Extinction Countdown

by James D. Prescott

  “It appears the history books were wrong,” Grant replied.

  Jack thought back to the ship and the true origin of mankind. “Makes you wonder what else we were taught in school that was dead wrong. Dag’s never gonna believe it. Heck, I hardly believe it.”

  “You do realize,” Grant began in a lecturing tone, “that if we burned every single scientific textbook ever written, in a few thousand years, they would all be back describing the same principles? The law of gravity might be called something quite different, but our understanding of how it operates in the world would not change one iota.”

  Jack furrowed his brow at the thought. “So you’re saying in another few million years, some other civilization might stumble upon things we’ve left behind and marvel at how technologically similar we were.”

  “Precisely.”

  “So if they were so darn advanced,” Jack said, continuing the train of thought, “what happened to them?”

  The expression on Grant’s normally jovial face grew somber. “Perhaps they suffered the same fate that has befallen ninety-nine percent of all species that have ever graced the planet. They went extinct.”

  Chapter 26

  Kolkata

  Mia paced about the cheap hotel room, the odor of dirty socks wafting up from the wall-mounted air conditioner, assaulting her nose with every breath. It was decorated like any other seedy joint: a pair of twin beds covered with gaudy spreads, curtains and carpet both from the mid-eighties. The only reminder they hadn’t been whisked back to the era of moonwalks and shoulder pads was the small flat-screen TV facing the beds. It got three channels. Two of them were in Hindi. The third was the twenty-four-hour news station Al Jazeera.

  But even the Hindi channels had been preempted by coverage of the chaos erupting around the world. That tiny TV was also how Mia, Jansson and Ollie found out what was going on back home. The president of the United States was in a coma, a video had surfaced purporting to show top members of his cabinet—including the VP—conspiring in the attempted murder and, if that wasn’t enough, martial law had been declared throughout most of the country.

  Soon, the news turned to the riots in central Kolkata. Back at the research hospital, they had found a service elevator, normally used to transport food and medical equipment. They had ridden it down to the parking garage and found a way out behind the police barricades. Another reason she’d been flipping between the channels was for any news on the fate of Agents Chalk and Ramirez. Ollie had said they were likely dead. Sure, they were grown men and could take care of themselves. Still, the idea of having left them behind like that continued to gnaw at her conscience.

  On TV, the VP was denying he had had anything to do with the attempted assassination.

  “He’s a bloody liar,” Ollie bellowed.

  “What makes you so certain?” Mia asked, distinctly aware of the pistol tucked beneath her belt. Well within reach should she need it. She had trusted Ollie once and he had betrayed her. Or had he? The answers he gave over the next few minutes would decide his fate.

  “Don’t think I didn’t see you and your boyfriend getting grilled before the Senate Intelligence Committee,” Ollie said, leaning back on the bed, his arms bracing him at a forty-five-degree angle. That famous smug look of his was back.

  “Who, Jack?” she said defensively. “He’s not my boyfriend. What are you talking about?”

  Ollie let out a cackle of laughter and eyed Jansson. “The lady doth protest too much, is what I think.”

  Jansson smiled weakly and excused herself to the washroom. She didn’t look well and Mia assumed the shock of seeing those men killed before her still hadn’t worn off.

  “Wasn’t it during your little televised fiasco,” Ollie went on, “that your friend Admiral Stark told those distinguished senators that Sentinel had been ‘greatly diminished?’”

  “Are you saying he lied?” Mia asked.

  “Maybe not knowingly. I’m not doubting the Feds made some arrests, threw a few low-level blokes in the clink, but I can guarantee you Sentinel’s reach hasn’t been ‘diminished’ one iota. If anything, they’ve just become stronger than before.”

  “How so?” Mia asked, not really wanting to hear the answer.

  “Who do you suppose is behind the president’s assassination?”

  “He isn’t dead.”

