Peyton began pacing. “Really? What are the symptoms?”
“It presents similar to the flu but with less initial intensity. It’s intermittent, too. One day the symptoms are in full swing: headache, cough, fever, exhaustion, the next the patient feels almost fine. The mortality rate is exceptionally low—so far.”
A chill ran through Peyton’s body. He had just described exactly the symptoms the two Americans had experienced before developing the viral hemorrhagic fever that had killed one of them and the British man.
She fought to keep her voice even. “How many cases?”
“Over a million in Asia, another million in Europe. Maybe two hundred thousand in South America so far. But we think there are a lot more. We’ve got half a million cases here in the US, but we’re getting updated stats from state health departments so we expect that number to climb.”
It was officially a pandemic. Peyton wanted to present her theory, but she needed to get all the facts first.
“How could it spread that far so fast? How did GPHIN miss it? How did we miss it?”
“The symptoms aren’t differentiated enough from a cold or flu. When health departments realized that patients who had gotten the flu vaccine were still getting sick, they started tracking it more closely. The intermittent nature of the disease also made it hard to establish a pattern. But we’ve got a sample in the lab, and we’ll have it sequenced soon. Whatever the virus is, we think it must be throwing off a lot of viral escape vectors. It’s pretty tough. The good news is that out of the almost three million known cases, we’ve only seen a few dozen deaths. It’s remarkably non-lethal.”
“Interesting.” Since Thanksgiving was tomorrow, Peyton asked the next logical question: “Is the director considering a travel advisory?”
“He is, but I count it as unlikely. The White House has already come out against it. Better to let a lot of people get the sniffles than kill the economy—that’s the thinking on their end. If the mortality rate was higher, the calculus might be more complicated.”
“Yeah. Figured. Listen, I know this is probably a long shot, but I want to mention it. The Kenyan physician who initially treated the Americans took a detailed history. Both of these guys had flu-like symptoms before they broke with the hemorrhagic fever.”
A long pause, then Elliott said, “You think…”
“I think we should compare the genomes of both viruses to see if they’re related—just to be safe.”
The unspoken implication was that millions around the world were already infected with the deadly virus that was killing so many in Kenya.
Elliott’s voice remained calm. “It’s a good idea. I’ll make it a priority.”
Peyton exhaled and stopped pacing. “Great.”
Curiosity finally overcame her. “How about the kid?”
Elliott’s hesitation gave her the news before he spoke. “I’m really sorry, Peyton. He died in the air a few hours ago.”
The words were a punch in the gut. Less than twenty-four hours ago, she had walked into Lucas Turner’s hospital room and promised him she was going to do everything she could for him. She wondered if she had.
“So much for ZMapp,” she said, trying to sound objective but failing to hide the emotion in her voice.
“You did everything you could, Peyton. And you sent us samples to work with. Let us do our part.”
Peyton thought about the young man’s note to his parents, which Dr. Kibet had transcribed in the notebook. Lucas Turner had been brave. And selfless. And too young to die. Dr. Kibet had taken good care of him—the best he could. She hoped Kibet would fare better than Lucas Turner, but she wasn’t optimistic.
She returned her focus to the phone call. “Right. Also, we’ve got another situation here: a missing EIS agent named Millen Thomas. He was exploring some nearby caves today, and we haven’t heard anything from him for a couple of hours. I’ve sent out a search team.”
“Understood. He’ll turn up, Peyton. Probably lost his phone or batteries went dead.”
“Yeah, I hope so.”
“Anything I can do?”
“No, we’re working on it here.”
“All right. Call me if you need anything. And keep your head up, okay?”
Back at the tent, Jonas was typing on his laptop.
“Lucas Turner passed away en route to Emory,” Peyton said, trying to sound unemotional.
Jonas looked up, his big brown eyes focusing on Peyton. “I’m really sorry.”
“Yeah. Me too.”
A few hours later, Hannah ducked through the tent flaps, the satphone held to her ear. “The second team is at the cave site. The SUV is gone. Kito hasn’t made radio contact.”
“Signs of a struggle?” Peyton asked.
“No,” Hannah replied; she had apparently already asked.
Peyton thought for a moment. “Maybe their phone is dead. They could be on their way back here, or they may have moved on to the second cave.”
“Or they’re trapped in the cave,” Hannah said.
“It’s certainly a possibility. Have two of the men suit up and go in. Tell them not to separate and to make radio contact on the minute. Call the Kenyan MOH. Request a medevac helicopter be sent to the location; we have reason to believe that one of our personnel and one or more of theirs is injured. If we don’t find any signs of Millen, we’ll move to the next location on their itinerary.”
To Colonel Magoro, Peyton said, “Can you send more men?”
Magoro looked uneasy. “Yes, but we’re spreading ourselves too thin.”
“Do it,” Peyton said. “And let’s get reinforcements here asap.”
“Understood.”
At six p.m. the team cleared some of the clutter off the long conference table and sat down to eat. They had still heard nothing from Colonel Magoro’s second team. The third team would arrive within another hour.