"Nothing," said Gordon, nodding. He listened to the mayor promise open access in the zone to the latest medical reports. She gave a hotline number and website address for the "latest, up-to-the-minute update."
"I am at a loss," said Pradeep. "If we are to blame, I cannot fathom how."
Gordon sat up. "You know what, Pradeep? Feeling bad about it isn't going to help."
"Then what are we to do?"
"You keep thinking. Go back over everything, your notebooks, other people's notebooks, anything and everything." Gordon set his bottle down, still unfinished. "If you come up with anything, call Micro." He gave him Cecily's telephone number.
"What are you going to do?"
Gordon burped. "I'm going to join the parade."
Bethesda, Maryland / 11:50 p.m.
Roderick Halkin stared at the technician with an intensity that drove the masked woman back a few steps. She put her hands in front of her white lab coat, as if to ward off a look full of malevolent spirits.
"Thank you for your report," said Roderick, in a perfunctory voice. He nodded once.
The technician left Roderick's office in a hurry.
With a finger Roderick traced the underside of his left jaw.
There was no unknown viral nuclei acid in the infectious, filtered brainstem samples from the victims. There was no known viral nucleic acid either. Nothing. No DNA, no RNA, no genetic material of any kind. The filtered samples contained water and various organic molecules, but no trace of any organism. Viruses and tiny bacteria were not present.
Glancing around his spacious office, Roderick's gaze drifted to various objects. The Stradivarius replica. The shelves of orchestra disks. His diploma, from Johns Hopkins.
He recognized his behavior. It didn't happen often, and in the past he had chided himself severely every time it did happen. His mind was grasping for something, anything, to think about—something that made sense.
This data made no sense. An orderly, rational, scientific mind rebelled. He'd prepared himself for this result, but he had also allowed the convictions of another person—Kraig Drennan, who was certain the pathogen had to be a virus—to influence his own.
A small but definite emotion grew within the heart and soul of Roderick Halkin—an unfamiliar twinge of fear.
Calling up some files on his computer screen, he studied the medical summaries. Incubation times, rates of infection and spread, fatality percentages.
"Mozart," whispered Roderick, calling up the music system. "Requiem."
20 April, Tuesday
Montgomery County, Pennsylvania / 12:50 a.m.
The lights in Cecily Sunday's room were still on. She and the rest of the Micro team—and everybody else who went in and out of the zone—were sequestered in well equipped though not luxurious quarters, a mini-mall posted with an old "for lease" sign which had not been removed. The quarters had been hastily prepared by government workers; floor-to-ceiling plastic partitions separated the rooms.
Cecily sat on the floor in Sukhasana—easy pose. She didn't look up when someone knocked.
"Come in."
Lisa Murdoch slid a jury-rigged door along its railing. She stepped inside, slid the door shut, and silently stood watching her supervisor.
"What's on your mind, Lisa?"
Cecily hadn't opened her eyes. "How'd you know it was me?"
"I recognized your knock. You have a distinctive knock. The first time you hit the door it's soft, then you knock harder, and the last one is the hardest."
Lisa realized that Cecily was right. Her usual pattern was to get more and more aggressive in everything that she did.
Sitting down on the floor, Lisa said, "Does yoga keep you calm? Is that how you stay so calm?"
"No."
"Then how?"
"Haven't you figured that out by now?" Cecily opened her eyes. "I live for times like this. Bad times."
Lisa searched for a smile, a laugh, a brightening of the eyes. She found only a tired stare.
"I don't believe you," said Lisa. "You don't act that way. And the yoga. It's a serene kind of exercise, isn't it?"
"It brings balance." Cecily closed her eyes and smiled.
Unnerved by Cecily's smile, Lisa fell silent for a moment. Her supervisor returned to a meditative state.
Finally Lisa asked, "What do you think will happen to those people in the zone?"
"I don't know."
"You don't know what to think? Or you don't want to tell me?"
