No one knows the origins of Variola major, but the deadly virus, better known as "smallpox," has left an expansive path of tragedy around the globe. Though smallpox epidemics have been recorded in civilizations as far back as the ancient Egyptians, history knows the disease best as the scourge of the Americas, leaving its deadliest mark on
the highly susceptible natives of the western continents. Introduced to the New World by the crews of Christopher Columbus, smallpox wreaked havoc throughout the entire West Indies and virtually decimated the original Carib Indians who greeted Columbus on his first voyage west.
The Cortes/Narvaez introduction of smallpox into Mexico is estimated to have killed nearly half of the three hundred thousand inhabitants of Mexico City in 1521. Cumulative deaths throughout the country from the highly contagious disease easily numbered in the millions. Similar devastation transpired in South America as well. When Pizarro landed in Peru in 1531 on his great quest for gold, the smallpox virus was already annihilating the Inca population. With his army of less than two hundred men, Pizarro would never have ransacked the Inca empire had the culture not been preoccupied with a chaotic struggle against the ravaging disease. More than five million Incas may have died from smallpox, which all but eradicated their entire civilization.
In North America, Native American tribes were not immune to the onslaught. Numerous tribes of river valley Mound Builders vanished altogether from smallpox, while the Massachusetts and Narragansett tribes were nearly wiped out. Estimates suggest that the population of the New World declined by ninety-five percent in the century following the arrival of Columbus, attributable primarily to smallpox.
The lethal virus didn't stop there, flaring up in sporadic epidemics that killed thousands more in Europe over the next two hundred years. Sinister military minds later made use of the disease as a tool of battle, to intentionally infect opposing forces. Historical allegations claim the British provided smallpox-infected blankets to warring Native American tribes in the 1760s, and employed similar tactics against American troops during the battle for Quebec during the Revolutionary War.
Primitive vaccinations were finally discovered in the early nineteenth century, using a related cowpox virus, which eventually provided some measure of control against the disease. Sporadic outbreaks and Cold War fears prompted routine smallpox vaccinations in the United States up until the nineteen seventies. In large part due to the World Health Organization's successful global battle against the disease, smallpox was declared completely eradicated in 1977. Save for a small research sample at the U.S. Centers for Disease Control, and an unknown quantity developed for military applications in the former Soviet Union, remaining worldwide stocks of the virus were completely destroyed. Smallpox was nearly a forgotten disease until the terrorist attacks in the early years of the new century raised the fear that a contagious virulent outbreak of any form was again a threat to be reckoned with.
The historical ravages of smallpox were of little concern to Irv Fowler at the moment. After mustering the strength to drive himself to the Alaska Regional Hospital emergency room, his only hopes were for a quiet room and an attractive nurse to help him recuperate from whatever form of killer flu was knocking him out. Even when a parade of somber-looking medical professionals kept marching by to have a look at him and then insisted he be wheeled into quarantine, he was feeling too weak to be alarmed. Only when a pair of masked doctors finally informed him that he had tested positive for smallpox did his mind begin to whir. Two thoughts came to mind before delirium washed over his brain again: Could he defy the thirty percent mortality rate? And who else had he infected?
Dirk, I have some terrifying news." The fear in Sarah's voice was palpable, even over the telephone.
"What's wrong?"
"It's Irv. He's sick in the hospital in Anchorage. The doctors say that he has contracted smallpox. I just can't believe it."
"Smallpox? I thought that had all but been eliminated."
"Practically speaking, it has. If the doctors are correct with the diagnosis, it will be the first documented case in the United States in thirty years. The medical authorities are keeping it quiet, though the CDC is rushing vaccination supplies to Alaska in case an outbreak develops."
"How's he holding up?"
"He's at a critical juncture," Sarah replied, nearly choking on the words. "The next two or three days will be crucial to his outcome. He's in quarantine at Alaska Regional Hospital in Anchorage, along with three other people he has had close contact with."
"I'm sorry to hear that," Dirk said with genuine concern in his voice. "Irv's a tough old bird, I'm sure he'll sail through without a hitch. Have you any idea how on earth he contracted smallpox?"
