He left them and joined Crowder next to the helmsman.
“Any word from Braxton?”
“Yep. Apparently the CDC is still not certain that inducing a fever cures the virus.”
“I'd say that means the bombing is off, but the look on your face tells me I'm wrong.”
“Braxton said Richards was dead set on it and cut off any discussion. But there's more. They patched me in to the damn Situation Room and asked for a report. I told them about the escape. I guess they've already tasked one of those top secret satellites with scanning the area. You know, the ones that can take readings deep below the earth's surface? They think they found the tunnel in the northeast.
“Once she heard my report, Richards practically drooled into the speaker phone telling me to get out of the area. Braxton said they would focus most of their firepower on that tunnel.”
Simon exhaled through his nose.
“So I guess the protos won't get away after all.”
“Not if what Jaime told us about the tunnel being so long is true. They'll either be killed directly, or they'll be trapped by collapses at both ends.”
“How about the Brazilian government?”
“Officially, this bombing isn't happening. People will complain, and pictures may even get onto the Internet, but this is one of the most remote regions on the planet. It'll be denied and spun and everyone will forget.”
“And unofficially?”
“The Brazilian President has offered to say a prayer for our success.”
Simon looked at his watch, which was set to UTC for the operation. 13:52. Eight minutes until the rainforest would explode with man-made destruction. He couldn't help wondering if it was necessary. If they'd mapped the tunnel, Crowder's men could head for the end and stop the protos when they emerged. He reminded himself that this kind of decision by the civilian leadership of both parties was the reason he'd left the military in the first place.
He went to the stern, sat down against the rail, and closed his eyes. He was drained, and he would need a lot of rest to feel normal again. He remembered the same thing from other missions, and rest truly was the only cure.
The explosion startled him, and even on the water, he could feel the earth shake. He must have dozed off, because his watch said fourteen-hundred. He got to his feet.
He saw no signs of the destruction, which didn't surprise him. Eventually, there'd be a bit of smoke visible even from this far away, but these bombs didn't create fireballs. The damage all happened at or below the ground.
Another explosion shook them. Simon walked over to where Riccio sat on the deck, and he lowered himself next to her and Balaga.
“You two are very brave.”
Riccio flashed a smile.
“Nah, having a dozen marines for protection is hardly brave.”
“I don't know that I'd agree, but in any case I appreciate your help. Both of you.”
Balaga said, “Crowder told us something about the tunnel and a satellite. Do you think the protos will be wiped out?”
Simon thought for a moment before answering. “I wish I knew. Maybe. Probably. I gotta be honest, I have mixed feelings about it.”
Riccio's eyes danced with anger and she nodded.
“I was thinking the same thing. I don't care what they did, this was the greatest discovery in human history. Americans always destroy things.”
Simon's smile didn't hide the pain in his eyes. “I could say something about that little empire they had in Italy a while back, but you're right. That's one reason I got out of the military. In this case, though, President Richards is probably calling the shots. The woman belongs in an institution, not the White House.”
“So I gathered. Is there nothing we can do?”
“To stop the bombing? No way, just listen for yourself. But I am wondering about one thing. You know how Andrea and I walked into that ambush?”
They both nodded.
“After everyone else went down, I hauled ass outta there. But I know there were at least a dozen gunmen left. It sounds like the bombers are now focusing on the long tunnel and the main complex. And that's what has me thinking.
“What if those gunmen escaped some other way?”
CHAPTER FORTY-SIX:
December 18, 2012: Los Angeles
Enid Stanley woke up in her own bed for the first time in a week. Seven days of catching a few hours of rest here and there in the break room had caught up with her, and the hospital administrator had ordered her home after the meeting yesterday afternoon. At four o'clock, she'd collapsed into her bed, and hadn't woken since.
When they'd started inducing fever three days ago, they'd seen immediate results. Three more patients had died before they could expand the treatment to everyone, but after that, every patient with the symptoms had recovered. The problem was patients had overwhelmed the hospital as the disease spread among the city's residents.
Their supply of BCG had been limited, and they'd begun using a number of other drugs as well. In direct violation of the CDC's order not to comment, the Chief had leaked to the media that spiking a fever might help. The huge number of tanning salons, saunas and spas in greater Los Angeles proved a real asset for the first time in the city's history, opening their doors to anyone with the illness. A few people died of heart attacks due to the excess heat, but on balance they saved countless lives by taking some pressure off the hospitals.
Stanley didn't know much about the problems outside her own hospital, but she knew that this was a global epidemic and that people were scrambling around the world to figure out ways to induce a fever. Especially in some of the poorer countries, the people had limited options. They showed a great deal of creativity in finding solutions, though not always with positive results. The Chief had described one man who died of asphyxiation after spending too long in an oven.
But the tide had been turning even when she'd left the hospital the day before. She walked into the kitchen now, turned on CNN, and saw confirmation that the world had this epidemic under control. Hundreds of thousands would die worldwide, but compared to what could have been, she could hardly consider it anything other than a miracle. Tears rushed to her eyes as she pondered her own role in it.
