by A. G. Riddle
Peyton swallowed. “I really hate to ask. We came here for Hannah, but we were also hoping to find a couple of things.”
Elim raised his eyebrows.
“We need a satphone.”
He nodded.
“And a plane.”
He broke into a smile Peyton couldn’t read. She was reflecting on how outrageous the request was when he said, “I think I can help you.”
When they finished their meal, Elim led them through the building’s main corridor. The facility was in complete disarray. Every room had been ransacked. To Peyton, it looked like a middle school with no teachers, trashed by students running wild. Half-empty boxes littered the hall; desks were overturned, drawers pulled out; supply closets stood open.
Elim opened a locked utility closet. The tiny room was overflowing with electronics—cell phones, tablets, and laptops—like a vault of plastic and silicon treasures.
“When containment broke and everyone started getting sick, the order of this place fell quickly. There were no refugees or aid workers any more. Only survivors and the dying. The aid workers stored their electronics here, hoping they would be of use to someone eventually.”
“You can’t use them?” Desmond asked, surprised.
“You’ll see,” Elim said, a hint of dread in his voice.
An African woman approached them and said, “Dr. Kibet, she’s awake.”
Hannah, Peyton thought.
Avery didn’t wait another second. She grabbed a laptop and a solar charger, stacked a tablet on top, then began piling cell phones up like a Jenga tower, which wobbled after a few seconds.
Desmond eyed her curiously.
“Not sure where we’re headed,” the blonde said. “Satellites might go out. We’ll need phones from European, American, and Asian carriers on different networks.”
The woman always seemed to be a step ahead.
Desmond collected a few phones as well.
Elim pointed to a shelf where a stack of smartphones lay. Attached were the CDC-issued satsleeves. The sight made Peyton’s mouth run dry, like discovering a pile of dog tags from fallen comrades. She stared at the plastic and glass tombstones. How had they gotten here?
She took two of them. One for her, one for Hannah.
Desmond watched Peyton follow Elim back to the OR. He found her compassion for Hannah incredibly endearing. Peyton cared with all her heart. She had poured everything she had into caring for her young colleague—had risked her own life to save her, to bring her this far. He knew one thing: any person on Earth would be lucky to have Peyton Shaw looking out for them.
He felt Avery’s eyes on him, watching him stare as Peyton left. In a way, Desmond found her to be Peyton’s mirror image. They were both headstrong and determined. They cared about their mission, and they didn’t let anything get in their way. Maybe that was why they clashed so much—they were too much alike. But Avery took lives; Peyton saved them.
Desmond felt irresistibly drawn to both women, like a force of nature; him a hunk of metal, them magnets exerting strong pulls in opposite directions. He found each intriguing in different ways. Each woman was a mystery he wanted to solve.
When Peyton slipped out of view, Avery retreated to a conference room and closed the door. The move surprised Desmond. She wanted to be alone. Why?
Ever since she’d shared her story on the helicopter—and even before that—he had questioned whether he could trust her. She could be a plant, assigned to find out where he had hidden the Rendition device.
Or she could be telling the truth.
He pushed the door open. She had spread the phones out on the long table and was activating them.
“I need to check in with my handler,” she said. She turned to him. “You need help?”
He paused, debating whether to stay and see who she called.
“No,” he said, still torn on what to do.
“You’re downloading the CityForge app, right?” A small smile curled at her lips. He wondered if she knew he had lied on the helicopter.
He nodded, withdrew from the room, and closed the door behind him. But he stood just outside the door, waiting, hoping to hear her call. It never came. She must have been texting.
He activated a cell phone and downloaded the Labyrinth Reality app. He entered the code for the private Labyrinth he had created. He was once again asked whether he was the hero or the Minotaur.
He clicked hero. The dialog read:
Searching for an entrance to the Labyrinth…
In Berlin, the application had said there were no entrances near him. He waited. Finally, a message appeared:
1 Entrance Located.
He clicked the link. A map appeared with GPS coordinates and a glowing green dot.
The location was an island north of Scotland, which surprised him: it was much closer to Berlin than Dadaab. Why did the location not appear when he tried the app in Berlin? He decided the entrance must have been set to reveal on a timer, or perhaps only after some event had occurred. Or, perhaps, when a partner activated it. That possibility intrigued Desmond the most.
He zoomed in on the map dot. It was in the Shetland Islands. From the satellite photography, the place looked barely inhabited. There were some farms, a few roads, a seaport, and an airport.
The glowing dot itself lay in the middle of a forest. There was no building, no home, not even a road leading to it. But he knew something was there—waiting for him.
He hoped it held the key to finding a cure.
Chapter 71
Hannah’s eyes were open when Peyton entered the office that had been converted to a patient room. The young woman tried to sit up in bed, but Peyton told her to lie back down.
Her voice came out hoarse, faint. “What happened?”
Peyton considered what to tell her. She decided that Hannah had been through enough. Details could wait for another day.
“We were rescued.”
