Page 35 of The Presidents Shadow

AS PROMISED, DR. Anna DaSilva is there to greet us.

I did a quick investigation of Dr. DaSilva, but all I could find—along with a long list of medical and professional awards and accomplishments—was that she is fifty-four-years old and unmarried.

Meeting her in person doesn’t do a lot to fill in the blanks.

One striking fact of her appearance is that she is wearing a biohazard jumpsuit.

We shake hands, and I say, “I see you’re dressed for work.”

“I’m always dressed for work,” she says, unsmiling. “My work—and yours—is a twenty-four-hour job.” Her delivery isn’t rude, but it is definitely no-nonsense. I’ll need to keep that in mind, and I’d better warn Hawkeye and Tapper, two guys with a lot of talent but a penchant for wisecracks.

As Dr. DaSilva checks and rechecks her phone, I study my surroundings.

Frankly, there isn’t much to study. One landing strip, with our one and only plane cooling and resting on the tarmac.

No one else other than my colleagues and I have disembarked.

No pilot. No copilot. Not even the overworked passenger service guy.

At the end of the landing strip is a small aluminum building that looks like an art deco diner from a few hundred years ago.

“Where’s the crew?” I ask.

“Why do you need to know?” Dr. DaSilva says. Her voice remains gentle, but I don’t like the evasion.

“Look, Mr. Cranston,” she continues, but I interrupt with, “Please, call me Lamont,” in an effort to break some of the ice.

Her voice becomes soothing.

“Look, Lamont. This is a terrible situation.”

“I understand that, Doctor.”

“Please, call me Anna,” she says. Then she continues.

“I am so deep into the ugliness and potential destructiveness of the Austravid that I don’t know who I am, where I am, how we can possibly get through this.

I try to avoid answering questions that are not connected to the disease itself.

I’ll soften up as we start working together.

Because, Lamont, I am honored and excited that you have agreed to help out. ”

“That’s all I want to do,” I say.

She talks quickly now. “I know who you are. I know what you’re capable of doing. President Townsend has enormous respect for you—”

I can’t resist.

“Might want to run a quick fact-check on that,” I answer.

“President Townsend said to me yesterday before I left, ‘I’ve gotten you the best person. I’ve gotten you the Shadow. Use him. Make sure you allow him to be the boss.’ Is that your understanding of the situation?”

Now it’s my turn, and I choose my words wisely, and I mean them.

“If we do this job right, Anna, there will be no need for designating power or supervision. We will be a team. We will get it done.”

She nods and says, “Good. You and I and your team have a three-hour ride ahead of us. We’re going into the deep forest where the outbreak is disastrous. Your equipment and your men will ride with us.

“We’ll leave in ten minutes. In the meantime, let’s go into air headquarters,” she says, gesturing to the strange aluminum diner at the end of the runway. Then she adds, “We’ll get you into some clothing and shoes that are… are… what should I say?”

“Slightly more protective?” I ask, staring down at my street clothes while gesturing at her biohazard suit.

“Yes,” she says. “Protective. The more, the better.”