Did you know we were both born in Brooklyn in 1940? Robin grew up to be the author of popular medical thrillers, I grew up to be the author of popular medical killers." He let out a big guffaw, removed his glasses and wiped his tearing eyes. "Oh, my. But somehow, things got flipped around and my talent for spinning apocalyptic pandemic dystopias ended up providing the fodder I needed to become director of the National Institute of Allergy and Infectious Diseases."

This was what I had suspected after hearing the bizarre responses Fauci gave before the House Oversight and Accountability Committee Select Subcommittee on the Coronavirus Pandemic on June 3rd. During the hearing, he admitted to making up COVID protocols. For example, when questioned about the scientific validity of social distancing and masking, he said they "sort of just appeared." Ideas sort of appearing is the mark of what professional novelists call a "discovery writer." I should know, I'm one of them. We don't come up with an outline for our stories, we simply start writing and the stories "sort of just appear."

After hearing his testimonial, I sent Dr. Fauci an email saying: "I knew your secret. Deep down, you always wanted to be a science fiction writer."

He wrote back immediately telling me to meet him in the boiler room in the basement of the NIH's Hubert H. Humphrey Building. We'd talk there. Not online.

So I booked a flight from Toronto Pearson airport, and within twelve hours my plane was landing in Washington DC. As promised, I found the real Dr. Anthony Fauci sitting at a beat-up wooden desk, with a 1984 Smith Corona electric typewriter, in the dimly lit basement of the National Institutes of Health's flagship building.