"You really want to know what I think?"
Cautiously, Lisa said yes.
"I think they'll all die, unless Roderick Halkin is even smarter than he thinks he is."
* * *
In a condominium a few miles from the Micro team's quarters, a sleeping Gordon Norschalk's head rested on the table. Surrounding him were the fruits of his labor.
The beer bottles were gone, thrown away. Replacing them were piles of polyester stuffed with foam, a heap of soft rubber, and wads of packing materials—air-filled bubble sheets and plastic peanuts.
The computer screen contained a dialog box with the word "Sent" inscribed in it. The message it had been asked to deliver had gone out.
Bethesda, Maryland / 1:30 a.m.
"There has to be genes," said Kraig. "DNA, RNA, something."
On Kraig's screen was a serious, thin-faced, sleep-deprived man.
"Negative," Roderick Halkin said firmly.
"Then—wait a minute. Protein. A prion, maybe?"
"There are certainly proteins in the infectious samples," said Roderick. "But they don't cause the disease."
"Because," said Kraig slowly, "you treated a sample with protease, and it still causes the disease in mice. Right?"
Roderick nodded. "An obvious experiment. Yes, you are correct."
"Then what we're dealing with is a nanothingy." Kraig frowned. "All this time we thought it couldn't be nanotech. Christ, it figures! Just when you think you've got it narrowed down.... Anyway, there's some good news in this. At least it'll probably be easy to deal with, once we dissect it and figure out how it works."
Kraig noticed Roderick giving him a look. "Don't tell me," said Kraig, frowning, "that you think I'm jumping to conclusions."
Roderick pursed his lips. Quietly he said, "I think you're jumping to conclusions."
A fist came crashing down on Kraig's desk. "That can't be!"
"Yes it can. Mind you, I'm not saying it is. I'm simply suggesting that it's possible."
"Okay." Kraig glared at Roderick's image on his screen. "Then what the hell is it? What else could it be?"
"I have a theory." Roderick put his fingers together.
"Which you're going to tell me," said Kraig, with a fierce look, "or I'll kill you."
Roderick looked up. He gave a quick nod. "Have you observed the incubation data?"
"Don't change the subject. Yes, I have."
"Then you know how deadly this situation appears to be."
Kraig called up the text and figures in an inset on his computer monitor. The time after acquiring the disease-causing agent until the beginning of the symptoms—which lasted only a short while, followed by death a few minutes later—was quite variable: days to a couple weeks. But this statement was based mostly on experiments with mice, suitably adjusted for the bigger size and slower metabolism of humans. Mice also showed a lot of variability to the pathogen, but eventually 99 percent succumbed to it. Only a few mice were still living after having been exposed to infectious samples. Perhaps humans would show higher survival rates along with the longer incubation time—maybe fortune would smile on Homo sapiens. But Kraig wasn't counting on it.
"We have a week," said Kraig. "Maybe."
Roderick assented with a nod.
"Tell me your theory." Kraig wasn't asking. "I don't care how speculative it is."
"What do you know about the origin of life?"
Kraig blinked. "You mean, the one that happened some three and a half billion years ago o
n earth? That origin?"
"Yes."
Leaning back, Kraig thought about it. He shot a glance at Roderick. "A new form of life, is that what you're suggesting?"
Roderick gave him a friendly, humorless sort of smile and inclined his head.
"How does it replicate without genes?" Kraig shook his head. "It can't replicate without genes. That's not possible."
"On the contrary. It replicates."
Kraig stared, open-mouthed.
"I tested it and made sure. Suppose you inject a mouse with a subinfectious sample—not enough to cause the disease. Let it stay in the animal for a while, then sacrifice the mouse and take a section from its brainstem. Inject that in another mouse. After a slightly longer incubation time than normal, the second mouse dies of the disease. Conclusion: the tiny number of agents had begun to replicate in the first mouse, and had attained sufficient number to cause the disease in the second animal."
