The Genesis Plague (2010) (45 page)

‘Doesn’t look like Tommy’s here yet,’ he said, claiming a spot beneath a life-size statue of a Roman youth riding a horse, in search of conquest. Giving the statue only a cursory glance, he couldn’t help but draw a parallel to Randall Stokes’s lofty ambitions to chart a new course for human history.

A tuxedoed waiter carrying a tray of long-stemmed glasses brimming with bubbly immediately came to them. ‘Champagne, gentlemen?’

‘Cheers,’ Jason said to the waiter as he took a flute by its stem.

‘Yeah, thanks,’ Meat said, grabbing his own glass by its narrow bulb as if were a chopper control grip.

A lithe brunette wearing a skimpy cocktail dress and high heels strode by, gazed at Meat appraisingly, then flashed him an approving smile. Meat smiled back, and miraculously the tuxedo felt comfortable. He reconsidered his position, saying, ‘I suppose classy isn’t so bad.’

‘That’s the spirit.’

‘I’m just not used to getting all dressed up like some rich socialite.’

‘Funny you should say that,’ Jason said. He slid his hand under his lapel and pulled out a white envelope.

Meat looked at it suspiciously. ‘If that’s another goddamn subpoena—’

‘Calm down …’ Jason said.

There’d been plenty of court requests over the past weeks since they’d returned home from their mission. The Department of Defense had begun what would surely prove to be a lengthy inquiry into the events that had transpired in Iraq. Accompanied by an army of counsellors from Global Security Corporation’s Legal Affairs division, Jason and Meat had endured exhaustive questioning at a Congressional hearing. They’d quickly been absolved of any formal charges, thanks largely to the tell-all video captured on the disc Jason had recovered from the camcorder in Crawford’s tent. The footage corroborated everything Jason and Meat had described in their testimony. It showed Crawford’s crude interrogation of Al-Zahrani, Jason’s unheeded demand to Crawford to call for backup, Al-Zahrani’s rapid decline in health as proof that the Genesis Plague was a very real threat, plus a chilling offscreen altercation between Crawford and Dr Jeremy Levin just before a gunshot rang out to silence the medic. The video’s grand finale, however, was when Crawford and Staff Sergeant Richards (dressed in nomad garb) appeared onscreen to hoist Al-Zahrani off the bed while Crawford barked orders to secrete the terrorist out the back door for a clandestine escape. Scathing testimony provided by the surviving troops of the 5th Marine Regiment, 1st Division Expeditionary Force, also emphasized Crawford’s schizophrenic behaviour, as well as the lifesaving air attack staged by the GSC mercenary unit.

The day after he’d been taken into custody, Randall Stokes had suffered a miserable and poetic demise, choking to death on his own blood in a quarantine ward at Nellis Air Force Base. Shortly thereafter, NSA cryptographers succeeded in cracking the sophisticated encryption on Stokes’s computer hard drive, and retrieved all the operational details for Operation Genesis, including schematics for the breeding facilities installed beneath the Zagros Mountains and gene sequencing data for the Genesis Plague. There were even simulation models that forecast the spread of the disease - an expected 90 per cent kill rate of the Middle Eastern male population in just the first three months of the contagion’s initial introduction.

Auditors had forensically reconstructed the money trail for the project’s financing to reveal a complex web of twenty-seven phantom accounts in Switzerland, the Cayman Islands and Bermuda, all funnelled into a numbered account held by Our Savior in Christ Cathedral. The majority of funding had been misappropriated from defence money earmarked for biochemical research at Fort Detrick shortly after the 2001 terror attacks. The balance of funding came from charitable donations to Stokes’s evangelical mission made by a veritable ‘who’s who’ of wealthy donors. Every contractor and benefactor associated with Operation Genesis was being vetted for complicity in the plot.

Just last week, both Jason and Meat had been recommended for the highest commendations for their heroic actions in averting what might have been the most egregious act of bioterrorism ever documented. But the kudos didn’t end there. There were other rewards too.

‘Calm down, it’s not a subpoena,’ Jason said in a taming voice. He held the envelope out and waited for Meat to accept it. But Meat just stared at it.

