The Genesis Plague - Michael Byrnes [85]
Another glance at the test strip. Two more minutes to go.
Levin tried to block out the distressing thoughts of Al-Zahrani infecting the troops with some mutated flu strain. Worse yet, the terrorist might already have infected a number of Iraqis during his clandestine movement from city to city.
In Iraq, sparse terrain provided hardy, natural buffers that counteracted disease transmission. But one infected individual could easily ignite a lethal epidemic within one of the region’s densely populated cities. A person infected in that city then travels to a virgin population in another city … and from there, the dominos would keep falling. It was a sobering reminder that most wars in history - from the Mongolian invasion of the Roman Empire, to Hernando de Soto’s conquest of the Americas, to Napoleon’s attempt at world domination - had been determined not by military might and superior weapons … but by germs.
Crawford was quick to label Levin a worry-wart. That was to be expected. Military types focused primarily on munitions and artillery, and needed constant reminding that the most potent threats of modern warfare were not armed militants with an eye on martyrdom. Crawford, in particular, was a diehard battlefield minimalist who believed that a marine could survive with only a Bowie knife. It took a lot of convincing that sensible preventive measures were not intended to soften Crawford’s killing machine.
Even Crawford had learned the hard way that infectious disease should not be ignored. During a reconnaissance mission the previous summer, Crawford’s platoon had been patrolling Iraq’s southern desert, toting sixty to a hundred pounds of gear in scorching temperatures that reached 130deg Fahrenheit. Short on water rations, thanks to chronic logistical problems with contractors deploying Water Buffalo supply trucks, the troops had been forced to drink from untreated local water supplies that were teeming with harmful microorganisms. That led to widespread bouts of dysentery that practically debilitated the entire platoon. Naturally, Crawford wasn’t affected since he’d had plenty of bottled water for himself.
‘Stop worrying,’ Levin told himself. He wiped his clammy hands on his pants.
Suddenly Crawford’s growing frustration with the patient’s hopeless condition hit its crescendo. The colonel yelled bloody murder for a full minute, then kicked over a crate and stormed out from the tent.
‘Lunatic,’ Levin mumbled. ‘That guy is a walking pressure cooker.’ He made eye contact with the Kurd, who shrugged, set down the marker and notepad, then made his way outside. Levin looked down at his watch to see that it was now thirty seconds over the ten-minute mark.
He looked down at the test strip, fully expecting to see a pink stain that would indicate that Al-Zahrani tested positive for swine flu or avian flu. His anxiety kicked into overdrive when he saw a single blue strip.
Negative?
48
Reaching the top of the slope, Crawford caught his breath before summoning Staff Sergeant Richards from the cave entrance. ‘How much longer till it’s cleared?’
Richards pursed his lips. ‘Maybe a couple hours,’ he guessed. ‘I’m pushing the men as hard as I can. It’s too narrow in there to run a second line.’
‘Push harder,’ Crawford insisted. ‘I want to find out exactly what they brought into that cave,’ he reminded him.
‘I understand.’
Crawford looked over to Jason Yaeger, who was hauling buckets from the last man on the chain team and dumping them down the slope.
Richards picked up on the colonel’s preoccupation with Yaeger. ‘He was on his phone again,’ the staff sergeant told Crawford. ‘Didn’t seem to be talking to anyone … just fiddling around. And before that, I saw him go into the other tunnel. Disappeared for a good fifteen, twenty minutes.’
‘Nothing but trouble,’ Crawford