by C. J. Lyons
Chapter 45
FRANCESCA’S SMILE WAS indulgent. “You were an emergency physician. Saw firsthand the chaos that engulfs this world. Surely you would agree that someone must take charge. Our family has proven itself uniquely qualified, so why not us?”
I didn’t bother to hide my disdain. “Right. Because using children as assassins, stealing secrets and power, and engineering a disease that could wipe out mankind are all unique leadership qualifications.”
She merely shrugged, somehow made even that small movement seem elegant. “Do you want to leave? You’re free to go.”
I gestured at the chair with its thick straps. “All evidence to the contrary.”
“You think that chair is meant for you?” Her laugh was musical, designed to make songbirds jealous. “My dear child. You have so very much to learn. The chair is for me.”
I frowned my confusion. She crossed the room and sat down in the chair I’d abandoned. “You’ve experienced the almanaccare, yes? The fugues that are our blessing and our curse?”
It took me a moment to parse her Italian pronunciation. Almanac Care. The name of the fake company Tommaso had used.
“The waking dreams,” she translated as I heard Daniel’s voice simultaneously echo her words. “They take many forms. From your medical records, I see that yours are accompanied by catatonia—so were mine when I was your age. But now, like so many of our brothers and sisters, they inflict me with a wandering, a mindless need to walk, that is quite dangerous. I cannot control where my body takes me, cannot see the dangers. In my mind, I’m living the perfect life, strolling in a garden or dancing with a loved one. So when I feel the onset of a waking dream, an almanaccare, I come here and sit.”
She raised one of the straps and flipped it over. Velcro. “No locks or chains. A simple safety measure. That is all.”
That explained the restraints on the bed I’d noticed, as well as the cameras everywhere. Monitoring patients, not preventing prisoners from escaping.
Still, I was leery. Francesca noted my hesitation and stood, her skirt swirling with the motion. “Come, let me show you your legacy. Then you make your choice.”
She was lying. There was no way she’d give up her plans if I chose to leave. But that gave me an edge: She needed me alive.
I followed her as she led the way out of the tower and down into the heart of the monastery, rubbing my palm against the ancient stones of the stairwell, wishing I could magically release the secrets these walls had witnessed.
The monastery was a long and narrow building, three stories tall, with all the arches, gargoyles, and other embellishments you’d expect. The watchtower that housed Francesca’s office anchored the end closest to the dock. At the opposite end, the linear construction gave way to a gorgeous domed basilica. Francesca led me down the main corridor, her pace slow enough that I could look inside the rooms on each side—it seemed that other than my suite, no one here kept doors closed.
“We protect each other,” she told me as we passed a room where a man and woman, barely out of their teens and both with shaven heads and wearing EEG caps, were helping another man in an EEG cap, maybe my age, into a wheelchair. “Those still healthy watch over the ones who are unable to care for themselves. This is not a prison but rather a sanctuary where our suffering is eased.”
I stared at her. “You mean euthanasia?”
“I mean whatever a person requests. Many of the ones stricken at a young age request to have their suffering ended quickly. Interestingly, the older ones—myself included—have learned to embrace both the blessings and the pain the Scourge brings us.”
“Blessings? Like stealing memories?”
“For those with that gift. But even those of us who aren’t Vessels receive special guidance from our fugues. Yours take the form of hypersensory awareness, yes?”
I nodded, reluctant to let her know about my enhanced memory and knowledge processing that also came during a fugue.
“Your uncle’s included a heightened insight about patterns forming in the economy and geopolitics. He used them to foresee coming trends, counseling my father, the family leader, to position us to take advantage of them. Mine allow me to process complex genetic sequences and DNA patterns. They formed the basis of my research and allowed me to define the mutations that will allow us to turn our Scourge into a weapon to protect the family.”
“A weapon that has already left dozens of innocents dead,” I reminded her. She shrugged as if growing weary of my idealistic arguments. “So you control your fugues? I mean, after all this time—”
“No. I can stimulate what my mind works on during a fugue by immersing myself in a topic, using various medications and the sensory-deprivation chamber, but I can’t force them. I must wait for that master stroke of inspiration.” She turned to me, her expression eager, a hawk pouncing on a young rabbit. “Have you learned how to control yours?”
“I wish.” I met her gaze, hoping she couldn’t sense my lie. Last thing I needed was to give her more reason to want to use me as part of her scheme. “I’m just starting to be able to sense when they’ll strike. I get an aura, like patients with epilepsy or migraines sometimes do.”
“I’ll have our neurologists start you on a regimen of pharmaceuticals that should stimulate more fugues so that we can record your EEG patterns. You’ll spend tonight in the isolation tank—it will help you regain your strength as well as give us a baseline. We want to predict and measure your physiological responses before we attempt to activate your gift as a Vessel.”
Her tone was nonchalant, as if we weren’t talking about events that had nearly killed me or about stealing another person’s memory and leaving them dead. It hit me: It wasn’t just my DNA that Francesca would use as a weapon against innocents. It was my mind.
No. I would not let that happen.