  Ollie shook his head. “Not yet, sweetheart, but quite frankly, none of that matters. With him out of the way, the next in line gets to take the helm and it isn’t looking like anyone’s got the balls to stop ’em.”

  “You’re saying Sentinel orchestrated the assassination?”

  “I might not have first-hand knowledge, but I’m saying the chances are mighty good.”

  “But why would the VP, Speaker of the House and the Secretary of Defense, among others, knowingly collaborate with Sentinel?”

  Ollie tilted his head. “Maybe they didn’t know they were collaborating. Maybe they didn’t care. Look, I haven’t got a stitch of proof to back it up, except I worked for those bastards for far too long not to know how they operate. If there’s one thing they’re great at, it’s getting decent people to do terrible things. Back in Brazil…” Their eyes met and Mia spotted a hint of sadness there before Ollie’s gaze broke free. “I wasn’t sent to just keep an eye on you.”

  Mia swallowed. “Tom told me. Said you’d been ordered to kill me.”

  “Aye.”

  “By whom?”

  “Who knows?” he shot back. “A ghost, a phantom, an apparition. The organization’s got more faces and compartments than the CIA. The left hand never knows what the right hand is doing. It’s why those chaps have been at it so long. Their roots run deep enough to turn your hair white.”

  “But you disobeyed,” Mia said uncrossing her arms and taking a step toward him.

  “I did. And they’ve been hunting me ever since. In the military you might get the brig, maybe a court martial. You disobey Sentinel and they do you worse than the Cosa Nostra.”

  On the TV, a reporter from Al Jazeera was interviewing a doctor in Rome.

  “But why?” Mia asked, staring at him intently.

  “Who knows? Because they’re used to having their way. Because when you’ve managed to convince yourself the fate of the world rests in your hands, you’re able to justify pretty much anything. Just look at those Scientology nuts.”

  Mia sat down next to him. “That’s not what I meant.”

  Ollie shifted, uncomfortable. “I’m not following.”

  “You didn’t only spare my life, you helped me. Why?”

  The weathered skin on Ollie’s cheeks came about as close as it could to flushing. “Maybe I’m a sucker for an intelligent, beautiful woman in a tough spot.”

  Mia leaned in to kiss him when the door to the bathroom swung open. She recoiled and brushed imaginary lint off her pants.

  “So what now?” Jansson asked, unaware of what had nearly just happened. “I hate to state the obvious, but hanging around this hotel room isn’t doing us any good.”

  Back on the screen, the doctor from Rome was discussing the research he was doing. But it wasn’t until the word ‘Salzburg’ came up that it really drew their attention.

  “I have not concerned myself with whether or not the planet is about to be destroyed,” Dr. Antonio Putelli told the man interviewing him. His hands arched through the air as he spoke, as though he was not really speaking, but conducting an invisible orchestra. He was strikingly handsome and refined with salt-and-pepper hair and he had a way with words. “Humanity has faced many brushes with extinction in our short time on this earth. What concerns me more than asteroids, earthquakes and alien spaceships is the damage being done to the human genome. We have patients exhibiting new, unusual symptoms every day. One recent example is a pair of ten-year-old twins. One week ago, they were average little girls. Today, one of them is composing her second symphony while the other is about to solve one of Kaplansky’s conjectures.”

&
nbsp; Mia stood up and headed for the hotel room door.

  “The hell are you going?”

  “We’re leaving,” she said forcefully.

  Ollie stood up and tucked in the back of his shirt. “Then I’m afraid this is where we part.”

  Mia stood holding the door handle, trying to stifle the sudden pain spearing her heart. “Running away again,” she said, hating herself before the words had crossed her lips.

  He scratched the back of his head. “I’m doing it for your own good.”

  “I’m sure you are.”

  The corner of his mouth rose up. “I forgot how difficult you could be.”

  Jansson’s eyes ping-ponged back and forth between the two of them.

  “There’s something you’re not telling us,” Mia said, feeling the fingers of her right hand inch towards the gun tucked under the belt of her cargo pants.

