“Shut up and get out,” Freya said through gritted teeth.
Freya slipped into the driver’s seat as Kelly heaved himself out and through the open window. He held onto the roof and wing mirror and pulled out his legs so he could stand on the wheel arch. The wind whipped about his face and hair, while sand and grit stabbed at his eyes. Kelly squinted, almost to the point of being unable to see at all, and shimmied along the outside of the chassis. He grabbed the large straps that held down the tarp, using them as anchors.
A high-pitched whistle screamed past his right ear. He leaned backward to see the pursuing vehicle, the driver with one arm sticking out of the window, carelessly brandishing a Helwan pistol. They were firing at him. He had to move faster. He shimmied further along. Another bullet pinged off the truck’s chassis.
“Fuck!” Kelly shouted in the direction of the gunman. “Son of a bitch. I gotta get inside.” He shimmied around the corner so he was now hanging on to the back of the vehicle. Hurriedly, he fiddled with the straps that held the tarp closed. One came free. Then the other. Kelly scrambled inside, diving head first through the gap, narrowly avoiding the bullet that ripped through the material where his head had been. “Motherfuckers.” Kelly shook off the adrenaline and searched the interior.
Bags and boxes were strewn everywhere. No system. No markings. How the hell was he meant to find anything? He didn’t have time for this crap. Desperate, he clawed at everything, turning things over and spilling contents after contents onto the floor of the truck. Pieces of pottery. Jade jewelry. Papyrus. Junk. All of it, junk.
Then it hit him. A flash. Like someone had electrocuted his brain. He stumbled and fell backward to the floor. What the fuck was that? He shuddered, then heaved climbed back to his feet. Cautiously, he fumbled around, allowing his fingers to skim everything within arms’ reach. A tingling on the back of his neck rose upward into his skull. Kelly focused his eyes on the object at his finger-tips. A small, black, shriveled thing, like a giant raisin.
“Is that it?” He unconsciously voiced his disappointment. He wasn’t sure what he’d been expecting, but that wasn’t it. But as he thought about it, it made sense. The original orb had been jelly-like. So it would probably desiccate over time.
He took a deep breath and closed his fingers around it. A surge of imagery and information penetrated his being. It surged along his arm and powered into the soft tissues of his brain. It was coming so fast he couldn’t file it or make sense of it. Then the pain was too much. Kelly roared in anguish, then blacked out.
Freya slammed on the brakes, barely missing a small gathering of men who had splintered off from the rest of the protestors. Without cutting the engine, she jumped out and sprinted to the rear of the truck. Peering through the flaps, she saw Kelly sprawled on the floor, unconscious. She clambered in and knelt beside him. What could have happened? He was still breathing.
“Kelly!”
Silence.
“Kelly!”
He didn’t stir. She slapped his face hard.
Kelly jolted. “What the fu—” He blinked and gazed around.
“What happened?” she asked. “Did you find it?”
“Yeah, kinda. Let’s go.”
“Where is it?”
“We don’t need it. I’ll explain later. Let’s just get the hell outta here.”
Freya grabbed his arm as she stood and heaved him up. Kelly swayed, steadied himself, then nodded. They jumped from the truck and scanned the desert behind them. The pursuing soldiers were gaining fast. They darted into the crowd and were lost amongst them.
“Do you know where we’re going?” Kelly asked.
Freya held his hand and dragged him through gaps in the mass of people. “I just wanna hole up for a few minutes—let that guy get lost in the crowd. C’mon, in here.” She yanked his arm and pulled him into a dingy little shop. The place was packed with men standing around chatting and chomping down large slabs of meat and bread. The air wreaked of garlic and spices.
“Will we be safe in here?” he asked.
“Sure, just stand with me. Act like a tourist. Keep your back to the entrance and face inward.”
They stood for a few minutes without speaking. Kelly fidgeted on the spot. “The smells are killing me. I’m hungry.”
“Now, Kelly? Really?”
“I’ll buy something. We can’t stand here and not order something.” Kelly pushed his way to the counter and spoke to the man behind it. He returned holding two foil packages.