Hannah closed her eyes, breathed heavily.
“Are we going home?”
“Eventually. I need to make a few phone calls. You’re in good hands here. I’ll be back.”
Outside the room, Peyton activated the phone and dialed Elliott’s cell. The call connected without ringing.
“You’ve reached Operation BioShield. If you’re calling from inside a cordon zone, press one. If you’re calling from outside a cordon zone, press two.”
After a brief pause, the recording repeated.
Why would Elliott’s phone route to a call center? Peyton had never heard of Operation BioShield. She wondered if it was related to the congressional act, Project BioShield, that had called for stockpiling critical vaccines in the aftermath of 9/11.
Curious, she pressed one, indicating she was inside a cordon zone.
“If you or someone in your home is sick, press one. If you have training in an essential job role, press two. Essential jobs include anyone with military training, doctors, nurses, police, fire, EMT, and prison employees. If you are calling from an operations center, dial three. All other callers, press zero. Note: pressing zero will greatly delay your wait time. The current wait time is six hours and eighteen minutes.”
Peyton hung up and dialed several of her CDC colleagues. She knew only a few of their numbers by heart. But all of her calls were routed to the same Operation BioShield hotline.
She dialed the CDC’s Emergency Operations Center. A different recorded message played: “You’ve reached the BioShield Command Center. If you are transporting supplies and need destination or route assistance, press one. If you work in an essential role and need an assignment, press two. If you have located unsorted individuals outside a cordon zone, press three.”
The last option chilled Peyton. Unsorted individuals.
The recording repeated; there was no option for an operator.
Peyton pressed two. A man with a gruff voice said, “Name and social security number.”
She gave him the information, and heard the man ty
ping.
“Sir, I have critical information—”
He interrupted. “Location?”
“Dadaab, Kenya.”
A long pause.
“Your ops facility is Phillips Arena. Report there immediately for assignment.”
“What?”
“Phillips Arena is located at—”
“I know where Phillips Arena is. Listen to me, I led the CDC mission to Kenya, the one that first encountered the Mandera virus.”
The line was silent. She had his attention.
“I have information regarding its origin and possibly the key to finding a cure. I need to speak with the CDC.”
She heard furious typing in the background.
“Best number to reach you?”
“Did you hear what I just said? I know how this pandemic started—and possibly how to find a cure.”
“I heard you, Dr. Shaw. We’re getting about a hundred calls per hour now from scientists and physicians who are sure they have information regarding a cure. We have a queue that a research assistant is working through. They’ll have to call you back.”
“You’re going to put my message in a queue and call me back?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Are you serious?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“What’s your name?”
“Corporal Travers, ma’am.”
“When this is over, Corporal, the newspapers and TV shows are going to figure out why so many people died. They’ll identify turning points, when people in critical roles made the wrong calls—moments when someone could have made a decision that would have changed the course of the outbreak and saved millions, possibly billions of lives. This is one of those moments. This is the moment when you can simply connect me to that research team or someone at the CDC. It will only take a few seconds. You can save a lot of people—right now.”
“Sorry, ma’am, I don’t even have their number.”
Peyton paused, thinking.
“Ma’am?”
“I’m still here.”
“Your number was blocked; I’m going to need a good callback number.”
Peyton opened the phone’s settings and read the number out. Travers thanked her, and Peyton said, “Corporal?”
“Yes, ma’am?”
“How many messages are in this… queue?”
“Three hundred and sixteen, ma’am.”
She shook her head. “One last thing, Corporal. I’m the CDC’s leading epidemiologist. I’m the one they sent to Kenya when we first found out about the outbreak. Maybe that’s in your files, or maybe you can see my employment history. I’m close to this investigation. Whoever is seeing these messages will know who I am. They’ll call me first. You need to move my message to the top of the list. Do you understand?”
“Do you require further assistance, ma’am?”
She leaned her head back and groaned.
After she’d ended the call, she activated the phone’s web browser. If she could get in touch with the WHO, maybe they could connect her to the CDC. But she didn’t know the WHO’s number. The thought reminded her of Jonas, and seeing his number pop up on her phone a week ago in her condo. If they had split up in Kenya, would he still be alive? Had being near her put him in harm’s way? She tried to focus.
The WHO web address redirected to a site called EuroShield. The page prompted her to enter her information so she could receive the address of a local “EuroCordon center.” The site asked questions nearly identical to those asked by the American operator. Europe apparently had a similar pandemic disaster protocol.
She tried navigating to several more web sites, but the only sites that ever came up were BioShield in America, EuroShield in Europe, and similar sites in Asia and Russia.
Clearly whatever had happened in America had also occurred around the world—almost simultaneously. Phones and internet had been routed, contained. Peyton wondered if it was the dawn of a new dark age, or perhaps something even worse.
She found Desmond outside the cafeteria, staring at a smartphone, leaning against the wall.
“Did you find it?” she asked.
“Yeah,” he said, lost in thought.
