The Unfolding, page 37
Kissick tunes in to the fact that there is a white cord running from Bo’s ear into his jacket pocket. “Are you listening to something?”
Bo makes a face is if to say, Duh. “I’ve got it live on my Zenith Royal, same one I’ve been listening to ball games on for more than a quarter century. I like things that can be relied upon.”
Kissick smiles. “I love you and I hate you. What station?”
“WTOP.”
“I spoke to W,” the judge says to the Big Guy. “He mentioned that he saw you, that you came by to help say goodbye to the place. Between us, I’m pretty damn sure he’s the last Bush who’s gonna be in the White House for the foreseeable future—I really can’t see Jeb on Pennsylvania Avenue.”
“Jeb is a nice guy,” the Big Guy says.
“My point exactly,” the judge says.
“Roberts is giving the oath,” Bo says. “They’re off schedule by five minutes.”
“Is it like an execution? There’s a schedule?” Kissick asks.
“It’s an event,” Bo says. “With a timeline.”
“Maybe the doctor ordered vegetables because he keeps kosher. Maybe he’s a Jew,” the judge says to Kissick.
“He’s not Jewish,” Kissick says. “He’s Asatru. It’s a Nordic religion of peace and tolerance—like Unitarian.”
“You’d be surprised who’s a Jew,” the judge says.
“He just took the fucking oath of office and he used his middle name—Hussein,” Bo says. “Holy fuck.”
The sound of applause leaks out of the kitchen. “I don’t suppose that has to do with the doctor,” Eisner says.
“Barack Hussein Obama, who’d a thunk it.” The Big Guy shakes his head.
Frode returns to the table with a plate that looks like a painter’s palette. “Samples of the sauces.” He dips his finger into one and tastes it. “I’m a terrible cook but I enjoy dabbling.”
The Big Guy is focused on Eisner. “Did you hear anything from her today? Are they watching live from the Academy?”
“She’s there with Tony,” Eisner says.
“She’s where?”
“There. At the inauguration.”
“Really?”
Eisner pulls up a photo on his phone: a selfie of Meghan high up on the steps of the Capitol and another looking out toward the Washington Monument. The crowd is in the tens of thousands, maybe hundreds of thousands.
“Sweet land of liberty,” the Big Guy says, shaking his head in awe. “You never know where you’re gonna end up.”
“ ‘When you come out of the storm, you won’t be the same person who walked in. That’s what this storm’s all about.’ Murakami from Kafka on the Shore,” Eisner says.
“Throw me to the wolves and I will return leading the pack,” the Big Guy says.
“Something like that,” Eisner says.
Bo is busy listening to the US Marine Band. He presses the earbud deeper into his ear.
The waiter is hovering, waiting to pour the wine. The first pour is into Bo’s glass. He swirls the wine around the glass a few times before tasting it.
“It’s tight,” Bo says to the waiter.
“That’s how I like it,” the judge says. “Tight when I start, then over the course of the meal, it should open up.”
Bo shrugs. “Go ahead and pour, and open a second bottle if you would, thanks.”
The waiter starts to pour each man a glass, but the General covers his. “Bring me a ginger ale. This is a sober occasion in my world. A lot of people think someone might take a shot at him. Even if they miss—it would be a problem.”
“Like pulling the pin out of a grenade,” Bo says, looking at Eisner.
“Every time you say something like that, you look at me; it’s creepy,” Eisner says.
The Big Guy shakes his head. There’s only so much he can take in at once. “Let me see those photos again,” he says to Eisner.
Eisner shows the Big Guy the stream of photos from Meghan this morning.
“I didn’t want to violate Meghan’s trust, but I thought you should know,” Eisner says.
“Good man,” the Big Guy says. “I’ll tell you a secret, history is not fixed. It’s fluid. That’s what we’re seeing right now.”
“Speaking of the swearing-in, I heard Robert Gates is the designated survivor,” the judge says.
“Odd choice,” Kissick says.
“Isn’t it?” the judge says. “Both parties keep a list of options, and then they give out the role as a prize, a parting gift.”
“Tony told me that Obama calls Gates Yoda,” the Big Guy says.
“At the moment, Yoda is deep inside the mountain talking to himself,” Eisner says.
“Is that something we should be talking about, Tony and Obama? Is it going to be a problem?” Kissick wants to know.
“It’s not a problem,” the Big Guy says. “Tony’s cards are close to his chest.”
“Closeted,” Bo says. “That might be the better word for Tony’s cards.”
“I know him better than anyone, including my wife, and I trust him with my life. He is working for the Office of the President, not for Obama personally. Having someone in-house is good for us.”
The food arrives at the table, delivered by three waiters with the maître d’ hovering.
“Anyone want to say a prayer?” the Big Guy asks.
“Yeah,” Kissick says. “I hope to hell we get out of this alive.”
“You wanna be more specific about what this is?” the judge asks.
“The next four years.”
They raise their wineglasses. “To life!” the Big Guy says.
After a few minutes of lip-smacking oohs and aahs and pass the salt, the doctor asks for more sauce. He may only eat vegetables but he likes to drown everything in sauce. There is more talk about medicine. “Ask me anything, just not about your old knobby knees,” Frode says.