"Well," Sarah replied, swallowing hard, "the incubation period is approximately fourteen days. That would mean he became infected about the time we were on Yunaska ... and aboard the Deep Endeavor!"
"He may have contracted it on our ship?" Dirk asked incredulously.
"I don't know. It was either on the ship or on the island, but it matters little now. The smallpox virus is remarkably contagious. We need to work fast to check everyone who was onboard the Deep Endeavor and isolate those infected. Time is critical."
"What about you and Sandy? You were working and living together with Irv. Are you all right?"
"As CDC employees, Sandy and I were both vaccinated two years ago after concerns were first raised about smallpox as a potential bioterrorist threat. Irv was on loan to us from the state of Alaska's Department of Epidemiology and had not yet received his vaccination."
"Can the crew of the Deep Endeavor still be vaccinated?"
"Unfortunately, it would do no good. The vaccine can be effective within a couple of days of exposure but becomes useless thereafter. It's a terrible disease, as once you've contracted it there is nothing that can be done to combat it until it has run its course."
"I'll contact Captain Burch and we'll check on all the crew members as soon as possible."
"I will be back from Spokane this evening. If you can assemble the crew, I can help the ship's doctor check each man for symptoms in the morning."
"Consider it done. Sarah, I could use another favor from you as well. Okay if I pick you up in the morning?"
"Sure, that would be fine. And, Dirk ... I pray that you are not infected."
"Don't you worry," he replied confidently. "There's way too much rum in my blood to keep any bugs alive."
Dirk immediately called Captain Burch, and, with Leo Del-| gado's help, quickly contacted each crew member who had sailed on the Deep Endeavor. To their relief, none of the men reported signs of illness, and all appeared at the NUMA field office the next morning
As promised, Dirk picked up Sarah at her apartment early in the: morning, electing to drive the big '58 Chrysler.
"My word, this is an enormous car," Sarah declared as she climbed into the finned behemoth.
"It's the original definition of heavy metal," Dirk grinned as he stoked the car out of the parking lot and drove toward the NUMA building.
Many of the Deep Endeavor's crew greeted Sarah warmly when she arrived before the assembled group, and she noted to herself how the entire crew behaved more like close family members than coworkers.
"It is great to see my NUMA friends again," she said, addressing the crew. "As you may know, my associate Irv Fowler, who was on the ship with us, has been diagnosed with smallpox. The smallpox virus is highly contagious and it is critical that those infected be quickly isolated. I will need to know if any of you have suffered from the following symptoms since Irv, Sandy, and I left the Deep Endeavor, fever, headache, backache, severe abdominal pain, malaise, delirium, or rashes on the face, arms, or legs."
One by one, she examined the apprehensive crew, taking temperatures and grilling each man or woman on signs of the deadly disease. Even Dirk and Captain Burch were subject to her checkup, after which Sarah gave a noticeable sigh of relief.
"Captain, just three of you
r crewmen are showing minor flu like signs of illness, which may or may not be preliminary symptoms of the virus. I request that these men remain isolated until we can complete their blood tests. Your remaining crew should avoid large public venues for at least a few more days. I would like to do a follow-up check at the end of the week, but it appears promising there has been nO outbreak among the ship's crew."
"That is good news," Burch replied with audible relief. "Seems odd to me that the virus did not spread easily through a confined ship."
"Patients are most infectious after the onset of rash, which typically occurs twelve to fourteen days after exposure. Irv was well off the boat and working in Anchorage when he reached that stage, so it's possible that the virus had not spread while we were aboard. Captain, I would ensure that his stateroom on the Deep Endeavor is thoroughly sanitized, along with all linen and dining ware aboard the ship, just to be safe."
"I'll see that it's taken care of right away."
"It would appear that the source of the smallpox outbreak was on Yunaska," Dirk speculated.
"I think so," Sarah replied. "It's a wonder that you and Jack were not exposed when you picked us up off the island."
"Our protective gear may have saved us."
"Thank God," she said gratefully.
