A Heartbeat Away - Michael Palmer [51]
Tomlinson nodded.
“I have, sir.”
“And you found no anomalies, nothing out of the ordinary.”
“That’s correct,” Tomlinson replied.
“And the security cameras? You’re suggesting playback showed no suspicious activity inside the chamber prior to the start of my address.”
Again Tomlinson nodded.
“Yes, sir. There was no suspicious activity whatsoever.”
Allaire gritted his teeth. He felt his anger at Tomlinson growing, and drew in several calming breaths. WRX3883 could cause erratic behavior and even serious aggression. Was he just upset at Tomlinson’s lack of progress, or was he experiencing a physiological change? He shuddered at the possibility. Subtly, he checked for telltale markings on his palm.
Nothing.
What would he do if they suddenly showed up?
“Well, where does that leave us, Hank?” he managed. “These aren’t phantoms we’re dealing with here. These are real flesh and blood terrorists. We need to know what vulnerability of ours they exploited. It may be our best way of tracking them down.”
“My team is open to suggestions, Mr. President,” Tomlinson said. “We want to catch who did this as much as everyone here.”
Cameras monitoring the space outside the Hard Room picked up the arrival of Griff and Angie along with the six armed men accompanying them. Allaire motioned for Salitas to let the group inside. Griff and Angie entered, each carrying a box of what Allaire assumed would contain the collected blood samples. A sea of blue biocontainment suits followed Griff and Angie into the secret room. For several tense moments the hum of breathing apparatuses punctuated an otherwise silent gathering.
“What’s the status of C Group?” Allaire asked Griff.
Griff turned toward the president. Though Griff’s face was partially obscured by his suit’s visor and thick beard, Allaire could see the distress brewing in the man’s eyes.
“They’re starting to show signs of respiratory difficulty and disorientation,” Griff said. “No fatalities to report, but it’s still early.”
“And Admiral Jakes?” Allaire asked.
“He’s not well. None of them are.”
“Thank you.”
Griff hesitated a moment, then added, “I heard about what happened in the House Chamber. I heard about a video—”
Allaire raised his hand.
“Not now, Dr. Rhodes,” he said. “We’re trying to figure out how these terrorists got the virus inside the Capitol in the first place. You know this virus best. Any theories how it could have been done?”
“I’ve been trying to figure that out myself,” Griff said. “I have to believe there’s a connection between Genesis obtaining WRX3883 and my being framed for the theft.” Griff paused there. He and Allaire held an uncomfortable stare for a moment before he continued. “As to how they pulled this off, well, I have no good theories at this time.”
The president rose from his seat and turned his back to the room. Allaire stayed silent while his mind worked feverishly to concoct a plausible scenario. Then he spoke aloud, uttering a Latin phrase, one his medical school professors often quoted.
“Res ipsa loquitur,” Allaire said. He repeated the phrase twice more, once with his back to the room, and again after turning around to face them all.
“What are you saying, Mr. President?” Tomlinson asked.
There were other confused looks.
“Res ipsa loquitur is Latin. It means ‘the thing speaks for itself,’ ” Allaire explained. “In malpractice lawsuits, prosecuting attorneys who successfully argue res ipsa loquitur are guaranteed a significant payday. You see, our court of law is based upon the premise that we’re innocent until proven guilty. Res ipsa loquitur turns that premise on its head. It says, because something happened and normally that something shouldn’t have happened, you, the accused, are guilty of causing it to happen. Therefore, you are guilty of malpractice. Res ipsa loquitur.”
Jordan Lamar appeared even more confused.
“I’m sorry, Mr. President. I don’t see how that helps us.”
Allaire turned his back again and walked over to a three-foot-high black metal filing cabinet. He opened the cabinet, which was stocked with