The soldiers disembarked, hardly taking note of them.
Cameron cleared her throat and fought to enunciate, but her words still came out a scratchy drawl. "Baby," she said. "Baby, look at me. Look at me."
A glimmer of recognition rippled through his eyes, and Cameron bit her lip, fighting not to sob from relief. He turned, his eyes finding hers. A thin line of drool dangled from the side of his mouth.
"That's right," she breathed. "Just look at me. Look at me."
He watched her, his eyes lit through with pain. Weakly, he raised a trembling hand. It hovered in the space between their stretchers, reaching for her. Despite the excruciating pain in her shoulder, she reached for him too. For an instant, there was nothing else-no noise, no pain, no hammering rotors overhead, just the feeling of her husband's hand in hers, his eyes on her face.
The door swung open, and she saw a montage of images in the night-Rex sprinting for the open helo door, the B1 bomber on the tar-mac ready for takeoff, Diego lying down before the plane, his wrists handcuffed around the forward landing gear. It seemed as if Rex and Diego were wearing only boxer shorts.
Cameron blinked lazily, trying to make sense of everything. The bomber should already have taken off; it should have been heading to Sangre de Dios by now, bearing the neutron bomb in its belly. Diego must have delayed the takeoff by handcuffing himself to the wheel. A UN soldier pinned down Diego's arms with his knees as another strug-gled to undo the cuffs with a key. They came free, and the soldiers dragged Diego away struggling and shouting. A button popped from the soldier's shirt, pattering on the tarmac. Ramoncito, wearing a dirty pair of underwear, ran forward from seemingly nowhere, pounding one of the soldiers' backs weakly with his fists.
The bomber rolled forward, engines revving for the takeoff.
Rex stumbled up to the door, shoving the corpsman aside. Water dripped from his hair. "The water samples are clean," he said. "All of them."
Cameron tried to smile but couldn't.
"Did you exterminate the carriers?" he asked.
Cameron fought against the haze. She raised a pale hand and flashed a weak thumbs-up. Behind them, the B1 roared into its takeoff, engines screaming, cutting through the night air like a scythe. Justin mumbled something, but it was lost in the noise.
Diego kicked free from the UN soldiers and ran for the helo, his sleek ponytail bouncing, Ramoncito at his heels. "Did you do it?" Diego screamed. One of his elbows was bleeding, scraped by the tarmac.
Rex pulled out his bottom lip and removed the small disk of the transmitter from where he'd wedged it against his gums. Holding it in the palm of his hand like a jewel, he activated it, telling the operator to patch him through to Samantha. His leg hammered up and down nerv-ously as the B1 grew smaller over his shoulder.
On the runway, the Minutes to Burn electronic billboard sat blank, awaiting another morning, another reading. Diego muttered Spanish curses under his breath as they waited. Finally, Samantha's voice clicked through.
"They're back," Rex said. "The virus reservoir was exterminated. We're clear."
The phone rustled against Samantha's shirt, but they could still make out her yelling through the window at Secretary Benneton.
The B1 faded in the night, the blinks on the wingtips almost out of sight. Diego watched it go, clearly fighting off panic.
"He just issued the order to abort," Samantha said.
Diego's face went limp with relief. He began to sob with a slow urgency. Ramoncito leaned against him, burying his face in his side.
"I want you, Dr. Rodriguez, the boy, and Cameron to come straight here for tests. The C-130 is standing by."
Rex turned. "Yes," he said. "I see it."
A corpsman jogged over from the C-130. "How many cots should we prepare?"
Rex looked inside the helo, noticing for the first time how empty it was.
When the corpsman asked again, his voice was full of dread. "How many cots?"
Cameron nodded weakly.
"Two," Rex said. When he spoke again, his voice was little more than a whisper. "Just two."
In the distance, the sound of the B1's engines shifted, rising to a sharper pitch. The plane banked high and hard, a broad sweeping arc in the night, and headed back for the airport. Diego fell to his knees, his hair wet and hanging across his eyes in the front.
