Flypaper: A Novel

by Chris Angus

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  NIGHTFALL IN THE Tian Shan Mountains came quickly. Logan estimated they were already at six thousand feet in ­elevation, and as soon as the sun disappeared behind the tallest peaks, the light began to fade rapidly. They made camp beneath a rocky spur.

  Dinner was subdued. They gathered about a small fire, for fuel was scarce. Leeanne sat on her bedroll next to Alan. “Do you think there are any bears around here?” she asked.

  He shrugged. “Don’t know. I’ve never been in this part of the world.”

  “There are brown bears,” Logan said. “They won’t bother us. They’ve gotten used to seeing humans since more climbers started coming here, but that only means they’ve learned to avoid us.”

  “I’m surprised we haven’t run into any other climbers,” Alan said.

  “We’re past peak climbing season. With luck, we won’t run into anyone—especially where we’re going.”

  A long, blood-curdling howl echoed across the valley below them. It was answered by more howls in the distance.

  “What the hell is that?” asked Leeanne.

  “Wolves,” said Logan. “You won’t see them either, but you’ll hear them all right. Maybe a wildcat or snow leopard, too.”

  Leeanne stared across the valley. “What a lonely place.”

  “That’s actually kind of what I like about it,” said Logan. “It’s one of the loneliest places on Earth. Did you know we’re the farthest you can get from an ocean anywhere on the planet? This is a unique ecosystem, with all kinds of unusual creatures—goitered gazelles, ibex, argali sheep, little bustards . . .”

  “Little bastards?”

  “Bustards,” he smiled. “It’s a bird.”

  “So how far do we still have to go?” asked Duncan.

  “We’ll cross that ridge we saw just before the sun went down tomorrow morning. Then we’ll descend into the valley that leads to the Bogda Feng and begin our search for the body.”

  “How on Earth are we going to find it in all this?” Duncan waved a hand at the immense landscape that engulfed them.

  “A fair question,” Logan replied. “In fact, there are ­thousands of glaciers in the Tian Shan. We could search for a lifetime and not find the right one if we were doing it at random. ­Unfortunately, my group was . . . uh . . . in a hurry and I had no time to note the precise location. But I’ve a pretty good idea where to look, though I suppose there will still be an element of luck.” He spread his own bedroll out. “Better get some sleep. We’ve got a full day tomorrow.”

  Leeanne pulled her bedroll close to Alan. “If any wolves decide to pay us a visit,” she said softly, “you may find me in there with you.”

  “Heeere, wolfie, come on, boy,” Alan called, and Leeanne smacked his arm, but she snuggled even closer to his sleeping bag.

  Duncan scowled as he watched the interplay between the two. He pulled his own bag farther away. He’d be damned if he’d put up with watching Leeanne and Alan be cozy together. He’d like to have her in his bedroll, keeping him warm on this cold, clear night.

  Alan lay for a long time, unable to go to sleep. The stars were of unbelievable clarity, like nighttime on the Sahara. It was sometime after midnight when he heard the first rumblings. He sat up and stared into the blackness, feeling the ground move beneath him.

  Earthquake.

  “Logan!”

  Alan heard someone stir off to his right and then saw a flashlight come on. “I know. I think we’re okay,” Logan said. “I was just checking the spur above us. It could break off in a severe quake, but I’m pretty sure we’re not in the path if it goes.”

  The others came awake and there were murmurs of surprise as the rumbling went on for another minute, like a distant freight train, the earth shaking violently.

  “Look at the sky!” said Leeanne.

  Everyone looked up to see the most extraordinary display of Northern Lights any of them had seen. Flickering shades of blue and purple and chartreuse flashed and undulated across the sky. In concert with the rumbling and shaking of the ground beneath them, they had the bizarre sense of the Earth coming apart at the seams.

  “What a freak show!” Leeanne murmured. “All we need is the score from Night on Bald Mountain and I’ll know the world’s coming to an end.”

  “Does this qualify as wolves?” Alan whispered to her.

