Mosaic (Breakthrough Book 5)

by Michael C. Grumley

“I’ll be back later. In the meantime, find those samples.”

  Hayes ended the call before his Deputy Director could reply. He tossed his phone onto the empty seat beside him without taking his eyes off the window. He gazed out at a small rock wall lining the road and a thick grove of green trees beyond it. When his driver abruptly slowed again, Hayes spotted an opening through the trees and glimpsed the bright green grass from a park on the other side. Several children were playing on it.

  His view vanished as quickly as it had appeared, and Hayes turned back toward the interior of the car. What he wouldn’t give to be young and naïve again. No cares or concerns beyond their immediate world. And a total lack of regard for those who were quietly fighting to protect it all. No matter what the cost.

  15

  “The Army – At War and Transforming”

  It was one of the many mottos for what was now known as America’s “Institutional Army.” One of the three departments under the Department of Defense, it was tasked with one singular mission: “To fight and win our Nation’s wars by providing prompt, sustained land dominance across the full range of military operations and spectrum of conflict in support of combatant commanders.”

  It was not just a mission, it was the operating bedrock and the very heart and soul of the greatest Army on the planet. However much like the CIA’s prime mission, the official wording was, by design, extremely vague. At its core, the Institutional Army’s true objective could be boiled down to a single word: transformation.

  One of the greatest assets of the United States’ military was its relentless dedication to adaptation and improvement. In the interest of innovation, the military consistently sought to leverage lessons learned from their extensive experimentation and wargaming.

  In laymen’s terms, it was not just a department, but the entire military, which was nothing short of obsessed by an ever-present pursuit of tactical perfection. A preoccupation that gave the United States the single best-militarized fighting force in human history.

  It was a level of service, of loyalty and dedication that had done so much for so many. And sadly, one whose core ideals and tenets were now being twisted, with corruption to levels never before seen.

  The bright, ornate office which Andrew Hayes entered after reaching the Pentagon belonged to Leonard Bullman, the Chief of Staff for the United States Army. The highest-ranking officer in the largest branch of the armed forces, Bullman was shorter than average, lean, and had eyes as intense as Hayes had ever seen.

  In his early sixties, General Bullman appeared outwardly to be a careful and thoughtful soldier. But inside, as most who knew him were well aware, Bullman’s steadfast dedication to his country and uniform was unmatched. An internal fire drove his profound need to keep the U.S. Army several steps ahead of any other military on the planet. He achieved this through relentless training, innovation, and purposeful transformation.

  Bullman stood from his desk and straightened his uniform as Hayes was let in, waiting with hands behind his back for the door to close behind. A welcome smile waited patiently for Hayes as he crossed the room.

  When he did, Bullman extended his hand and the two shook before each man took his chair.

  “I trust you have some good news for me.”

  Hayes shrugged, relaxed. “Some. We’re much closer.”

  “Closer meaning…”

  “Days. At the most.”

  Bullman nodded. “I can live with that. And you’re sure about what they have?”

  “Yes. I am. I hope you’re ready.”

  “We’ve been ready.”

  Hayes leaned back, silent and delighted. To think, with everything they had been working on, for so many years, Secretary Miller and Admiral Langford were now about to give them the crown jewel. Without even knowing it.

  “They’ll find out eventually. You know that.”

  “Maybe,” Hayes shrugged. “But by then it won’t matter.”

  “Be careful,” Bullman warned. “Words like that have a way of getting eaten.”

  “I’ll take my chances.” Hayes reached down to open a briefcase. “In the meantime, I think it’s time to formalize our agreement.”

  He retrieved several sheets of paper, printed on CIA letterhead. An electronic version was out of the question. For obvious reasons.

  He reached forward and placed one copy on Bullman’s desk.

  Without a word, the general picked them up and began reading. After a full minute, he dropped the document back on his desk. “I still don’t like this.”

  “Neither do I. But think of it less as reciprocity and more as…mutually assured destruction.”

  “Ensuring that neither of us talks,” Bullman said dryly.

  “Exactly.”

  The older Bullman stared intently at Hayes before eventually shoving the papers back toward him. “You sign first.”

  The CIA Director grinned and reached for a pen. Without hesitation, he scribbled his signature on the bottom of the last page.

  He returned them to Bullman, who after holding the agreement in his hands for some time, reluctantly followed suit. His gray eyes returned to Hayes, now smiling as he stood up.

  “God bless America.”

  16

  “Do I smell scrambled eggs?”

  Neely Lawton looked up to find a grinning Steve Caesare in the doorway. Her visitor looked around the small, empty office. “You really need to spruce things up in here.”

  She smiled warmly, with her hands still on her laptop keyboard. “I have a chandelier on order.”

  He laughed and stepped inside, examining her makeshift desk, a metal medical tray turned sideways. Complete with a padded swivel stool.

  Neely raised an eyebrow as he approached. “Did you want some eggs?”

  “Nah, it’s just an old joke.”

  “Okay,” she said, relaxing. “I’ll bite.”

