The only significant biological hazards at this point are those associated with decaying corpses, but the CDC has established that the widespread belief that corpses pose a major health risk is largely unfounded. Bodies are very unlikely to cause outbreaks of diseases such as typhoid fever, cholera or plague. But they may transmit gastroenteritis or food poisoning syndrome for survivors if they contaminate streams, wells or other water sources. These problems are relatively minor and manageable with standard level 1 biohazard protocols.
As alluded to above, the rate and timing of these mutations are adjustable with changes to the nucleus with a highly modified gene splicer we developed specifically for this purpose. Given sufficient information about population migration patterns, it is theoretically possible to predict the range and spread of the disease, and to fine-tune the results by modifying the key DNA sequences. This provides the ability to deliver a precisely curtailed epidemic.
Deployment of multiple strains in aerosol form at carefully selected locations of high population density, which we refer to as target deployment nodes, or TDNs, will produce hemmed extermination zones. This will cripple specific populations with acceptable levels of unintended collateral casualties and no physical damage to structures, crops or water supplies.
Small quantities of the virus are capable of infecting large groups upon triggering the exposure in large and crowded indoor spaces, such as airports, entertainment venues, refugee facilities, churches and similar locations. We are working to ascertain the smallest number of particles one must inhale or ingest to ensure a persistent infection, but we know this number is very small due to the robust nature of the virus during phase 2. Inhalation, skin contact (particularly ocular and nasal mucosa), gastric ingestion and bodily fluid transfer will all result in infection, though we have performed no specific human clinical tests to date.
We have extensively tested respiratory exposure in primates, and one human subject was inadvertently exposed during that process to an extremely small (trace) amount of the virus. Her medical course precisely tracked mathematical predictions for the modulated strain to which she was exposed. In her case, symptoms emerged 33 days after infection, and death occurred on day 34, despite immediate quarantine and intensive medical intervention that included respiratory support, hyperbaric therapy and heavy use of steroids and conventional antiviral compounds.
Thomas stopped scrolling and turned to face the group. “This is a long email. It goes on to discuss funding, research paths and a request for the Army to support and authorize further research.”
“If Beeman was right,” Sand observed, “this is a strategic game-changer.”
“Agreed,” Brecht confirmed. “The perfect biological weapon.”
“Is there a vaccine or antidote?” Jensen asked.
“We don’t know yet,” Brecht responded.
Sand rubbed his chin and stared at the floor. “Let me guess,” he said, “the infected human victim was Barbara Scheffield.”
Thomas nodded. “How did you know?”
Sand looked up, a wry expression on his face. “Methinks it wasn’t an accident.”
Jensen drummed his fingers on the table. “So Beeman was under surveillance when he took our girls, and now they’re likely blackmailing him to get this weapon. If the North Koreans have a major espionage force on US soil and are hot on the trail of this stuff, I can see how the government would view it. The lives of a couple of civilians would be of trivial importance. If they don’t root out the whole network, it’ll be like removing only part of a cancerous tumor. The problem will come back. This could threaten the entire world. So, of course, they don’t care about our girls.”
“Mark!” Janet said with scorn in her voice. “How can you say such a thing?”
“Janet,” Brecht said, “Fitch must find out how deeply the enemy network has infiltrated us. Our intelligence services are still scrambling to avoid another nine-eleven. An organized enemy cell that could present a credible threat of this magnitude is a national security emergency. If Robert is right about North Korea, millions of lives are at risk. Rooting out the whole network and learning their plans, means and methods could be the only way to avoid a global disaster.”
Jensen couldn’t shake what was bothering him. “Beeman is pathologically insane,” he said. “If he has some of that virus …”
“Unlikely,” Thomas assured him. “The safety protocols at DataHelix are more than tight—they’re nearly failsafe.”
“I hope you’re right,” Jensen muttered. “Jesus. The spreading dangers of technology have reached a whole new level.”
There was a disruption at the front of the bus, and a newly arrived technician made his way quickly back to them with a cell phone in his hand. “Sorry to interrupt, sir.”
“It’s fine,” Brecht assured him. “This is Duane Gubler, folks. What’ve you got?”
“Kenehan just reported in, sir. It took a while, but he made it in and out. His tactical comm unit malfunctioned. He called on his encrypted cell. He has Beeman with him. He says they have to keep moving.”
“Where to?”
“He doesn’t know yet. Beeman has agreed to cooperate with him, but Kenehan doesn’t trust him. They plan to meet with a North Korean operative named Jimmy Kim, who Beeman says is the only one who knows where the women are. He says Beeman has something with him that he might be able to trade for the girls.”
Jensen sat up straight. “What?”
Gubler nodded. “A glass tube containing some kind of liquid and a computer chip with secret information stored on it.”
“Do we know the girls are alive? Are they safe?” Janet asked.
“Kenehan thinks so, but he says we need to be in a position to intervene by force on short notice. He’ll contact us as soon as he has more information. But sir, there is something else.” Gubler held up the cell phone.
“Is Roady still on?”
“No, sir. It’s Nathan Fitch. I have him on mute. He wants to speak with you.”