“How conceivable is it that someone would launch an attack on the food supply?” Kissick asks.
“More than conceivable,” the doctor says. “We’re constantly evaluating foodborne illnesses from E. coli to staph bacteria, salmonella, and hepatitis A. Other diseases, too: dengue fever, cholera, meningitis, bubonic plague, and enterovirus D68—that’s one to keep an eye on, first isolated in California in 1962. It’s rare but on my radar.”
“A man after my own heart,” the General says.
“What does the D68 do?” Kissick asks.
“It’s paralytic in nature,” the doctor says.
“I’m eating,” Bo says. “Can’t a man enjoy his lunch?”
“My father had polio,” the judge says. “He wore a metal brace on his left leg. That’s how the family came to Texas; it was supposed to cure him. I guess it did. He lived—but with a limp.”
“The stuff we’re talking about is only part of the picture,” the doctor says. “Places that were frozen long ago will melt; things that have been dormant will come back to life. The permafrost isn’t so permanent; animals that died of diseases, their bodies frozen, will reanimate.”
“Are you talking about dinosaurs?” Kissick asks.
“Not dinosaurs, but maybe reindeer. In the early twentieth century, more than a million reindeer died from anthrax.”
“I thought reindeer were made-up,” Eisner says.
“Anthrax is one, but there are worse; take for example 1918—”
“That’s when my father was born,” the judge says.
“In 1918 flu wasn’t even a reportable disease, but in October 1918, 195,000 people in the United States died in one month. It was a worldwide pandemic, first reported in Kansas. It came in two waves; the first wave was mild compared to the second.”
“You’re making my skin crawl,” Kissick says.
“I’ll take it further. That flu was of avian origin.”
“Meaning?” Kissick asks.
“It came from birds and mutated to infect humans,” the doctor says. “Avian also means migrates. Kansas is on a bird migration route. I’d say that three-quarters of emerging infectious diseases are of animal origin. A couple of years ago some NASA scientists revived bacteria that had been in a frozen pond for 32,000 years. Your wine there is, what, about five years old. Imagine something 32,000 years old; last year they got a bacterium that was eight million years old and another that was 100,000 years old. And that’s just the tip of the iceberg.” He laughs at his own joke. “Like it or not, there’s shit on the horizon. The question is, what will be weaponized? We’ve got freezers full of security-sensitive microbes and toxins.” The doctor pauses, considering what he’s about to say. “Something to think about is how you realize a goal . . .” He doesn’t so much finish the sentence as drift off, leaving the word goal to linger.
“What kind of a goal?” Kissick asks.
The doctor pauses before speaking. “We’ve figured out how to keep people alive for a long time, how to manage illnesses. We can’t take care of everyone. There are a lot of people just sucking the systems dry.”
“The question is, what do you want the outcome to be?” Bo says. “Why is that not clear to all of you?”
“It’s pretty clear,” Metzger says.
“Is it?” Kissick asks. “We can’t go around killing people.”
“Why not? Give me one goddamned reason why not,” Bo says.
“Because we’re civilized,” Kissick says.
“Fine,” Bo says. “I was just curious about what you were going to say. I bet you don’t realize that sometimes I say things to be provocative.”
“The things you say can be taken as reflections of your truths,” Kissick says. “Something to keep in mind.”
Kissick turns to the doctor. “Killing people, am I right? That’s the subtext of what you’re talking about. Euthanasia, assassination, or, to use another word, genocide.”
“I didn’t say that,” the doctor says. “Management of the herd is a talent. There are times one needs to make decisions to ensure adequate resources or control the spread of disease.”
“In a crisis, there’s a hierarchy to who gets care,” the General says.
“It goes to those most likely to survive,” Eisner says.
“Or to those who can foot the bill, let’s be real,” the judge says. “Folks with cash go to the front of the line.”
Bo interrupts, repeating the words he’s hearing in his earbud. “ ‘What is demanded, then, is a return to these truths. What is required of us now is a new era of responsibility.’ ”
“Have you been listening the whole time?” Kissick asks.
“To them or to you?” Bo asks.
“Them?” the judge asks.
“Yes,” Bo says. “It would be wrong for us not to be listening.”
“I feel it’s my obligation as a man of the . . .” the General says, revealing that he has the other half of Bo’s headset in his ear.
“Cloth?” the judge suggests, still focused on his ripped pants.
“Armed services,” the General says.
“Are you armed?” Kissick asks anxiously. It never occurred to him that the General could be armed.
“I would be lying if I denied it,” the General says. “I’ve always got something on me. I’m sure you know about the Law Enforcement Officers Safety Act, which allows us to carry while off duty.”
“What exactly is it that you do in the military?” Kissick asks.
“I can’t answer that, but it is considered a skill set that goes beyond the average citizen.”
“Special powers?” Eisner asks.
“More like a heightened awareness of where the dangers lie,” the General says.
“An attorney friend of mine and I talk about this kind of thing all the time,” the doctor offers.
“Who do you talk to?” the judge wants to know.
