“Sie sind nicht hier drin,” a second voice said.
“Was meinst du?”
“Genau das, was ich gesagt habe. Es ist niemand hier drin.”
“They figured out we aren’t in there,” Jade whispered.
Evans’s eyes had adjusted to the darkness just well enough to get the impression of the massive space surrounding him, which brightened incrementally as the lights of the men searching the cavern above him passed through the hole. The walls were jagged and uneven, striated with sharp ridges that memorialized the high-water levels through the eons. The ceiling had to be a good fifteen feet up, far too high to reach, even had there been any visible means of scaling the concave rock. He saw the silhouettes of the others, their heads barely above the bitterly cold water, which eddied around them as they struggled to remain afloat, unable to control the clicking sounds of their chattering teeth.
“Sie konnten nicht an uns vorbeigekommen sein,” a third voice said.
“Bist du sicher, dass du gesehen hast, wie sie den Tunnel hinuntergehen?” the first said.
“Ich habe nichts gesehen, ich hörte—”
The first man bellowed in frustration.
“Geh zurück an die Oberfläche,” he said. “Stellen Sie sicher, dass sie ihr Fahrzeug nicht erreichen.”
“They think we m-must have somehow g-gotten past them,” Jade whispered. “They’re heading b-back to the surface to intercept us b-before we reach our c-car.”
The light dimmed and once more Evans heard the sound of footsteps, only this time heading in the opposite direction. None of them spoke until the darkness was complete and even the echo of the footsteps was a memory.
“We n-need to g-get out of the w-water,” Evans whispered.
He’d already lost feeling in his fingers and toes, and he hadn’t been in the water as long as the others. Soon their bodies would start to shut down. Worse, their cell phones, regardless of how waterproof their manufacturers claimed they were, had been submerged for too long to turn on, let alone power the flashlights. It only took a few seconds, even with as badly as his hands were shaking, to confirm as much.
“I c-can’t do this again,” Anya whispered.
“You c-can and you will,” Evans said, but he was already experiencing his own doubts.
The water inside the flooded maze in Mexico had been considerably warmer. They were working against the clock down here. If they didn’t get out of the aquifer soon, they might not be able to at all.
At least there was a current, weak though it might be, which indicated the water flowed from one place to another.
An inlet and an outlet.
There was a way out somewhere down here.
They just needed to find it.
27
KELLY
U.S. Army Medical Research Institute
of Infectious Diseases,
Fort Detrick, Maryland
Friden highlighted a segment of DNA on the monitor, isolated it, and brought it to the forefront. Two more strands appeared below it. The points of similarity between the three were marked, leaving only a handful of nucleotide pairings on each to distinguish one from the other.
“What you see here is a comparison of three sequences of DNA,” he said. “The first is a section I snipped from the genome from the tissue sample you sent us. The computer identified it as a ninety-nine percent match to the partial sequences of the genomes below it, both of which are textbook examples of viruses in the Filoviridae family.”
“What do they do?” Roche asked.
“They’re just about the nastiest viruses on the face of the planet. We’re talking the kind of hemorrhagic fevers that practically turn you inside out. Ninety-plus percent fatal. These two here? You’re looking at the Ebola and Marburg viruses, which disable your immune system first, then begin to replicate unchecked. Your body temperature rises. You experience the mother of all headaches. Every joint and muscle in your body starts to burn. The virus eats away at the collagen in your connective tissue, causing your organs to sink into your abdomen. Your skin essentially floats on a layer of liquefied tissue. Blisters form, then tear. You spontaneously start bleeding from your eyes, ears, and mouth. Your red blood cells coagulate in your vessels, causing the linings to rupture. There’s no stopping the internal bleeding. You can’t circulate enough oxygen to your organs, so they start shutting down. Shock sets in. You pray for the release of death, which is now a foregone conclusion.”
“You’re saying this . . . man . . . was infected with the virus?” Kelly said.
“Maybe at one point in his distant history, but he wasn’t actively infected, if that’s what you’re asking. It’s what’s called an endogenous viral element—an EVE—because its genetic code has been incorporated into that of its host species. What doesn’t kill you makes you stronger and all that. It’s the same thing with our own genome. Eight percent of the genetic code that makes us human beings comes directly from viruses we’ve fended off through the course of our evolution.”
“And this virus is what killed the creatures like Zeta?”
“Without a doubt,” Friden said. “Red blood cells are primarily produced in your long bones, specifically in your marrow. You know, the spongy tissue running through the core? There are tons of small blood vessels leading from the marrow, through the honeycombed cancellous bone, and out of the hard cortex. When the virus causes the blood to clot and these vessels burst, the pressure inside the bones increases exponentially, causing microfractures of the trabeculae that form the walls of that cancellous honeycomb, which is precisely what we found in the bone core samples you sent us.”
“So this virus killed every living being in the room except for the man from whom we collected the tissue samples,” Roche said.
“Exactly!” Friden beamed and looked at each of them in turn. His expression suddenly faltered. “You don’t get it, do you?”