  Caesare moved sideways, still grinning, and rested his arm on top of a standing file cabinet. He noted the small, protective pieces of cardboard still in place around its corners. “It was during a mission in Eastern Europe. There was a guy name Dugan on our team, who was taking forever to fix a problem with his rifle before an early morning exercise. He was holding everyone up, and a lot of us were getting antsy when someone finally yelled over their headset asking if Dugan was back there cooking breakfast or something.”

  Neely laughed.

  “I guess it was funny enough that it stuck. From then on, if someone on the team was doing something too slow, we’d yell ‘do I smell eggs cooking?’”

  “You probably had to be there,” added Clay, stepping in behind Caesare.

  “Oh, I’m not so sure,” Neely grinned.

  “What Steve failed to mention about that rifle is that some of the guys were playing a prank on poor Dugan.”

  “Well, he got his revenge.”

  Clay nodded. “Eventually.”

  Caesare’s grin faded. “You check on Li Na?”

  “Yeah. And talked to Dr. Kanna.”

  “How is she?”

  “Okay. But he says we need to pull her back out of that coma soon. Before it begins doing more harm than good.”

  “I’m inclined to agree,” Neely remarked. Both men looked at her as she folded her arms, twisting slightly on the stool. “We may be dealing with more than we bargained for.”

  Caesare frowned. “I’d like to go on record and point out that we didn’t bargain for any of this.”

  Clay moved in next to Caesare, ignoring his quip. “What do you mean, Neely?”

  “I think we may need to prepare ourselves for some surprises.”

  “Like what?”

  She motioned to her laptop. “I’ve gotten the results for Li Na’s genetic sequencing.”

  “I thought that took a long time.”

  “Not anymore. Most modern labs have it down to less than three days now.”

  Caesare looked at Clay. “Wow.”

  “And a new technique pioneered by a
man by the name of Kingsmore has cut that time in half. It’s pretty remarkable. It was developed using a new hardware chip named DRAGEN that’s specifically designed for genome decoding. Anyway, I now have almost a full sequence of Li Na’s DNA, and I think we may have some problems.” She looked at Caesare, then to Clay. “You two may recall me telling you that most DNA in our bodies is unused. Genes that have been deactivated over many generations for a number of reasons. One of the ways we know this is by our mapping of active genes. We have now documented almost a million genes and can measure which of those actively impact a person’s body and physical attributes. And that’s where our problem lies. You see, of all the documented active genes we now know of, and of all the variations we can observe within most humans, Li Na seems to be missing some. Including a few that are literally active in everyone.”

  “Which genes is she missing?” asked Clay.

  “It’s a complicated answer. Most of our genes are grouped into what we call clusters, and encoded for similar polypeptides and proteins, which together share a general function. But there are certain genes that we all share, even if their behavior varies. For example, the genes that control eye color. These are called fixed genes or fixed alleles. Some of the fixed alleles that Li Na is missing have to do with skin and pigmentation. One gene helps regulate digestion, and another is linked to our hearing. When I originally saw some of these genetic influences, first in the dolphins then in some of you, the effects were very subtle. Things that were only affecting an existing gene but not eliminating it.”

  “But Li Na is different.”

  Neely nodded. “That’s right. Her body is actually making changes at a genetic level. And we can see it.” She looked back at her computer, shaking her head. “What’s really scary is that even as worrisome as these changing active genes are, we really have no idea what this means for her inactive genes.”

  “The unused DNA?”

  “Yes. They’re what most people refer to as junk DNA. Missing some active genes is cause for concern but hopefully isn’t terminal. There’s enough documentation on those to give us a fighting chance. Perhaps some genomic medicine to counter what she may be lacking. But our inactive DNA, on the other hand, has not been well documented at all. Which means that if something gets changed in there, it would be a complete unknown.”

  Caesare took a deep breath. “Oh boy.”

  “The reason I’m telling you this is because we need to be ready, medically. We don’t know how much of an impact that Chinese bacterium in her system will have. Until we wake her up.”

  Both men fell silent. Clay looked especially concerned. “With everything that girl has been through, she doesn’t deserve this.”

  “I agree. So let’s pray that whatever does get changed…is genetically unproductive.”

  “Unproductive,” Clay repeated. He glanced at Neely, noting a strange look on her face. A look of nervousness. “Is there something else?”

  This time Neely stared at them for a long moment before slowly nodding her head.

  “What is it?”

  “This all comes from that alien ship,” she said. “Everything that’s happened. The plants, the vaults, Li Na, everything has come from the ship. Which Will says is actually infused with that liquid. Causing all of this.”

  Caesare nodded. “That’s true.”

  “He said that ship is designed to heal itself,” she added, almost mumbling. “Is that true?”

  “As far as we can tell.”

  She continued peering at them, thinking. “Do you two remember the plant that John retrieved from that Chinese truck in Guyana?”

  “How could I forget?”

  Neely looked at Clay. “That was the first time we got a glimpse into what this liquid, or compound, could do. It was regenerating the plant from its genetic foundation. As if fixing it.” Her eyes moved to Caesare. “It was doing the same thing with you and the other divers, returning your hair back to its original color. Improving your eyesight. In a way, it was fixing little things about you too.”

