"Yes, sir, but..." Jacques bit his lower lip and stared out at the swamp.
Louis patted his lieutenant on the shoulder. "Fear not. If there had been any other beasties lurking in the swamp, they would've attacked the Rangers. You should be safe." But Louis could understand his lieutenant's concern. Louis would not be the one using scuba gear to cross the swamp on motorized sleds, with nothing between him and the denizens of the swamp except a wet suit. Even with the night-vision lamps, it would be a dark and murky crossing.
But Jacques nodded. He would do as ordered.
Louis crossed back into the jungle, heading to the camp. Like his lieutenant, many others were on edge, the tension thick. They all had seen the remains of the Ranger back in the woods. The soldier looked like he had been eaten alive, down to the bone, eyes gone. A scattering of locusts had still crawled around the site, but most of the swarm had dispersed. Alerted by his mole, Louis had carefully kept burners of tok-tok powder smoldering as they crossed through the forest this morning, just in case. Luckily Tshui had been able to harvest enough dried liana vines to produce the protective powder.
Despite the threats, Louis's plan was proceeding smoothly. He was not so vain as to think his group moved unseen, but so far the Ban-ali were concentrating all their resources on the foremost group, the Rangers.
Still, Louis could not count on this particular advantage lasting much longer, especially once they entered the heart of the secretive tribe's territory. And he was not alone in these thoughts. Earlier, three mercenaries from his party had attempted to sneak off and flee, abandoning their obligations, fearful of what lay ahead. The cowards had been caught, of course, and Tshui had made an example of them.
Louis reached their temporary jungle campsite. He found his mistress, Tshui, kneeling by his tent. Across the way, strung spread-eagle between various trees, was the AWOL trio. Louis averted his eyes. There was surely artistry to Tshui's work, but Louis had only so strong a stomach.
She glanced up at his approach. She was cleaning her tools in a bowl of water.
Louis grinned at her. She stood, all legs and sinewy muscle. He took her under his arm and guided her toward their tent.
As Tshui ducked past the flap, she growled deep in her chest and, impatient, tugged his hand to draw him into the dark heat of the tent.
For the moment, it seemed rest would have to wait.
Thirteen
Shadows
AUGUST 15, 3:23 P.M.
INSTAR INSTITUTE
LANGLEY, VIRGINIA
Lauren knocked on Dr. Alvisio's office door. Earlier this morning, the epidemiologist had requested, rather urgently, a moment with her. But this was the first chance she'd had to break away and meet with him.
Instead, she had spent the entire morning and afternoon in video conference with Dr. Xavier Reynolds and his team at Large Scale Biological Labs in Vacaville, California. The prion protein they had discovered could be the first clue to solving this disease, a contagion that had claimed over sixty lives so far with another several hundred sick. Lauren had arranged for her former student's data to be cross-referenced and double-checked by fourteen other labs. As she waited for confirmation, she had time to meet with the epidemiologist.
The door opened. The young Stanford doctor looked as if he hadn't slept in weeks. A bit of dark stubble shadowed his cheeks, and his eyes were bloodshot. "Dr. O'Brien. Thank you for coming." He ushered her into the room.
Lauren had never been in his office, so she was surprised to see a whole array of computer equipment lining one entire wall. Otherwise, the room was rather Spartan: a cluttered desk, an overflowing bookcase, a few chairs. The only personal touch was a lone Stanford Cardinals banner hanging on the far wall. But Lauren's eye was drawn back to the computer bank. The monitors were full of graphs and flowing numbers.
"What was so urgent, Hank?" she asked him.
He waved her to the computers. "I need you to see this." His voice was grim.
She nodded and took the seat he offered before one of the monitors.
"Do you remember when I told you about the possible signature spike of basophils early in the disease process? How this clinical finding might be a way to detect and specify cases more quickly?"
She nodded, but since hearing his theory, she had already begun to doubt it. Jessie's basophils had spiked, but the child was recovering very well. There had even been talk of letting her out of the hospital ward as soon as tomorrow. This rise in basophils could be something that occurs with many different fevers and is not specific to this disease.
She opened her mouth to say just that, but Dr. Alvisio interrupted, turning to his computer keyboard. He typed rapidly. "It took me a full twenty-four hours to gather data from around the entire country, specifically searching for fever cases in children and the elderly with characteristic basophil spikes. I wanted to run a model for the disease using this new criteria."
On the monitor, a map of the United States appeared in yellow with each state mapped out in black lines. Small pinpoints of red dotted the map, most clustered in Florida and other southern states. "Here is the old data. Each area of red indicates current documented cases of the contagion."
Lauren slipped on her reading glasses and leaned closer.