She sensed my agitation and rested her hand on my arm as if we truly were family. We arrived at the end of the hallway at a large room with windows on three sides. The amazing views over the water weren’t what caught my eye. It was the room’s occupants. Children. Running, playing, studying, laughing, smiling. At least two dozen of them.
I watched them without smiling. Because each of them, like me, had been shaven bald and wore an EEG cap. “They all have fatal insomnia?”
She nodded. “You spoke of saving children. What about saving your own family? With your help, these could be the last to die from the Scourge.”
“Why haven’t you developed a gene therapy for the family?”
“We tried. Too many spontaneous mutations. Like the ones that gave us you.” She frowned, her gaze distant, as if she remembered something from long ago. “I made a mistake with you. I see that now. Your mutation is more stable than I had anticipated.”
“You mean we can cure my fatal insomnia? And the children infected with it?”
“In time. Yes.”
A blessing and a curse. A weapon that could destroy the world or save a family. My family. I glanced at her, working hard to mask my emotions. She was mad, of course, quite insane. And yet, in her own way, brilliant.
She took me by the arm once more. “Let me show you our laboratory facilities. I think you’ll be excited to see how far ahead of the rest of the world we are.”
Right. Cutting-edge research designed to kill millions rather than save lives. As if that would get me excited enough to cooperate with her.
I drew upon what little reserves of patience and acting skills I had left and nodded. She led me across the courtyard to the smaller modern building that lay in the monastery’s shadow. Here, the cameras were definitely designed for security rather than patient monitoring, swiveling to follow our every step as we approached the entrance.
A guard stood beside the door. He wasn’t bald and didn’t have an EEG cap, although he appeared extremely uncomfortable, fidgeting with the weapon strapped across his chest and not looking me in the face. I seemed to have that effect on most of the islanders once they reali
zed who I was.
Standing beside the guard was Tyrone, favoring me with his usual glower. “Mother, I don’t think this is a good idea.”
“Nonsense,” she said, sweeping me through the entrance, leaving Tyrone behind. The research building was steel and glass within a sweeping diagonal steel framework, giving it a futuristic appearance, a distinct contrast to the well-loved, well-worn stone monastery across the courtyard.
“You need to understand that we take our mission to protect the world seriously,” she said as we strolled past a variety of labs with a dozen or more scientists working, all with EEG monitors. The family resemblance was clear—and during the short walk, I saw two of them glance at their watches as if getting an alarm then slump into the nearest chair before freezing with the unmistakable vacant visage of a fugue state. Not only studying fatal insomnia, living with it.
We circled past the outer labs to an inner glass-walled space that boasted additional security. Inside it were more glass-walled cubicles: self-contained isolation laboratories designed to handle high-risk contaminants like prions. The Lazarettos may have been immune to the mutant prions they worked with, but I was glad to see they still took precautions against releasing the disease into the environment.
Of course they were. Best way to protect their profit. There were only two workers here, cataloging specimens before placing them into special freezers. The door nearest us boasted state-of-the-art biometric security—the kind I’d seen before only in movies.
Francesca nodded to the security console. “No one gains access without proper authorization. Every sample is accounted for and secured.” The workers finished sealing the freezer and left the isolation area. Then they vanished through a door on the far side of the lab. “Even though our family is immune, we use every precaution.”
She seemed disappointed when I didn’t immediately voice my approval. She took my arm in hers and bent her head to mine as if imparting essential maternal knowledge. “The prions are our weapons, but they are also our defense. Just as in the past century when ensuring peace required the threat of a world-ending nuclear holocaust, we now have the means to save the future.”
The family’s future, a future controlled by Lazarettos like Francesca, Tommaso, and Tyrone. A future I wanted no part of.
Francesca sensed my horror at her vision. “I understand this is overwhelming. But we’re running out of time. You see, my brother, Marco, he has only given us until the New Year.”
I frowned, her words surprising me. “I don’t understand.”
“Marco has decided that the family no longer requires the Scourge to prosper. That the best way to end it is to end us.” She gestured with her hands. “Everyone on this island. In three days, he’ll send his men to take the prions and do with them as he likes.”
“Is he a scientist as well?” Maybe the prions would be better off with this Marco. Maybe he’d destroy them once and for all, protect the world.
“Marco? No, my dear. He’s not a scientist. He’s a businessman. Profit rules his world. And we, everyone here, we are no longer profitable. He’ll sell the prions to the highest bidder, let them loose on the world without regard to the consequences, secure in the fact that he is immune.”
“And exactly how is that different than what you plan?” I challenged her, irritated by being played as a pawn in their quest for dominance.
“I’ll protect not only our people but the world from the prions because I won’t make a move until I have a cure. That is why I was forced to sacrifice the first cohorts—as well as my own children who carried those mutations. But it’s all come down to us. You and I, Angela. Together we can save the world.” She paused, her lips pursing in a frown. “Or together we can fail and let Marco destroy it.”
Chapter 46
PRICE DROVE THEM to Ryder’s house first. Ryder grabbed his go-bag and added a few extras, including clothing for Rossi. “Weapons?” he asked. “Can we take them on the plane? I’m not sure about the laws in Italy.”