“What is it?” Freya peeled back the foil to reveal a squashed layer of dark brown meat and wilted salad in something that resembled pita bread. She crinkled her nose at it.
“It’s shawarma.” Kelly’s mouth was already full as he spoke. “It’s good. Just eat it.” He took another large bite.
Freya studied it longer. It didn’t look appetizing, but her stomach was empty. To hell with it. She put it in her mouth and bit down. It was actually good. “So why didn’t we need the object?” She spoke quietly through the corner of her mouth, hiding the bolus of food.
Kelly swallowed. “It’s weird. I touched something in there. A shriveled-up, little piece of crap. Then I got all these visions. It’s like they’re burned into my brain. I could see them.”
“Who?”
“K’in’s people. Lots of them.” He smiled. “It’s strange. They were there but upright and walking around. It’s a bit hazy and fragmented, but again, I felt contentment, happiness. I saw a place, a city by the sea—no, not by it, almost in it. It was a partially submerged halfway house for K’in’s species and ours like symbiotic living.”
“I wonder why you felt it and saw things no one else has. It must have been handled a million times.”
“Dunno. Maybe Moby opened my brain?”
She laughed. “Yeah.”
“Anyway, I know where we go from here.”
“Where?”
“To the city I saw in my head. In India.” He scarfed down the last of his shawarma.
“Okay.” Freya finished her meal as well.
Kelly grabbed her hand again and strode out of the shop into the crowd. He hadn’t noticed before, but the shop had been cooled by a fan. The change in temperature was sudden and unwelcome.
“We need to grab a car.”
“No more stealing. Let’s just take a cab.”
Kelly laughed. “Okay, deal.”
She walked to the side of the road, never letting go of his hand. With the spare one, she waved down a cab. A black and white, dilapidated vehicle that looked as if it had been manufactured and exported from Russia in the 1950s, screeched to a halt in front of them. They climbed into the back.
“Cairo West Airfield,” Kelly replied.
Freya heaved a sigh. “I’ll need a couple of hours sleep at the airfield before I pilot that jet again.”
“Sure, of course.” Kelly peered out the back window and watched the soldier that had been pursuing them search the crowd, his face contorted in exasperation.
Location: USAMRIID, Maryland, USA
“I don’t care how you do it, just do it,” the Colonel ordered. “We need to move them now! Do you understand? ... Good ... What? ... No, don’t worry about her. She won’t be in the office after this disaster. I just don’t want her finding them in the next few days. Do I have to think of everything? Get her out of the picture. Hospitalize her or something. Just make it quick. This operation is much too important to allow some broad to fuck it up. Make it happen. I’ll be with you in a couple of hours, then we go into the field.” The Colonel slammed down the phone.
This was one big mess. What the hell had Benjamin done? He’d obviously gone off plan and AWOL. He was jeopardizing the whole operation. And that couldn’t be allowed to happen. To hell with rank. Their friendship be damned. Only the project mattered. Nothing else.
Christian couldn’t believe his ears. Had he really just heard the Colonel order someone to cripple his sister? He didn’t care what was at stake or
what the Colonel was hiding, no one was going to threaten his little sister. It was time for some serious action. But what?
He backed away from the half-closed door to the Colonel’s office. He had intended on speaking with the Colonel about his sister’s request, and the need to calm her and reassure her that everything was okay, that she was paranoid. But she wasn’t. She was right on the money. He could only think of one way to stall the man. It would cost Christian his career and probably his freedom. He took a deep breath, stepped forward, and rapped on the door.
“Yes?” the Colonel said, annoyed.
“Ahem. Yes. Colonel, I need to speak with you urgently.” The doctor stepped into the room with as much confidence as possible. The room was cold and stark. Not a picture hung on the wall or rested on his desk. He was a man with no friends or family.
“Can’t it wait?”
“No, I need you to come to the lab with me. I have to show you one of the mice, following injection of the test drug. The results are amazing. I think we should move straight to human testing to save time.”
