by Chris Angus
Xiaolang started. His old friend rarely mentioned his belief in the Christian God. It would not increase his standing with the troops. He felt it was a weakness in the man. But then, it was the only one he’d ever been aware of.
The White House
“Your meeting, Gordon. You called it. What have you got?” President Klein leaned back in his chair behind the immense Oval Office desk. Joining him and his science advisor were Averill Thompson, Surgeon General of the United States and Eleanor Payne, director of the Centers for Disease Control.
Because of his diminutive stature, the president’s chair had been put on risers so those seated in front of him had to look up. This made the platform a great place for a president roughly the size of actor Danny DeVito to intimidate foreign heads of state, not to mention members of his own Cabinet. It made actually working at the desk impractical, but he seldom used the Oval Office for anything other than ceremonial meetings anyway. Klein was invariably good-natured about the modifications, as he was about anything having to do with his height. It was the single characteristic that had done the most to cement his popularity with the public.
“I get a crick in my neck every time I have to talk to you in here,” Gordon complained.
“Well, if I didn’t put runners on this thing,” the president said, swiveling his chair around, “then I’d get a crick staring up at you. You don’t want a president with a crick in his neck, do you? It might put him in a bad mood.”
“I’m going to put you in a bad mood anyway, sir,” Page replied soberly. “The outbreak of avian flu virus in Beijing has begun to show up in at least six other cities, including Hong Kong and, most recently, Chennai, in India.”
“We’re not certain it’s avian flu, Gordon,” said Eleanor.
“I stand corrected. We’re not certain at all, Mr. President. The Chinese have been close-mouthed as usual. However, millions of fowl have been destroyed as a precaution and it’s pretty clear they’re gearing up for a massive control effort.”
“How many human casualties?” asked the president.
“A dozen the authorities have admitted to—only because they had no way to deny it. They were foreign nationals. But if they’re admitting to twelve, there could be twelve hundred for all we know.”
“Have we offered assistance?”
“Absolutely,” Surgeon General Thompson replied. “They assure us there is no need and that they have the situation under control.”
The president sighed. “Famous last words. They say the same damn thing every time something like this comes along. By the time the bureaucracy is willing to come clean, the—whatever it is—has spread halfway around the world. One of these times, they’re going to create a pandemic and kill millions.” He stared out his window for a minute. “What would happen if we just sent a delegation of experts from the CDC over there without fanfare, no announcement or anything? Just have them show up and say they’re there to help.”
Thompson and Payne exchanged glances.
“It’s an interesting idea, Mr. President,” said Payne. “Once they arrived on Chinese soil, it would focus the attention of the world community if they were summarily deported. The press would have a field day. It’d be the last thing the authorities would want. They’d probably let them in rather than have that happen.”
“They might even welcome the excuse to do so if they’re in serious trouble,” Thompson added.
President Klein looked at Gordon, who hesitated, then nodded.
“All right, do it,” the president ordered. He stood up. “Thank you all. Gordon, will you stay for a moment?”
After the others had left, the president’s secretary stepped in the door. “I know,” said Klein. “Give us five minutes and then bring him in, Virginia. Thank you.” He waved his science advisor over to the chairs in front of the fireplace. Page waited expectantly.
“It’s Paul Littlefield, Gordon. He wants a progress report on Logan and company.”
Page stiffened. As a man of science, he had no use for Littlefield and his preposterous, creationist beliefs. He suspected the president shared his feelings, but they wouldn’t be sitting where they were without the man who’d managed to raise fifty million dollars for the Klein campaign.
The president smiled. “Ease up, Gordon. Your hackles are showing. Just give him a rundown on what’s transpired thus far.”
“I’m sorry to be so transparent, Mr. President. I have a hard time taking seriously a man who was somehow astute enough to make several billion dollars in the real world while simultaneously having an intellectual capacity somewhere south of Tammy Faye Baker.”
Klein smiled, but glanced over to make sure the door was tightly closed. “You’re familiar, I’m sure, with the truism that politics makes for strange bedfellows?”
“I can’t for the life of me understand why he supports you. As far as I’ve been able to determine, you have nothing in common.”
“Well, here’s one thing—he had lots of money and I needed lots of money. Anyway, you understand how he feels about this DNA business?”
“I know the idea of something inexplicable—perhaps even non-human—showing up in our genetic material has him bouncing off the walls. He sees man as the highest form of life in the universe. God’s divine creation. There’s no room for little green men and certainly not ones with a higher intelligence. This stuff drives scientists nuts, Mr. President. There’s only something like two hundred billion stars in the Milky Way and an equal number of galaxies in the observable universe, but somehow, Littlefield knows that we sit at the pinnacle of it all. To say he has a closed mind would be to pay him a compliment. He’s the William Jennings Bryan of the software world.”
Klein’s small frame shook with silent laughter. “Okay, Gordon, I get the picture, and I tend to agree with you. Just string the man along. It’s all I ask.” He leaned over and pushed a button. A moment later, the door opened and Littlefield entered the room.
He crossed briskly to where they sat. Every movement of the man suggested there wasn’t a moment to be wasted. Somewhere there was another billion to be made, another school board to sway against evolutionary theory. Littlefield was a man on a mission.
