Page 59 of Outbreak Protocol

"I'll provide one directly." I gesture toward the conference room. "May we speak privately first?"

Inside, Santos closes the door and turns to me with the resigned expression of someone who already knows what's coming.

"Colonel, our treatment is working. Felix—Dr. Müller—has shown consistent improvement over twenty-four hours. His viral load has decreased significantly, and we've begun treatment on ten additional patients with promising early results."

"I've seen the reports," she acknowledges. "But General Morrison requires evidence of containment, not just treatment."

"The treatment directly impacts containment. As patients recover, transmission decreases. We've already observed reduced viral shedding in treated patients."

Santos leans against the table. "Dr. Lindqvist, I understand your position. But you need to understand mine. The clock is ticking, and Morrison believes the risks of waiting outweigh the potential benefits of your treatment."

"He's wrong."

"Perhaps. But he's the one with the authority to make that call."

I clench my jaw, forcing myself to maintain composure. "I need to speak with him directly."

"He's at NATO headquarters in Brussels."

"Then arrange a video call."

Santos studies me, then nods. "I'll try. But I'm warning you, he's made up his mind."

"Then I'll have to change it."

While Santos makes arrangements, I return to the lab where Sarah and Yuki are analyzing data from our test group.

"Any complications with the new patients?" I ask.

Sarah shakes her head. "Minor immune responses to the treatment in two patients, but nothing concerning. All ten are showing decreased viral loads at varying rates."

"How long until we have statistically significant results?"

"Another twelve hours, minimum," Yuki says, not looking up from his computer. "But the trend line is clear." He swivels his monitor toward me, showing a graph of viral load measurements across all eleven treated patients, including Felix. The downward trajectory is unmistakable.

"Send this to Dr. Karlsson immediately," I instruct. "And prepare a simplified version for General Morrison. I'm speaking with him within the hour."

While waiting for Santos to arrange the call, I check on Felix again. His oxygen requirements have decreased slightly, and Dr. Nguyen is preparing to attempt reducing his sedation.

"Erik," Emma says when she sees me. "Felix's hand moved. All by itself."

"That's excellent news," I tell her, genuinely encouraged. Voluntary movement suggests his neurological function is intact despite the virus's known affinity for neural tissue. "That means the medicine is helping his brain too."

"When will he wake up?"

"Soon, I hope. The doctors are going to try letting him wake up a little bit today."

Emma nods solemnly. "I'll be really quiet so he can concentrate on getting better."

I squeeze her shoulder gently. "You're being very brave."

"Felix says being brave just means doing what you have to do even when you're scared."

The wisdom in her words—Felix's words—hits me with unexpected force. "He's right about that."

Santos appears at the door. "Dr. Lindqvist, the call is ready."

In the conference room, General Morrison's face fills the large screen. He looks exactly as I expected—late fifties, crew cut, the impassive expression of someone accustomed to making life-or-death decisions.