Extinction Series (The Complete Collection)

by James D. Prescott

  The hard part was convincing him that her theory on biophotons and Salzburg had a good chance of being right. He thought the idea was far too unorthodox and suggested she concentrate on the more traditional ways cells communicated. She had asked him whether the traditional method could account for the blast wave’s ability to alter DNA over great distances. Once he had finally acknowledged that it could not, he had agreed to make the call.

  Mia’s plan was to place a subject with Salzburg within the magnetic field, wait for a blast and see if it mitigated the effects. If it did, then at least there was a way to potentially shield huge swaths of the population. The worst-case scenario was that the magnetic field would have little or no effect.

  One thing both Mia and Dr. Putelli did agree on was the need to use a non-human test subject and to conduct the experiment in a closed wing of the hospital. Now devoid of anything but a rectangular folding table, this particular room on the seventh floor had once been an operating theater. The double doors swung open with a bang, revealing Ollie and one of Dr. Putelli’s assistants lugging a large metal cage containing one male pig. It oinked and looked around the room. Even though the creature weighed more than she did, Mia couldn’t help but find it cute.

  Ollie and the assistant rolled the cage into place and lowered the handle. He stuck his finger between the bars. “Soon as we’re done with you, Daddy’s gonna have some bacon.”

  Jansson glowered at him in horror.

  “Ah, love. You should get some sleep. You look beat.”

  Jansson ignored the comment. She waited until the assistant had left. “I was going over the new genes we discovered in the 48th chromatid and found something you might find interesting.”

  “Does it have to do with biophotons?” Ollie asked, eager to join in.

  “No,” Jansson said, curtly. “It has to do with the MRE11 gene responsible for repairing DNA.”

  Mia switched on the battery and listened as a dense hum filled the room. She then ushered them both out of the operating theater and into the hallway. “What about it?” Mia asked, wiping her hands on the lab coat she was wearing.

  “Well, it turns out MRE11 doesn’t only repair some damaged DNA. It repairs about ninety-nine percent of any errors that occur during cell division or from exposure to environmental damage of any kind, including cuts.”

  The muscles in Mia’s face went slack. “It has healing properties.”

  “Relatively rapid healing, I would say.” Jansson rubbed at the corners of her eyes. “The gene also holds the potential for longer lifespans.”

  Mia kept her voice down. “Don’t say anything to Dr. Putelli about this just yet, would you?”

  The request surprised Jansson. “Why not?”

  “Because when you start waving super-healing and longer lifespans in front of people’s faces, they have a habit of losing sight of the big picture.”

  Jansson considered this, rubbing the back of her neck. “Between your biophotons and my findings on MRE11, I don’t think Dr. Putelli is thrilled with us showing up and hijacking his research.”

  “Well, I’m not thrilled with getting snuffed off the planet,” Mia replied. “I’m sorry to be a pain in his ass, but are we really gonna back down from searching for a solution because of social norms and bruised egos? We’re not running a popularity contest.”

  A squeak escaped Jansson’s lips. Her hand went to her face as her body convulsed in a fit of sobbing.

  Mia moved in right away to console her. “Listen, I know that might have come out harshly and I’m sorry. We’re all just under a lot of pressure.”

  “No, it’s not that,” Jansson said, pulling a tissue out of her pocket and running it across her nose. “I just don’t think I can do it anymore. I’ve been trying to stay strong these past few days, but with everything that’s happened I’ve realized I’m just not cut out for this.” Her voice trailed off. “I spoke to my family last night and I think hearing their voices just broke something inside of me.”

  “I know how hard it is,” Mia said, thinking of her own family, of her daughter Zoey, at least. And just as quickly she had to steel herself from heading down the same dirt road Jansson was losing herself on.

  “I don’t know how to say this, but I’m going home.” Jansson looked up at them, her eyes swollen. “I’m sorry.”