It was the most beautiful sight he had ever seen.
Reclined on carefully secured cots, Cameron and Justin were out cold before the C-130 even took off. The acceleration caused Rex to lean in the cargo seat, but he quickly adjusted. The plane climbed rapidly and circled the island before heading northeast toward Maryland.
Wanting one last look at the islands, Rex rose carefully and crossed to the small round window near the propellers. One of the corpsmen tending to Justin urged him to sit down, but Rex waved him off. He peered outside, then turned and smiled at Diego and Ramoncito. "Come here," he said. "You've got to see this."
Diego was careful to keep his balance as he joined Rex. He reached out a hand, helping Ramoncito navigate his way from the seat to the window. The boy's wonder at the plane was evident.
Down below, the black mass of Santa Cruz was visible on the dark waters. Above the southern edge of the island, right near the heart of Puerto Ayora, the air was lit with dozens of fireworks, the bright sparks coasting to the ground like settling embers.
Diego instinctively reached out, ruffling Ramoncito's hair. The three of them stood and watched the brilliant flashes of light until the island passed from view. Diego's eyes moistened when he looked down at the boy at his side.
"Happy New Year," he said.
Chapter 76
1 Jan 08
Samantha was ready and waiting when an irritable male nurse arrived to unlock her from the slammer at nine in the morning. She stepped out into the hallway and took a deep breath, stretching her arms. It felt odd to be out of the confines of the room; it usually took her a few hours to adjust.
The nurse handed her that morning's test results-viral count: 0. Samantha rested her hands on his shoulders. "I'll always remember you," she said.
He did not smile.
She received a standing ovation when she passed the staff room and she clenched her hands above her head like a heavyweight champ. As she passed reception, one of the secretaries stood up, holding out a pink message slip. "NIH called this morning, girl," she said. "Heard you were available."
Without slowing her pace, Samantha snapped up the message slip, heading for the entrance.
Colonel Strickland caught her at the door, placing a firm hand on her elbow. Samantha had to tilt her head way back to look him in the face.
"Secretary Benneton was quite impressed with your efforts," he said. "He strongly recommended that we extend to you an offer to return as Chief of the DAD."
Samantha ran a hand through her messy brown hair, scratching her scalp. "You're not gonna much like my proposal for what you can do with your offer. Sir."
"I imagined you'd have…reservations." He raised a neatly-trimmed eyebrow. "Retiring?"
She laughed and pushed through the door. "Yeah," she called over her shoulder. "I thought I'd take up needlepoint."
Though she didn't see it, Colonel Douglas Strickland actually smiled.
"Hello there," Samantha said when Maricarmen picked up the phone. "Where are my children?"
"Iggy and Danny are watching cartoons," Maricarmen said. "And Kiera is pretending not to."
Samantha tapped the sat phone against her ear. A few lanes over, a car honked.
"What is that? Are you out?"
"Free at last."
"I should get the children. They'll be so excited."
"I'd rather surprise them in person. But I'm taking a quick trip to Hopkins first."
"Johnny Hopkins Hospital? In Baltimore? What for?"
Samantha smiled. "To visit a friend."
"A friend?"
"Dr. Martin Foster. Don't worry, I'll be home soon."
Finally, she reached the hospital, parked the van near the Ross Building, and found her way to the Infectious Disease Offices. She stopped outside the door, suddenly nervous. Looking down, she realized she was still wearing scrubs, and she cursed herself for not going home first to shower and change.
She entered and greeted the receptionist, a heavyset woman whose computer was framed with family pictures. "Hello, Samantha Everett here to see Dr. Foster."
"Is he expecting you?"
"No," Samantha said. "Not at all."
"Well, he's in with a patient right now. He's booked pretty solid for the next few hours."
"That's all right," Samantha said. "I'll wait."
She sat down and picked up a People magazine. She tilted a brass lamp over so she could fix her hair in the reflection.
