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“Jesus!” Casey said.
“And now we learn that not everything was destroyed,” Sparkman said. “The word I got was there was nothing left standing or unburned in a twenty-square-mile area. What the hell is this all about?”
“I don’t know,” Casey admitted. “But I just had this thought: It doesn’t matter to you guys. OOA is dead. You’ve fallen off the face of the earth. You’re out of the loop. This has nothing to do with you.”
“Why don’t I believe that, Aloysius?” Torine asked softly.
“Probably because you’re an old fart like me, and have learned that when things are as black as they can possibly get, they invariably get worse.”
[TWO]
U.S. Army Medical Research Institute
Fort Detrick, Maryland
0905 4 February 2007
The declaration of a Potential Level Four Disaster at Fort Detrick by Colonel J. Porter Hamilton, MC, caused a series of standing operating procedures to kick in—something akin to a row of dominoes tumbling, one domino knocking over the one adjacent, but in this instance damned faster.
When Master Sergeant Dennis called the post duty officer, he actually called the garrison duty officer. On coming to work for Colonel Hamilton, Dennis had quickly learned that the colonel often had trouble with Army bureaucracy and that it was his job to provide the colonel with what he wanted, which often was not what he asked for.
The garrison duty officer immediately expressed doubt that Master Sergeant Dennis was actually asking for what he said he was.
“A Potential Level Four Disaster? You sure about that, Sergeant?”
“Yes, sir. Colonel Hamilton said he was declaring a Potential Level Four Disaster.”
The garrison duty officer consulted his SOP dealing with disasters, and checked who was authorized to declare one.
There were three people who could on their own authority declare a Potential Level Four Disaster: the garrison commander, Colonel J. Porter Hamilton, and the garrison duty officer.
“Let me speak to Colonel Hamilton, Sergeant,” the garrison duty officer said.
“He’s on his phone, Major. Now, do you want to send a Level Four van over here, personnel in Level One hazmat suits, or should I call for it?”
“You have that authority?”
“Yes, sir. I do. And I have authority to have Level Four BioLab Two opened and on standby. You want me to do that, too, sir?”
“Why don’t you do that, Sergeant, while I bring the garrison commander up to speed on this. And, Sergeant, see if you can have Colonel Hamilton call her.”
“Yes, sir,” Master Sergeant Dennis said.
The duty officer called the garrison commander.
“Major Lott, ma’am. Ma’am, we seem to have a problem.”
“What kind of a problem?”
“Ma’am, Colonel Hamilton’s sergeant just called and said the colonel wanted to declare a Potential Level Four Disaster.”
There was a pause. Then the garrison commander said, “Let me make sure I understand the situation. You say Colonel Hamilton’s sergeant called and told you Colonel Hamilton wants to declare a Potential Level Four Disaster? Is that it?”
“Yes, ma’am. That’s it. I thought I’d better bring you up to speed on this, ma’am.”
The garrison commander thought: What you were supposed to do, you stupid sonofabitch, was sound the goddamned alarm sirens, get a Level Four van over to Hamilton, get a Level Four BioLab on emergency standby and then—and only then—call me.
And you’re a goddamn major?