To his surprise, Price gave a nervous shrug. “Best not to risk anything that would get us stopped or draw attention.”
“Right. Worst comes to worst you can buy the Beretta factory or something.”
Devon controlled all of Kingston Enterprises and the family fortune. Ryder removed his pistol and ammunition from the ruck. He found his passport with its virgin pages on his bureau. Since leaving the Army, he hadn’t had a chance to travel anywhere exotic—had been hoping all that would change with Rossi in his life. He looked around his bedroom, the empty feeling pressing down on him like a weight. Everything had already changed because of Rossi.
He hoisted the ruck. “Let’s go.”
They drove directly to the airport. “You don’t have to stop at your mansion, change into a designer travel outfit?” Price said nothing, simply shifted in his seat. “You do have your passport, right?”
“Yes. Got it a few years ago. Saw a Nat Geo special on Belize and thought I’d check out their beaches, hunt for Mayan ruins, but a job came up, and I never got to use it.” Price parked the car outside a hangar in the general aviation section. A sleek Gulfstream awaited them. “I’m not sure how this works, haven’t used the jet myself.”
Ryder was focused on the mission. “The crew will know.”
He grabbed his bag and walked toward the jet. Price popped the trunk on the Town Car and hauled a small valise from it. At least Price traveled light, wouldn’t be slowing Ryder down. A man in his forties popped out from the hangar and strode over to them.
“Mr. Price, welcome. I’m James. I’ll be your steward for your flight. The pilots are doing their preflight checks, and we’ll be ready to leave shortly.” He escorted them up the narrow set of steps into the jet’s cabin. “We’ve a fully stocked bar and kitchen. There’s a stateroom in the rear if you want to lie down, or all of the seats fully recline.”
The man kept droning on, taking their coats and bags, but Ryder tuned him out. All he needed was someplace to sit—one thing the Army had taught him was how to sleep anywhere. Given his subpar physical shape, his head pounding, balance still off, every breath and step lancing pain through his ribs, last thing he wanted was to add exhaustion to the mix.
He took a seat. Price sat opposite, a small table in between that he set up his laptop on. It was strange the way Price kept squirming, twisting in his seat to look around. For the first time, Ryder remembered that Price was a decade younger than he was. Usually, Price was so confident and self-assured that he forgot about the difference in their ages.
Finally, they took off, Price’s grip on his armrests knuckle-white.
“Don’t like flying?” Ryder asked. Given that he was aching head to toe and it was Price who’d gotten them into this mess by sending Rossi off with the Lazarettos, he was not unhappy to see the other man suffering.
“Not sure. This is my first time.” Price gave a self-deprecating shrug. “Where would a kid from the Tower ever need to fly? Philly’s the farthest away I’ve ever made it.” The plane leveled off, but his grip didn’t ease up.
Ryder took pity on the man. “Relax. Greatest risk of a crash comes at takeoff and landing. Get some rest; you’re going to need it.”
With that, he stretched out on the leather seat, folded an arm over his eyes, and went to sleep. Best way to make the time go faster. Plus, the only way he could be with Rossi right now was in his dreams.
<<<>>>
IT TOOK ALL my acting skills to convince Francesca that I was considering helping her. She went to great lengths to prove to me that I wasn’t a prisoner, that I actually had a choice, giving me free rein of the island and the non-critical areas of the research lab. I took full advantage of her good-will, fake as it was, even persuading her to give Louise their best treatment—not a cure, but a regimen to help decrease fugues and other symptoms.
“I don’t understand,” I asked Francesca on that first day, after we left the lab. “If your brother is threatening your people and your work
, why don’t you just leave?”
She seemed puzzled by the idea. “Leave? We can’t do that. This is our home. This is our family. We could never abandon them.”
“But your family wants to steal the prions—there are millions of lives at risk. Why not destroy your research before Marco gets here?”
Another shake of her head as if we were each speaking an alien language. “I cannot destroy the prions. That work will save our family. The family comes first. Always and forever. I may not agree with Marco, and I’ll fight him until the end, but I would never betray the family.”
After that, I gave up on trying to find any rational common ground and focused on finding the cure.
We spent the next two days together, poring over Tommaso’s research. Francesca was truly brilliant. And truly insane. I was tempted to stay long enough to create a cure, hoping I could somehow steal it and destroy the prions before Francesca went through with her plan and released them, but once I realized that, like Tommaso’s, her research was also a dead end, I knew I had to escape.
Knowing there was no cure made my decision to leave easier, although I wished there was a way I could destroy the prion research before I left. Although the lab was equipped with a fail-safe system that would unleash caustic lye and eradicate the prions, I couldn’t break through the security to trigger it. If Francesca couldn’t move forward with her plan to create a cure and release the prions without my stem cells, then better to leave now before she could harvest them. And before her brother came to steal them and unleash them on the world.
During my few days here, I’d noticed that the island had its own rhythm, especially during the predawn hours when even the worst of the insomniacs were quiet. There was a predictable traffic pattern of boats coming and going: fresh food came, trash left; clean linens shipped in, dirty laundry shipped out; wine and liquor arrived, recyclables departed.