‘What is it?’

‘Just open it. Come on … it won’t bite. Trust me, you won’t regret it.’

Meat reluctantly snatched it away from Jason. After confirming that his name and address appeared in the small window on front of the envelope, he began tearing at the seal.

‘After that fire at the safe house burned out,’ Jason explained, ‘six skeletons were recovered from the ashes. Five were unidentifiable. But one of the skeletons had a very unique dental implant, as well as a titanium pin implanted surgically in the left ankle to correct for an old soccer injury.’

‘All right,’ Meat said, not grasping the connection. He peeked into the envelope and saw the backside of what looked like a cheque.

‘Turns out the FBI matched the dental work with records already in its database,’ Jason explained. ‘The serial number on the titanium pin came up too.’

Meat froze before fishing out the contents from the envelope. He looked at Jason in disbelief. ‘Al-Zahrani?’

Jason grinned widely and nodded. ‘The only positive ID. Of course, those photos I took before we set the place on fire helped too.’

Suddenly the piece of paper pinched between Meat’s fingers felt impossibly heavy.

‘Go ahead, look at it,’ Jason said, pointing at the paper.

Meat squared his shoulders and cleared his throat. Slowly he flipped the cheque over. His mouth dropped open when in the numeric field he saw nothing but two threes and five noughts separated by two commas. For once, he was speechless.

‘Your cut of the bounty. Three-point-three million. A bit bigger than expected since Lillian had GSC match our share.’

‘I always liked her,’ Meat said.

‘And you’re about to like her even more … because she agreed to send Jam’s and Camel’s widows their cut. Hazo’s sister, Anyah, got his share. I’ve got an envelope for Tommy, too. How’s that for classy?’ He patted Meat on the shoulder.

Finally Meat raised his eyebrows and said, ‘Whoa. Now
that
is a nice payday.’

‘Sure is.’ Jason raised his champagne and made a small toast. ‘Here’s to living to fight another day.’

‘I’ll drink to that,’ Meat said, clinking his glass, then gulping the champagne.

‘Hey, Google!’ a distinctly Bostonian voice called out.

Jason turned and saw Flaherty strutting towards him with a confident swagger. When he saw the beauty on Flaherty’s arm, he almost swooned.

‘Hubba hubba,’ Meat said. ‘That the archaeologist?’

‘That’s her.’ Wearing an elegant evening gown that accentuated nothing but toned curves, Professor Brooke Thompson looked like she’d taken a detour off the red carpet at the Oscars.

‘She single?’

‘Flaherty’s already staked a claim,’ Jason replied flatly.

‘Luck of the Irish.’ Meat took another swig of champagne.

‘Hey, fellas,’ Flaherty said cheerily. He shook hands with Jason and Meat in turn, then formally introduced Brooke.

‘Really great to finally meet a pair of modern-day heroes,’ she said.

‘We could say the same for you,’ Jason said.

Flaherty cleared his throat and raised his eyebrows.

‘Yes, and, of course, you’re a hero too, Tommy,’ Jason added with the utmost sensitivity.

They all had a laugh as the attentive waiter delivered two more champagne flutes for Brooke and Flaherty.

‘By the way, Tommy,’ Jason said, taking another white envelope out from his pocket, ‘I’ve got something for you.’

‘Looks important.’

‘You could say that.’ Jason grinned and held it out for him.

‘It can wait, though, right? I mean, this is Brooke’s night.’

‘Sure.’ Jason pocketed the envelope.

Flaherty raised his glass for a quick toast. ‘To the vanquished foe and the heroes we know.’

They clinked glasses and sipped champagne.

‘This must all be pretty exciting,’ Jason said to Brooke. ‘To be the honorary guest at the world’s foremost museum for ancient artifacts. The press, the glitz …’

‘It’s all a bit nerve-racking, actually,’ Brooke admitted readily. She spotted the film crew from National Geographic shooting exclusive footage of the gala.

