Callsign: King (Jack Sigler) (Chesspocalypse #1)

“I know of no such request. The patient you inquired about…there is no evidence that she has contracted a contagious disease.”


“That’s my fault.” A new voice intruded, someone from heartland America, judging by the accent. Sara turned to greet the newcomer and saw a Caucasian man moving toward her, flashing a roguish smile. She thought he looked kind of like a young Harrison Ford—no, she amended, he looks like Han Solo. He quickened his step until he reached her, and thrust out a hand. “I’m Max Fulbright. Sorry about the confusion, but it was me that called you here.”

Sara warily accepted his handclasp. “Dr. Fulbright, is it? I think you owe us an explanation.”

“Oh, I’m not a doctor.” Fulbright’s smile never slipped. “I work out of the embassy, cultural attaché.”

Sara resisted the urge to roll her eyes. “Cultural attaché” was usually a euphemism for “spy.” But if Fulbright was indeed a CIA officer—if the Central Intelligence Agency had a special interest in what might be an unidentified contagion—then it confirmed the suspicions that had plagued her from the beginning. From the moment the call came in, something about this incident had seemed off. She hadn’t been able to pin down exactly what it was, but her anxiety had prompted her to bend the rules just enough to send Jack Sigler a text message.

“The patient,” Fulbright continued, “is an American citizen. That’s how I got involved.”

“Dr. Nakamura just told me that there’s no evidence of infectious disease,” Sara countered, unmoved by his smile or his evident sincerity. “And he’s imminently more qualified than you to make that judgment. Do you have any idea how costly it is to spin up a CDC response team? And, what if there’s a real outbreak somewhere, while we’re here running down your false alarm? Lives could be lost. Mr. Fulbright, didn’t your mother ever tell you the story of the little boy who cried wolf?”

“With all due respect to Dr. Nakamura,” Fulbright gave a polite bow to the WHO representative, “I’d appreciate a second opinion. And Dr. Fogg, as you’ll recall, in the end, there really was a wolf.”

Sara sighed then glanced over her shoulder to where her team was already unpacking their gear. “Kerry, find out where they want us to set up.”

Kerry Frey was a compact man in his fifties, with a kindly face and glasses that made him look like an absent-minded professor instead of one of the world’s leading virologists. He was also Sara’s assistant in charge of personnel. Frey nodded and immediately headed for the hospital entrance.

Sara turned back to Fulbright. “Just because there’s smoke doesn’t mean there’s fire, but once the firemen arrive, they have to check it out anyway. You got us here, Fulbright, so that’s what we’re going to do: check it out.”

“I couldn’t hope for anything more.”

Sara shook her head in resignation, and then joined the rest of her team as they unpacked their rented vehicles. The team moved with practiced efficiency, shuttling the heavy plastic cases containing their portable lab equipment into the hospital. Everyone in the team knew exactly what their job was; her role as team leader did not excuse Sara from pack mule duty. The first priority in any outbreak situation was establishing the command center and laboratory facilities, and that meant everyone had to pitch in to get the equipment up and running. In this case, the area designated for their use was a conference room on the first floor of the hospital.

The second priority was to assess the infected patient.

While Frey and the rest of the team started breaking out computer hardware, Sara began donning a one-piece, single-use Level A hazmat suit, made from disposable Tyvek.

“Can I get one of those?”

Sara realized that Fulbright had followed her team into the conference room. Dr. Nakamura was nowhere to be seen.

“Sorry, none to spare.” She resisted the impulse to make a dig about his lack of any kind of meaningful qualifications. She’d already made her point, and given the size of Fulbright’s ego, it seemed likely that further comment on that subject would just bounce right off the man.

As she pulled the suit around her shoulders, leaving the headgear off for the moment, Nakamura entered the room, accompanied by a handsome bearded black man wearing a white lab coat. The WHO representative made the introduction. “This is Dr. Abdullah. He has been treating the patient.”

Abdullah’s eyes drifted to the hazmat suit and he swallowed nervously. “When we heard you were coming, we moved her—Miss Carter, the patient—to an isolation room on the fourth floor, but… We have very limited resources here.”

Sara surmised that the Ethiopian doctor was probably wondering if he had unknowingly contracted some horrible virus. “The suits are just a precautionary measure. I’m sure they’re not necessary, but I have to follow our protocol.”

The doctor nodded, evincing a measure of relief.