Page 40 of The Phoenix (Spy Girl 6)
With the outbreak of an unknown disease spreading throughout the world, we suggest that you stay in your home. Until we know more, avoiding contact seems to be the best form of protection. Both our behind-the-scenes connections and the news are telling us the same thing—the outlook is very grim. We do know that an announcement from the World Health Committee is imminent, acknowledging that they consider this to be an extinction-level event. We’d like to take a moment to thank each and every one of you for being a part of our organization and pray that we will meet again—whether at our next meeting or wherever is next for us all.
“That’s it?” I say. “This is bullshit. I’m done waiting. Intrepid and I are going to hunt down each of the remaining members of The Echelon. We’ll make them tell us how to stop this. You were tracking all the members. I want a list of their locations—starting with Maximillian and Rutherford. They are the leaders. Sergey and Zayn might not know the full plan, but I do know this: they know how to survive it.”
“That’s why I don’t think they are behind this,” Ares argues. “It’s not just them who would need to survive, but also The Society and their hundreds. They have offered nothing to their members. And you told me that Dupree said that Lorenzo was supposed to be king. How could they assure his survival if not through The Society?”
“I don’t know,” I say, slumping down in a chair. “But the timing is pretty suspect, being as today was the day a coup was supposed to have taken place.”
“We have something else to worry about,” Ares says, pulling up a map on the screen on the wall.
“More war ships?” I ask.
Intrepid nods. “Countries with high naval assets have moved into locations surrounding the country. You’re looking at American, Chinese, Japanese, Indian, Egyptian, and Iranian forces. If you didn’t know better, you’d think we were looking at World War Three. Even scarier is that North Korea has decided to get into the mix. They might kill us all before the disease can wipe us out if someone gets nervous and presses the wrong button.”
“Could one of those countries be behind it?” I ask as my phone rings. “Hang on, Lorenzo is calling.”
“I don’t have much time,” he says, “but I want you to leave Montrovia immediately.”
“But there’s a quarantine,” I argue.
“If anyone can sneak out of the country, it is you, Lee.”
“Why do you want me out?” I ask. “What’s happening?”
“War ships have surrounded us. They are threatening to wipe out the country to stop the spread of the disease.”
“They won’t do that,” I say. “They already have cases everywhere.”
“I’m just telling you what discussions are taking place. The death toll keeps climbing. I fear we have already lost. And North Korean forces have just arrived. We are on the brink of World War Three. Please know that, whatever happens next, I love you. And everything I have done and will do has been for you and my country,” he says and then hangs up on me.
I relay what Lorenzo just said to Intrepid and my father, tears filling my eyes.
“Our timeline is getting shorter,” Intrepid states.
“Look,” Ares says, nodding toward the television.
He turns up the volume, and we listen as the president of the United States somberly announces that his own wife has succumbed to the virus and reiterates what the World Health Committee just communicated—that this is an extremely dangerous disease. He also explains the military situation in Montrovia and what it could mean for our world. He hints that a rogue nation might be behind the disease and that, if that’s the case, they vow to find a cure and seek retribution.
“That’s just great. Like we need retribution at a time like this,” I say. “I’m headed to the hospital to check on everyone. In an hour from now, I’m sneaking out of this country to go find them. And, if you don’t want to go with me, Intrepid, that’s fine. I was trained to do this by myself.”
My father opens his mouth to speak, but I’m out of the room before he can argue with me.
In the United States, a few minutes after President Spear’s speech, a group is meeting in Washington behind closed doors. Vice President Harold Macklin has just signed a document stating that he believes President Ryan Spear is not fit to serve—citing the recent emotional trauma of the president losing his wife, being quarantined in another country, and possibly suffering from the disease himself. Now, he just has to wait for Congress to approve it, so he can become the acting president.
At the same time, President Ryan Spear is on the phone with the Joint Chiefs, who are discussing how to control the country in this time of crisis. Looting has started in the United States, and police and rescue personnel are becoming overwhelmed. They discuss a drastic plan of action should it become necessary.
“I can’t believe I’m going to give this speech,” Lorenzo states to those around him. He’s in a small conference room in the royal wing of the hospital. “I’ve only been king a short time.”