  “You’re damn right it does,” she said and slipped into his bag. They lay with their arms around each other and stared at the undulating lights that filled the sky above.

  The quake finally subsided, but the flickering went on and on.

  “What do you suppose the chances are,” Alan asked, “that the quake could loosen or split the glacier?”

  “I’ve been thinking about that,” Logan said. “If it makes large pieces break free, we could have trouble finding our iceman. He might end up on the bottom side of a thousand-ton chunk of ice.”

  “Or maybe he’ll just pop out and melt free in tomorrow’s sun. We’ll find him lying there waiting for us,” said Leeanne.

  “Good to look on the bright side,” Logan said. “Now go to sleep everyone. We’re going to need it.”

  Alan woke first in the predawn light. He lay on his side for a while, enjoying the feel of Leeanne curled into his back, her right arm wrapped tightly around him. It had been three years since he and his wife had divorced. He realized how much he missed this part of being with someone.

  He could see Logan standing twenty feet away staring out at the dawn. Carefully, Alan disentangled himself from Leeanne, slipped out of the sleeping bag, and went over to join him.

  “Hell of a night,” he said, shivering in the early morning cold.

  “Quakes aren’t all that unusual in Central Asia,” Logan said. “Though I have to admit, Northern Lights at the same time was a first for me.”

  Alan stared across the vast landscape. This place had a way of making one feel very, very small. “What do you really think our chances are of finding this thing?”

  “Before last night, I’d have said excellent. After the quake, all bets are off. It depends on what sort of damage was done. We’ll search as long as it takes . . . though I’m sick about what that may mean for Diana. It’s simply too important to accept not finding it.”

  “Do you believe this genetic anomaly is some sort of freak thing—that it might actually relate to man’s origins somehow?”

  Logan looked at him. “You tell me. You’re the scientist.”

  Alan sighed. “You know, we’ve learned a lot about DNA, and we’ve begun to mess around with it in ways that may not be too wise.”

  “Recombinant technology,” said Logan.

  He nodded. “A lot of scientists think r-DNA technology may eventually be regarded as one of the most dangerous technological interventions in the history of mankind. It’s a technology completely different from anything known so far. In nature, gene transfer is gradual, holistic, and vertical—that is to say, from parents to offspring—in humans. In conventional breeding the process is accelerated somewhat, but r-DNA involves forced, uni-dimensional, horizontal gene transfer across species, genetic, and even phyletic barriers.”

  “Uh . . . give me that again.”

  “It simply means that transfers are made across different animals and plants, animals to plants, microbes to higher organisms, et cetera. In nature, DNA from one species can’t normally enter the cell of another species, survive in the new cell milieu, or become incorporated in the latter’s genome. This is because there are barriers at the cell surface that preclude entry as well as enzymes that destroy the alien DNA. There are exceptions in nature to this rule, however. The nucleic acids of infective bacteria and viruses can enter all kinds of cells, survive there by using the cellular machinery, and may even become integrated into the host DNA.

  “Genetic engineers have used this phenomenon to carry out horizontal gene transfers. They use the DNA of microbial pathogens or parasites as carriers to smuggle an alien DN
A fragment into plants. They’re specifically designed to deliver genes into cells and to overcome cellular mechanisms that destroy or inactivate foreign DNA. This makes them particularly good at transferring genes horizontally between unrelated species or into bacteria. The bacteria are used like a factory to produce hormones and other chemicals in large quantities. The technique has led to life-saving vaccines, drugs, and other therapies, including human insulin for diabetics, human growth hormone, and clot-dissolving agents for people with heart disease. But—and it’s a big but—these carriers can also jump out of the host into other organisms, and will do so whether intended or not. Thus, the same mechanism deployed to enable horizontal gene transfer becomes a potential source of proliferation for dangerous bacteria and viruses.”

  “If I understand all that,” said Logan, “you’re saying that once a gene jumps to another organism, the cat is out of the bag and there’s no telling where it stops.”