She got a glass of orange juice out of the fridge as the volume on the TV rose. Must be some new headline, she thought. Turning to look, she saw a huge graphic that almost made her drop the glass.
“President Richards resigns.”
Langley, Virginia
“I still can't believe she backed down. I was sure she'd send the Secret Service to arrest us all for threatening her.”
Dennis Braxton sat at his desk, sipping a glass of Bruichladdich single-malt scotch. His doctor had told him to avoid alcohol because of the heart condition, but he kept a bottle in his desk for special occasions. This certainly qualified.
Attorney General Stan Ramsey sat across from him with a matching glass, chuckling as he answered.
“I don't think they would have followed her order, not after Guatemala last summer. Plus, we got all our ducks in a row. How often do you get agreement from the Senate majority leader, the Speaker of the House, the House and Senate minority leaders and the incoming president? The House was prepared to waive every rule and pass Articles of Impeachment without debate. To be honest, I still wonder if we should have impeached her.”
“Nah, the country didn't need that, not after the virus and the nuke in Billings. Everyone says they hate politicians, but no one except a few nut-jobs really believes a president would do what she did. I don't wanna think about the kind of backlash we'd have if word got out.”
“I heard Limbaugh already got wind of it, planning to get it on the show tomorrow.”
“Let him. The same ten percent of the country that believes we should nuke the entire Middle East will believe him, but he's not stupid enough to push it too hard. It's just good entertainment.”
He swirled the amber liquid in his glass, holding it up to the light
and examining it.
“You know, we're damn lucky to have Davidson. Without him, Richards would have another month in office. I wasn't gonna cross her, but the few days in charge changed Davidson, and he wouldn't let go of it.”
Ramsey sighed. “You're right, and that disturbs me. Most of us know politics makes the world go 'round, but at the end of the day I know I'd like to believe we'd do the right thing when it matters most. In this case, without the actions of one man, none of us would have.
“It also didn't hurt that Yarrow was smart enough to have Roger Wartburg quietly gathering evidence. You might never have convinced me if it wasn't for the affidavits he collected from the agents who were in Guatemala. I mean, leaving the soldier with the nuclear football behind? That right there should guarantee impeachment. Hey, I've been meaning to ask you, is Wartburg still Secret Service? Yarrow said something about a resignation.”
Braxton chuckled. “Oh, he's back. Technically the record will show a leave of absence. You should have seen him that day we flew to see Cimil. He basically told Richards to screw off, even made fun of her, then left her standing on the tarmac at Andrews looking like an idiot. But what could she do? If she hadn't been so shocked, maybe she would have had him taken into custody.”
They fell silent for a time, sipping their drinks. Braxton knew this was the last time he'd speak of this, and part of him didn't want to end the discussion. Tomorrow, he'd be back to saving the country from other threats few would ever hear about. Which reminded him of something.
“I still wonder about one thing.”
“Hell, I wonder about a lot of things. What's on your mind?”
“There's one thing that got lost with the virus and the Richards situation consuming us. Something I'm gonna have to get my people on tomorrow, even though the trail is dead, if you'll pardon the pun. Something we forgot about.
“The two other missing nukes.”
Boston, Massachusetts
“So what do you think happened to the other nukes?”
Riccio and Simon sat at the bar in Kennedy's Midtown pub and restaurant. The noise from the televisions and the other patrons eliminated most chance of being overheard, but Simon still felt a small twinge of discomfort at her direct words.
“I wish I knew. Cimil took delivery of them, but Andrea never saw them after that. If I had to bet, I'd say Guatemala is now a nuclear power, and their government will quietly make that fact known sometime soon. As far as I know, we're relying on them to round up Cimil's people, because Davidson doesn't want to step on any more toes after what Richards did.”
“Is that how it always works in government, figuring out deals and angles?”
Simon laughed. “You're Italian, you of all people should know that. But I was never part of the government, just a soldier, then for a few months a reluctant member of the CIA.”
Her face softened and she put her hand over Simon's. He felt a knot in the pit of his stomach at the contact, and wondered again why he'd asked her to dinner. He knew the answer. After so many years of shutting everyone out, he needed to let someone in.
She must have sensed his anxiety.
“Crowder told me a little about Cimil's sister and what happened. I can't even imagine what it must have been like. I know you can't forget, but it's over now.”
She'd said enough, and Simon was grateful for that and for the ensuing silence. Life felt different without Cimil haunting him, even if he'd been unaware of the extent of the burden before this month. It would take some getting used to.
“Gabby, I appreciate you coming tonight. I, um, well I wanted to see you again.”
She laughed, and he found himself smiling with her. “I wanted to see you, too. Balaga told me you'd call, but I told him you were a busy guy.”
“Busy? Until Braxton roped me into helping the CIA, I'd done almost nothing for fifteen years. After the past week, that sounds kinda appealing to go back to. What's next for you?”