  Ollie kicked at the loose ends of the bed sheet. “Sentinel inserted a tracking chip in me somewhere when I first started with them. I’ve tried to take it out, but for the life of me I haven’t got the foggiest idea where it is. They said they were gonna do it and gave me a half-dozen injections. I’ve had all those spots checked and came up short. So as much as I would like to join you, I’m afraid it’s impossible. They’ll see where we are and have an assault team banging down the door within twenty-four hours.”

  “So we keep moving until we find it and rip it out,” Mia said.

  Jansson suddenly didn’t look so sure. “Are they on their way now?”

  “No doubt they are. Those two men you killed in the research hospital—they were following me. I led them to you and nearly got you hurt, maybe even killed.”

  “If it wasn’t for you, I would have died a long time ago. If not in Brazil or Tibet, then a dozen other places. It’s settled. You’re coming. Now stop whining and grab your stuff.”

  Ollie laughed. “I used to think of you as a delicate flower. I know now I was wrong. You’re a carnivorous plant.”

  Mia shook her head. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”

  “But shouldn’t we discuss this a little further?” Jansson said. She was new to a life on the run, but the time for baby steps was over. “We don’t even know where we’re headed.”

  “Sure we do,” Mia told her, pointing to the TV where Dr. Antonio Putelli was still discussing Salzburg. “We’re heading to Rome.”

  Chapter 27

  Germantown, Maryland

  The sheer joy on Felix Mahoro’s face upon opening the door nearly brought tears to Kay’s eyes. She had no sooner gotten out of the car than she was struck by the sound of singing coming from inside the house. And now with the front door open, it was as though her father had brought the entire church choir home with him. Stepping over the threshold, she quickly realized that he had. They were gathered in the living room, singing To God Be the Glory, a hymn her mother Therese had always been fond of. Felix was the pastor at Poplar Grove Baptist and so summoning the faithful in times of need was one of the many perks.

  “Ah, I knew you would come,” he said, squeezing her in a warm hug. “Your mother will be terribly happy to see you.” Her parents had been in America for close to twenty-five years and yet the old African pronunciations had never quite died out. Mother sounded like ‘moutha’ and happy ‘heppe.’

  Kay stepped from the entrance into the foyer. To her right was the dining room where a smattering of guests in fine clothes were picking at finger food. Straight ahead sat a set of stairs, leading to the second floor. To her left was the living room and the source of the music. Her mother was in a makeshift hospital bed, encircled by a ring of holy singers, doing what they could to convince God to spare her mother’s life.

  Therese lay on her back, her head oddly cocked to one side, staring off into the distance. Lost, it seemed, in a world all her own.

  “Is it working?” Kay asked, motioning to the choir and smiling. They had moved onto Amazing Grace.

  “Absolutely,” Felix replied. “Just yesterday, we noticed your mother has been gaining weight.”

  Kay looked surprised and a thought crossed her mind about Dr. Mia Ward and her battle against the genetic disorder affecting billions around the globe. “I thought you said she wasn’t eating much.”

  “Yes, that’s why it’s a miracle.” Her father’s smile was infectious.

  “Is there somewhere less noisy we can talk?”

  “The backyard,” Felix said, putting his arm around her and leading the way. As they passed through the kitchen, one of the church-goers was placing a bucket under a leak in the ceiling.

  “What happened there?” Kay asked.

  “It started yesterday afternoon. You know of my many talents and that none of them extend to home repair.”

  “Yeah, Dad, everyone knows, but have you thought of calling a plumber?”

  Felix let out a sardonic laugh. “Such things are not as easy as they once were. Most of the plumbers still taking calls are fully booked. Others are in no better shape than your mother. And the rest have decided to stop working and spend time with their families. I’m sure every profession is suffering in the same way. Be that as it may, our present suffering will not last long. Soon enough, we will all be heading home.”

  “I hate when you speak like that.”