“Thank you for seeing me, Mr. President.”
“You’re always welcome here, Paul,” said the president.
Littlefield looked at Gordon and nodded stiffly. The two had clashed before.
“Sit down—would you care for some coffee?”
“Thank you, no, sir.” Littlefield sat and crossed his legs. He had small eyes and bristling, salt-and-pepper eyebrows. Gordon noted that the Hawaiian shirts the billionaire liked to wear as a sign that he was beyond normal social clothing standards had been replaced with an exquisitely crafted, double-breasted suit that probably cost ten thousand dollars.
The president nodded to Gordon with a barely suppressed smile. “Perhaps you could bring Paul up to speed, Gordon, on the progress of our venture.”
“Yes, sir. All members of the team are on-site at Dr. Kessler’s new family group site. They’re still moving supplies in, and it will take them up to a week to establish an obviously working archaeological dig. This is crucial to put any Chinese suspicions to rest.”
“How are we getting information?” asked Littlefield.
“Dr. Kessler has a pair of satellite phones, but they’re not capable of encryption. We have to assume the calls are monitored by the Chinese. She can therefore make only very general, site-related calls and then only to her own grant-review committee at the Smithsonian. We get our information through them. It would not be wise to have her contact the White House directly, for obvious reasons.”
“A week.” Littlefield shook his head. “It’s too long. The body is likely to melt out and be contaminated beyond the point of providing us with reliable DNA results.”
“Your concern for the science of the project is admirable,” said Page. “Could I ask what sort of results you’ve determined we’ll find?”
Littlefield’s face reddened.
Sensing disaster, the president attempted to head off the impending conflict. “Please, Gordon. We’re all interested in what the body will tell us.”
“I have no doubt,” Littlefield said, barely able to control his voice, “that there will be no evidence of any so-called extraterrestrial influence. When it’s confirmed that the unusual sequences are nothing more than normal human aberrations, I’ll be satisfied that this whole business is nothing but a wild goose chase.”
“I see,” said Page. “So you expect the genetic debris will be shown to be an aberration or mutation . . . simply the result of normal human evolution?”
“Any changes in human DNA are the result of God’s plan, Mr. Page, and cannot, in any event, date farther back than the beginning of the world which, as the Bible tells us, occurred six thousand years ago, plain and simple.”
“Simple, indeed,” said Page.
Littlefield turned away from the science advisor, who was obviously beyond redemption. “I’ve been concerned about the spreading virus in the Far East, Mr. President.”
President Klein’s face expressed surprise, for the information was still little known to the general public. But then Littlefield hardly qualified as the general public. His business interests ranged all over the world and he was capable of getting his own reports that could rival those of the CIA in accuracy.
“It’s serious, Paul. The source of the contaminant is still unknown and the Chinese are being secretive as usual. I’m sending a CDC team over.”
“The Chinese have agreed to that?”
“No. But we’re banking they won’t dare turn them away for fear of the publicity.”
Littlefield seemed to consider the possibilities. “I think it’s a good decision, sir. Important to stay on top of the situation so we can move quickly if this thing explodes.”
“Why bother?” asked Gordon. “You don’t really think we should intervene in God’s plan, do you?”
Littlefield turned cold eyes on Page. He had the ability to look right through someone who displeased him.
“The Lord allows us free will. That’s what makes us human. It’s the Muslims who believe everything is written. God has placed many difficulties before us in order to test our strength and resolve and faith.”
“I see,” said Gordon. “Could you explain, then, why one of those divine tests might not include having to deal with other intelligent life forms in the universe?”
“God moves in mysterious ways, but he has placed mankind at the center.”
“And you would know this because . . . ?”
“I know it because I am a man of faith, Mr. Page.”
“You don’t think there might be a chartreuse creature with three heads and slimy tentacles somewhere out there,” Gordon waved a hand at the ceiling, “who might also be a man of faith . . . of a different color, so to speak?”
Littlefield stood up. “I won’t take any more of your time, Mr. President. Please let me know if there’s anything else I can do.”
CHAPTER SIX
LOGAN STOOD IN front of one of the supply tents and coiled nylon rope into hundred-foot lengths. Then he stuffed one length into each of the five packs he’d begun to prepare for their journey to Bogda Feng. Organizing the packs was really a form of therapy. He packed and repacked them, striving for minimal weight and optimal practicality. Each contained two weeks’ worth of food, a large canteen, bedroll, medical kit, folding knife, and eating utensils. Everyone would add his or her own clothing and other absolute essentials.
It was over one hundred and fifty miles to the glacier. They would travel by truck most of the way, but the final twenty miles would be on foot or horseback if they could find animals to purchase. He wanted his group to be able to pass for a party of tourist climbers. There could be other hikers, skiers, and campers in the region, mostly Chinese on vacation, but there were bound to be a few foreign groups.
His own pack, larger than the rest, also contained several pairs of crampons, rappelling equipment, ice axes, and cooking gear, including the ingenious little propane device that appeared to be a stove, but actually produced an intense heat that would be used to melt the body out of the glacier.
