Ripple (Breakthrough Book 4)

by Michael C. Grumley

  “I need to talk to you. About the search.”

  “Uh, can we talk later? This isn’t the best time.”

  “It’s important,” she replied firmly.

  “Okay.” Stepping inside the boat’s large pilothouse, Will pressed himself firmly against an interior wall for support. “Shoot.”

  “Do you have any results yet?”

  “Not yet,” Borger said. “The servers are making good progress, but they haven’t found anything yet.” He frowned. “Why, is everything okay?”

  “I have a place for you to search.”

  Borger glanced forward and out through the window at the bright lights of the Pathfinder’s stern. Outside from the bow of their own boat, two members of their team were yelling to each other over the powerful wind. Borger turned away and covered one ear with his hand. “Say again?”

  DeeAnn raised her voice. “I said, I have a place for you to search.”

  “Where’s that?”

  As she spoke, DeeAnn felt the name roll off her tongue like poison. “Rwanda.”

  Borger thought a moment. “I think we’ve scanned that area of the map. Everything above fifteen-degrees latitude. We didn’t pick up anything there.”

  On the other end of the phone, DeeAnn’s response was blunt.

  “Then scan it more carefully!”

  With the phone still in his hand, a puzzled Will Borger stared at Caesare and abruptly swayed sideways in response to their boat’s first bounce against the stern of the U.S.N.S Pathfinder.

  32

  “Hello, beautiful.”

  Neely Lawton recognized the voice immediately and turned to spot Steve Caesare standing in the doorway of her lab.

  “Commander.”

  Caesare rolled his eyes. “We’ve been over this before. It’s Steve.”

  She let out only a trace of amusement. “Right, Steve.”

  He stepped into the brightly lit room. Behind him, the door began to close before it was caught and pushed back open.

  “And good evening to you, Mr. Borger.”

  Caesare squinted at her upon hearing the change in her voice to Will. “Really?”

  She let the grin spread across the rest of her face and reached out to secure a mug on the table as the Pathfinder rolled over a large wave. “And to what do I owe the pleasure tonight?”

  “Langford wanted us on the call. And we have some parts to pick up.”

  The “parts” that Caesare was referring to were more than just normal supplies for restocking the Valant.

  The most important was a piece of hardware procured from the International Ocean Discovery Program or IODP. Established in the mid-20th century, the global project constituted the longest running collaboration of international scientists to study the Earth’s history by drilling beneath the seafloor.

  And true to Langford and Miller’s word, they managed to procure one of the IODP’s most sophisticated underwater mobile drilling units with few questions asked.

  Of course, what the IODP did not know was that the Pathfinder’s engineering team was about to replace the giant drill bit with one designed to chew through some of the hardest substances on Earth. What was singularly unique about the IODP’s Mobile Undersea Platform (MUP) was its design as a self-contained environment, allowing “dry drilling” even while completely submerged below the ocean surface. A perfect solution when drilling through substances that one did not want to simultaneously flood.

  Neely nodded and looked at her watch calmly. “The call’s in about a half hour.”

  “Perfect,” Caesare replied. “Just enough time to get some grub. Care to join me?”

  She paused, considering it. Then shrugged with a smile. “Sure.”

  While Neely turned and opened a drawer to put some things away, Caesare looked at Borger and lowered his voice. “You’re not invited.”

  Borger feigned a hurt look. “Fine. I’ll try to find some more Bonine.”

  “Try ginger tablets.”

  When Neely stood up, Caesare noticed the several cages secured atop the table behind her but said nothing. Instead he smiled and extended his arm for her.

  Neely glanced at his muscular arm but made no movement toward it. Without a word, she grinned and moved quickly toward the door, opening it before he could and promptly stepping out.

  An amused Caesare raised his eyebrow at Borger. “Feisty.”

  ***

  In the galley, surrounded by stainless steel counters and partitions, rows of long blue tables filled the dining area as several of the Pathfinder’s crew sat together conversing.

  At a smaller table against the wall, Neely sipped a cup of tea while Caesare took a bite from a corned beef sandwich.

  “So how’s it going over here?” he asked.

  “Mmm…not so good.”

  Caesare paused in mid-bite before continuing. “That doesn’t sound like good news.”

  “How about you?”

  “Pretty much the same. This thing sitting under us is pretty damn big. I honestly don’t know how long we’re going to be able to keep it quiet.”

  “And there’s probably been about a hundred satellite flyovers by now.”

  “Exactly. If anyone’s paying attention, it won’t be long before they get just a little curious.”

  “How much longer do you think we have?”

  “A lot less than we need,” Caesare frowned. “Maybe weeks. Or less if someone figures it out.”

  “Then what do we do?”