The evening’s main event would be her highly anticipated dedication speech that would retell an ancient story of mysticism, betrayal, and retribution written in what proved to be the world’s oldest documented language. The feature-length documentary, tentatively titled
The Queen of the Night
, would premier on IMAX screens before being broadcast round the world in a two-hour National Geographic special. Included would be Brooke’s in-depth analysis of the cache of Mesopotamian tomb relics on display here tonight that bore testament to elaborate funerary rituals predating Egyptian mummification by over 1,500 years. Inevitably, she’d be pressed on rumours concerning the relics’ mysterious procurement, but she’d stick to her story that her client wished to remain anonymous and had provided explicit directives to return the collection to its rightful home in Iraq as soon as the political situation permitted.

‘I’m finally going to get to tell my story,’ Brooke said. ‘I’m just not sure if the world is ready to hear it.’

‘Speaking of telling your story,’ Flaherty said, reaching into his pocket. ‘I’ve got an envelope too.’ He handed the envelope to Brooke. ‘I received a Fed-Ex at the hotel this morning. But figured I’d surprise you.’

‘What is this?’ she asked.

‘Your carbon dates,’ Flaherty replied.

Anticipation glinted in her eyes as she stared at the envelope.

‘Dates for what?’ Meat asked.

‘The organic stuff we found in Stokes’s vault,’ Flaherty explained. ‘Lilith’s head, of course … plus the snake and the rat it ate.’

‘I’ve had my share of rats, thanks,’ Meat said.

‘Actually, the rat wound up being the key to everything,’ Brooke explained. ‘We found out that the rat was also carrying the plague. In fact, it was the primary host. So we theorized that while Lilith was feeding infected rats to her pet snake, she was bitten and caught the plague … became a carrier, too.’

‘That is gross,’ Meat said. ‘Sounds like Lilith was a real prize.’

‘So let’s hear those dates,’ Jason said, before sipping more champagne.

‘Go ahead … open it,’ Flaherty said to Brooke.

‘Right,’ Brooke said, her pulse drumming. She fished out the papers, unfolded them and scanned the report. ‘Okay, Lilith dates between 4032 BC and 3850 BC. Just what we expected. And her DNA matches closest to … ancient Persia,’ she said, feeling a chill creep over her skin. Persia, where Lilith and Samael became lovers. She flipped to the next page. ‘The rat … is in about the same date range. And the snake—’ Her face blanched. She shook her head. ‘No, this can’t be right. This is impossible …’ she murmured.

‘What is it?’ Flaherty asked.

‘They couldn’t date it. Came up with an error.’

Flaherty shrugged. ‘Okay. I guess that can happen, right?’

‘Shouldn’t,’ she said. ‘Any organic substance from 4000 BC should have plenty of carbon-14 in it.’

‘But isn’t there an age limit for those tests?’ Jason said.

‘Yeah, but—’

‘Well, what’s the limit?’ Flaherty asked her.

She drew her lips tight and raised her eyebrows. ‘Typically the test is good for up to 50 or 60,000 years. After that, whatever carbon-14 is left in the specimen is usually too minuscule to measure.’

It was Meat who cast rationale to the wind, saying matter-of-factly, ‘So maybe the snake is over 60,000 years old.’ Then he grinned and made his eyes go wide, saying in his best spooky voice, ‘Or maybe the demon snake was never alive to begin with.’

Kudos to my wife, Caroline, for her diehard patience and encouragement, plus her keen guidance during this story’s conceptual development. Special thanks to my friends Greg Meunier and Gary Stephens for their technical input on all things military. Deepest gratitude to my uncompromising agent and publishing guru, Charlie Viney. Thanks to Doug Grad for his masterful editing skills. Cheers to Ian Chapman, Julie Wright, Jessica Leeke, Amanda Shipp and everyone at Simon and Schuster UK for their continued support. My stories would only be read in English if it weren’t for the global marketing savvy of International Literary Agency, so thanks to Nicki Kennedy, Sam Edenborough, Mary Esdaile, Jenny Robson, and Katherine West.

Turn the page

to read an extract from

The Sacred Bones
,

also by Michael Byrnes

and available from Pocket Books …