“Well, there's nothing stopping us from presenting our findings about Bella. Both our governments have made it clear that any mention of the protos is off-limits, but they couldn't easily suppress findings from a million years ago. I don't know, though, I think there's something I want to do first.”
She met his eyes with an intense stare that almost made him look away.
He said, “I wonder if I can guess. A research expedition, right?”
She nodded and allowed a grin to spread across her face.
“OK, let me see, it's not archeology, you'll be looking for something modern, maybe in a rain forest.”
“You're pretty smart for a soldier. You wouldn't be interested in providing security for such an expedition, would you?”
“I don't know, I could get pretty busy doing nothing. Seriously, though, I can't imagine the Brazilian government will allow foreigners into the area anytime soon. In a year or two, things will have blown over, but right now I bet they have troops patrolling.”
“Maybe. But that's remote country, and they certainly don't have any kind of regular patrol. I'm willing to give it a shot. Your government's payment for my silence was more than generous, and I can't think of a better way to spend it.”
“You really think anyone made it out?”
“Of course I do. So do you, I can see it in your eyes. Odds are, a few survived. Plus, I have a secret weapon.”
“Oh Jesus, I didn't know what I was in for when I asked you to dinner. Do I wanna know?”
“Sure you do. It's someone you're quite familiar with. Someone uniquely qualified to help us.”
Simon shook his head.
“Uniquely qualified, huh. That's one way of putting it. The last known proto-human on the planet, right? You're talking about Jaime Cortez.”
EPILOGUE
December 21, 2012: Golden, Colorado
“What the hell is that?”
Jon Rozick stared at the computer screen, convinced he was looking at a software glitch. Working at the National Earthquake Information Center (or NEIC) for almost two decades, he'd seen plenty of seismic events, but this was beyond his experience.
If it was real.
His fingers bounced on the keyboard and his screen refreshed, taking several seconds to return. Bold reds and greens still dominated the screen. The computer certainly thought it was real.
The activity registered almost in the dead center of the Gulf of Mexico, a thousand feet below the sea floor, which itself lay thousands of feet below the water's surface. The magnitude was beyond anything ever recorded, but Rozick barely noticed that fact. Several other aspects of this quake overwhelmed him.
First, the quake had lasted almost ten minutes. Never even in unproven tall tales had anyone experienced one lasting this long. Initially, the activity had seemed minimal, but with each subsequent minute, it increased.
Which led to the next surprise. The activity looked nothing like any previous earthquake. The popular image of a seismograph drawing peaks and valleys on paper as the earth moves up and down is an accurate one. The graphs on his screen represented interpretations, not actual physical movements of an instrument, but the concept remained similar.
Here, though, it looked like a line graph, rising over time with almost no shaking. Rozick shook his head, knowing that this was physically impossible. Not impossible, he corrected himself, just improbable.
Highly improbable.
The graph provided another mystery. The slope of the graph changed only a little bit in the first three minutes, but then it spiked up for a fraction of a second. After spiking, the more shallow slope resumed, this time at a higher level. What could have happened three minutes in? It was almost like something had broken loose from tremendous pressure. Or …
He picked up the phone before taking the thought any further. The system had automatically sent a rapid report when the quake exceeded Richter 5.0, but he needed to kick this one up to the Program Coordinator. It might be one in the morning in D.C., but he couldn't wait any longer.
Ten minutes later, Mitch Loggins had connected from his home in Reston, Virginia via video conference. As Earthquake Hazards Program Coordinator, he was one of the highest ranking non-politicians in the U.S. Geological Survey. Rozick knew the man well enough to know Loggins wouldn't complain about the late hour.
“Sir, are you seeing what I'm seeing?”
“Just bringing it up now, Jon. And don't call me sir at this time of night, Mitch is fine. Yes, I've got it and—”
Rozick heard only the sound of breathing on the other end.
“Sir, I mean Mitch, are you there?”
“I'm here. What the hell is this I'm looking at?”
“I wish I knew. Have you ever seen anything like this?”
“Nope. Are we sure this is real?”
“Well, I looked at a few of the raw readings and even tried resetting the system and it all checks out. Short of getting a visual from someone, we have to assume it is.”
Loggins sighed. “I'm gonna have to call the Director. Hold on a minute, though, lemme check something.”
Rozick waited, watching the activity on the screen. In the past minute, the slope of the line had gone down close to zero, but had not started dropping. Loggins came back on.
“I just pinged a guy I know in Naval Underseas Surveillance. We could be facing a tsunami big enough to wipe out Florida, and the SOSUS offshore sensors should have picked up something. He couldn't tell me much due to security, but he confirmed that SOSUS picked up some activity. He also said as of now, they've seen no evidence of a large wave.”
“There may be no evidence now, but that's gonna change. All that water has to go somewhere.”
“He knows that, and he'll start getting the word out. But it's not like they can evacuate the entire state.”
“I don't even want to think about it. Sir—ah Mitch—the thing that seems the weirdest is that spike at three minutes. What could have caused that?”
The Mayan Legacy (A Simon Gray Thriller Book 1) Page 31