  “Then we all start speaking Spanish and act like we’re lost.” Caesare winked at her. “You’d be surprised how well that works.”

  Neely smiled and raised her cup toward her mouth. “I get the impression you’re speaking from experience.”

  “It’s gotten us out of more than one tight spot.”

  She watched him, his wide frame completely relaxed, as he finished the first sandwich and then picked up a second. It was interesting because in some ways he and John Clay were very different, yet they were fairly similar in others. Clay had a slightly more serious or quiet personality, and Steve Caesare was more jovial. Not in an immature way, just more…unrestrained. Caesare was also a few inches shorter and more muscular than Clay.

  “So how are you doing here?” he asked.

  “I’m okay.” She smiled appreciatively, then glanced nervously around the small room. “I could sure use my team though.”

  “Where are they now?”

  “Reassigned to another ship. Continuing the project we were working on.”

  “The sonar array project?”

  “Mmm hmm,” she nodded, and took another sip of tea. “I know it’s safer that way, but I wish I had their full brain power with me on this. Occasional phone calls just aren’t the same.”

  “I think we can all relate. Frankly, I think the admiral made this plan sound a lot easier than it was.”

  This time Neely laughed. “He did, didn’t he?”

  “Almost like a recruitment commercial. Join the Navy! Save the world! But don’t screw it up.” Caesare watched as each laugh seemed to soften Neely’s shell. Between the loss of her father and the stress of their mission, she needed it. Grief was the worst kind of penance. Something he’d already experienced more than his share of. And to see that pain in eyes as beautiful as hers was just another reminder of how ruthless life could be.

  He watched as Neely stared pensively at her cup. “So, do you think there’s going to be any good news on this call?”

  She looked back up. Her smile had completely disappeared. “I don’t think so.”

  “Does it have to do with those cages in the lab?”

  Their eyes met across the table and she nodded without a word.

  33

  Admiral Langford stared at the monitor, his face drawn with a look of disbelief.

  “Come again, Commander?”

  On the screen, Neely Lawton blinked and repeated herself. “My test subjects are dead. All of them.”

  “So
it doesn’t work?”

  “No, sir. If anything, it works too well.”

  “What exactly does that mean?” Miller asked.

  On Neely’s larger screen, she could see both video feeds––one for Langford and one for Miller. She remained seated at a small round table, flanked on either side by Caesare and Borger.

  “Sir, this kind of hyper regeneration is one thing for the body, but it’s quite another for the brain. All cells are not created equal. Regenerating things like muscle tissue and organs don’t present many problems. But for brain cells, the effect is much different. When brain cells are improved, so are their synaptic responses. The more they regenerate, the more active they become.”

  “And why is that a bad thing?”

  “Because, sir, the human brain can only take so much. When we sleep, we dream. And those dreams are the manifestation of an overloaded system. Whether we remember them or not, dreams are the by-product of a cognitive system’s need to dump excess stimuli.”

  His expression grew more intent. “And this is what the bacteria is doing?”

  “No, Admiral. It’s doing the opposite. Instead of allowing the brain to slow down, rest, and resume, the synaptic activity is causing the cells to work harder. So much harder that they can’t rest. Again, the body’s repair cycle works differently than the mind. Everything below the neck slows down and is in a state of disuse. There may be an increase in some signaling, but not like the brain, which is all signaling. The bottom line is that the DNA, hidden within the bacterium cells, simultaneously gives us two sides of the same coin. One side will heal you in ways we previously could only dream about. The other side causes the brain to literally burn itself out.”

  When Neely finished, there was not a sound to be heard until Langford finally exhaled. “Christ.”

  “Just when I was beginning to think nothing would surprise me anymore,” mumbled Caesare.

  “Sir,” Neely quickly added. “Before we start talking about what this means, it’s important that you understand…what I just said is only my assertion. I’ve only done a limited amount of testing. There is far more left to verify here. Weeks of study. I could be wrong.”

  Langford stared quizzically at her. “Are you?”

  Surprised by the question, she stopped and looked at each of them before finally shaking her head. “I don’t believe so.”

  “And as of this moment, how sure are you?”

  Neely shrugged. “Ninety percent.”

  With a sigh, Langford took a step back and sat down. His dark polo shirt highlighted his thick gray hair, combed neatly back atop a rugged face. A face that thankfully gave away none of what he was thinking.

  Because what he was thinking was not good.

  From his own monitor, Miller watched Langford raise a hand and rub his chin.

  “Commander Lawton,” Langford said. “Could this effect be changed? So it didn’t destroy the brain?”

  “Conceivably, yes.”

  “And how long would that take?”

  She didn’t reply immediately. But when she did it was not the answer Langford was hoping for.