“Our country is at war,” the Prime Minister says, patting him on the shoulder like his father used to. “In times like these, the duty to control our armed forces lies with our king. As it has for centuries.”
“You were trying to change that,” Lorenzo counters.
“Yes,” the man says, lowering his head. “I see now, that was a mistake on my part. You have my support along with that of the full parliament from this moment forward. Politics don’t matter much right now. Our country’s survival is what does.”
“Thank you.”
Lorenzo’s press secretary points her finger toward the front of the room, which has been transformed into an area for the press conference.
He stands in front of a podium, and when the cameraman lets him know he’s live, he starts speaking, “My fellow countrymen and our Olympic guests, a great plague has descended onto Montrovia. One that doctors are working hard to find a cure for. You’ve been asked to stay in your homes.
“As of today, our military will be taking control of our streets, and our country’s borders have been closed. During this health crisis, we have been surrounded by naval forces from numerous countries, which are trying to determine if we should live or if they can stop this disease by dropping bombs that would destroy us all—” Lorenzo stops mid-sentence, leaving everyone who is watching wondering what’s going on.
A moment later, he is handed a single sheet of paper.
He holds his hand up to indicate that he needs a second, and as he scans the page, a smile spreads across his face.
When he looks up, he says, “Dr. Bracken, would you please tell the world of this news?”
A man in a white lab coat makes his way to the podium.
“I’m Dr. Bracken, head of the World Health Committee. I’ve been on-site here in Montrovia, working with our team. Early this morning, PureGen—a pharmaceutical research company—contacted us about a possible cure.
“It seems that, six years ago, one of their scientists discovered a disease—one so deadly that the company set about to stockpile enough supply so that, if it ever manifested, they could wipe it out. They sent a sample to us to confirm it is the same virus. We have just confirmed that it is. I should add that we have been told that the scientist who discovered the virus might have been compromised by a rogue group. One that probably caused what we now believe to be a bioterror attack on the Olympics. The scientist died recently under suspicious circumstances but not before receiving a large deposit of money. While PureGen assures us that their research facility is extremely secure, they believe the scientist might have stolen a test sample, which was then used to re-create the virus that was spread here in Montrovia.
“Shipments are currently being loaded onto planes, which will be flown to strategic locations around the globe. It will be up to each country to determine how best to administer the cure to each of their citizens, but it is imperative that each and every citizen take this vaccine, or the world as we know it—your country, you
r family, your world—will cease to exist.”
He nods to the camera and then moves out of the way, so Lorenzo can return to the podium.
“Thank you, Doctor,” he says. “We will be eagerly awaiting the shipment here in Montrovia. To my countrymen, I will be back with information on how we will administer these inoculations. Stay at home or in your hotel rooms and please, peacefully await our saving.”
When I get to the hospital, it’s even busier than last night. Sick people are sitting on the floor, leaning against the walls, family members surrounding them. The staff looks harried. Volunteers are handing out water, sandwiches, and over-the-counter pain relievers. I spot Chef Pierre Dassi coming out of a patient room.
“Huntley Von Allister,” he says to me.
“Mr. Dassi, it’s good to see you. Although not under the best of circumstances.”
“At least people are feeling more upbeat at the thought of a cure.”
“Yes, I imagine so.”
“Life is wonderful, even when faced with despair.”
“As long as the food is good?” I ask, noticing he’s got a bag filled with baguettes and other treats.
“I must do my part,” he says. “I’m sorry to hear of the First Lady’s passing.”
I lower my head. “Thank you.”
“Please give the family my condolences. And, if we all get through this, you must come to my restaurant to celebrate. We will be opening the wine I’ve been saving in my cellar for I don’t know what, but it is time to share it. And, if you are looking for a special chef to help with your wedding, you just call Dassi.” He hands me a business card.
“If I get married, you can be sure that I will,” I say, giving him a hug. “Can I help you?”
“But, of course,” he says, rushing to a trolley and grabbing a bag like his. “Take this. Break bread. Make friends. Share stories. It’s all we can do at this point besides pray.”
“Thank you. I will.”