“That’s ridiculous. Not to mention completely off protocol. You haven’t even tested in primates yet, and you want to expose humans?”
“Back in 2004, in this very lab, an investigator stuck her thumb with a needle while treating Ebola-infected mice with antibodies. A pharma company had just presented a seminar to USAMRIID on the efficacy of morpholinos for treating Ebola. When they heard about the accident, they volunteered to design and synthesize compounds against the virus to treat her if the need arose. The team worked for four straight days to generate human-grade anti-Ebola compounds. During that time, their regulatory staff worked with our physicians to gain emergency approval from the FDA to use the compounds. Five days after the exposure, the morpholino was ready and delivered to these premises.”
“Yes, but it was never administered.”
“I know, but we are in a more stressful situation than one infected person. I need your authorization to work with the team here and approach the FDA again to get it fast tracked. Please come look at the mice. Ten minutes. It’s all I ask.”
The Colonel huffed. “Okay. Ten minutes. You go to the lab, I’ll join you shortly.”
“Okay, thanks.”
Christian shuffled out of the room and rambled down the various corridors and staircases. He was on autopilot. His mind full of his next action. It was the only way. Wasn’t it? Christian hadn’t actually lied; a couple of mice were showing some surprisingly good results following administration of the morpholino, but that wouldn’t be enough to keep the Colonel here. He wasn’t going to listen to reason. That was clear. The man was hell-bent on doing whatever he had put into motion. And he was physically much larger. There was no way to overpower him. There was only one way. He just had to trust in two little, furry rodents.
Christian was once again enveloped in his biohazard suit. His breath fogged up the inside of the plastic face-panel as he waited at the entrance to the biohazard lab. He punched in the security code using the wall panel. The door popped open under pressure. He pushed it open and cautiously stepped into another tiny room before making an about face and closing the door behind him. A sound much like an overworked drill signified the sealing of the airlock—the rapid inflation of a rubber bladder that sealed the smooth edges of the door. Christian watched the vertical banks of nozzles spraying water and virus-killing chemicals over him.
A small light shone green. He pushed the second steel door open and stepped inside the larger room. Fluorescent lights hung from the ceiling in airtight boxes that prevented microorganisms from collecting on the edges. The walls glistened from the layers of epoxy potting compound that formed a continuous seal across every surface. Electrical outlets that penetrated the seal were housed in airtight boxes and lathered in epoxy. A dull clunk sounded as the door behind him automatically shut and sealed. Grabbing the hose overhead, he connected the air supply, giving his micro-environment positive pressure.
The suit made a familiar shuffling sound, material rubbing on material, as he made his way to the Class III storage unit that contained the virus, pre-loaded into syringes. The unit was completely transparent, with two large holes in the front surface. Inside the holes were long thick gloves that pointed inward, attached at their opening to the glass front.
Christian took a deep breath. He would have to break protocol to do this. He slipped his hands into the gloves and picked up the syringe closest to him. Damn, it was cold in the unit—a necessity to keep the virus at a workable temperature. With his spare left hand, he grabbed a needle and unsheathed it from its cover. Attaching the two together, he pushed down on the plunger, forcing liquid to the tip of the needle. This was very delicate. He didn’t want to force it so much that the liquid was pushed out of the end, contaminating anything it touched, but he didn’t want to leave air in the needle either which would prove fatal.
With the syringe construction complete, Christian placed it down on the inner surface, careful that it did not roll away. Now it was time to break protocol. He pulled his arms from the cabinet gloves. Again, he took a deep breath. Then, he grabbed the locking clasps on the unit and popped them open. Inside, he scooped up the virus-filled syringe. He closed the cabinet and re-locked the clasps. A firm grip on his shoulder made him jump nearly out of his skin.
“What the hell are you doing?” yelled the Colonel, the loudness of his voice attenuated by his biohazard suit. “That’s completely off protocol. You can’t wander the lab with an exposed needle like that. You didn’t use the autoclave.”
