Genesis of a PlagueRight now, in a remote corner of rural China, a farmer and his family are sharing their water supply with their livestock: chickens, ducks, pigs, sheep. They share the same waste-disposal system, too.Bird viruses meet their human counterparts in the bloodstreams of the swine, where they mix and mutate before spreading back into the human population. And a new flu is born….Dr. Noah Haldane, of the World Health Organization, knows that humanity is overdue for a new killer flu, like the great influenza pandemic of 1919 that killed more than twenty million people in less than four months. So when a mysterious new strain of flu is reported in the Gansu Province of mainland China, WHO immediately sends a team to investigate.Haldane and his colleagues soon discover that the new disease, dubbed Acute Respiratory Collapse Syndrome, is far more deadly than SARS, killing one in four victims, regardless of their age or health. But even as WHO struggles to contain the outbreak, ARCS is already spreading to Hong Kong, London, and even America.In an age when every single person in the world is connected by three commercial flights or fewer, a killer bug can travel much faster than the flu of 1919.Especially when someone is spreading the virus on purpose…
For my girls… Cheryl, Chelsea, and Ashley
It's a long and occasionally bumpy road from glimmer of idea to published novel, but I can't imagine a more fun ride. Along the way, so many people have generously lent their time. ideas, and moral support that I haven't the space to name everyone, but I do need to recognize a few in print.
I am fortunate to be blessed with several good friends-cum-readers, but I would like to single out the most dedicated and burdened of the bunch, including Dave Allard, Rob King, Duncan Miller, Geoff Lyster, Kirk Hollohan, Bin Lim, Jeremy Etherington, Jeff Jacobs, Alisa Weyman, Chiara Hnatiuk, Brooke Wade, and Alec and Theresa Walton. For the medical background, I relied heavily on the advice of an excellent microbiologist, Dr. Marc Romney. And I am so grateful to have found terrific mentors in Beverly and Bill Martin (of agentresearch.com) and Michael McKinley, whose generous advice proved invaluable. Of all the readers in my corner, though, the one who went farthest above and beyond the call was Kit Schindell. Her tireless reading and re-reading, insightful feedback, and gentle steering ensured that I got the story as right as I could. Thanks, Kit!
I would like to acknowledge Susan Crawford for bringing my manuscript to Tor, where thanks to people like Paul Stevens, David Moench, Seth Lerner, and especially Tom Doherty — a publisher whose hands-on approach exceeded all expectations — I was made to feel very much at home. A special thank you goes to my marvelous editor, Natalia Aponte, who has patiently guided this neophyte through the process of publication while helping to make the novel that much better.
Finally, I could not have done this without the unwavering support of my family. My wife Cheryl's honest feedback and resolute belief in me kept me balanced and focused as I wrote. My brother Tony has been a key advocate for this book. My brother Tim and sisters-in-law, Becca and Tammy, along with the rest of my extended family and in-laws all provided much needed encouragement and support. And none of this would have been possible without the guidance and love of my parents, Judy and Frank.
The SUV rattled along the dusty road, twelve miles south of Jiayuguan's city limits. There was little to see in the unvarying dirt hills rolling past. Besides, Kwok Lee was too agitated to take in the scenery. He cringed with each rock that pinged off the windshield, and he cursed every pothole that rocked his precious new vehicle. Where was all the money the State Council promised for infrastructure? In their pockets, Lee thought miserably, never considering that as an inveterate black marketer he fueled the province's systemic corruption. He consoled himself with the thought that in a few hours he would be able to replace this vehicle with ten more like it. Not that he needed a fleet of SUVs, just one for his girlfriend. Maybe that would quell some of her nagging, the way it had his wife's.
Lee glanced in his rearview mirror at his two backseat passengers. Since loading into the car, neither had spoken. Two hours driving, and not so much as a word out of them in Mandarin or even their native tongue, which they had claimed was Mongol though Lee knew better. Dressed in cheap suits, the men had darker skin, rounder eyes, and broader noses than the local Chinese. They could have passed for brothers, except the one who answered the questions was half a head taller than his colleague. Lee considered the possibilities, concluding they must be Malays. He guessed they were reporters. Why else would they want to see the godforsaken place? But their identity was of no concern to Lee. What mattered were the wads of crisp American bills that he'd seen in the briefcase of the shorter one.
In the distance, a building burst through the dust cloud. A bleak concrete structure, fenced and gated, it could have been one of a million such in China. It wasn't until Lee slowed for the approaching gate that he noticed a difference. If not for the semiautomatic rifles slung over their shoulders, the. soldiers manning the gate could have passed for surgeons. All three wore gowns, plastic caps, gloves, and surgical masks.
One of the soldiers leaned his head through the open driver's window and eyed Lee's passengers suspiciously.
"Missionaries," Lee explained cheerfully. "They've come to pray for their brother." He laughed and waved his documents in the soldier's face. "Like prayers will help the poor bugger!"
