Medusa

CHAPTER 3

THE INFLUENZA EPIDEMIC OF 1918 APPEARED SUDDENLY, striking the world as it was trying to stitch itself back together after the devastating war that had ripped it apart. The epidemic raged through Spain, killing eight million people, and for that accomplishment was dubbed the Spanish flu, though it hit many other countries including America as well. Within months, it had spread around the world. There was no known cure. Victims would sicken in the morning, breaking out in the telltale mahogany-colored rash within hours, and die before nightfall. Millions died; a billion were infected. Before it petered out in 1919, influenza had killed more people than five years of brutal war had. It was worse than the Black Death.

The grim statistics raced through Dr. Song Lee’s mind as she covered the last leg before setting foot on Bonefish Key. She had flown into Fort Myers and caught a limo to the Pine Island Marina, where she met a colorful local character named Dooley Greene. He had taken her on his boat through the mangroves to the island. A man was waiting on the dock to greet her.

“Hi, Dr. Lee,” the man said, extending his hand. “My name is Max Kane. Welcome to Fantasy Island. I’m the director of this little speck of paradise.”

In his faded Hawaiian shirt and tattered denim shorts, Kane looked more like a beach bum than the respected ocean microbiologist whose impressive resume she had perused. A Chinese scientist of his stature would not have been caught dead without his white lab coat.

“I’m pleased to meet you, Dr. Kane,” Lee said, glancing around at the rippling palm trees and a whitewashed building perched on a low, grassy rise a few hundred feet back from the dock. “I’ve never seen a research lab in such a picturesque setting.”

Kane gave her a lopsided grin. “Not half as picturesque as the island’s current inhabitants.” He grabbed her suitcase and headed inland. “C’mon, I’ll show you to your quarters.”

They climbed a stairway cut into the side of the hill and then followed a crushed-shell pathway to a row of neat cabins painted flamingo pink with white trim. Kane opened the door of one cabin and ushered Lee inside. A bed, chair, dresser, and desk had been tucked into the snug space.

“It’s not the Ritz, but it has everything you need,” Kane said.

Lee thought about her one-room shack in the rural countryside. “I’m sure I’ll be very comfortable here.”

Kane placed the suitcase on the bed.

“Glad to hear that, Dr. Lee,” he said. “How was your trip?”

“Long!” she said, punctuating her reply with an exaggerated sigh. “But it’s good to be back in the U.S.”

“I understand you spent some time at Harvard,” Kane said. “We appreciate your returning to this country to help us out.”

“How could I not come, Dr. Kane?” Lee said. “The world has been lucky up to now. Despite all our medical advances, we’ve never developed a vaccine for the original 1918 influenza. We’re dealing with a mutant strain of that virus. Very complicated. The outcome will depend on our work here. How soon can I start?”

Max Kane smiled at Song Lee’s eagerness.

“Let’s get you something cold to drink,” he said, “and I’ll show you around, if you’re up to it.”

“I may fall asleep on my feet when the jet lag hits, but I’m fine for now,” she said.

They walked back to the patio in front of the resort-style building. While Song rested in an Adirondack chair, Kane went into the building and brought out two glasses of mango and orange juice on ice. Sipping the delicious drink, she let her eyes wander along the shoreline. She had expected that the epicenter of secret research that had worldwide implications would be surrounded by fences and guards, and she couldn’t contain her surprise that it didn’t.

“It’s hard to imagine that there is a lab doing vital work here,” she said. “It’s so tranquil.”

“People would wonder if we put up barbed wire and guard towers. We’ve worked hard to project the image of a sleepy little research center. We decided that hiding in plain sight was the best strategy. Our website says that this is a private facility and suggests that our work is so boring to most people that no one would want to visit. You probably noticed the PRIVATE signs scattered around the island that say the same thing. We’ve only had a few requests to visit the center and we managed to put them off.”

“Where are the lab buildings?”

“We had to get a little sneakier when it came to the research space. There are three labs farther inland. The labs are pretty well camouflaged. Google Earth would see only trees.”

“What about security? I didn’t see any guards.”

