Pestilence (Jack Randall #2) (31 page)

The President sat back and relaxed his hands that had become fists during his statement. His glare however did not falter.

“I have done everything I can to avoid further introductions. You have no idea.”

Jack sat in silence, not quite believing what he’d just been told. The enormity of it was beyond his thought process. What the professor had told them was not only true, it had been planned for decades.

“AIDS is horrible. How could you do such a thing?” Sydney asked.

The President’s glare softened as he looked at her face. He took on a more fatherly tone with his reply.

“It was not my decision, and knowing what we know now, I don’t feel it was the right one. The virus works too slowly and causes too much suffering. I would have voted against its introduction. I’m told a vaccine is almost ready for trial, the era of AIDS will soon be over.”

“You said you were avoiding future introductions. Just what does that mean, sir?” Jack asked.

“Technology. While we have no choice but to pursue the program, we also are constantly looking for ways to avoid it. The new surge in environmentalism will help, but most experts agree it will be too little too late. The main things are energy, water and food. Our best bet for energy is coming out of the space program. The development of the space elevator will change everything. Advances in new carbon nanotube cable technology will enable us to create such a device. The rest of the required engineering already exists. With such an item in use we can finally place heavy payloads into space for a small fraction of the cost of current rocket or shuttle technology. It will enable us to place vast solar power stations in space with the ability to beam an endless supply of clean energy to earth. This would virtually end the need to burn fossil fuels. A permanent station on the moon would be the next step. It would also make it possible to manufacture and ship enormous quantities of fluorocarbons to Mars. Our scientist tell us it may be possible to warm the red planet enough to melt its icecaps, releasing the stored oxygen there and producing an atmosphere much like that of earth. Perhaps even by the end of this century. Humanity would have a whole other world to expand to.

“Water is another problem that may be solved with a few more advances. High volume desalination plants may produce enough fresh water to turn many of the world’s desert climates to suitable farmland. Right now the American plains are the breadbasket of the United States as well as several other nations. We produce enough food for ourselves many times over. With global warming, much of northern Canada will become a major agricultural producing area. But with the projected growth in population it will not be enough. The desert areas of Mexico, the United States, Africa, and Australia will need to be harnessed for more production. This can only be done with high volume desalination and unlimited clean energy to pump it wherever it is needed. If enough is supplied there may be no more need for the damming of our rivers and streams other than flood control. The natural flow will return the environment to a more suitable balance.

“If these few advances can be made, there may be no need to activate the program. But the program must be in place if the time comes that it’s needed.”

“And when is that determined?”

“We constantly monitor global temperature, atmospheric carbon levels and icecap degeneration. Grain production and fish catch levels. If . . . certain parameters are exceeded . . . the program will be implemented.”

“Who made this decision?”

“The committee.”

“And who do they answer to, sir?”

The President just shook his head.

“No one, the committee decides all! That’s it, isn’t it?”

The President locked Jack in his powerful stare. He was a man used to the mantle of power and he was not about to accept Jack’s accusation.

“
I
have no intention of apologizing to you, Mr. Randall.
I
did not make these decisions,
I
did not make these problems the world is facing,
I
did not ask for this task. I did, however, inherit it when I took office and I have done what I feel
has to be done
to safeguard this planet! This is not some theoretical exercise! This is science, and the numbers
do not lie!
The alternatives are global famine and all out war over the earth’s resources. Something I am not willing to accept!”

The room fell silent after the outburst and Jack sank into his chair. It lasted for a full minute before Sydney summoned the courage to speak.

“How does the virus work?”

The President had spoken enough. He rose and gestured to Kimball before picking up his glass of water and turning his back on the room to pace. Kimball cleared his throat loudly before speaking.

“It’s a binary virus, a two-part cocktail. Efforts to find one virus always failed to produce a viable strain. So our people developed a new way of delivery. Part one is introduced through a vaccine program. We were able to dig up some corpses in the permafrost of an Alaskan village that was wiped out by the Spanish Flu virus. From this we were able to culture the strain and genetically modify it, making it more virulent and deadly. We then found a way to split the virus and encase it in proteins that would test as benign. Part one would sit dormant in anyone vaccinated, waiting for part two.”

“The virus has to appear as naturally occurring. We were able to attach the second half to the Newcastle virus, a virus that would affect birds only. The birds would not even appear sick to the untrained person. By using migratory birds the virus would spread naturally over the earth with no way to stop it. As it is transmitted though the air, it would infect anyone who came in contact with a host bird. The ducks and geese people feed in the pond at the park. Seagulls at the beach. Pigeons. Any of these are viable carriers. Once introduced, the virus would combine and become infective. There would be no way to trace the source. Once infected, the person would be able to transmit the virus, as easily as the flu, to other people. It is engineered to allow mutation while also proving to be quickly lethal. A person would be sick for a minimum amount of time before expiring, and the virus would eventually mutate and burn out. It would all be over in six to ten months.”

“And you have this all in place?” she asked.

“The vials as you found them are in place in various places around the world. A dispersal device has just been tested to deliver the virus to the birds. We have started phase one trials in the natural setting with an inert test virus. The program could be started with one or two birds now, or with the new devices, a whole flock at a time at several places around the . . . .”

“Stop!” Jack spoke.

The President spun to face Jack.

“Why are you telling us that? The rest I can understand, but we don’t need to know that, unless we aren’t going to make it out of this building.”

