Most of the doctors looked at the floor. Stanley knew this was the toughest situation any of them had ever faced. The chief stood up.
“Well, no sense waiting. Enid, if this works you're gonna be rich and famous. I can see a reality TV show with your name on it. Steve, you take the lead in going bed by bed and seeing who needs this right away. And assign some people to start monitoring everyone who gets the vaccine. We should meet again in three or four hours, with a larger group. Any evidence it's working and you need to spread the word ASAP. I gotta go tell the administrator and call the CDC.”
He left the room, slamming the door behind him. Stanley could sense the energy in the vibrations of the door frame, not anger, but optimism. She could tell most of the room shared it. But she'd been wrong plenty of times in the past on the road to finding an answer, so she held onto a small reserve of realism. If inducing the fever didn't do it, then she'd have to find something else that would … if she didn't die of it first.
“You're kidding me?” Vice President Davidson almost yelled into the phone. Carlson Perkins, Director of the CDC, was on the other end.
“I said the same thing, Mr. Vice President. But medically it's quite possible. They're barely an hour into testing it out on their sickest patients, but given the threat, I thought I should bring it to your attention. This is the closest thing to a lead we've had.”
Davidson shook his head and looked at the ground. Again he wondered how he could have gotten into this situation. The world might be saved by giving everyone a fever.
“Have you run it by the international task force?”
“No sir, something like this I wanted to get it to you first.”
“Okay, I understand that. Right after we get off the phone, let 'em know. See if they can think of a reason it wouldn't work. And we need a couple of your people in LA immediately to coordinate with the doctors at Cedars. Whatever they know, I want you guys to know ASAP. Get 'em over to Dobbins Air Force Base ASAP and we'll have a fighter give 'em the two hour cross-continental tour. Aside from that, what do you propose we do?”
He heard silence on the other end. In only two days on the job, his general sense that most people avoided tough decisions had hardened into certainty. Don't commit and you can't be held accountable. Davidson had to take a deep breath to avoid yelling again.
“Look, Dr. Perkins, if you want me to tell you what to do, I will. But you've spent your entire life either studying disease or serving in public health positions. I'm just a farmer from Iowa. The country will be better served by relying on your opinion instead of mine.”
He could almost hear the discomfort in the CDC man's breathing over the line.
“All right, I think we should immediately notify every hospital in the country of the findings. We won't tell them it works for certain or require them to do it, we'll give them the information and they can decide for themselves. I'll send Director Schwartz of the Infectious Diseases Center out along with a nuts and bolts guy.”
Davidson's tone softened. “That's perfect, Doctor, exactly what we need. I'm gonna get off the phone now, but stay on the line and someone will get you the information you'll need to get into Dobbins. Keep me posted on any progress.”
He pressed the intercom button to signal one of his numerous secretaries to follow up. They'd been listening in on the line, so he didn't need to give instructions. That happened with all but the most sensitive calls, a necessary thing for the busiest job in the world. Someone would get the Department of Defense to authorize the fighter. Someone would arrange the approvals with Dobbins. And someone would coordinate with the CDC. All of it would be done in his name, ensuring no argument.
Maybe something was finally going right. It was about goddamn time. He'd received word earlier that some CIA agents had General Surgulvilli in custody. They'd broken him and confirmed that two more nukes were on the loose. The Georgian government had at best turned a blind eye to the sale of the nukes, but Davidson wasn't going to push them any further. It wasn't worth it. By the end of the day, Richards would be back in charge, and she could deal with the whole mess.
Despite the positive developments, he felt knots in his stomach. Maybe due to the cumulative effect of all this stress. Or more likely, from what Linda Yarrow had told him when she'd announced that they'd rescued the President. He hadn't wanted to believe it, but she was the last person who'd lie about something like this. Now he didn't know what to do. His brain told him to resign once things settled down, just let it all go. But he couldn't forget the final words Yarrow had said.
Richards had helped engineer her own kidnapping.
CHAPTER FORTY-ONE
December 16, 2012: The Amazon
“Ms. Riccio, my name is Ronin Gonzales. Welcome to our home.”
Riccio looked up as the door opened and yet another small man with honey-colored skin came in. All of the men she'd seen were tiny, under five foot seven and no more than a hundred thirty pounds. After the initial capture, no one had said a word, they'd simply brought food and left. On one occasion, a woman had come instead, but she, too, said nothing.
This new one had a presence, though, something she picked up on the first instant she met his eyes. He didn't carry any food with him, either. Two other men lagged behind him at the door. Maybe it was finally time to meet their leader.
She sat in one the chairs in the cell (she refused to think of it as a room), and she didn't rise. According to her watch, the better part of two days had passed, and a hot anger had built in her gut. She did answer his greeting without raising her voice.
“Thank you, Mr. Gonzales. Might I ask when we'll be allowed to leave?”
He pulled a chair away from the wall and sat down facing her. Hitchcock jumped up from his mattress and took a chair next to Riccio. Balaga demonstrated his uncanny ability to sleep through anything, and remained sacked out on another mattress.