He sighed and brought up an image-capture of a stained microorganism under intense magnification. To Kelly, it looked like a long, convoluted worm covered with wartlike bumps.
“This is what the Ebola virus looks like,” Friden said. “I see it practically every day. Trust me when I say we’ve got enough of it down here to wipe out half of the country by dinnertime tomorrow, but it’s not just the nastiness that makes it so cool; it’s the fact that it has somehow figured out how to completely shut down the human immune system. By the time your body figures out what’s going on, without radical emergency intervention, it’s already too late. This bugger’s a part of you. It’s already transcribed its RNA into the DNA of every one of your cells, which are constantly replicating as it is, only now they’re producing new cells that contain more than just copies of your DNA, they’re producing copies that incorporate the viral DNA, too. They’re trying to save your skin, literally, by making more and more of it, even as the virus is killing them from the inside out.”
“Then how does anyone survive it?” Kelly asked.
“Some people have a variation of the human leukocyte antigen-B gene, which codes for a protein that helps bolster the immune system to fight off the infection, but for our purposes we’re concerned less with how the host survived than the consequences of it having done so. Those cells that were replicating with the altered DNA continue to do so. Not only does this new genetic code pass from one cell to the next, it passes from one generation to the next. So if you have the residual viral DNA and you’re exposed to the virus again, your cells are like ‘Ha-ha. I already have that sequence, so there ain’t shit you can do to me.’ ”
“It becomes an immunity,” Kelly said.
Suddenly, the condition of the remains they’d discovered in the tomb made total sense. The infected human had been sealed inside the tomb, where the creatures tore him limb from limb, contracting the disease in the process, a disease so deadly they didn’t even have time to find a way out. The masked man on the plinth, however, had survived because he possessed an immunity, which allowed his body to ente
r a state of suspended animation until he could be reawakened with an influx of blood.
“So all you have to do is work backward from the DNA in the tissue sample to re-create the virus,” Roche said.
“It’s not that simple,” Friden said. He switched back to the program that compared the three strands of DNA. “As you can see, we only have a partial genome. The remainder has either been incorporated elsewhere in the host’s genetic code or simply dropped through the natural course of time. All that’s left is a partial blueprint. We could try to splice it together with segments of another filovirus, but who knows what kind of monster disease we could inadvertently make in the process. Without the rest of it, there’s absolutely no way of accurately reproducing it.”
“So how were people without the benefit of modern technology able to do it?” Kelly asked.
“They had to have found an existing reservoir from which to extract the live virus. You find that and you find your disease.”
“Surely one of the other filoviruses, like Ebola or Marburg, would serve our purposes,” Roche said.
“You’d think so, wouldn’t you?” Friden said. “But you’d be wrong.”
“You’ve already tried them,” Kelly said.
She thought about the monkeys down the hall and quickly suppressed the image of primates being deliberately infected with the symbiotic microorganism that had turned Dale Rubley into Subject Z and then subjected to a hemorrhagic virus the scientists hoped would make them die in the worst possible manner.
“That was the first thing we tried, but the alien organism recognizes the virus and stimulates the host’s immune system to fight it off before it can even take root. Whatever this disease is, it works a whole lot faster than any hemorrhagic fever we’ve encountered.”
“It’s the combination of the alien organism and the host’s immune system that fights it off?” Roche said.
“Yep. It’s like the organism can detect everything we throw at it and manipulate the host’s antibodies to fight it off. We’ve found that nothing short of spontaneous brain death is able to effectively kill it, and it tends not to oblige us by holding still long enough for us to put a bullet through its head. And even then, it takes a whole lot more than that to kill an organism capable of outliving its host. As you both well know, it can survive for thousands of years without one. The bone core samples you sent us, though? The practically fossilized alien organisms inside the trabeculae were as dead as dead gets. The virus ruptures its cellular membranes every bit as easily as it does the host’s.”
“So it’s all or nothing,” Kelly said. “Either we find the source of a virus last encountered millennia ago or the alien organism will continue to respawn until we do.”
“That about sums it up, but don’t forget that this virus has the potential to wipe out the global population in the process. If you do find it, you’d better be really careful or it won’t matter if we’re able to figure out how to kill this other hominin species or not.”
“That’s not especially helpful,” Roche said.
“Not helpful? I just told you exactly how to destroy an organism that was nearly able to kill all of us using a single host, and you call that information not helpful?”
“If a disease like this still existed, we would have definitely encountered it by now.”
“There are all kinds of nasty pathogens frozen in the permafrost, just waiting for a good thaw.”
“You think we should just start digging up permafrost until we find it? That’s your solution?”
“That would certainly be a whole lot more productive than standing here arguing with me.”
Kelly tuned them out. She thought about the design that had led them from the tomb in Mosul to Göbekli Tepe. The tattoo had been left as a map for whoever found it, someone who would recognize its significance and use it to find something of critical importance, something hidden at an even older site. She recalled the image on the wall of the tomb, of the man with a pinecone in one hand and a canister in the other.