"Ms. Everett," the receptionist said, trying not to smile. "Or is it Dr.?"
"Either," Samantha said. "Whatever."
"I think I can free him up for a few minutes at the end of the hour." She scanned the appointment book. "But I'm not certain. Maybe you'd like to wait somewhere more comfortable?"
"Sure." Samantha shrugged. "Where would you suggest?"
The receptionist smiled shyly. "Maybe it's the mother of four in me, but I always like the nursery."
"Huh," Samantha said. "Actually, that sounds nice."
She left the office and crossed the street to the Nelson Building, riding the elevator up to the second floor. A row of chairs was arrayed outside the long window where expectant mothers and fathers could see their infants for the first time. Samantha sat in an orange plastic chair, tilting it back on two legs. She stared at the rows of gorgeous, smiling babies.
Closing her eyes, Samantha thought of the Darwin virus, safely frozen in the Revco freezer back at Fort Detrick. There were still many tests to be run so that they could better understand its etiology and pathogenic-ity. Maybe some of the infected dinoflagellates had survived and were out there now, floating around in the ocean, the virus ready to find its way into another species if circumstances allowed. She prayed silently that it wouldn't again rear its head. In her mind, she sorted through the events of the past week, searching for any mistakes she may have made, any errors in judgment. It was the heaviest burden of her job-making tough decisions when lives hung in the balance. Complete accountability was difficult, but she wouldn't have had it any other way. She wondered how long she had before another deadly virus found its way to her from the Kenyan jungles, the Amazon basin, the scrubby plains of Australia.
She felt a hand on her shoulder and she opened her eyes, seeing Dr.
Foster's reflection in the nursery window. He stood behind her quietly. She felt the warmth from his hand. They stayed silently like that for a few moments, Samantha sitting and Martin Foster standing behind her. Without turning around, she reached up and took his hand.
The peace was broken by a tray clattering to the ground somewhere out of sight. Iggy's voice sailed loud and clear around the corner. "Is this where the fat lady said mommy was?"
Kiera's voice followed. "It's not nice to say fat, you idiot. She was big-boned."
Samantha heard Danny laughing and Maricarmen trying to shush all three children, and a broad smile spread across her face. She leaned back in the chair, admiring the healthy newborns laid out before her, the warmth of Martin Foster's hand on her shoulder, the noise of her chil-dren growing closer. This is how it's supposed to be, she thought. This is really how it's supposed to be.
For the first time she could remember, she reached down and turned off her pager.
Chapter 77
16 Feb 08
Gorged with fruit, the wicker cornucopia seemed to stare back at Cameron and Justin from its perch on the table in the waiting room. The glass tabletop had broken in a recent tremor; it had been replaced temporarily by a piece of plywood. Next to them, a new mother bounced her baby on her knee, its little hands opening and closing, grab-bing at nothing. The baby hiccuped and giggled as the mother leaned forward. They rubbed noses.
Justin held Cameron's hand as they waited side by side, his shoulder bandage bulky under his shirt. Cameron shifted a little in the chair, ignoring the pain in her hip. Toying with her necklace absentmindedly, she noticed that the clasp had worked its way around to the front. Justin extended his hand, wiggling his fingers and flexing, testing out his muscles. The reconstructive surgeries had restored to him full control of his arm. Using cutting-edge technology, the doctors had even managed to repair the plexus of nerves that ran down the arm.
Fiddling her wedding ring on her finger with her thumb, she gazed blankly at a Child magazine sitting under the curved brass reading lamp. On the cover, a pudgy, grinning boy of about two sat with his legs kicked wide out in front of him. He smiled proudly at the tower of colorful blocks he had stacked between his legs.
Despite her apprehension, Cameron forced herself to stare at the dark, solid door to the right. The door without a peephole. She thought of the choice before her should the fetus turn out to be healthy. When she turned back to the yellow door, she felt better, almost empowered.