  Mia was speechless. She was prepared to do a little bucking up. Whatever it took to get Jansson’s head back in the game. But she hadn’t been ready for this. “Are you sure you’re making the right decision?” she heard herself ask from a great distance.

  Jansson nodded and hugged them both, before turning on her heels and shuffling down the long corridor and out of sight.

  When she was gone, Ollie appeared and put an arm around Mia, squeezing her tight. “You can’t blame the poor gal,” he said, a lump in his throat. “We’re all a bunch of eggs really. Some of us just happen to be hard-boiled.”

  Chapter 37

  Bethesda, Maryland

  Kay slouched down in the driver’s seat of her Corolla until only her eyes and the top of her head were visible. She was parked on Exeter Road, a sleepy, tree-lined street in a bucolic neighborhood of Bethesda.

  Across from her sat an expensive-looking, two-story red-brick house with a gabled portico entrance and a well-kept lawn. The sun had gone down two hours ago and she was waiting for the owner of the aforementioned house to get in his car and drive away. Five minutes ago, he’d come out to do just that only to disappear back inside.

  Kay had realized rather quickly that finding out what had gone down in that warehouse was a trail that led directly to Stanley Hollerman, the name on the business card. While Lucas had reluctantly agreed to help her find an address for her target, it was now her turn to perform another kind of break-in.

  In the background, the radio crackled with Whitney Houston’s One Moment in Time.

  “We interrupt the regular programming to bring you some breaking news. Secretary of Defense Ford Myers has just been sworn in as acting president of the United States. The former Secretary assumes the role amid one of the most stunning and disturbing crises in American political history: the attempted assassination of a sitting president by the senior members of his own cabinet. A surveillance video suggesting the full extent of the conspiracy was leaked to senior Washington Post reporter Kay Mahoro…”

  “Senior, my ass,” Kay said.

  Just then, the front door to the house swung open and out came Hollerman, dressed in shorts, t-shirt and a headband. He had a dog with him, a shaggy white and grey thing that bore a disturbing resemblance to Sprocket from Fraggle Rock. When the two work-out buddies turned the corner, Kay sprang from the car and headed straight for the front door. She hadn’t seen him lock it. But when her fingers closed around the handle, she felt immediate resistance.

  Damn.

  Kay circled around back. Hollerman didn’t appear to be in the best shape of his life, which meant he probably was not going to be gone very long. She quickly tried two windows and found those locked as well. Then she spotted a sliding glass door at the far end of the property. Once there, she pushed and felt the door give way. Stepping inside, Kay became distinctly aware that her heart was thudding violently in her chest. She’d never done anything like this before. Jaywalking and rolling through stop signs was one thing. She’d never broken any kind of law. Not the important ones, at least.

  The house was cluttered with a ton of gaudy antique furniture. In the hallway and living room, she spotted at least three glass cabinets filled with porcelain figurines. Every room had eighteenth-century style sofas, the kind with carved lion’s feet. In other words, Hollerman had strange taste.

  Kay was looking for a home office. Surely even a guy with no taste had to bring his work home with him sometimes. She went upstairs, tip-toeing up each riser one at a time. He’d apparently inherited the house from his late mother three years ago. Another tidbit she’d gathered from the legal papers he’d filed online.


  From the top riser, Kay found a small office overlooking the street. A laminated eighteenth-century desk by the window housed a laptop and speakers. On the shelf next to the desk was a box of tissues and hand lotion.

  If the world wasn’t about to end I’d say this guy needs a girlfriend in the worst kind of way.

  As soon as she opened the laptop cover, it asked her for a password. She was in the process of cursing when she spotted the manila folder resting on top of the printer.

  Kay picked it up and started browsing. The photographs inside had names written on the back. The first shot was of a ruggedly handsome white man with weathered skin, named Ollie Cooper. Next was the woman Ramirez had been protecting, Dr. Mia Ward. Both of them had a file featuring key pieces of information. Where they lived. Where they worked. Then somewhere at the bottom in bold letters were the words. Current Location: Rome, Italy.

