The young face disappeared and the door closed. Emil sat behind his desk for a short time longer, munching grass from his bag. When he finally looked at his wail clock, two hours had gone by.
That happened a lot these days. No track of time. "Oh, well," he said. "Things will get busy soon enough. Better make sure we're ready."
Adam's apple bulging, he swallowed the big lump of grass that was still in his mouth. It would be even better once it had settled in one of his stomachs for a few hours. He'd bring it up as cud that afternoon.
Mooing contentedly, Emil Kowalski plodded lazily from his office.
Chapter 17
By the eleven-o'clock news cycle, reports of new cases of feral behavior among humans had begun to die down. News reports were focusing mainly on New York, with mention of a handful of other cases in the Northeast.
In the family quarters of the White House, the President of the United States watched the late news with deep concern.
It was an hour past his normal bedtime. This President preferred to go to bed early and to rise early. He trusted in the old "healthy, wealthy and wise" adage. It seemed to work for him. Although the wealth didn't matter so much-he was from a well-off family and had taken a substantial pay cut to become President-his health was fine.
As for wisdom ...well, if the late-night shows were to be believed, he had none. According to the media, the folks from the other side were always the brilliant statesmen, the towering intellects. It was accepted as gospel that those on the President's side of the aisle were busy frantically rubbing their two brain cells together trying to make fire.
The thought always gave him a chuckle. This President was confident enough to not let such nonsense rattle him. It didn't matter to him what a handful of comedy writers in Los Angeles or anchormen in New York thought of him. Besides, he avoided network news and was normally in bed long before the latenight comics were on.
Not this night. This night there was a crisis and the President of the United States was staying up past his bedtime watching the late news.
The scenes shown were gruesome, the eyewitness accounts frightening, if true. The President had poured himself a drink, but it sat sweating in his hand. He watched the news recap with pursed lips and furrowed brow.
When it was over, the President get up from the sofa.
Walking briskly from the living room, he headed down the long hallway to his private bedroom.
His wife was away visiting family in Texas. There was no one to bother him as the President sat down on the edge of the bed and removed the cherry-red phone from his bottom bureau drawer.
He hated to make this call. He had been using this phone far too much in the past year. But the weight of the world had been dropped on his shoulders only eight months into his fledgling presidency.
With a deep appreciation for what it meant, he lifted the red receiver.
There was no need to dial. As usual, the phone was answered on the first ring.
"Yes, Mr. President?" said the familiar lemony voice.
"Hello, Smith," the President said. "The situation in New York and New England."
"Yes, sir," Smith said. "We are already working on it."
"Oh." The President was always impressed by the older man's efficiency. In a way, the lemon-voiced man reminded the President of his own secretary of defense.
"It is a complicated situation, but we believe we know who is behind the product tampering. My people left here an hour ago to put an end to the source. With any luck, the worst part of the crisis should be over by morning."
"They're now saying on the news that it resembles the case with that White woman in Boston a few years back."
"We believe she is the source," Smith said. "Either that or someone following in her footsteps. We have confirmed that it is a formula similar to hers."
"Great," the President muttered. "Another fine mess I've inherited. I'll add it to the pile." Sighing, the President took a sip from the glass he'd carried in from the living room. The ice was all but melted.
"Hopefully, we will end this by tomorrow," Smith said. "I have issued orders that all shipments of Lubec Springs water are to be intercepted. Once store back stock has been destroyed, there should be no more new cases."
The President stopped drinking. "Water?" he said. "That's what they're dumping this stuff in?"
"Yes, sir."
The President looked at the water in his glass.
"You might have given a guy a little warning, Smith."
"The problem has not spread farther down the East Coast than northern New Jersey. Washington is not a focus."
"My lucky day," the President said. Even so, he put his half-empty glass on the bureau. With his fingertips, he pushed it to a safe distance. "So why the Northeast? Lubec Springs is national. They could have shipped from coast to coast. There aren't any cases anywhere else, are there?"
"Not so far."
"Then what's so special about there?"
"We have not yet determined that," Smith replied. "If you'll excuse me now, Mr. President, my assistant has just returned."
"Smith?" the President called before the CURE director could break the connection.
"Yes, sir?"
"The FBI director mentioned something in my morning briefing about al-Khobar terrorists at an airport in Arkansas. Was that you?"
"My special person was involved, yes, sir," Smith said, obviously impatient to end the call.
"Good work, Smith. We've got them on the run. I'm sure you'll do the same with this new problem." With a tight-lipped smile, he replaced the phone and slid the drawer shut.
There was no doubt that there were messes in America these days. This was just another tossed on the heap. But messes could be cleaned up. And despite the perilous times he lived in, the President remained an eternal optimist.
Standing, he carefully picked up his water glass and brought it into the presidential bathroom. A moment later came the sound of a flushing toilet.
UP THE EAST COAST in Smith's dimly lit office, Mark Howard had shut the door quietly and slid into his plain wooden chair. He waited for the CURE director to hang up the special phone in his bottom desk drawer before speaking.
"Is there some new catastrophe?" Mark asked warily.
"No," Smith replied, rolling the drawer shut. "And I wish I shared the President's confidence that we will prevail. I have had no luck since your second call."
He had been searching for potential research facilities with a Judith White connection ever since Mark had called from his cell phone in the GenPlus parking lot an hour ago.
Smith removed his glasses, touching them to his desktop with a soft click. "The President raised a question that has puzzled me," he said, massaging his tired eyes. "Why the Northeast alone? Aside from a single case in New Jersey late this morning, it hasn't extended beyond New York. There has not been one case in any other part of the country."
"Maybe it's just where the stuff happens to have been shipped so far," Mark suggested. "Maybe she's planning on expanding. Or maybe she ran out of formula."