“I know where it is,” she said. Roche and Friden stopped arguing and turned to face her. “We have to warn the others before they accidentally release it.”
“I need a phone,” Roche said.
“Yeah . . .” Friden said. “That’s not the kind of thing we keep down here in these labs, for obvious reasons.”
Roche disconnected his hose, turned without a word, and headed for the door.
“While you’re at it,” Friden called after him, “tell them the most recent set of samples yielded the same results as the others. The contamination has to be at the source.”
“What do you mean?” Kelly asked.
“Whoever’s responsible for field collection screwed the pooch in a big way.”
“How so?”
He brought up a split screen featuring what at first appeared to be three identical bar codes. It took her a moment to realize they were actually PCR DNA profiles, which were commonly used to establish basic genetic characteristics for purposes of identification and comparison, like establishing paternity or matching physical evidence from a crime scene to a suspect. The first was labeled 51TEO327-1X, the second 51TEO327-2X, and the third 51TEO327-3X. She cracked the code right away: Unit 51, Teotihuacan, March 27, unknown subjects one, two, and three. The samples belonged to the bodies of the masked men who’d stolen the mummified body from the maze underneath the Mexican pyramid and would have killed Anya, Evans, and Jade had it not been for the intervention of Subject A, the creature once known as Hollis Richards.
“They’re not simply mislabeled,” Friden said. “Unless these guys just happen to be triplets, someone lost the other two samples and tried to cover his ass in the dumbest possible way. If we did that kind of thing down here people would wind up dead.”
“What kind of samples?”
“Human tissue. Here, I’ll send the data to the printer so you can pick it up on your way out.”
“What were your instructions?”
“Just to generate a standard DNA profile that could be run through the ABIS.”
Kelly furrowed her brow. It wasn’t like any of the specialists at Unit 51 to make such a boneheaded mistake, especially one that would be a source of embarrassment when it was flagged by the DoD’s own Automated Biometric Identification System. She remembered Jade saying something about all of the assailants having the same blue eyes, though. Was it possible there was more to it than that?
“I’ll make sure to pass it up the chain,” Kelly said. “In the meantime, can you do me a favor?”
“If it’s take you out to dinner, it would be my pleas—”
“Run the samples again. And try any other tests you think might help differentiate them.”
“Need I remind you of Einstein’s definition of insanity?”
“Please?” She batted her eyelashes. “For me.”
“You’re not playing fair.”
“Call me the moment you’re done,” she said and hurried to catch up with Roche.
28
BARNETT
16 miles northwest of Chontalpa
Barnett led his team across a field overgrown with chest-high weeds that shimmered in the moonlight and onto the first road they’d encountered in hours. It was little more than twin ruts separated by a stripe of wild grasses, on the far side of which was a fence made of weathered gray boughs held together by rusted lengths of barbed wire. The pasture beyond was mostly dead, save for patches of green that had been grazed nearly to the bare dirt by what he suspected to be either goats or sheep, based on the size of the desiccated droppings, although he had yet to either see or hear any livestock.
“Fan out,” he whispered into his comlink. “We’re too exposed out here.”
Sheppard headed to the left, back out into the field, while Brinkley hopped the fence and crossed the pasture toward the distant wall of ceiba, kapok, and palm trees, which curved around a stable made of scrap wood and swallowed the road a quarter-mile ahead. He w
as certain he saw several small structures situated among the trunks. Morgan must have noticed them, too, because he slipped off the far side of the road into an overgrown drainage ditch and vanished into the weeds. Barnett did the same thing on his side of the road.
His satellite phone vibrated and he transferred the call to his com.
“Barnett,” he whispered.
Those were definitely houses out there in the middle of nowhere. They might have lost their prey’s trail several miles back, but they weren’t the only monsters out here. He and his team couldn’t afford to waste any time or manpower stumbling upon an encampment of heavily armed drug smugglers.
“Director?” Tess said. “I can barely hear you.”
“Now’s not the best time, Dr. Clarke.”
“But I figured out where Zeta’s going.”
Barnett slowed his pace and concentrated on her words through his earpiece. She had his complete and undivided attention now.
“You deciphered the third crop circle?”
“It’s heading for an ancient Olmec city called La Venta,” she said. “I’m sending you the coordinates right now. It’s twenty-five miles north-northwest of the last location you sent me, straight through the Mexico-Yucátan suture zone.”
“You’re certain?”
“Not only does the design align perfectly with the map of the main cities of the Toltec, Olmec, and Maya civilizations during the time of the Assyrians in the Middle East, the location matches another constellation I was able to identify from the star chart in Subject Zeta’s cage in Antarctica, and you’ll never guess which one it is.”
The road forked ahead. Based on the patterns of wear, both branches experienced relatively equal use. One branch continued straight ahead through rows of trees that appeared to have been deliberately planted, while the fork to the right wound back toward a single-level house and an outbuilding.
“Reticulum,” Tess finally said when it became apparent he wasn’t going to play along. “You know, like Zeta Reticuli, the star system we named the creature after?”
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