"What is this new form of life? How did it get started?"
"As for the first question, I plead ignorance. For the second, I have an idea. It got started, innocently enough, in a human cell culture in the labs of Vision Cell Bioceuticals."
"That retinal physiologist?"
"And the combinatorial organic chemist. Both of their research materials, I propose, combined to provide the necessary conditions."
"But it should have been killed, destroyed, when the technicians discarded the cultures."
"Normally it would have. But, according to my theory, it was not."
"But then the lab techs at Vision Cell must have been negligent to allow something to grow like that in their cultures and escape."
"I disagree. It could have happened, as I indicated earlier, innocently—no fault attached to any party."
"But the ultraviolet lights, the chlorine, the autoclave...." Kraig's eyes opened wide.
"You begin to understand," observed Roderick.
Kraig mumbled something.
Roderick gave him a puzzled glance. "Pardon? Did you say something?"
"Yes," said Kraig, barely above a whisper. "I asked you how many people you think are infected in the zone."
"That's speculative at the moment, of course," said Roderick in a confident tone, "but I'm willing to hazard a guess. All of them."
Medburg, Pennsylvania / 10:00 a.m.
Gary had hidden the two guns in the bottom drawer of his dresser, underneath a pile of old t-shirts that he never wore. Several times during the morning he had opened the drawer and looked at the lump they made in the stack of clothing.
Jimmy and Abe had told him and some other kids to get used to having them around. "Get a feel for 'em. But don't use 'em—not yet."
"What are you doing?" asked his little brother.
"Nothing." Gary whirled around. "And don't get any ideas. Don't go near this dresser, you understand?"
Slamming the drawer shut, Gary sat down on his bed. Great, he thought. I just gave my little brother an open invitation to root around in my dresser. He won't be able to resist. I'll have to move the guns later.
He glanced at his brother, who was lying on his bed and turning the pages of a computer game magazine.
If Mom catches me with those guns, thought Gary, it's all over. She'll have a coronary.
"Gary, Alicia!"
Gary leaped up, nearly banging his head against the wall. His mother's voice, coming from downstairs.
"Kids, come quick!"
Gary started for the door. "After you," he said to his brother, and impatiently waited until the boy had darted passed. After one quick glance at the dresser, Gary followed.
All four siblings stomped down the stairs. Gary was the last to arrive in the kitchen.
"WKH has the best news!" cried his mother. She turned up the radio.
"...scheduled by last name, as follows. Letters A-D, please report to the parking lot of the Adams Street Mall between the hours of 12 and 3 this afternoon...."
The list went on.
"What are they talking about?" asked Alicia.
Her mother hushed her. She was clearly waiting for 'W.'
Gary frowned. They'll probably repeat this a hundred times, but he knew his mother would insist on listening for the first one.
Finally T-Z arrived. Loretta wrote down the time and location on a pad of paper.
"It's great, kids. They developed a test."
Alicia looked at Gary, then back to her mother. "A test?"
"A test, a test!" Loretta lowered the radio's volume. "A test to find the disease!" She beamed a smile to all four children.
"So," said Gary, "they found a cure."
Loretta's smile faltered. "Well of course...no, they didn't say. But a cure will follow. First they have to know who has it and who doesn't."
Gary and Alicia eyed one another again.
"We don't have it," said Loretta confidently. "None of us are sick."
Alicia said, "But didn't they say that people don't get sick until...."
"None of us have it!" shouted Loretta. "Just you wait and see." She tore off the sheet containing the information and gripped it fiercely.
"Are they going to stick us with needles?" asked Yvonne.
"Now don't you worry, sweetheart. Mommy will be there. Nobody's going to hurt you."
Gary edged closer to the radio and listened.