"But using the basophil spike as the marker for designating cases, here is a truer picture of the disease's present status in the United States." The epidemiologist hit a keystroke. The map bloomed brighter with red dots. Florida was almost a solid red, as were Georgia and Alabama. Other states, empty before, now were speckled with red spots.
Hank turned to her. "As you can see, the number of cases skyrockets. Many of these patients are in unquarantined wards due to the fact that the trio of signs designated by the CDC have not shown up yet. They're exposing others."
Despite her doubts, Lauren felt a sick churn in her belly. Even if Dr. Alvisio was wrong about the basophils, he had made a good point. Early detection was critical. Until then, all feverish children or elderly should be quarantined immediately, even if they weren't in hot zones like Florida and Georgia. "I see what you're saying," she said. "We should contact the CDC and have them establish nationwide quarantine policies."
Hank nodded. "But that's not all." He turned back to his computer and typed. "Based on this new basophil data, I ran an extrapolation model. Here is what the disease picture will look like in two weeks." He pressed the ENTER key.
The entire southern half of the country went red.
Lauren sat back in shock.
"And in another month." Hank struck the ENTER key a second time.
The red mottling spread to consume almost the entire lower forty-eight states.
Hank glanced at her. "We have to do something to stop this. Every day is critical."
Lauren stared at the bloodstained screen, her mouth dry, her eyes wide. Her only consolation was that Dr. Alvisio's basis for this model was probably overly grim. She doubted the basophil spike was truly an early marker for the disease. Still, the warning here was important. Every day was critical.
Her pager vibrated on her hip, reminding her that the war against this disease had to be fought with every resource. She glanced down to her pager's screen. It was Marshall. He had followed his numeric code with a 911. Something urgent.
"Can I use your phone?" she asked.
"Of course."
She stood and crossed to his desk. Hank returned to his computers and statistical models. She dialed the number. The phone was answered in half a ring.
"Lauren..."
"What is it, Marshall?"
His words were rushed, full of fear. "It's Jessie. I'm at the hospital."
Lauren clutched the phone tighter. "What is it? What's wrong?"
"Her temperature is up again." His voice cracked. "Higher than it's ever been. And three other children have been admitted. Fevers, all of them."
"Wh...what are you saying?" she stammered, but she knew the answer to her own question.
He
r husband remained silent.
"I'll be right there," she finally said, dropping the phone and scrabbling to replace it in its cradle.
Hank turned to her, noticing her reaction. "Dr. O'Brien?"
Lauren could not speak. Jessie...the basophil spike...the other children. Dear God, the disease was here!
Lauren stared glassily at the monitor with the map of the United States mottled entirely in red. The epidemiologist's theory was not a mistake. It wasn't overly pessimistic.
"Is everything all right?" Hank asked softly.
Lauren slowly shook her head, eyes fixed on the screen.
One month.
5:23 P.M.
AMAZON JUNGLE
Kelly sat hunched with her brother, both flanking Olin Pasternak. The Russian computer expert was screwing down the cover piece to reassemble the satellite communication system. He had been working on it all afternoon, trying to raise the States.
"This had better work," he mumbled. "I've torn it down to the mother-board and built it back up. If this doesn't work, I don't know what else to try."
Frank nodded. "Fire it up."
Olin checked the connections one final time, adjusted the satellite dish, then returned his attention to the laptop computer. He switched on the solar power, and after a short wait, the operating system booted up and the screen hummed to life.
"We've got a connection to the HERMES satellite!" Olin said, and sighed with relief.
A cheer went up around Kelly. The entire camp, except for the pair of Rangers on guard by the swamp, was gathered around Olin and his communication equipment.
"Can you get an uplink established?" Waxman asked.
"Keep your fingers crossed," Olin said. He began tapping at the keyboard.
Kelly found herself holding her breath. They needed to reach someone Stateside. Reinforcements were certainly needed here. But more important to her, Kelly couldn't stand not knowing Jessie's status. She had to find a way to get back to her.
"Here we go." Olin struck a final sequence of keys. The familiar connection countdown began.
Richard Zane mumbled behind her. "Please, please work..."
His prayer was in all their hearts.
The countdown blipped to zero. The computer screen froze for an interminably long second, then a picture of Kelly's mother and father appeared. The pair looked shocked and relieved.
"Thank God!" her father said. "We've been trying to reach you for the past hour."
Olin moved aside for Frank. "Computer problems," her brother said, "among many others."
Kelly leaned in. She could not wait a moment longer. "How's Jessie?"
Her mother's face answered the question. Her eyes fidgeted, and she paused before speaking. "She's...she's doing fine, dear."
The image on the screen fritzed as if the computer had become a lie detector. Static and snow ate away the picture. Her mother's next words became garbled. "Lead on a cure...prion disease...sending data as we speak..."