  Kay continued flipping and came to an image of a woman she recognized. Leslie Fisher, an investigative reporter with the Washington Tribune. Here as well Kay found a list of pertinent information they’d collected on Leslie. But it was the final group of images that caught the breath in her throat. Photos of Kay, and in all of them she was lying unconscious. In a handful, she’d even been propped up by a pair of strong hands while someone snapped close-ups.

  “When the hell were these taken?” she said, out loud, her pulse racing wildly.

  The thought had no sooner taken form than it was followed by another. Could this have been from the day of her attack? The day she had disappeared for several hours, only to reemerge in a nearby park, groggy and confused.

  The sound of barking outside drew her attention to the window.

  Oh, shit!

  Hollerman was there with his dog and thankfully the darn thing was going after a squirrel that had darted up a tree. Pulling on his leash, Hollerman struggled to draw the dog back toward the house.

  Kay’s eyes fell to the laptop. Panic clawing at the back of her throat, she reached under the desk, yanked the plug out of the power bar and scooped the computer up in her hands. In a few strides she was down the hallway. She’d barely reached the bottom stair when she heard the key slide into the lock on the front door. She tore around the corner and headed through the living room back toward the glass door right as he came inside. At once Sprocket, or whatever his name was, tore free, barking madly. Kay reached the glass door and started to close it behind her when the dog appeared. For a moment their eyes met and suddenly he no longer seemed cuddly and cute. Suddenly he seemed far more like a killer who wanted nothing more than to sink a pair of long, sharp teeth into any part of her body he could.

  With a final heave, she closed the door and took off running through the backyard. In her manic state, she felt a few of the photographs slip from the folder and fall to the concrete patio. A voice screamed out for her to stop and grab them, but the back sliding door was opening again and she knew they were gone. With the dog barking after her, Kay bolted along the side of the house and across the street, certain she must have broken the ten-meter record. Once in her car, she started the engine and floored it, right as Sprocket came charging in. Lucky for her, the only thing he got to chew on was the exhaust from Kay’s tailpipe.

  Kay was barely a block from the highway when she opened the window to let the wind cool her face. The underarms of her shirt were soaked with perspiration. Sweat was beaded on her forehead and along her upper lip. She imagined the story in the local paper the next day and couldn’t help but laugh.

  Black woman steals laptop and flees with dog in hot pursuit.

  •••

  One hour and three National Guard checkpoints later, Kay arrived at the Washington Post head office.

  She set the laptop on Lucas’ desk and clasped her hands. “I know you wanna kill me, but I swear, this’ll be the last favor I ever ask of you.”

  He waved his hand in the air dismissively. “You’re dead to me.”

  “Lucas, you don’t understand. What I found is bigger and more personal than you think.”

  The IT director raised his arm as high as it would go and moved it up and down. “Buh-bye.”

  Gritting her teeth, Kay reached into the folder, pulled out pictures and slammed them on his desk. “These are the assholes who kidnapped me six months ago.”

  Lucas tried not to look, but couldn’t help himself. Slowly the indignant expression on his face began to waver.

  She set her index finger on the cover of the laptop and pressed down. “Something’s going on and it’s a hell of a lot bigger than I thought. If figuring it out means busting into this guy’s laptop, then so be it.”

  Lucas threw her a humorless smile. “I’ll have something for you by tomorrow.”

  “That’s fine,” Kay said, glancing down at the picture of investigative reporter Leslie Fisher. “There’s someone I need to talk to first.”

  Chapter 38

  Greenland

  With news that Russians might be descending into the cavern to pursue them, the group left the relative security of the plaza and continued toward the pyramid. Although it was nearly impossible to make out in the relative darkness, still images Anna had sewn together from Aphrodite’s final flight helped point them in the right direction.