The President shared a look with Kimball before answering. “I have no intention of harming you or Ms. Lewis here. This meeting, I’m afraid, has several purposes.”

Kimball reached inside his coat and Jack tensed. When he withdrew his hand it held nothing but an envelope. He slid the paper across the table to Jack. The President nursed his drink and watched silently.

“I received this letter yesterday, about the time of your summons of Ms. Sachs. It’s postmarked Sao Paolo, Brazil and dated two days ago. The man who wrote it was one of our delivery people. The same one who initiated the ambush for the agent in Africa, if that helps. He is quite capable, but I’m afraid he has . . . lost his way.”

Jack opened the letter and read it slowly twice. He then folded it and handed it to Sydney who did likewise. The horror was evident on her face.

“He doesn’t know what he really has. We keep the program as compartmented as possible. But like I said, he’s capable. He may have figured it out.”

“So pay him,” Jack said.

“It may come to that, but unfortunately that may not be enough.”

“He has to be eliminated?”

Kimball offered no answer.

“Yes,” the President spoke.

“So that’s why we’re still alive? You need me to find this guy?”

“You think this is easy, Mr. Randall? You’re assuming Mr. Kimball and I are safe from the virus, aren’t you. You couldn’t be more wrong.
Nobody
is safe. We don’t get a pass. No one does. There’s no vaccine, although this man thinks he was given one. We’re all subject to the program, every last one of us. But while there is still hope that the program will not be needed, we must do everything in our power to safeguard the agent. If this man should release it, we will all be at its mercy. He must be found, and found quickly.”

Millions hit by ‘plague worse than swine flu.’
November 15, 2009—Daily Express
 

—TWENTY-FIVE—

T
he Deliveryman pulled the pickup slowly down the dirt road, taking the time to carefully navigate around large potholes full of standing green water. The trees closed tighter around the pickup as he pushed ahead, the sun increasingly blocked out by the massive trees and hanging moss. An opening in the trees revealed a canal off to his right and he caught sight of the broad back of a Florida gator moving in the opposite direction.

He rounded a blind corner and was soon met by a large dog sunning himself in the middle of the road. The dog twitched and jumped to its feet, sounding the alarm for all within earshot. He was soon joined by two others and the trio now paced the truck as he maneuvered around another bend.

The house suddenly appeared out of the surrounding vegetation and he slowed to a stop in front of it. Knowing his friend like he did, he sounded the horn twice before stepping out of the cab. The dogs circled him warily, but to his relief made no hostile moves. He watched them as best he could while scanning the area around the house.

It looked like it was right out of a movie. A small dilapidated shack stuck out in the middle of the Everglades swamp. It had the usual packed dirt driveway and open-sided barn accompanying it. He spotted an airboat parked in the barn along with an old pickup truck. Several machines in various stages of disassembly shared the small space. The ocean breeze somehow made it through the trees to tug at the loose metal roof, producing a rhythmic beat.

He was considering honking the horn again when a voice spoke from close behind him. He flinched.

“My sister ain’t here.”

He raised his hands and turned slowly to face the voice and was met by a large man dressed in canvas shorts and a large vest full of pockets. A well worn hat sat on his head shielding his eyes from the Florida sun. He was wet from the waist down, but the shotgun aimed at his head was bone dry. He hadn’t made a sound, seeming to step right out of the swamp.

“That’s too bad. That means I’ll have to settle for you.”

The man tried hard to maintain his mean stare but it soon failed, replaced by a wide grin, minus one tooth.

“Maybe, but you’ll be real tired when we’re done! How the hell are ya?”

“I’m good, you swamp rat. Could ya aim that thing somewhere else?”

“My safety still works!” He moved the barrel until it aimed at the sky and held up his trigger finger. He flexed it twice as proof before rounding the truck and grabbing his friend in a bear hug.

“About damn time you stopped by. I was beginning to think somebody put a hole out your back or some woman had tamed ya. Where the hell ya been?”

“You know me. Everywhere.”

“Well come on in and let’s have a beer.”

The Deliveryman watched as Toby turned and hobbled toward the house. While the pace would equal that of an average man, the movement of the leg was out of rhythm and painful to watch, the massive scar and the large amount of missing muscle evident on the exposed leg. He remembered the day it had happened, on a bloody road in the desert not far from Eden. If not for him, his friend would have died that day, but there was no debt owed by either of them. They had long ago lost count of who was ahead on that scoreboard. He followed until they were in the small home. He found a chair while his friend fetched four cold ones, just like they had always done. The first two always went quickly.

“So what brings you out to my seaside resort?” He flopped on the couch and was promptly joined by one of the dogs. He scratched its head while he drained half of the first beer.

“Just passing through, I’m afraid. I got some things I have to take care of, and then I’ll be on my way out of the country again . . . maybe for good.”

“For good? What, you gonna retire now, is that it?”

He hesitated before he replied and Toby took a long pull on his beer as he watched his friend’s face.

“I think I’m done. I’ve had enough and I got an opportunity to leave with a nice pile.”

“
They
say that? Or you got something else going?”

“Something else.”

Toby thought that over as he finished the first beer and picked up the second. He asked the obvious question first. “Sure you want to cross Uncle Sam like that?”

“After seeing how well they took care of you? It wasn’t a hard decision.”