Gonzales smiled, and Riccio felt a calmness, some sort of connection she couldn't explain. Then she thought about Bella, and the DNA tests. Could they have the ability to not only sense emotions but transmit them as well?
“Before you answer that, tell me what you're doing to our minds.”
Next to her, Hitchcock grunted. She guessed he didn't approve of her directness, but she'd be damned if she was gonna dance around the subject. They were prisoners and she needed whatever information she could get.
Gonzales stared into her eyes, and she felt something different. It was almost as if she could sense what he was feeling. Despite the outward appearance, he was agitated. She felt fascinated, but also disturbed by the sensation. It seemed too invasive, personal on a level she had never before experienced. Then he looked away and the spell broke.
“You should be honored. You are the first human being in centuries to receive that gift without being unaware. We know that you found some evidence of our unique abilities. What you just experienced is a small taste of what we take for granted from birth. For a second, you could read my feelings. Even humans have the rudiments of these abilities, and by focusing my attention, I am able to open both you and myself up to the connection.
“I can also influence you without opening up, which is what I did before. When a person is upset or angry or nervous, their minds instinctively seek a calming influence. Our physiology allows us to transmit positive emotions, and your brain latches onto them.”
Hitchcock shook his head.
“That is incredible. But how does it work exactly?”
“The brain has electrical waves, and they can be measured beyond the surface of the skull. But the specific mechanism?”
Gonzales spread his hands in front of him, palms up. “We do not know.”
Riccio let out her breath and reminded herself to focus.
“That was, um, different. But I still wanna know when you'll let us go.”
“We are in an awkward situation. You have stumbled onto our city at perhaps the most sensitive time in our long history. We cannot let you g
o yet. A few more days, and things will work themselves out. In the meantime, there is something I would like to discuss with you.”
She waited as he appeared to gather his thoughts.
“Forgive me, you must understand that conversation among my people involves a lot of silence, to give us time to share emotions. What I'd like to know is who else did you tell about your visit to the Amazon?”
She opened her mouth, but Hitchcock beat her to an answer.
“I suppose you'd never believe us if we told you we've left word for a packet to go out to Fleet Street if we don't return in another week?”
Gonzales shook his head.
“I didn't think so. The truth is that Ms. Riccio and Mr. Balaga told their families. I have no family left, but I told several colleagues. Our university Dean knows more of the details, including the geographic coordinates where we found the body, which I presume was one of your people. Sooner or later, someone will come looking for us.”
“Thank you for being honest, that is what we suspected.”
Hitchcock shrugged. “I've been hearing about you for twenty years. And undoubtedly, you would know if I lied. If we are to remain confined here, could I impose on you to tell us about yourselves and this place?”
Riccio turned her head in disbelief. “Hitchcock, we're prisoners and you wanna chat about history?”
Gonzales smiled. “Ms. Riccio, I'd be happy to share some of our history. In a few days, we will be leaving this place, which has been our home for almost a millennium. Until two days ago, no human being had ever set foot beyond the very beginning of the tunnels.
“You've figured out that we are not human. Your guess is a good as mine about how our unique abilities developed. We came to the Amazon from Guatemala, where our people were part of Maya society.”
At the mention of the Maya, Riccio felt a chill run through her chest. “Wait a minute, you left Guatemala a thousand years ago? Don't tell me you know what happened to the Maya?”
“All too well, Ms. Riccio, all too well. Would you like to hear it?”
He was teasing her, she knew that, but she couldn't resist. “What do you think, Mr. Gonzales?”
“You forget, I already know how you feel about it. Classic Maya civilization disappeared rather quickly, and your scholars do not know why. The major cities were abandoned, and while there is no evidence of any sort of mass death, the population decreased tremendously. Well, my people are the reason.
“It didn't happen that fast, it took over a century. Our species had integrated itself into Maya society to some extent, but avoided procreation with the Maya. We did this by becoming the class of priests and were able to keep ourselves separate. But eventually, my people started interbreeding with the Mayan”
Hitchcock and Riccio looked at each other before returning their gaze to Gonzales. She said, “You mean the mix of the two species caused the problems?”
“Yes. Something genetic, but it appeared in the second or third generation. That was a long time ago, and we have no idea of the specific disease that occurred. When we started dying in large numbers, the population grew scared and figured the gods must be angry at them. So they abandoned their huge cities and returned to a rural life.
“But they'd already reached a point where they were losing more than were being replenished with new births. In the middle of your eleventh century, a handful of our species who had remained of pure blood fled down here. As you might guess, a big challenge we face is a lack of genetic variation.
“Anyway, the Maya population kept dropping, and they never knew how to stop it. Over several generations, all the people of mixed blood died, but by then it was too late. When Cortez arrived a few hundred years later, he found only the remnants of the massive civilization.”
“What brought you here?” The fascination was apparent in Hitchcock's attentive gaze.