They’d been at the family group for three days now and all the supplies had been brought up by the Tibetans. Marcia established a routine. She’d borrowed Corkie and her crew from the Tarim site to stake out the enclosed survey area and begin the slow process of excavation.
Not involved directly, Logan had time to turn his thoughts to their route and to each member of the team who would accompany him. He’d known only Marcia previously. She was competent in rough conditions after a lifetime living at remote dig sites. Despite her smoking habit, which she seemed determined to kick, she was a sinewy string bean of a woman with surprising strength and endurance. So long as she didn’t talk him to death with that scratchy voice of hers, she’d be reliable.
Duncan was the youngest and seemed to have a chip on his shoulder for some reason. Probably trying to prove himself in this crowd of overachievers. Logan would have to keep an eye on him, make sure he didn’t try to do something stupid. People trying to make an impression were the most likely to go off half-cocked and cause trouble.
Leeanne Fitzhugh was experienced from her years traveling with her husband. In his early conversations with her, Logan learned she had manipulated her way onto the team by making it a prerequisite for allowing the study of Malcolm’s private papers. She’d been a full-time partner with her husband, highly involved in his work. And she appeared to be fit. Certainly, Duncan thought so. Logan had detected the younger man’s interest at once. For her part, Leeanne seemed to be almost toying with him. She had a way with words, speaking in a soft and almost breathless voice and using foul language that could keep a man thinking about sex 24/7. He’d known women like her before. Everything came with sexual overtones. They liked it on their own terms, but if some guy they weren’t interested in decided to take them up on all the innuendo, they could find themselves quickly out of their depth and in real trouble. She could definitely be a source of conflict between the men in the group, which in this case, meant Duncan and Alan Cooper.
Cooper he judged to be the most experienced and competent member of the team after himself. Alan was in his mid-forties, which meant he wasn’t likely to go off into some sex-induced fog like Duncan, no matter how much suggestive language Leeanne used. And he knew how to get along in the backcountry, maybe even as well as Logan. His African experience made him right at home in this variable terrain, though he’d never been in China before. Logan had been concerned there would be friction between Alan and Diana over the National Geographic article, but they seemed to have buried that hatchet.
Of course, the biggest problem was that none of them, besides Logan, could speak any of the bewildering variety of languages they might encounter. Marcia had picked up a smattering in her dealings with the Tibetans and some of the city folk in Urumqi. But most of the officials she dealt with spoke English. This was why he’d decided they should pose as tourists being accompanied by an experienced guide, himself.
And while he was in the business of evaluating everyone, he mused, why exclude himself? He was thoroughly familiar with his own limitations and shortcomings. Mei-Li had delineated them ad nauseam. Foremost among her findings was that he was simply not the marrying kind. He loved the open road and adventure too much to tie himself down to one place ever again. His years working in the embassy had occasionally been exciting, but mostly they dragged interminably, especially the endless hours sitting at a desk. Now that family obligations no longer demanded his staying in Beijing full-time, he had more opportunity to intersperse his duties with climbing expeditions. It hadn’t been easy for Mei-Li or her family to accept that the marriage was over. But following his encounter with her in Beijing and with her father in Hohhot, he felt better about things. He began to think about making love to Mei-Li. In that, at least
, they had been compatible. For a time, he’d been totally enslaved by her petite, firm, white body, rose petal lips, and raven hair. Kissing Mei-Li had revived memories of her insatiable sexual appetite.
He shook the thoughts from his head. He could get as horny as the next man and there were at least two extremely attractive women in the group. Diana’s interest had been clear enough. He intended to tamp down those feelings, however. It would just make the job that much harder.
He finished coiling and storing the last length of rope and turned to see Cooper, who nodded at him and said, “I’m told dinner is in half an hour. The group is gathering for a drink on the Observation Deck.”
The Observation Deck was the name they’d given to the small, flat-topped rise that overlooked the family group. It was a natural place to meet and discuss their projects—both of them. Folding chairs and a small table had been set up on the top. When the two men arrived, everyone was present except Diana and Harry, who had decided to climb the five-hundred-foot ridge nearby to get some shots of the sunset with Diana describing the scene for her future TV audience. Dr. Kessler produced a pitcher of martinis, a de rigueur requirement for the members of any dig she ever worked on. Logan accepted a tin cup filled with the toxic liquid along with two olives and settled into one of the lawn chairs. He took a sip and gasped. Kessler’s raspy voice snickered behind him.
“They forgot to pack the Vermouth,” she said. “Can you believe it? So you get two olives instead. Don’t worry, the effect’s the same after the first two.”
“Someone can actually drink two of these?” he said, eyes watering. “Battery acid will be child’s play after this.”
Marcia settled into a chair with her own drink and surveyed the group. “Since Diana and Harry aren’t here, it’s probably a good time to review our main project.” She stared down at several members of her team who were enjoying their own dinner around one of the tents below. “I’ve told Corkie, without filling him in on what we’re really up to, that there’s been some satellite data suggesting additional sites and that we’ll be sending an exploratory team to inspect them. I’ve placed him in charge when this happens.”