"It would seem that our mysterious friends on the fishing boat may have been dabbling with something even nastier than cyanide. Which reminds me ... the favor I asked?"
Dirk led Sarah to the Chrysler, where he popped open the large trunk lid. Inside was the porcelain bomb canister from the I-403, carefully wrapped inside a milk crate. Sarah inspected the item with a quizzical look on her face.
"Okay, I give up. What is it?"
Dirk briefly explained his trip to Fort Stevens and the dive on the Japanese submarine.
Can you have your lab identify any remaining residue? I have a hunch there may be something to it."
Sarah stood silent a moment before speaking.
"Yes, we can have it examined," she said in a serious tone. "But it will cost you lunch," she said, finally breaking into a wry smile.
Dirk drove Sarah to the state Public Health Lab on Fir-crest Campus, where they carefully transferred the fragmented bomb casing into a small working lab room. After some chiding for bringing an explosive into the building, a jovial, slightly balding research scientist named Hal agreed to examine the fragment after the conclusion of a staff meeting.
"Looks like a long lunch is in order. Where shall we go?" Sarah asked.
"I know a quiet spot with a nice water view," Dirk replied with a mischievous grin.
"Then take me away in the green machine," she laughed, climbing into the turquoise Chrysler.
Dirk drove the car out of the laboratory's narrow parking lot, easing past a familiar-looking black Cadillac CTS that sat with its engine running. Exiting the campus grounds, he drove south past Seattle's
st ling downtown, then turned west, following a road sign to Fauntleroy. Reaching the water's edge of Puget Sound, Dirk turned to the Fauntleroy Ferry Terminal, then steered the Chrysler up a loading ramp and onto the car deck of a waiting automobile ferry. As he parked the Chrysler amid several rows of tightly packed commuter cars Sarah reached over and squeezed his hand tightly.
"A ferryboat snack bar Donuts and coffee?" she inquired.
"I think we can do better than that. Let's go upstairs and look at the view."
Sarah followed him up a stairwell that emptied onto the open upper deck, where they found a vacant bench facing the northern expanse of Puget Sound. A loud blast from the ferry's horn and a gentle nudge beneath their feet told them they were on their way, as two 2,500-horsepower diesel engines gently pushed the 328-foot vessel away from the dock.
It was a crystal clear day on the Sound, the kind that reminded local residents of why they endure the long, drizzly Pacific Northwest winters to call the area home. In the distance, the Cascade and Olympic mountain ranges sparkled along the horizon, almost shimmering against an azure blue sky so intense it felt close enough to touch. The Seattle downtown cut the skyline in a brilliant reflection of steel and glass, with the landmark Space Needle rising like a futuristic monolith from a George Jetson cartoon. Dirk pointed out a half-dozen other ferries plying their human cargoes about the harbor and watched as they dodged large freighters that cruised along the international shipping lanes.
It was only a fifteen-minute ride to their destination of Vashon Island, and when the boat's captain began aligning the ferry to dock Dirk and Sarah made their way back down to the Chrysler. As he held the door open for Sarah to climb into the passenger seat, Dirk glanced down the row of cars parked behind him. Sitting four spaces behind them, a black Cadillac sedan caught his eye. The same black Cadillac
that had been parked with the motor running at the Public Health Lab. And, he now recalled, the same Cadillac that he had seen during his | drive around Fort Stevens.
"I think I see a friend parked behind us," Dirk said calmly to Sarah. "Think I'll go back and say hello. I'll be right back."
Strolling casually down the row of cars, he observed two Asian men sitting in the Cadillac staring directly at him. As he approached the driver's-side door, he suddenly leaned down and stuck his face into the open window.
"Excuse me, fellas, do you happen to know where the restroom is?" Dirk asked in a hick voice.
The driver, a heavyset goon with a bad crew cut, looked straight ahead, refusing to make eye contact, and slowly shook his head. Dirk looked for, and found, a slight protrusion under the man's coat near his left armpit, the telltale sign of a holstered weapon. Across the car's interior, the accomplice in the passenger seat showed none of the shyness of the driver. A skinny man with long hair and a stringy goatee glared back at Dirk with a menacing grin, a half-smoked cigarette dangling from his lips. On the floorboard between his feet was a large leather case, which concealed something more than a calculator and cell phone, Dirk surmised.