"...all those testing negative for the disease MRD, as it's called now, will be escorted out of the containment zone. The latest word we've received from the Micro-Investigation Unit and the CDC is that the zone will remain under quarantine for the time being, but this is subject to change depending on the results of the tests. Rumors are circulating that the zone will be opened shortly, perhaps in a day or two, and affected individuals will be isolated in clinical settings. This is standard procedure for past epidemics. The results of the tests should be determined by late tonight or early tomorrow morning...."
Bethesda, Maryland / 10:20 a.m.
Sitting in his office, Kraig's head bowed low, chin to chest. He felt like he had a migraine. Chet's inanity wasn't helping. The man was beyond belief.
"Kraig?"
At first Kraig thought the voice belonged to Chet, but it was too high-pitched. The caller was female. Kraig listened to his name repeated a few more times over the speaker before he mustered enough energy to answer. He hadn't even heard the warning signal indicating that a call had been patched through.
"Yes, Cecily?"
"All the Micro team's diagnostic tests are completed. We're back in our suits and moving into the zone now, along with a contingent of National Guard troops, to collect test samples from the people."
If Cecily was worried about the results of her test she hid it well. But she wouldn't be worried, would she? Kraig decided to try and be upbeat, optimistic. "Good," he said cheerily. "Be safe."
"Word is spreading that the zone is going to open up tomorrow afternoon."
Kraig said nothing.
"Just between you and me, that's a bunch of crap, isn't it, boss?"
It's the director's crap, not mine.
"You never know, Cecily. It could happen. It all depends on the test results."
"Good to hear you sound so enthusiastic," said Cecily. "But not very many people in the zone are buying it. Only those who are desperate to believe any sort of good news. Well, off we go, to the ramparts!"
"Tallyho," muttered Kraig. He killed the connection. It was impossible to tell when that woman was being serious and when she was satirical. Not from the voice, nor—if he could have seen it—from her convoluted expression.
Kraig sat quietly in his office, listening to his breathing. It became more and more regular. When he looked up again, forty minutes had passed.
The ticker read 92.
"Kraig?"
Kraig rubbed his eyes. Audio only from Roderick. "Talk to me. You in the lab?"
"Yes, I'm in the lab. You wanted to know when the diagnostic samples had started to arrive. They're here. The first batch i
s from the field team, the police officers, National Guard troops, and others who have ventured into the zone."
"How long is it going to take? I mean really going to take."
"You heard the announcement, I gather."
"Chet is setting them up for another hard fall. Again. Christ! Doesn't that fool ever learn?"
"If you're willing to hear my assessment, I'll offer you an explanation—though far be it from me to explain the director's actions."
"Somebody ought to."
Roderick paused. "It's a matter of cooperation. How do you expect people to show up for the testing if they don't feel it's worth it?"
"So what's going to happen when we don't open the zone tomorrow?"
"You're assuming that most of the people will test positive, as we both fear."
"Naturally."
"But we would never find out if we didn't get their cooperation to begin with. And, as you've pointed out, most of them are not in a cooperative mood after they discovered that the government had been suppressing bad news. In an atmosphere so lacking in trust, Chet and the president's staff were convinced that the only way to ensure compliance was to make an explicit promise."
"A promise they probably can't keep."
"Indeed. But if they didn't make it, then they'd never find out if they could open the zone or not."
"It's too late for your logic, Rod. Besides, I'm too tired to follow it. Tell me how soon we'll find out the test results."
"We'll know very quickly, since we've isolated the disease-causing fractionate by chromatography. Rather, one of our helper labs did. At any rate, with so many labs working simultaneously, it will take a matter of hours to test each batch."
"I don't know that I like letting those samples loose around the country."
"Around the world, you mean. It's a global effort."
Kraig frowned. "Jesus, if that stuff gets loose...what about an accident?"
"A risk we have to take. If you limit testing of the samples to just our laboratory here at Bethesda, progress would be extremely slow. We don't have the resources. All shipments are protected in the most strenuous manner, I assure you."
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