  “Well, let’s just say, you may have a problem.”

  “Which is why you were so against creating the protein the sequence codes for.”

  “Right. There are just too many unknowns. We might release something we would regret, like a fatal prion that’s airborne. And believe me, turning it off would be like trying to stuff the genie back into the bottle. The better part of valor at that point might be to head for a desert island and avoid contact with anyone ever again. Though even that might not be enough, depending on how long the contaminating airborne substance could survive on the wind currents.”

  “But this debris—this genetic anomaly—has apparently been around for millions of years. Why hasn’t it caused a problem before?”

  “We don’t know for sure it hasn’t,” said Alan. “But it must be very stable to have survived for so long in unchanged form. The fact it hasn’t changed suggests it contains some mechanism for self-repair. I’d guess that something needs to turn it on before it causes any problems. And I sure don’t want to be the one who does it.”

  “Could it happen accidentally?”

  “Anything’s possible.”

  “Well, where the hell did it come from?”

  “One thing’s for certain,” said Alan. “Early hominids didn’t have sophisticated laboratories equipped with electron microscopes and they didn’t know about recombinant DNA technology.”

  Logan stared, unfocused, at the horizon as the sun began to come up. “Which leaves only one possible explanation—that it was introduced some other way. By what? A meteor? A more advanced species a very long time ago with an interest in tinkering with our genetic development? And what earthly reason could they have?”

  “The meteor theory doesn’t work for me,” said Alan. “Genetic material would be extremely unlikely to survive interstellar space. As for little green men, while I won’t say it’s impossible, the odds against it are pretty formidable. I simply don’t agree that the only possible explanation is that it was introduced by an outside force. Maybe it’s some biological anomaly we haven’t begun to understand. The parsimonious answer—the simplest—isn’t always the right one in science. We may just not have been asking the right questions so far. One question I have is why we’re bothering to look for it at all. Whatever the answer . . . there’s not going to be a hell of a lot anyone can do about it.”

  “Whatever happened to good old scientific curiosity?” asked Logan.

  “Greatly overrated in my opinion. Scientific curiosity has opened more Pandora’s boxes than anything else.” Alan shrugged. “But there’s no stopping it. We’re curious animals.”

  “How would any sort of contamination happen?” asked Logan. “I mean, if the gene was turned on somehow. Would it be a gradual process? Or could it happen overnight?”

  “I suppose it could go either way, but overnight would ­certainly be possible if there was some sort of lethal mutation that was also contagious. That would be the worst of all possible scenarios.”

  They stood for a while longer in silence and watched the sun rise over a planet that seemed very small, and filled with more unknowns than usual.

  The White House

  President Klein stared miserably at the pile of reports in front of him. His medical and science advisors sat in a circle around him, the anxiety in their faces palpable.

  “I’ve read your reports,” he said. “All I see are a lot of questions and speculations. What I don’t see are answers.” He glared at the group.

  Surgeon General Thompson spoke first. “Sir, we’ve had to speculate because the Chinese refuse to answer our inquiries. The fact that they aren’t even bothering with diplomatic doublespeak anymore is a pretty good sign they’re in trouble. It’s become increasingly difficult to find anyone in authority who will respond at all. Independent reports have begun to come in from refugees crossing at various borders. There’s a full, raging epidemic going on. Pakistan and Russia have closed their borders, but . . .”

  “What? Spit it out, Averill!” said the president.

  “Most of the borders in the region are porous, sir. If we’re dealing with something extremely contagious, it will only take one sick person to spread the infection. It would be like the Spanish coming to Mexico and bringing smallpox and measles. In fifty years, ninety percent of the people in Mexico were dead. This could be a lot worse—and faster. Frankly, Mr. President, we have no idea what we’re dealing with, and I believe it’s out of control. We need to begin thinking about closing our own borders, stopping all international air traffic and perhaps even shutting down large assemblages of people, sporting events, concerts, schools, trade fairs, conferences . . .”