  With clear and present dangers coming in from every possible direction, Captain Mullins took charge of their tactical formation. First off, everyone would carry a weapon, including Grant, and they would walk in two lines, each pressed against opposite sides of the street. From here they could monitor anyone in the upper stories attempting to ambush them.

  Hand signals were next. An arm at a right angle with a clenched fist meant stop. A hand patting the air horizontally meant get down. The rest were fairly straightforward. Given everyone’s lack of combat training, Jack was sure Mullins hated that he and Tamura were the only military left. But as the saying went, you don’t always get what you want.

  Jack was lifting his eyes to check passing windows when something thudded into the wall above his helmet, spraying out a puff of stone and ice. He dropped to the ground, ordering the others to do the same. He scanned for threats without finding any. More shots rang out, riddling the ground and the buildings nearby. Mullins tossed up a hand signal and they cut through an alley on their left, intending to move around the nest of snipers firing at them.

  In seconds, they emerged onto a parallel street heading once again toward the pyramid. They got less than fifty feet before a fresh volley of fire peppered their position. A bullet dinged off the top of Dag’s helmet, throwing out a burst of sparks. He reeled back, cursing like a sailor and thanking God somehow all at the same time.

  When they tried to snake around again and encountered the same stubborn resistance, Jack suggested they stop and reevaluate their next move.

  Rajesh and Tamura set up a defensive perimeter while the others conferred with one another.

  “These guys know we’re heading to the same place they are and have probably blocked as many approaches as they can,” Jack told them, kneeling.

  “That’s certainly what I would do,” Mullins admitted. “Problem is we still don’t understand their endgame. Have they come to stop us from getting to the pyramid or are they simply keeping us busy until someone else shows up?”

  “The Russians?” Gabby said.

  “You think the two of them are in cahoots?” Dag asked, rubbing the top of his helmet with his bare hand.

  “Crazier things have happened,” Eugene said, scanning over his shoulder every two seconds, perhaps expecting someone to jump out at him through the gloom.

  “These lights are also giving us away,” Jack told them.

  “You wanna stumble around in the dark?” Eugene said, horrified.

  “No, not in the dark. I suggest we kill the lights and use the infrared built into our glasses.”

  Mullins shook his head. “That’s not a bad idea. I just worry we’ll be at a disadvantage if we get into a real firefight.”

  �
��Maybe not,” Jack replied. “What are the chances the Israeli forces are using nightvision?”

  “I’d say a hundred percent.”

  “Well, if we move up in the dark and switch our lights on once we’re close, it might blind them.”

  Mullins considered this. “Or it might just get us killed. But fine. Everyone go to infrared and be ready to switch back if we get into trouble.”

  They set off again, this time cutting an even wider circle around their current position. There was no telling how strung out the Israeli perimeter was. Soon enough they would find out. Staring out at the world through the infrared spectrum made everything ahead appear dark blue and without the slightest hint of oranges or reds. Just then, Jack felt a vibration come and go. Seconds passed before he felt it again.

  “Any of you getting this?”

  “I am,” Grant said. “I can feel my insides shaking.”

  This was no blast wave building up. This was different. Sudden and sporadic. A larger vibration struck just then and Jack caught the distant sound of something cracking.

  His eyes panned up to the cavern’s enormous ceiling, looming over them like a closed fist. From that height, a single boulder would signal a veritable death sentence. Then more vibrations came and, of all things, snowflakes. Jack held out his hand, watching the white specks gather in the palm of his glove.

  “Anna,” Jack asked, “are you intercepting any radio signals topside?”

  “Not at the moment, although I have analyzed the origin of the shockwaves you are sensing and they appear to be coming from the surface.”

  For a moment, Jack was puzzled, until understanding took shape in his mind. “I think the cavalry’s just arrived.”

  Gabby looked at him. “Admiral Stark?”

  “I hope to hell it is,” he replied. “If so I hope America’s teaching those Ruskies a lesson.”