“Oh, they’re there, all right,” Kane said with a tight smile. “The kitchen and maintenance staffs are all security people. There’s an electronic-surveillance center that keeps track of anyone coming too close to the island twenty-four/seven. They’ve got cameras all over the place.”

“What about the water-taxi man, Mr. Greene? Is he in on the deception?”

Kane smiled. “Dooley provides a useful cover. He worked for the old resort before Hurricane Charlie drove it into bankruptcy. We transported equipment and personnel here in our own boats when we were setting things up, but we needed someone to run people and supplies between the island and the mainland. Dooley’s never been farther inland than the dock. He’s a bit of a wind-bag, so if he does spout off about something he’s seen out here the people who know him will figure that he’s making it up.”

“He was curious about me. I put him off as best I could.”

“I’m sure everyone on Pine Island will know within hours about your visit, but I doubt anyone will care.”

“That’s good. I must confess that I’m nervous enough at the enormity of the task confronting us and the consequences if we fail.”

He considered her answer and then said, “I’m optimistic from what we have done so far that we will not fail.”

“I don’t mean to be disrespectful, but I would feel more at ease if I knew the scientific basis for your optimism.”

“Skepticism is the lifeblood of scientific inquiry,” Kane said, spreading his hands. “I’ll do my best. Our work is complex but not complicated. We know what we have to do. The toughest part is doing it. As you know, nothing is ever certain when you’re dealing with viruses.”

Song Lee nodded.

“With the exception of the human race,” she said, “I don’t think there is a more fascinating entity on the planet. What has your strategy been?”

“Are you up for a leisurely walk? I think better on my feet.”

They struck off along one of the shell paths that laced the island, a holdover from the nature trails cut for guests at the old resort.

“I understand you worked at Harbor Branch,” Lee said. Harbor Branch was a marine lab on Florida’s east coast.

“I was at Harbor Branch for several years,” Kane said. “The ocean biomed field is in its infancy, but they were among the first to recognize the vast potential for pharmaceuticals from marine organisms. They saw that ocean creatures had to develop ingenious natural mechanisms to cope with an extreme environment.”

“How did you end up at Bonefish Key?”

“Harbor Branch was researching a number of different compounds from the sea, but I wanted to concentrate exclusively on antiviral agents, so I left and, with foundation money, established a new lab. Bonefish Key came up at auction after Hurricane Charlie. The foundation bought the island and fixed up the buildings that were left standing.”

“You’ve apparently been successful,” Lee said.

“We were doing pretty well scientifically,” Kane said, “but last year the lab’s funding dried up. The heirs of our prime benefactor challenged the legality of the foundation in court and won their case. I managed to hold things together, but it would have been only a matter of time before we closed. Sorry to say it, but the developments in China saved our butts.”

“No need to apologize,” she said. “We Chinese invented yin and yang. Opposing forces can create a favorable balance. Tell me, how did Bonefish Key become the center of research on the newest epidemic? I’ve only heard bits and pieces of the story.”

“Pretty much by chance,” he said. “I’m chairman of a board that advises the feds about scientific discoveries that have defense or political implications. I had routinely passed along news of a possible breakthrough in antiviral research to the Centers for Disease Control. When the new virus strain was discovered in China, we were recruited to come find a way to fight it. The funds put us on the fast track in our research.”

“You said you were optimistic about your progress,” Lee said.

“Guardedly so. As a virologist, you know the hurdles in developing an antiviral agent.”

Lee nodded.

“I am still amazed,” she said, “at the complexity of the mechanisms stuffed into what is essentially a submicroscopic bit of nucleic acid wrapped in protein.”

Now Kane nodded.

“I’ve always believed that the lack of fossilized records of viruses was circumstantial evidence that they are an alien life-form from another planet.”

“You’re not the only one who has posed the theory of an alien invasion,” she said, “but we have to fight them with the tools we have available on earth.” Lee smiled. “Or, in your case, what you find in the sea. How can I be of help during my time here?”

“We’re honing in on a single antiviral chemical. We could use your expertise in virology as we put the stuff through the tests. At the same time,” he added, “I’d like you to develop an epidemiological plan on how best to use the vaccine once we have synthesized it.”