  Caesare grinned. “If it really wanted to fix something, it should start with my personality.”

  “Seriously, I’m worried that there might be something else going on here. With Li Na. I’m worried that these changes in her DNA may not just be random mutations but something more…intentional, somehow.” She glanced back to her laptop screen and the genetic sequencing data. “What if this compound is not just activating or deactivating some genes? What if it’s actually trying to fix her? Like it was with that plant. From the ground up.”

  “Whoa.”

  Clay’s eyes narrowed. “That’s scary.”

  “It is,” she nodded. “Because the question would then become…what exactly would that compound consider fixed…to be?”

  17

  At just shy of six feet, Doctor Amir Kanna stood tall over the electric bed, staring down at the serene, unconscious face of Li Na Wei. Her long black hair sprawled across the pillow, while a white plastic mouthpiece held her ventilator in place. Her chest rose and fell rhythmically beneath a beige cotton blanket. Both of her arms lay still on top, each connected to a clear tube inserted at the inside bend of each elbow.

  Kanna looked up apprehensively to Caesare and Neely standing on the other side of the bed. Clay lingered at the foot. “This may take some time. Bringing someone out of an induced coma is not like turning on a light switch. It will take time for the thiopental to work its way out of her system. Which could be anywhere from hours to days.” Kanna reached down and felt Li Na’s hand as he continued. “She does have several things going for her. Her age and her body being significantly stronger than most patients who have to be induced. That’s not a guarantee of anything, but at least it helps eliminate complications in regard to opiates for pain management. The big question is going to be whether she experienced any brain damage.” He looked around at the others. “Any questions?”

  All three shook their heads.

  “Okay. Then I’ll slowly begin reducing the thiopental. Regardless of how long it takes for her to come out, expect Li Na to be very confused when she first regains consciousness. From there, we can run more tests to see what kind of physical and mental condition she’s in.”

  ***

  Langford’s voice echoed loudly over the speaker on the sat phone. Clay quickly notched down the volume and placed the phone onto Neely’s makeshift desk.

  “Can you hear me?”

  “Yes, sir. Loud and clear.”

  “Good. So what’s the status of our young patient?”

  Dr. Kanna, standing next to Clay, spoke up. “We’re bringing her out, Admiral. But it may take some time.”

  “How long?”

  “It’s hard to be sure. Best case is probably twenty-four to forty-eight hours.”

  “What’s the worst case?”

  Kanna frowned. “If we don’t see anything within, say, five days, we’ll need to get her to a trauma unit.”

  “Of course, we’re hoping for a best case,” Langford said dryly.

  “Yes, sir.”

  “I’m working to see how much longer we can keep you all hidden in that hospital. There’s only so much promising and sidestepping I can do, so it’s probably time to start thinking of a plan B.”

  “Admiral,” Kanna said, leaning closer to the phone. “If she does come out without too much trouble, our facilities aboard the Pathfinder would be more than enough to get her back on her feet.”

  “Good to know. I’ll keep you where you are if I can, but be ready to move if things go pear-shaped. Clay, how are you and Caesare set at the moment? Getting any sleep?”

  Clay glanced smugly at Caesare. “I drew the short straw but am about to get some shut-eye. We could use some reinforcements though.”

  “I’m working on that. Not exactly easy when no one is supposed to know anything. Especially where it comes to the Pathfinder.”

  “How are they faring?”

  “Surviving,” said Lan
gford. “We have a couple more ships down there to help, without getting too close. Which is also easier said than done.”

  “I can imagine.”

  “And,” Langford continued, “word has it that Lieutenant Tay may still be alive.”

  Clay and Caesare looked at each other. “What?!”

  “A small chance, but it’s possible. Providing you can wrap your mind around how.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “What I mean, is that Captain Emerson and his men believe Tay may actually be inside our alien ship.”

  All four in the room dropped their jaws in unison, each staring at the phone in surprise until Caesare broke the silence.

  “You…have got to be kidding!”

  “Funny,” Langford replied. “That’s exactly what I said.”

  18

  Sitting motionless on the ledge with the cool water lapping gently against his chest, Tay stared ahead into pitch blackness. Still awash in the sense of relief, he used one hand to feel along his leg for lacerations or bleeding. He couldn’t tell which was worse, the paralyzing damage to his leg or the pain radiating throughout the rest of his body. But his limbs were still functioning. He wasn’t so sure about his brain.

  In the black, there in front of him, he was beginning to experience hallucinations. Part memory and part delusion, several images had appeared sporadically, before quickly fading back into the darkness. Most were faces. People he did not recognize, replaced moments later by those he did. With the most frequent image being his father.

  Although dead for several years, his father’s face was clearer to him than any of the others. He was younger, from Tay’s childhood. With those dark stern, brooding eyes glaring down.

  He’d been a hard and overbearing man who preached relentlessly to his son about how the world owed him nothing. How that which was not earned was meaningless and destroyed character. And how only those who were weak allowed themselves to give up.