisher and hustled to the elevator. Instead of selecting a floor, he inserted a pass card and punched in a six-digit code. It was a long ride. Room 99 resided in a hollowed-out cavern, several hundred feet below the CDC basement level. Only a handful of people outside the CDC even knew it existed. Jerome remembered only one other time Room 99 had been used: during the anthrax attacks.

Room 99 resembled the Situation Room at the White House, only larger. It could accommodate several dozen people, and it included support facilities to house and feed them for extended periods, if necessary. This high-tech crisis center dealt with catastrophe head on. From deep within the earth, decisions would be made, actions implemented, and millions of lives might be saved.

At Robins Air Force Base in nearby Macon, a phalanx of helicopters lifted off the tarmac, headed for Atlanta. The cargo included officials from the National Institutes of Health and the Pentagon, as well as physicians from Harvard, Yale, and other elite medical institutions.

Jerome stepped off the elevator to find a dozen CDC personnel already at work. Blue-suited maintenance workers cleaned and vacuumed. AV technicians checked their equipment. “This is a test, check, one, two,” a voice boomed through speakers in the ceiling. Blue and white CDC logos filled each of three large plasma displays. The logo on the center display then disappeared—replaced by the seal of the president of the United States. Jerome tried his best not to stare at it.

“Jerome, check the supplies in the restrooms,” his supervisor barked.

“I’m on it.” Jerome pushed a supply cart to the women’s restroom and cracked open the door. “Maintenance,” he shouted. No response. Jerome went inside and checked the soap, paper towels, and toilet tissue. Everything looked fine, so he headed to the men’s room. The last stall in the men’s room needed tissue. Jerome grabbed a fresh roll from his cart. He extended his janitor key ring, unlocked the holder, and slid the new roll into place. Then he locked the stall door, dropped his blue coveralls, and lowered himself onto the seat. “Man! The president!” Jerome whispered. “Something big must be goin’ down.” Could this be the big one everybody’s been worried about, he wondered, a dirty bomb or bioattack?

“Attention,” a voice blared from a speaker in the men’s room ceiling, “all persons without high-security clearance must vacate Room 99 immediately.”

“Oh, shit. Are you are doggin’ me?” Jerome heard a two-way radio outside the men’s room. He lifted his feet up against the back of the stall door. The men’s room door opened, and a security guard walked in. The guard eyed the restroom, but didn’t notice the last stall was locked. He gave the all clear on his radio and left.

Up in the CDC main lobby, physicians, researchers, and military brass rushed through security and descended to Room 99. At the White House, the president and his senior staff assembled in the Situation Room, where they were connected to Room 99 via secure satellite video link.

“We are live with the White House,” a CDC aide announced. “The president is online.”

Dr. Charles Miller, CDC’s executive director, took his seat, and a hush fell over the room. Miller’s imposing form sent a clear message about who was in charge. “Mr. President, esteemed doctors, members of the security, military, and intelligence communities …”

Jerome sat quietly on the toilet as Dr. Miller’s words emanated from the men’s room loudspeaker.

“I’m going to cut right to the chase. We have a crisis.”