Chapter 44
Standing in the morning sun outside a Target store not far from Centennial Airport, Kenehan watched as Beeman tapped numbers into a disposable cell phone. He raised the device to his ear while gazing into Kenehan’s eyes and touching his finger to his lips to signal silence.
“Put him on speaker,” Kenehan whispered.
Beeman shook his head. “He’ll know from the background noise that he’s on speaker and that someone is listening. He’ll hang up, I guarantee you.”
Kenehan stepped closer. “Hold the phone out a bit so I can hear.”
Beeman complied and hit SEND. Kenehan heard the ringtone, then a man’s voice.
“Yes?”
“It’s me,” Beeman said. “We need to move our meeting. My house was under surveillance, but I’ve eluded whoever it was. No one’s followed me. I presume they weren’t with you.”
“Not with us,” Kim said. “And?”
“What you want—I have it with me.”
A few seconds passed before the man on the other end responded.
“Eight o’clock tonight. Colorado Boulevard and Mexico. Southwest corner. If we don’t show, you call this number again at this time tomorrow. If you don’t show, you’re a dead man. Look for a white Lexus SUV. Be ready to jump in and go. Have it with you.”
“Where will we be going?”
The line went dead.
Beeman lowered the phone. “That was Kim. If I don’t get in that car alone and with what they want, they’ll kill me. You too, if they see you. You know what will happen to your women in that event.”
“How many of them are there?”
“At least three, likely more.”
“Stand right here,” Kenehan ordered. “Stay off the phone.” He stepped several paces away and pulled out his own cell phone, cursing the fact that his encrypted tactical headset had been damaged during his scuffle with Beeman. Kenehan had no doubt that the NSA would pick up his cell phone and that they could br
eak its relatively weaker encryption app, but that would hopefully take a few days or at least a few hours.
“Tomahawk?” Kenehan recognized the voice of Dave Thomas.
“Affirm. S’s theory is probably right. The meet is on. Nexus triple-slipper.” 2000 hours, or 8:00 p.m. “He jumps in and they drive away. It’s somewhere near Interstate 25.” Using the most cryptic phrases possible, he filled Thomas in on the fact that Beeman and the girls were as good as dead if Beeman did not deliver the live virus into the hands of the North Koreans. He had no clear code to provide the exact rendezvous location without risking FBI intervention that could get the girls killed.
“We copy, Tomahawk. Uncle’s pubes are caught in his zipper. They just realized they lost your boy. They also lost track of his new friends. They call those guys the Wallies; not sure why. It was a slip. They accused us. Dad pled ignorance. They might believe the Wallies got him away. But they’re watching us now. Your passenger can’t go to work. It’ll also be under surveillance.”
“How’d they leave it?”
“Shaky truce. Hard feelings all around. They’re panicking. Dad offered our help. They want to keep us at arm’s length but not burn the relationship. They might need it later. This call is going to be decoded soon, you know.”
Shit. The team couldn’t give him much support.
“This bug,” he whispered. “Short version.”
“Real bad, Tomahawk. Worse than a nuke. Whatever happens, you can’t let him give it over. The next owner will unwrap that present without waiting for Christmas. Uncle doesn’t think he’s got it, but if he says he does, the question remains open. Assume his stuff is real. Where is it?”
“He’s keeping it where the sun doesn’t shine, in case he’s frisked. Should I just bring him?” Kenehan said. “He’s a loose cannon.”
“Stand by,” Thomas said.
Nearly a minute passed; then Brecht’s voice came over the line.
“Son, you’ve got conflicting mission objectives.”
“I know that, sir. What are your orders?”
Another long pause.
“Your boy slips the leash tonight; we lose on both fronts. Very bad. We bring your man in now, we secure the bigger threat, but the girls are gone—forever. Tomahawk, you’re the one on the ground. I might or might not be able to get more men to you. So, here’s the question. Can we keep everyone safe? Or should we cash in our chips now? We can’t afford to miss on this.”
They want me to decide?
“What does the lawyer think?” Kenehan asked, stalling for time.
“He’s standing right here. I’ll put him on.”
Oh, for fuck’s sake.
Mark Jensen’s voice came on. “Hey.”
“I’ve got a question for you.”
“I imagine you do.”
“Do you understand the stakes?”
“Better than you,” Jensen replied, his voice dead.
“Well, it comes down to this … do we risk the world for her?”
“Are two lives worth millions of others? Of course not. Unless it’s your daughter. Then she’s worth the whole fucking world five times over.” Kenehan heard Jensen groan. “Oh, Jesus, this really sucks.”
“Yes, it does, sir.”
“We don’t even have time to think, do we?”
Kenehan didn’t answer right away. His guts were in knots.
Then crazy shit came out of his mouth, surprising him. “What’s her favorite saying?”
“What?”
“Does she have a favorite saying? Something she lives by?”
“Yes,” Jensen said at last.
“You remember it?”
“Uh, yeah.” Jensen’s voice caught. He cleared his throat. “It goes something like this: ‘Do noble things, not dream them all day long, and make life, death and that vast forever one grand, sweet song.’”
More silence, as neither man said a word.