“How close are you to synthesis?” she asked.

“I wish we were closer, but we’re almost there,” he answered.

Kane turned down a well-worn path that branched off from the main walking trail. After about a hundred feet, the path ended at a cinder-block building. A man was standing there in front of a door of reinforced steel. He wore tan shorts and a blue T-shirt and could have passed for a maintenance man, but instead of tools a sidearm hung from his wide leather belt. The man didn’t look surprised to see them. Song Lee recalled Max Kane saying that there were cameras everywhere on the island.

The man opened the door and stepped aside to allow his visitors in. The interior of the building was cool and dark except for the light coming from dozens of glass tanks that held various types of sea life. There was a low hum from the water-circulation pumps.

As they strolled past the rows of tanks, Kane said, “We had been conducting research on all these organisms but put the work on the back burner after we got the call from the CDC.”

He led Lee to a side door and punched some numbers in the combination lock. The door opened into a smaller chamber that was completely dark except for the cold blue light coming from a vertical, tube-shaped water tank. The glow emanated from a number of undulating circular forms that rose and fell in the tank in a slow-motion dance.

Song Lee was mesmerized by the ghostly figures.

“They’re beautiful,” she said.

“Meet the blue medusa, Dr. Lee,” Kane said. “All our research efforts have been concentrated on this lovely creature. Its venom is one of the most complex chemical compounds I’ve ever come across.”

“Are you saying this jellyfish is the source of the compound you’re trying to synthesize?”

“Uh-huh. The tiniest amount of the medusa’s venom is fatal to humans, but the entire fate of millions of people could rest on the lowly creature in that tank. I can fill you in after you’ve had a chance to rest.”

Dr. Lee’s scientific mind was hungry for details.

“I don’t need any rest,” she insisted. “I want to start now.”

Song Lee’s roselike delicateness hid thorns that had been sharpened by her dealings with a stonehearted Chinese bureaucracy. Despite the seriousness of their conversation, Kane couldn’t prevent the faint smile that came to his lips.

“I’ll introduce you to the staff,” he said.

Kane guided Lee through the labs, introducing her to the other talented scientists who were working on the blue medusa project. She was particularly impressed with Lois Mitchell, Kane’s first assistant and project manager. But jet lag eventually caught up with Lee, and she caught a good night’s sleep in her comfortable cabin. When she awoke the next day, she threw herself into her work.

In the days that followed, Dr. Lee rose early and worked late. Her daily kayak paddle through the mangroves was the only recreational break in her ferocious schedule. Then, one day, she and the rest of the scientific staff were asked to attend a meeting in the dining room. To applause, Dr. Kane announced that the compound they had been looking for had been identified. He and a handpicked team of volunteers would go into seclusion to put the final touches on the synthesis at a new lab. He could not say where the lab was located, only that it was nearer to the resource. Lee agreed to stay on at Bonefish Key with a skeleton crew so she could finish her epidemiological analysis and lay out an immunization production and distribution plan.

The quarantine was holding, but Lee knew that it was only a matter of time before the virus got loose. As she analyzed the clusters of the virus outbreak, she kept China’s experience with the SARS virus in the back of her mind. All suspected or probable cases had been placed in negative-pressure rooms, shut off from the outside world by two airtight doors, every breath they took filtered. But the disease still managed to spread, demonstrating the difficulty in sealing off the virus.

In the weeks that followed the exodus of the key scientific staff, reports filtered back to Bonefish Key from the secret lab. The most exciting news was the report that the toxin had been synthesized, the prelude to developing a vaccine.

Spurred on by the successful research, Lee had hurried to develop a plan to administer the antidote and to contain the epidemic before it developed into a pandemic.

Dr. Huang had asked to be kept informed of Dr. Lee’s progress. The only place on the island where cell-phone service was available was at the top of an old water tower. Every day after her work, Lee climbed the tower and summarized the progress of the project for her old friend and mentor.

There was no way she could have known that her every word was being relayed to unfriendly ears.