The Colonel’s rant melted into white noise. Christian wasn’t listening. His mind was filled with only one thought—stab him. The doctor’s concentration returned to the Colonel, barking and pacing, his arms flailing about in anger. Christian wasn’t even sure what the man was shouting anymore. Something regarding the lab. The Colonel turned away and threw his arms wide, making some grand point about the room they were in. Christian stepped forward, wielding the syringe in his fist like a knife. He pulled it back, ready to plunge it into the man’s back. He screwed up his face and closed his eyes. Stab him!
Christian’s arm didn’t move an inch. He couldn’t do it. It wasn’t who he was. What if the mouse data was wrong? This wouldn’t slow the man. It would kill him. Christian was no killer. He sighed and loosened his grip on the deadly syringe, his head hanging low in shame for not being able to help his sister. For resorting to, for all intents and purposes, murder. He had to call Lucy and tell her she was in danger.
The doctor’s eyes widened as a force pressed against the arm holding the syringe. He raised his head and allowed his gaze to follow the length of his limb to the syringe and the needle that was now lodged firmly in the Colonel’s right shoulder. He must have spun, mid-rant, straight into it.
Both men froze.
The Colonel stared, eyes filled with fear, at the metallic object protruding from his suit. While his heart wished it had only penetrated the suit, his brain acknowledged the acute pain in his flesh.
“Colonel. I ...” Christian stuttered.
“You idiot. Quickly, we need to initiate an emergency protocol. Get me to the BPCU. Begin blood tests. Run RT-PCR for virus RNA.”
Christian just stared at him, unable to speak, unable to move.
Location: G650 jet, somewhere over India
The jet slipped through the thin wisp of cloud covering the cobalt-blue sea. Kelly stared outward, his chin resting on his palm, his elbow wedged into the small porthole frame. It seemed he spent much of his time these days just staring out of small windows, absorbing and appreciating all of the things he’d taken for granted before. Long slivers of golden coastline and emerald-green palm trees carved their way through the still ocean. He’d missed the ocean so much. It had only been a few weeks away, but he could imagine the salty sea breeze whisking over his face.
He turned his attention to his female pilot. She was sitting upright, her gaze fixed on the horizon ah
ead. But, even in that position, somehow she looked elegant. Kelly watched her closely. She wasn’t moving a single facial muscle. Her porcelain-like skin was as smooth as ever, though covered in soot and dirt from their ordeal. She looked like a mixture of a fearless Amazonian woman and an afraid little girl. He mused on her relationship with the General. What was it with those two? He was old enough to be her father. Could they be involved? He shook his head gently, disagreeing with his own question. No, it was something else.
He hadn’t noticed, but they were already descending into Bhavnagar airport, a small operation forty miles from the bay of Cambay: their destination. The flight had only been three hours since the jet was unbelievably fast. Lucky for them, the Bhavnagar tower had agreed to an emergency landing, courtesy of Freya’s ability to leverage her military position. News of their outlaw status clearly had not reached this part of the world.
“When we land, we’re gonna have to dump this jet. We can’t afford to use it anymore. Someone’s gonna come looking for it—the drug lords or the authorities. We’ll take a cab and hole up in Ghogha. You sort the diving equipment, I’ll get some rest.” Freya smiled weakly. She hadn’t had any proper sleep since they had left Lima.
The tires screeched as the jet set down. Moments later, they were veering off the only runway in the airport and being escorted to an old hangar. Before Freya had even parked, Kelly had unbuckled himself and climbed through the cockpit door into the main body. There, on the chair- cum-bed, was Alejandro, curled up asleep under a sheet. Kelly sighed. The crusty old bastard looked peaceful, but as soon as he awoke, it would be another barrage of insults. There was just no convincing him how much Carmen and Izel had meant. Fuck it. Kelly prodded him—hard.
Alejandro woke with a start and a snort. “What?”
“Time to go, old man.”
“Come on, Alejandro.” Freya gathered up their bags. “Let’s go.”
“You realize we are going to have to pull a fast one here?” Kelly put his hands behind his head and stretched.
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