Her father spoke, but the interference grew worse. They seemed unaware that their message was corrupted. "...helicopter on its way...Brazilian army..."
Frank hissed to Olin, "Can you fix the reception?"
He leaned in and tapped quickly. "I don't know. I don't understand. We've just received a file. Maybe that's interfering with our downstream feed."
But for each key the man tapped, the signal deteriorated.
Static whined and hissed with occasional words coming through. "Frank...losing you...can you...tomorrow morning...GPS locked..." Then the entire feed collapsed. The screen gave one final frazzled burst, then froze up.
"Damn it!" Olin swore.
"Get it back up," Waxman said behind them.
Olin bent over his equipment and shook his head. "I don't know if I can. I've troubleshot the mother-board and rebooted all the software."
"What's wrong then?" Kelly asked.
"I can't say for sure. It's almost like a computer virus has corrupted the entire satellite communication array."
"Well, keep trying," Waxman said. "You've got another half hour before the satellite is out of range."
Frank stood, facing everyone. "Even if we can't link up, from what we did hear, it sounds like the Brazilian helicopter may be on its way here. Maybe as soon as tomorrow morning."
Beside him, Olin stared at the frozen screen. "Oh, God."
All eyes turned to the Russian communications expert. He tapped the screen, pointing to a set of numbers in the upper right-hand corner. "Our GPS signal..."
"What's the matter?" Waxman asked.
Olin glanced over to them. "It's wrong. Whatever glitched the satellite system must've corrupted the feed to the GPS satellites, too. It sent a wrong signal back to the States." He stared back at the screen. "It places us about thirty miles south of our current position."
Kelly felt the blood rush from her head. "They won't know where we are."
"I've got to get this up and running," Olin said. "At least long enough to correct the signal." He rebooted the computer and set to work.
For the next half hour, Olin worked furiously with his equipment. Oaths and curses, both in English and Russian, flowed from the man. As he labored, everyone found busy work to occupy the time. No one bothered to try resting. Kelly helped Anna prepare some rice, the last of their supplies. As they worked, they kept looking over to Olin, silently praying.
But for all the man's efforts and their prayers, nothing was gained.
After a time, Frank crossed and placed a hand on Olin's shoulder. He raised his other arm, exposing his wristwatch. "It's too late. The communication satellites are out of range."
Olin sagged over his array, defeated.
"We'll try again in the morning," Frank said, his encouragement forced. "You should rest. Start fresh tomorrow."
Nate, Kouwe, and Manny returned from a fishing expedition by the swamp. Their catch was bountiful, strung on a line between them. They dropped their load beside the fire. "I'll clean," Kouwe said, settling easily to the ground.
Manny sighed. "No argument here."
Nate wiped his hands and stared at Olin and his computer. He crossed toward the man. "There was something I was wondering about while fishing. What about that other file?"
"What are you talking about?" Olin asked blearily.
"You mentioned something about a file being down-loaded during the feed."
Olin scrunched his face, then nodded with understanding. "Da. Here it is. A data file."
Kelly and Manny hurried over. Kelly now remembered her mother had mentioned sending something just before the system crashed.
Olin brought up the file.
Kelly leaned closer. On the screen appeared a 3-D model of a molecule spinning above pages of data. Intrigued, she settled nearer. Her eyes scanned through the report. "My mother's work," she mumbled, glad to occupy her mind on something other than her own worries. But the topic was troublesome nonetheless.
"What is it?" Nate asked.
"A possible lead on the cause of the disease," Kelly added.
Manny answered, peering over her shoulder. "A prion."
"A what?"
Manny quickly explained to Nate, but Kelly's attention remained focused on the report. "Interesting," Kelly mumbled.
"What?" Manny asked.
"It says here that this prion seems to cause genetic damage." She quickly read the next report.
Manny read over her shoulder. He whistled appreciatively.
"What?" Nate asked.
Kelly spoke excitedly. "This could be the answer! Here's a paper from researchers at the University of Chicago, published in Nature back in September of 2000. They hypothesized through the study of yeast that prions may hold the key to genetic mutations, even play a role in evolution."
"Really? How?"
"One of the major mysteries of evolution has been how survival skills that require multiple genetic changes could happen so spontaneously. Such changes are termed macroevolution, like th
e adaptation of certain algae to toxic environments or the rapid development of antibiotic resistance in bacteria. But how such a series of simultaneous mutations could be generated was not understood. But this article offers a possible answer. Prions." Kelly pointed to the computer screen. "Here the researchers at the University of Chicago have shown that a yeast's prions can flip an all-or-nothing switch in the genetic code, causing massive mutations to develop in unison, to spark an evolutionary jump start, so to speak. Do you know what this suggests?"
Amazonia Page 30