"Find your friend?" Sarah asked when he returned to the Chrysler.
"No," Dirk replied, shaking his head. "I was quite mistaken."
A long blast from the ship's horn followed by two short blasts announced that the ferry was docking and moments later Dirk drove the Chrysler out of the covered car deck and into the bright sunshine. Crossing over the ferry ramp, he drove down a long pier, then turned out of the ferry complex and onto Vashon Island.
Situated on the lower end of Puget Sound, Vashon Island is a thirty-seven-square-mile scenic haven located just minutes from the congested hubbub of Seattle and Tacoma. Reachable only by boat, the island has maintained a quiet, rural tranquility far removed from metropolitan neighbors. Strawberry and raspberry fields dot the lush wooded landscape, which is inhabited by a bohemian mix of writers and computer intellectuals seeking a slower pace than that of city life.
Lowering the convertible top so that they could better enjoy the sights and smells of the landscape, Dirk drove south along the Vashon Highway, away from the ferry terminal at the northern tip of the island. Observing in his rearview mirror, he watched the black Cadillac exit the ferry terminal and fall in line behind him, maintaining a half-mile cushion behind the old car. They continued motoring south for several miles, past quaint cabins and farmhouses interspersed among thick groves of pine trees.
"This feels marvelous," Sarah gushed, stretching her arms above her head and feeling the cool wind rush through her fingers. Dirk smiled to himself, having known too many women who despised riding in a convertible because it mussed up their hair. For him, driving fast in a convertible was like riding a storm out at sea or diving on an unexplored wreck. It was a little added serving of adventure that made life more fun.
Spotting a road sign marked burton, Dirk slowed and turned east off the highway, backtracking a short distance on a small side road that led to the tiny hamlet. They meandered past a small group of houses until the road petered out at the drive of a quaint Victorian inn situated right on the water. Built
as a summer estate for a Seattle newspaper tycoon at the turn of the century, the three-story structure was agleam in pastel shades of green and lavender. Bright flowers sprouted in large pots and flower boxes were wedged everywhere, throwing a vast array of colors to the eye.
"Dirk, it's beautiful here," Sarah beamed as he parked the car next to an ornate gazebo. "How did you discover this place?"
"One of our scientists has a summer home on the island. Claims they have the best king salmon in the state here and I aim to find out."
Dirk led Sarah to an intimate restaurant at one end of the lodge that continued the Victorian decor theme. Finding it nearly empty, they took a table next to a large picture window that faced east across the sound. After ordering a local Chardonnay, they admired the view across Quartermaster Harbor to a smaller island named Maury. To the southeast, they could see Mt. Rainier standing majestically in the distance.
"Reminds me a little of the Grand Tetons," Sarah said, fondly recalling the craggy peaks of northwest Wyoming. "I used to ride horses for miles around Lake Jackson at the base of the Tetons."
"I bet you're a pretty fair downhill skier as well," Dirk ventured.
"I banged up a few sets of skis growing up," she laughed. "How'd you know?"
"Jackson Hole is right around the corner. Skied it once a few years ago. Terrific snow."
"I love it there," Sarah gushed, her hazel eyes glistening. "But I am surprised to hear that you have been to Jackson. I didn't think that a NUMA special projects director was allowed to leave sight of the ocean."
It was Dirk's turn to laugh. "Only on my annual vacation. The Gobi Desert happened to be booked that year," he grinned. "So tell me, how did a nice girl from Wyoming end up working at the Centers for Disease Control?"
"It's because I am a nice girl from Wyoming," she cooed. "Growing up on my parents' ranch, I was always nursing a sick calf or mending a lame horse. My dad always said I was a softie, but I just loved being around animals and trying to help them. So I studied veterinary medicine in school, and, after bouncing around a few jobs, was able to snag the field epidemiologist job with the CDC. Now I travel the world preventing disease outbreaks and helping sick animals, and I even get paid for it," she smiled.