The Darwin virus had not appeared in her or Justin's bloodstream, and Rex, Diego, and Ramoncito had been cleared as well. Because Cameron was pregnant, Samantha had asked that she have a full workup six weeks after the end of the mission, including a prenatal intake, chori-onic villus sampling, and a set of ultrasounds. The results awaited.
Diego had returned to Sangre de Dios, further sanitizing everything that had been in contact with the virus-the specimen freezer, the ves-tiges of the two camps, the areas where the mantids and larvae had been burned. He'd also set three more GPS units, finally completing the net-work.
Next to Cameron, the mother whispered lovingly to the baby as she burped him. Evidently he had spit up, because she dabbed at her blouse with a little white towel. The towel was decorated with cabooses.
Some footsteps sounded down the corridor, shoes clicking on tile.
The mother gazed at the cheerful yellow door ahead, then turned a kind smile to Cameron.
"So exciting, isn't it?" she asked.
Cameron looked at her, expressionless.
The door swung open, and the stocky Italian nurse filled the doorway, hunched slightly at the shoulders. The rings under her eyes looked dark, even darker than Cameron had remembered. Her hair stood out in graying wisps.
"Kates," the nurse said, her teeth discolored and crooked. "Cameron Kates. Your results are in. The doctor would like to discuss them with you."
Cameron felt Justin squeeze her neck reassuringly. She rose calmly. Justin kept his hand on her back to steady her as they followed the nurse back.
The room was small and claustrophobic. Cameron slowly undressed, put on the gown, and slid up onto the exam table, crinkling the paper. A small notch of a scar crested her deltoid where her transmitter had been removed.
When she heard the doorknob turn, Cameron felt panic spreading through her, but she fought to quell it. Dr. Birnbaum entered, a bearded man with kind blue eyes. He glanced down at a chart, scratching his cheek with a pen. Cameron and Justin stared at him, eyes wide, too nervous to speak.
"I just got off the phone with Dr. Everett at the NIH," he said. "And together we concluded that your results are totally normal. It looks like you have a healthy baby on your hands." His smile lessened when he looked at Cameron. "Should you elect to keep it."
Cameron had thought she'd feel nothing, so she was completely unprepared for the wave of emotion that swept through her. Her mind danced across a landscape of memories, spinning with images. She thought of the larva, bucking and squealing and dying. She thought of the gnarled little creature on the floor of the Estradas' house. She thought of Derek and Jacqueline and their baby girl. She thought of all the frightful t
hings she had seen-so many reasons to be afraid, so many reasons to pull back into herself where everything was neat and safe.
"Baby?" Justin was asking. "Do you want to? Do you think you're ready?" His eyes were as soft as they'd ever been-brave yet intensely vulnerable.
She could barely hear him because she was so far down in herself, swimming in fear and excitement and sheer elation. The answer was there like a bright beam of light, and with it came tears, hard and unremitting. She was pressing her face against his chest, weeping with joy, and from somewhere far away she heard herself saying yes over and over like a prayer.
Chapter 78
The island's last remaining feral dog nosed through the ash and debris of the base camp, looking for food. Her paws were ragged, one of her nails torn off from a fight with another bitch. She'd caught a masked booby chick the previous day, which she'd eaten right in front of its squawking mother, sliding down to her belly and savoring the meal. But the hunger had returned again quickly, greeting her in the morning with the rising sun.
Maybe it was because she was pregnant.
She tugged on a scorched edge of canvas, searching for something edible beneath, but there was nothing, just a warped cruise box and a dented canteen. Finally giving up, she trotted toward the road, her head barely protruding from the high grass.
Leaping gracefully among the fallen balsas, she nosed her way through the cracks of the trunks, but again there was nothing. She was just about ready to head to the forest when she caught a whiff of some-thing faint, lining the southern wind.
She jogged up the road toward the source of the smell, her nose ele-vated and twitching. Stopping at the base of the watchtower, she sat, peering up its length.
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