His parents were gray, conservative, hard-working Midwesterners, both of whom died early—his mother of cancer, and his father in a construction accident that left Griff and his older sister Louisa set financially. He was a rebel in school—a wiseass many called him—well coordinated but disinterested in sports; brilliant, but with a history of underachievement that was well on the far side of arrogance. The boys respected and feared him because of his reckless disregard for danger and his body. The girls, with few exceptions, kept their distance. The cops only saw him as a troublemaker—a brawler who, as often as not, would end up in the ER pummeled by someone twice his size.
Then Louisa died.
Meningitis, they told Griff. Meningicoccal meningitis. Within one hour of her first symptom, a headache, she was in a coma. Less than thirty-six hours later, without ever regaining consciousness, she was dead. She was twenty-four at the time. He was seventeen.
Griff watched the ripples sent across the Reflecting Pool by the powerful rotors. Escorted by several military aircraft, the chopper had passed unhindered through restricted airspace, touching down atop a cordoned-off area of frozen lawn between East Capitol Street and Capitol Driveway. Griff had studied maps of the Capitol complex en route, and knew they had landed near the entrance to the recently constructed visitor center.
Emerging from the belly of the chopper, his legs felt stiff, his muscles ached, and his temples were beginning to throb. Fatigue? Dehydration? Stress? Perhaps just the transition to freedom from twenty-three hours a day for nine months isolated in an eight-by-eight concrete cell.
He wondered what symptoms the seven hundred or so inside the Capitol were experiencing. Certainly there would already be some coughing. A good percentage of Sylvia Chen’s monkeys who had been dosed with WRX3883 by aerosol had rapidly developed a dry, hacking cough, accompanied by an outpouring of mucus. Several of the animals had died even before the virus could have taken hold in their nervous systems, probably from sudden airway obstruction, but possibly from some sort of allergic reaction to the germs themselves.
Several times, Griff had called the vet working for Chen, and insisted she treat the animals. But the woman, surly and arrogant, admitted that although she was a D.V.M., she was a specialist in pathology, paid more to autopsy the subjects than to keep them going.
Giant mobile spotlights illuminated the predawn darkness with enough wattage to turn midnight into noon. A camouflage field jacket, supplied to Griff earlier, protected him against the crisp morning air. He rubbed at his eyes and reflexively tugged at his tangled beard. Hours earlier, the flight crew on the C-22B had handed him a heavy scissors, a package of Gillette disposable razors, and a can of shaving cream, but he declined their offer.
The president needs to see the man he’s made .
Shielding himself against the wind from the rotors, Griff took in his new surroundings with interest and awe. A mishmash of barriers—concrete blocks, low steel gates, wooden sawhorses, and barrels—formed a secure perimeter along all the roadways bordering the Capitol that he could see. Uniformed soldiers, police officers, FBI agents, and combat-ready personnel from SWAT patrolled the makeshift perimeter, their guns ready. At periodic intervals, there were sharpshooters standing beside the tripods that bore their long-range rifles.
Well behind the soldiers and police, the curious lined the perimeter, in places standing five or even ten deep. Griff estimated the crowd to be a thousand or more, with people still arriving, the vapor from their frozen breath swirling in the rotors’ wash. Some had impressive cameras and appeared to be from the media, others were using cell phones and camcorders to capture whatever might be transpiring.
History in the making.
If they only knew.
In addition to the military and
Then Louisa died.
Meningitis, they told Griff. Meningicoccal meningitis. Within one hour of her first symptom, a headache, she was in a coma. Less than thirty-six hours later, without ever regaining consciousness, she was dead. She was twenty-four at the time. He was seventeen.
Griff watched the ripples sent across the Reflecting Pool by the powerful rotors. Escorted by several military aircraft, the chopper had passed unhindered through restricted airspace, touching down atop a cordoned-off area of frozen lawn between East Capitol Street and Capitol Driveway. Griff had studied maps of the Capitol complex en route, and knew they had landed near the entrance to the recently constructed visitor center.
Emerging from the belly of the chopper, his legs felt stiff, his muscles ached, and his temples were beginning to throb. Fatigue? Dehydration? Stress? Perhaps just the transition to freedom from twenty-three hours a day for nine months isolated in an eight-by-eight concrete cell.
He wondered what symptoms the seven hundred or so inside the Capitol were experiencing. Certainly there would already be some coughing. A good percentage of Sylvia Chen’s monkeys who had been dosed with WRX3883 by aerosol had rapidly developed a dry, hacking cough, accompanied by an outpouring of mucus. Several of the animals had died even before the virus could have taken hold in their nervous systems, probably from sudden airway obstruction, but possibly from some sort of allergic reaction to the germs themselves.
Several times, Griff had called the vet working for Chen, and insisted she treat the animals. But the woman, surly and arrogant, admitted that although she was a D.V.M., she was a specialist in pathology, paid more to autopsy the subjects than to keep them going.
Giant mobile spotlights illuminated the predawn darkness with enough wattage to turn midnight into noon. A camouflage field jacket, supplied to Griff earlier, protected him against the crisp morning air. He rubbed at his eyes and reflexively tugged at his tangled beard. Hours earlier, the flight crew on the C-22B had handed him a heavy scissors, a package of Gillette disposable razors, and a can of shaving cream, but he declined their offer.
The president needs to see the man he’s made .
Shielding himself against the wind from the rotors, Griff took in his new surroundings with interest and awe. A mishmash of barriers—concrete blocks, low steel gates, wooden sawhorses, and barrels—formed a secure perimeter along all the roadways bordering the Capitol that he could see. Uniformed soldiers, police officers, FBI agents, and combat-ready personnel from SWAT patrolled the makeshift perimeter, their guns ready. At periodic intervals, there were sharpshooters standing beside the tripods that bore their long-range rifles.
Well behind the soldiers and police, the curious lined the perimeter, in places standing five or even ten deep. Griff estimated the crowd to be a thousand or more, with people still arriving, the vapor from their frozen breath swirling in the rotors’ wash. Some had impressive cameras and appeared to be from the media, others were using cell phones and camcorders to capture whatever might be transpiring.
History in the making.
If they only knew.
In addition to the military and
Similar Books
