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me?”
    “Homeland security got wind of it and sat on it,” Quinn told him.
    “Homeland security?” the President said. He sat upright in his bed and one of the monitors started to ping rapidly. “Why?”
    “They think it’s a terrorist attack.”
    “Either way, no one’s told me.”
    “Hamilton Parker knows, I understand.”
    “The Vice President? Why tell the VP and not me?”
    “He led us to believe he’s unofficially running the country due to your incapacity.”
    “Watch him for me, would you? He’s one slippery sonofabitch. Terrorists or not, I should be told. I’m still the goddamned President, for Christ’s sake!” His face turned bright red. He clutched his heart and flopped back on the bed.
     
     
    21.10 PM
     
    “It’s better to leave it until nightfall,” Luke said. “Because the scuba-gear makes bubbles, and they’ll be harder to see in the dark.” They entered Big Benny’s Sporting Goods Store. The store’s inventory mainly catered towards surfers, with the odd harpoon gun, and some diving paraphernalia. Luke picked up the harpoon gun and loaded it. “We might need this.”
    Sophie regarded the scuba gear. “I’m not so sure, I’ve never done this before, aren’t there rules, I mean, aren’t you meant to have lessons?”
    “The river’s only ten foot deep. We’ll simply walk along the bottom unseen.”
    “That IS brilliant.”
    He beamed. “I told ya,” he said and poked through the stock and found them a scuba-tank kit each. “You put this in your mouth,” he told her, showing her the breathing apparatus. “Breathe in and out and that’s all there is to it.”
    A wild-eyed man leaped up from his hiding place behind the counter and pointed a flare-gun at them. “Freeze motherfuckers!” He motioned for Luke to put the harpoon-gun down on the counter.
    Sophie raised her hands tentatively. Luke ignored the man. “Luke, put your hands up,” she hissed.
    “Why?”
    “Because he has a gun.” She nodded towards it.
    “That’s not a gun. It’s a flare.”
    “It’s a phosphorus flare, if it doesn’t kill you outright, the flare would burn a hole right through your chest.”
    His eyebrows knitted together. “Fair enough.” He raised his one good arm.
    The man screeched at them. “What have you done?”
    Luke looked puzzled by the question at first, and then said. “This is nothing to do with us.”
    “You work at the hospital. You must’ve leaked some chemical or something. My old lady is suffering bad.”
    Sophie moved forward slightly. “Let me see her. I’m a Doctor.”
    The man stepped back and pointed with his flare-gun to the woman laid prone on t he floor behind the counter. One glance told Sophie all she needed to know, she shook her head gently.   “She’s too far gone. I can’t help. She’s got it.”
    The man’s eyes widened. “What’s she got?”
    She paused reluctant to say the words aloud, as if by not saying them would somehow stop the virus’s progress, but eventually she muttered, “The Bubonic Plague.”
    The man wailed, tears streaked down his face and he raged again, thrusting his flare-gun in her face. “Make her better. I order you to make her better!”
    “There isn’t a cure for this strain.”
    “Make her better or I swear I’ll shoot you!” His knuckles whitened as they slowly pulled back on the trigger. . . .

CHAPTER 5
     
     
    21.15 PM
     
    Moored ten miles off the east coast of Florida, on the aircraft carrier USS Thomas Jefferson the crew prepared to lower a landing craft from the starboard bow. The three men inside were wearing gas masks. Commander Roscoe, a ramrod straight, silver haired man in his fifties addressed them. “You know why we’re doing this?”
    “We’re mopping up the slop, sir.”
    “That’s right. You must eliminate all the possible carriers.”
    The three crewmen snapped to attention, “Aye, aye, sir.” They said in unison.
    The Commander stared them in the eye. “You’re OK with