“And what do you talk about? It sounds to me like you’re in the netherworld between the right to die and the right to bear arms,” Metzger says.
“We talk about the limits of the law, of authority, and our frustration. We are very frustrated.”
“Who is your friend?”
“Bill Barr. He and my wife are in a Bible study group together.”
“You live in McLean?” Bo asks.
“Bethesda,” the doctor says. “Bill is in McLean. I like to be close to the office.”
“I know Barr,” Bo says. “I always thought he was kind of a dick.”
The doctor shrugs. “Sometimes it’s hard to have friends when you’re smart and powerful.”
“Some of the dickiest guys I know are very smart,” Bo says. “So, are you telling us that you and Barr talk about weaponizing viruses and bacteria?”
“No,” the doctor says. “We talk about how we see the world. The view from on high.”
“Did you tell me that you like to hunt?” Kissick asks.
“Yes,” the doctor says.
“So you’re not eating vegetables because you’re opposed to eating meat?”
“Correct,” the doctor says.
“How can you be a doctor, whose job is to save lives, and also be a hunter?” Kissick wants to know.
The doctor looks at Kissick as though he were a moron. “Animals are not human. If I kill it, I eat it.”
“One of these days you’ll have to come see me down in Texas and I’ll take you to my club, the International Order of St. Hubertus. We love to hunt.”
The doctor doesn’t acknowledge the judge’s invite; he just keeps talking. “The US food supply is dirty; this can’t be breaking news to you. I don’t eat beef or pork, and the chicken is shot up with antibiotics and hormones. At my own home, I eat meat. I have my own suppliers, local farms.”
The judge repeats his invitation. “Let me know when is good for you and I’ll have you down. We don’t encourage outside visits but you’d fit in well.”
The doctor looks at the judge and grunts like a wild boar.
“I don’t want to take you away from the brilliance of talking about foodborne bacteriological weapons while we’re eating, but down there on the Mall, things are moving quickly and we have some things to get done today,” the Big Guy says.
“How can a physician talk about culling the herd?” Kissick asks. “That’s what I’m hearing. Am I right?”
“It’s really a public health issue or one for the ethicists,” the doctor says.
“I suggest we stay focused,” the Big Guy says. “What brings us here today is that the jig is up. If we don’t press start, the things we value most will become unrecoverable. Stepping into the unknown requires courage. That’s what Tony was trying to tell us in Palm Springs.”
Bo shakes his head. “Tony was trying to come out of the closet. He wanted to tell us that his boyfriend is a Black trauma surgeon.”
“Did he tell you that?” Eisner asks.
“He was trying to tell us but we didn’t give him the space,” Bo says.
“I’m sure that’s what someone is saying right now on the Capitol steps,” the judge says.
“Actually,” Bo says, “that moment has passed, along with Aretha Franklin singing ‘My Country ’Tis of Thee,’ a poem, and the benediction. Now the US Navy Band is playing ‘The Star-Spangled Banner.’ ”
“Thank you for the update,” the Big Guy says.
The sound of applause leaks through Bo’s earbud.
“Tell me your volume is all the way up,” the judge says.
“It’s not. However, many millions of people are down there today; they’re celebrating.”
Tuesday, January 20, 2009
Washington, DC
The United States Capitol
11:30 a.m.
They have been out in the cold for hours. “It’s not for the faint of heart,” Tony says.
“Nothing is,” Meghan says.
Along the way, there have been checkpoints: metal detectors, sniffing dogs, the flashing of the laminated IDs they are wearing on lanyards around their necks and the small pins on the outside of their overcoats.
“It has a chip in it,” Tony says, tapping the pin. “They know who is wearing it and where the pin is.”
“Do you know who they are?” she asks.
“Secret Service, FBI, and then some.”
Tony’s credentials give them a good vantage point and, more important, access to a bathroom in the Capitol building, which Tony jokes is really where the power rests.
“It’s all about who gets to pee where and which seats get blankets on account of the twenty-eight-degree temperature.”
The charge in the air, and standing witness to history, keeps them going despite the bone-chilling cold. It’s not where Meghan expected to be, and yet here she is.
As people make their way to their seats, there is a lot of waving hello, fist bumps, and salutes as if people were tipping their hats.
“It’s amazing, isn’t it?” Tony says.
“Remember how I said voting seemed rinky-dink. This is the exact opposite.”
“Indeed,” Tony says. “But it is the power of what happens at the polls that gets us to this moment.”
“How many inaugurations have you been to?”
Tony laughs. “Are you trying to make me feel old? This is my sixth. My seating has improved noticeably over the years.”
Ten days ago, Tony called Meghan and asked if she wanted to join him. “Do you need a note for school?”
“I’m eighteen,” she said. “I am an adult, and besides, the headmistress owes me. Shouldn’t be a problem.” They didn’t discuss whether or not to ask her parents for permission.
“Why didn’t William want to join you?”
“They scheduled a case for today that’s complex and the surgical team didn’t think it should be delayed.”
“Did he tell the patient, ‘Man, you’re lucky because I was supposed to be at the Capitol today’?”