  Felix took his daughter’s hands. “It is because you put your faith in facts and the world of human affairs above a greater truth.”

  He led her into the backyard where a pair of off-white plastic deck chairs awaited them. From here, the sound of singing was muffled and almost enjoyable. Wind blew through an old elm tree. The sound was calming.

  For a man in his sixties, her father was in peak physical condition. Every morning he ran the ten-mile distance to Poplar Grove where he spent the day preparing sermons and tending to his flock. Originally a Roman Catholic, her father had become a Baptist following an encounter with a pair of missionaries in a Congolese refugee camp. They had offered food and a bit of money at the lowest point since the war.

  After the genocide, the ambassadorship Felix had enjoyed had been stripped away, along with any property and possessions they had left behind. Mostly that meant things, although in many cases, it had meant leaving behind parents who were too old or infirm to make the arduous journey to the Congolese border. The story most Westerners were familiar with depicted the Tutsis being summarily slaughtered by the Hutus. For those on the ground, however, the situation was far more fluid. One block might have a Hutu checkpoint where Tutsis were chopped to pieces with machetes, while the next block might be controlled by the Tutsis. The truth was, both sides had stopped seeing the other side as human beings. For many young men, the act of murder rapidly became an insatiable drug, more addictive than heroin. But far from shaking her parents’ faith, the genocide had only helped it grow stronger.

  The daughter of a Baptist pastor, Kay too was raised in the church. Growing up she’d sung those same songs and helped her father with anything he needed. Toward the middle of high school, however, Kay had begun to question things—tiny inconsistencies in the biblical stories her father loved telling them. None on their own was enough to tarnish the aura of sanctity. But as high school became university and her journalism professor, Dr. Laura Sighs, insisted she dissect everything with the sharpened blade of logic and reasoning, it was practically inevitable that Kay would deploy that same skillset to the religion of her youth. That process hadn’t made her an atheist, by any means, but it had certainly left her with far too many doubts to continue without feeling like a hypocrite. For Kay, truth was vitally important. That applied to universal truths just as much as it applied to world truths. More than that, she’d reached a point when she was done trying to be what everyone else wanted her to be.

  “I want you to stay here with us,” her father said, leaning forward in his chair. They were sitting directly opposite one another and he took both her hands, a sign he meant what he was saying. A gentle breeze ruffled the leaves. From somewhe
re close by came the soft chirping of birds.

  “I have a job to do, Dad,” she told him. “People who depend on me.”

  Felix shook his head. “Then let them depend on someone else. Your family is here. And this is where you belong. There is so little time left, I don’t see how anything else is nearly as important as ensuring the passage of your soul into heaven.”

  “If I came home, it wouldn’t be for any of that,” she said, keenly aware how her words would surely wound her father. He was always surprised when others did not share the clarity of faith he possessed.

  “As long as you’re here with your mother and I, then I will be more than satisfied.”

  Kay couldn’t help but think that maybe he had a point. Just as quickly, a nagging question began to form in Kay’s mind. The reporter side of her never went entirely away. It hung in the air, like the smell of coffee on a Saturday morning. You could toss and turn, but eventually it would yank you out of bed.

  “I guess I just don’t see how you could still believe the way you do after we found proof of life on other worlds.”

  Felix recoiled momentarily before regaining his composure. “Where is this coming from?”

  “I don’t mean any disrespect, Papa. But it’s something that I’ve been thinking about this last week. Didn’t you watch the news reports and the Senate Intelligence hearings?”

  He lowered his chin and pressed his tie flat against his chest. “Of course I watched.”

  “Those scientists said the aliens had destroyed most of the life on earth millions of years ago, only to introduce new species. And that human beings were descendants from one of the life forms the aliens released.”

  “Yes,” he said, with unshakable confidence.

  “Well, doesn’t that change things?” she asked, slightly incredulous. “If our ancestors were made in a test tube, then our creator wasn’t the God you worship, but another God. One who had mastered the laws of science and genetics.”