  “For God’s sake, Averill! You’re talking about closing down the country. We’ll have a panic on our hands that’ll make terrorism look like a Sunday picnic.”

  Eleanor Payne, director of the Centers for Disease Control, said, “I’m not willing to go that far yet, Mr. President. I still have hopes we’ll hear something from Dr. Wokowski’s group.”

  “Oh, for Christ’s sake, Eleanor,” said Gordon Page. “Your CDC investigators may as well have fallen down the rabbit hole. We haven’t had a peep out of them. Maybe they’re fighting the problem internally in China, but for all we know they were thrown into a cell the moment they set foot on Chinese soil. Mr. President, I agree with the Surgeon General. We need to close down our borders at the absolute minimum.”

  The president stared at them glumly. He pressed a button on his desk. “Virginia, would you please get the Transportation Secretary in here right away.”

  “What we need,” said Eleanor, “is to find someone who has the disease, isolate them and find out what we’re dealing with. Then we can at least begin to search for some sort of treatment. And I still think we may hear something from the CDC group in China. If they have been given access to patients, then they may already have some answers for us.”

  “All right,” said the president. “On another matter, what have we heard from Eric Logan and Dr. Kessler?”

  “We received a sat-phone communication from Dr. Kessler two days ago,” said Gordon. “It was cryptic, as usual, but my reading of it is they have begun to search for the body. She says nothing at all about the disease. As remote as they are, it’s possible the news hasn’t reached them. Frankly, I’m worried. Maybe we should use the sat-phone to let them know what’s going on.”

  Klein pondered this. “I don’t see what good it would do. The mission must continue. As you say, they’re not likely to come into contact with anyone who has the disease where they’re going.” He tapped his fingers restlessly on the desktop. “I don’t care for coincidences, as you all bloody well know. What’s the likelihood the outbreak in China has something to do with the body we’re searching for?”

  All eyes turned to Gordon, who sat with his hands steepled in front of him. “You’re suggesting the unusual genetic debris found in the ancient DNA samples could somehow have triggered the outbreak of disease?”

  “Why not?” asked Klein. “You told me yourself
tinkering with the anomaly—trying to turn it on—could lead to unforeseen consequences. What if someone in China did precisely that?”

  Gordon looked stricken. “I’m not sure that’s something I want to contemplate, sir.”

  “Well, we need to contemplate everything, damn it!” The ­president stood and paced over to the windows. He put his hands behind his back and stared out. “Maybe someone working at Dr. Kessler’s Tarim dig became infected somehow,” said the president.

  “I really don’t know about that, sir. Every member of the team, with the exception of Logan and Leeanne, would have been exposed if that were the case. They all collected samples of the sequence and worked on the DNA. And they’ve all since been exposed to many other individuals, including most of us in this room. Yet we’ve seen no symptoms.”

  “Yet,” said the Surgeon General. “There could be a period of incubation. Come to think of it, Logan’s friend who was originally given the foot might be the vector. It’s been six months since he returned to his home. If I’m not mistaken, he was from Beijing, the original source of the outbreak, so far as we know. If he gave the sample to someone to—tinker with, as you put it—maybe they turned the damned thing on biochemically somehow. That might have been the start of the epidemic right there.”

  They considered this possibility in silence.

  “I have to say, Mr. President, I lean heavily toward informing Logan and his team,” said Page. “We could be sending them to the epicenter of a pandemic. What’s more, if they secure the body, who knows what sort of exposure they might risk, not to mention they’ll attempt to transport it across hundreds of miles and out of China.”

  “My God,” said Thompson. “They might leave a trail of infection across Asia.”

  “I hardly think that’s the issue,” Payne said. “The body by itself wouldn’t be a source of contamination, and they’re hardly equipped to do any molecular tinkering in the field. Besides, the cat’s already out of the bag with regard to the epidemic, which is exploding right now across Asia. Even if our iceman has something to do with it, the damage has already been done. I just think we have an obligation to the team. They deserve to be warned.”