“Every web address redirects to emergency websites. Phone lines route to a call center.”
“The app still works,” he mumbled.
The news thrilled Peyton. This could be the break they needed. “And?” she prompted eagerly.
“It gave me a location this time,” Desmond said. “An island north of Scotland. It’s barely inhabited.”
She could see he was frustrated. Maybe he had expected something more substantial. Or maybe it was the time he had spent walking through the camp.
She told him about her call with the BioShield operator. They speculated on the state of things in America, Europe, and in particular Shetland, where the key to finding a cure could be waiting for them.
“If Great Britain is locked down, they might shoot us out of the sky the minute we enter British airspace.”
“That’s assuming,” Peyton said, “we can enter British airspace. Can you fly a plane?”
An amused smile crossed Desmond’s lips. “I don’t know. Can’t remember. There’s really only one way to know.”
She studied him for a minute, unsure if he was serious.
Smiling, he said, “Kidding.”
That left Avery. Neither spoke her name.
Peyton simply said, “I don’t trust her.”
“You don’t like her.”
“True. I also don’t trust her. Her rescue was too convenient.”
“Or timely.”
“Do you trust her?”
Desmond exhaled. “I’m not sure. I want to. But… It’s a weird thing, not knowing everything that happened to me, my true history with her. It’s… impossible to explain.”
He looked Peyton in the eye. “I’d also like to know the rest of our history.”
She said nothing.
“Why won’t you tell me?”
“It’s in the past,” she said quietly.
He was silent for a few seconds, then took the phone from his pocket. “I need someone I can trust. I lied to Avery on the helicopter. The app I found in Berlin is actually called Labyrinth Reality. I took two identical phones. I’ll keep the one without the Labyrinth app; I want you to keep the one that has the app.”
Peyton looked at the screen.
“It says downloading. Downloading what?”
“I don’t know. The message popped up shortly after the entrance was located.”
When Peyton looked up, Avery was standing in the hall. She hadn’t heard the other woman walk up. She wondered how long Avery had been there—and how much she’d heard.
Desmond followed Peyton’s gaze. To Avery, he said, “Did you get through?”
“Phones are down. Web, too. We’re in the dark.”
Peyton tucked Desmond’s cell phone in her pocket. She saw Avery watching her.
“Did the app work?” Avery asked Desmond.
He recounted what he had learned, including the Labyrinth location in Shetland, though he still pretended as though the app were something associated with CityForge.
“Shetland’s a long way away,” Avery said. “Do we have a plane?”
Peyton started off down the hall. “Let’s find out.”
Outside the operating room, Peyton found Elim talking quietly with the villager she had seen in the mess hall.
“About our other request,” Peyton said.
Elim smiled. “Follow me.”
He led them out of the building, across the aid camp, to a single-lane runway. At the end, Peyton could make out a large plane without many windows. A cargo plane. And as her eyes adjusted to the night, she saw the unmistakable emblem of a red cross on the side.
“They arrived with supplies just as the outbreak began. They didn’t make it. It’s yours if you can use it. Besides, there are no pilots here.”
Without a wor
d, Avery began walking across the runway toward it.
Desmond shot Peyton a look that said, I’ll keep an eye on her and make sure she doesn’t leave without us.
Peyton thanked Elim, but the man waved it off.
“It’s the least I could do for the woman who saved my life. I’m sure I would not have survived without ZMapp.”
“You don’t have me to thank for that,” Peyton said. “A woman at the Kenyan Ministry of Health, Nia Okeke, was very convincing. She deserves the credit.”
Elim nodded grimly, as if hearing the woman’s name saddened him.
“I’m afraid we can’t take Hannah with us,” Peyton said.
“I expected as much. I assure you, I will give her the very best care I can.”
Peyton could see that he meant it.
“I know you will. Thank you.”
Back inside the building, Peyton took a deep breath before walking into Hannah’s room. Elim and the woman from the village followed right behind her.
Hannah lay in the bed resting, her eyes closed. Monitors showed her vitals, which Peyton was glad to see were strong.
Peyton placed a hand on Hannah’s shoulder.
“Hannah.” She paused. “Can you hear me?”
Hannah opened her eyes slowly.
“I need to go. Elim is going to take good care of you.”
Hannah nodded, thanked Elim, then looked at the woman beside him.
“You’re from the village,” she said.
Elim translated, and the woman nodded.
Elim then explained to both Hannah and Peyton, “Your colleague, Millen Thomas, brought her to Mandera.”
Millen is alive. Peyton was overjoyed at the news, but Hannah’s expression suggested she was even more joyful. A tear ran down her face.
“He found me in the hospital,” Elim said. “I was alive, but just barely. Millen and Dhamiria rehabilitated me.” He looked at the woman beside him. “Gave me a reason to live.” To Hannah, he added, “I’ve recently learned how powerful that medicine can be.”
There was a long pause.
Hannah reached out and took Peyton’s hand. Hannah’s tears were coming faster now, but she didn’t cry out loud.