“The peoples of Central and South America knew about many things now lost to most of the world. We knew we needed to segregate ourselves and this seemed the perfect place. Over time, we developed it into a home that could meet all our needs. Well, almost all our needs.”
“Yes, I noticed a deck prism near the cross tunnel out there. Is that how you bring in natural light?”
“It is. Where possible, we have borrowed concepts helpful to us. Deck prisms work well to get light into the nooks and crannies of a ship. In our case, we needed to modify the concept to account for how deep we are, but even the small amount of light helps maintain a healthful environment.”
Gonzales stood up.
“We can talk more later, but I must go now.”
Riccio felt uncomfortable talking like this with her captor, but she had to know more. “Just one more question? Do you know where your people were before Guatemala?”
Those black eyes bored into her again, not unfriendly, but not inviting, either. A word popped into her mind to describe it: alien.
“Yes, we do know. It's a long tale, one that also ends in destruction. It's a place I am sure you've heard of. You know it by a different name than we do. Humans called it Atlantis.”
CHAPTER FORTY-TWO
After Gonzales left, Hitchcock stood up and began pacing the room, talking to himself. “Is it possible? The lost civilization of Atlantis can now be found in caves in the Amazon? This is the opportunity of a lifetime.”
From the bed, Balaga's voice sounded muffled. “Hitchcock, sit down, you're makin' me nervous. Staying locked in a room until they decide it's time to dispose of us is not exactly setting the academic world on fire.”
Hitchcock stopped moving and looked down at him. Balaga had abandoned his fatigue top and wore a plain white undershirt as he lay under a sheet.
“Did you hear anything he said?”
“I heard everything. Didn't see any point in advertising the fact that I was awake, though with his mental ability, I bet Gonzales knew it anyway. We're still in the same serious shit as we have been for almost two days.”
“But we have to find out more.”
Hitchcock's voice was plaintive, a striking contrast to his usual uptight manner. “We can't pass up this chance to—”
Riccio put a hand on his shoulder and he whirled. “Alistair. I want to learn about them as much as you do. But Joe's right. We're in trouble. We need to talk again about trying to escape.”
Hitchcock exhaled and his shoulders slumped. He kept his head down as he went back to a chair. When he looked at Riccio, his eyes contained a challenge. “Do tell, Ms. Riccio. How exactly can we escape when they can read our minds?”
Riccio had never been good at backing down. “Don't be an idiot. They can't read our minds, they can just sense our feelings. When I did the Vulcan mind meld with Gonzales there, I couldn't tell what he was thinking. Here's what I figure. We've been anxious and thinking about escape all along. I'm not positive, but I think if we can avoid getting ourselves more worked up before we make the attempt, they won't be able to tell we're planning something.”
“And you're willing to wager our lives on that?”
“Get off it, Hitchcock, our lives are already in danger. I do have two concerns, though. The first one is that maybe they have us wired for video or sound in here. I don't know how we could tell.”
Balaga spoke from the bed. “It seems unlikely. They said they never get people down here. What possible reason would they have to go to the trouble?”
Hitchcock nodded, though the action seemed forced. “I wish I could disagree, but I believe Mr. Balaga is correct.”
Riccio smiled. “Okay then. Second thing is a bit tougher. How exactly are we going to manage to get away?”
She looked at Balaga, who rolled over off the bed and got to his feet. He walked over to the door and examined the handle, running his hands along the door and then the frame.
“It's either wood or some sort of composite material, I doubt we can get through it directly. The lock might be weak, though.”
He tried to shake the handle and it di
dn't move at all. “Or not.”
Hitchcock said, “Heaven knows I'd like to see this through, but if you two are insistent on leaving, I have an idea.”
He waited until they had both turned to face him. “Why don't we overpower them when they open the door?”
Riccio frowned. “Hmm, usually there's only two of 'em when they bring our meals, but most of the time one has a gun.”
Hitchcock nodded. “That is indeed true. But they aren't large and I highly doubt they are trained in combat. There would be little need for it in a society such as this. Here's how I think we can do it.”
As he talked, Riccio had to admit to herself that it was a better idea than hoping Balaga's bulk could smash through the door. She still felt uncomfortable.
“Hitchcock, it's a good plan, but a minute ago, you wanted to stay. How do we know you're not setting us up?”
“Setting you up? My dear lady, I know a lost battle when I see one. You two are set on escape, and I can hardly sit back and watch. If you believe the plan won't work, by all means abandon it.”
Balaga jumped in. “No, it should work as well as anything. It's hard to trust each other, but I can't see how you could sabotage it. We can try it when they bring our next meal, right? When will that be?”
Riccio looked at her watch. “They've been pretty regular, so probably just about another hour.”
Balaga nodded. “Okay, then why don't we get in position in forty-five minutes, just in case they're a little early. And remember to try to keep your emotions under control.”
The forty-five minutes passed quickly. All of their gear had been taken when they were captured, so they had nothing to gather. Balaga lay down and appeared to go to sleep again. Riccio couldn't believe he could manage it under the circumstances, but his breathing slowed within minutes.
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