“Do noble things.”
“Yeah. Do noble things.”
This time the line was silent for a very long time until Jensen spoke again. “She wouldn’t want us to take this risk for her.”
“I realize that, sir. I feel like I already know her.”
Brecht came back on the line.
“There’s your answer, son,” he said grimly, as though he were reading a death sentence—which he was. “Bring the package in now. We’ll turn it over to Uncle.”
“I understand what you’re saying sir.” Kenehan stared at the Rocky Mountains for a few seconds before continuing. “But I have a question.”
“Go ahead.”
“The lawyer’s dad dug a bullet out of your brain?”
“He did. At great risk to himself, behind the Iron Curtain.”
More silence.
“Fuck it,” Kenehan muttered.
“What was that, Tomahawk?”
“I said fuck it, sir. I’m going.”
Kenehan heard a lot of background noise, which faded eventually. He knew what it was. People were cheering in the background. Eventually, it subsided.
Now Brecht’s voice broke. “Keep us advised, Tomahawk.”
“Always.”
“And son?”
“Sir?”
“Don’t fuck up.”
Chapter 45
“I found some of Beeman’s psych records,” Takaki said. “I’m transferring them to your screen now.”
On the large central screen, the documents lined up in layers. Each page bore the same red stamp in the top right corner:
Classified: Most Secret
Subject: Charles A. Beeman, PhD
Senior Research Lead
Aerobiological Pathogen Division
DataHelix, Inc.
“Pretty odd stuff,” she muttered as she scrolled through the pages. “We definitely have a real wack-job on our hands.” She closed all but one file and began reading for details, nudging her trackpad with her fingers. “Arthur Beeman is a dangerous man,” she said, sweeping her black hair over her shoulder. “His psych record is disturbing. He’s a loose cannon, but DataHelix can’t afford to fire him. He’s indispensable to their research. They coddled him, put him in therapy for a while. Evidently they decided to bury the problem to avoid jeopardizing their DOD contract.”
“What makes him so important and dangerous?” Jensen asked.
“He has unique genius when it comes to genetic engineering. They afforded him special privileges. DataHelix tolerated some really aberrant behavior to harness those abilities. The man is brilliant but likely psychotic.”
“What ‘aberrant behavior’ are you talking about?”
“Torturing lab animals,” she replied. “Chimps, mostly, and some dogs.”
“What was he doing?” Sand asked. “Was it part of the viral research?”
“No,” Takaki said. “Not part of the research. He was torturing the animals. He used a blow torch to cut away their limbs.” She shook her head. “No anesthetic. That kind of thing is banned by every scientific convention.”
“Uh huh,” Sand said. “Sounds like Jeffrey Dahmer.”
“They made him undergo his therapy in-house. It took the psychiatrist a long time to get him to open up even a little. The therapist called him ‘recalcitrant.’ When he finally started talking, he told the therapist things that really worried the company. They put an end to the therapy because they didn’t want this stuff documented, and they put the records in an encrypted file. It took the Sierra supercomputer to decrypt them.” Takaki zoomed a page on the virtual desktop. “Read this paragraph here,” she said.
Today pt willing to discuss motivation for abusing lab animals. Described 2 events that shaped his perceptions, likely inspired his pathological behavior. One occurred in early childhood; the other took place approximately 24 months ago. Pt described role in causing the death of a female elementary school classmate, whom he resented. She and pt walked same route home from school, past home w/ vicious K9 in fenced yard. Pt unlatched gate an
d climbed tree. When classmate approached, pt threw bottle at fence to make noise. K9 rushed to front yard, escaped through open gate and attacked classmate. She was 11 yrs old. Pt’s affect while describing this event indicates pleasure. Pt watched from safety of tree. Dog owner intervened, destroying K9 with shotgun but not before it fatally mauled classmate. Pt states his feelings about this event are pride in his own ingenuity, empowerment at having “engineered a single solution to two problems,” (the death of the classmate and the K9) and having “touch[ed] upon the ultimate force that drives the universe,” which he relates to his research through associations remaining to be explored in therapy.
“Even as a child,” Jennifer commented, “he was more than just antisocial.” She brought a second document into view with another highlighted passage. “This is from a session the following week,” she said. “It describes much more recent behavior.”
Approx 2 yrs ago pt witnessed nocturnal assault in park. Violent youth whom pt says was “acting out natural instincts” shoved a woman to the ground. Pt approached and prodded assailant to continue beating the victim. Assailant “went crazy when encouraged,” kicking the victim repeatedly about her head and torso. When the assailant departed, pt remained w/ victim, made effort to converse w/ her until ambulance arrived, some time later. Pt described victim’s eye “hanging from its socket.” This was second time he’d seen injuries of this kind. Pt was “annoyed” by arrival of ambulance, which he stated had become “a recurring problem.” Pt’s meaning unclear; pt declined to elaborate.
Thomas commented, “A variant of Munchausen syndrome may be at work here, with Beeman conjuring up graphic and shocking events to elicit a reaction from the therapist and gain attention. Whether or not these events are real, however, a profound underlying psychosis is likely present.”
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