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experience he more than made up for with his instincts and talent.
    â€œWith an epidemic of this magnitude has the president given any consideration to—”
    â€œExcuse me for interrupting, Tony, but GNS is not an epidemic. An epidemic, by definition, is a dramatic rise in the expected number of cases of an established disease with a known epidemiological history. Since GNS has never been seen before, this present situation can’t technically be classified as an epidemic.”
    Regarding Brickell through unconvinced eyes, Williamson said nothing for the moment. It wasn’t hard for her to read his thoughts. Her comment was evasive, making her look as if she were sidestepping a tough question by providing a piece of information that was true but at the same time totally irrelevant.
    After a forced smile and a slow nod, Williamson renewed his question, “Irrespective of what we call this . . . this outbreak, the fact remains our nation’s facing a disease that’s spreading to the tune of roughly five hundred new cases a day. Can you give us some sense of what the CDC and our other key government health care agencies arerecommending to thousands of pregnant women and their families who are becoming increasingly more terrified with each passing day?”
    Brickell wasn’t surprised by the question. Before she’d even walked up to the lectern, she’d expected someone would ask it. She took a few seconds to gather her thoughts before responding.
    â€œWe are working closely with local, state and national medical societies, public health organizations and physician groups to help us educate and inform all pregnant women and those who are considering becoming pregnant of the present situation. We’ve created a telephone hotline and an interactive website for doctors. I assure you, we are critically aware of the rising anxiety across the country. But until we have more specific information about this illness, it would be irresponsible of us to make any recommendations beyond general cautionary measures.”
    Brickell glanced to the side of the room. Urging her to wrap things up, Julian Christakis gave her his most subtle
cut
sign.
    â€œI have time for one more question,” she said. Before she could recognize anybody, an uninvited voice asked, “Is there any possibility GNS is an act of biological terrorism?”
    Her eyes found the young woman in the center of the room who had asked the question. Brickell had no clue who she was, but she didn’t feel she could use her refusal to follow proper protocol as a way of dismissing the extremely valid question.
    â€œAll possibilities will be carefully evaluated,” sheanswered cautiously. “But at this time, we have no evidence that GNS is the result of a biological weapon.” Brickell took two short steps backward. “I’m sorry. I’m going to have to stop here. I encourage all of you to refer to our website for the exact date and time of our next briefing.”
    She turned away from the lectern, and with Julian in tow, she quick-walked out of the briefing room.
    â€œExcellent job,” he told her. “Especially that last question.”
    â€œExcuse me?”
    â€œYour responses were honest and on point. I’m sure they helped to diminish the anxiety of an impending crisis.”
    Brickell was well aware that part of Julian’s job was to contain prickly situations and curry favor with her regardless of how difficult the situation seemed. But today, his fairy-tale optimism was over the top.
    â€œJulian, we’re dealing with a potentially devastating disease that’s spreading out of control. To make matters worse, it’s selectively attacking pregnant women, one of any society’s most vulnerable groups.” She looked at him as if he should know better. “What did you call it—‘an impending crisis’? This crisis is hardly impending. It has a