  “Years. Maybe decades.”

  Langford fell silent again. It was a devastating setback. The Chinese were going to attack. As retribution for the United States having taken something of theirs that, for all intents and purposes, may not even work. At least not as the Chinese believed.

  “Okay,” Miller countered, leaning forward. “If not this bacteria, then what about those damn plants or that monkey from South America we brought back? They have this DNA too. Don’t they? Why didn’t it destroy them?”

  “I don’t know.” Neely shook her head. “The plants do have it, but I’m not sure about the capuchin. We’ve been running tests on his DNA but haven’t found any of the base markers yet that we see in the bacteria. But that’s not altogether surprising. Even common genome markers don’t always work the same way. Now why the plants have survived, I don’t know. They have very different structures than we do. Their cells are rectangular with protective cellulose walls. They have chloroplasts. It could be any number of differences. And their absorption of minerals is also much slower through their roots. Which means their exposure, even directly, would likely be much more gradual. In evolution the more gradually a life form is exposed to something, the easier and more moderate its adoption, generally speaking.”

  “So the plants haven’t been destroyed by this because their DNA changes more slowly over time?” Caesare asked.

  Neely turned and nodded. “Probably.”

  “And in South America, the absorption was slower because the monkey was eating the same plants.”

  “Possibly.” Neely turned back to the screen. “Nothing happens quickly in evolution. Only through direct intervention. And that is often where we experience side effects.”

  “Like we’re seeing with the bacteria.”

  “Correct.”

  “So the bacteria itself is no good to us.”

  “Well, I’m sure it could be altered. Through testing and experimentation, but there will always be some tradeoff. Everything in life is balanced, even physics. For every give, there is a take. Even in common pharmaceutical medications. Every new drug treats something but negatively affects something else.”

  “What are you saying?”

  “I’m saying that tweaking this bacterium in an attempt to avoid overworking the host’s brain may ultimately be possible. But there will always be another tradeoff. Regardless of what it might be. For now, something may have happened during the Chinese extraction for the bacterium. Something that made it unstable. Therefore, the plants are likely more valuable.”

  This time Miller leaned back, throwing out a sarcastic retort, “Wonderful.”

  “And that’s just regarding the plants,” Borger spoke up. “Not the source itself, which is the liquid we found. That’s the real catalyst.”

  “You’re talking about Africa.”

  “Yes, sir. If there really is another vault, it’s the liquid inside that everyone will eventually be after.”

  Langford frowned. “This just keeps getting better and better.”

  “If it’s something that really did affect our evolution,” Neely said, “the implications may only get bigger.”

  “So, now what?”

  “Sir, I think we need to step back and think about this,” Caesare said. “This bacteria, now that we know it’s not perfect, could still lead to some frightening scenarios if other people got a hold of it.”

  “Or other governments,” added Borger.

  “Or other governments. And even if it’s flawed, I’m guessing there’s still a hell of a lot someone else could do with it.”

  “That’s true.” Neely nodded.

  “Admiral,” Caesare said, peering at the screen, “unless I’m mistaken, this DNA-infused bacterium is the only sample in existence. It was the only stuff extracted by the Chinese, before—”

  He suddenly stopped, not wanting to finish the sentence in front of Neely.

  “What’s your point, Steve?”

  “My point, sir, is that if this stuff is as dangerous as Commander Lawton suggests…maybe we don’t want it.”

  “Whoa! Whoa!” started Miller. “Let’s not get ahead of ourselves here. It is the only sample on the planet, which means we need to be very careful here. Let’s not do anything irrational.”

  “I’m not, sir. I’m merely pointing out that this thing is already a weapon. Even if it’s not altered, what would happen if this got into the general population? What if someone managed to dump it into a public water supply? Or found some other way to infect a large group. Remember it was that liquid that was in the water in Guyana, which caused the plants to mutate in the first place. So it’s not a huge stretch for the bacteria to get out in the same way. And as Commander Lawton explained, this stuff is potent.”

  Langford and Miller were now both looking at each other through their screens.

  “Commander L
awton,” Langford said. “Once infected, how long of a gestation period are we looking at?”

  “Absorbed is probably a better word,” she replied absently. “And I’m not sure. My mice took only a few days. A human…could take…weeks maybe. But I’m only speculating. Once that DNA takes hold, and their cells stop dying, the rest could come on very quickly.”

  “And what do we think a person infected with this DNA would experience?”

  “Rejuvenation, mostly. A level of healing within their bodies that would probably seem…magical. Their senses, their strength, even their minds would all probably feel stronger. Much stronger. At least until their brains could no longer shut themselves off. That would be the first sign.” Neely stopped for a moment before adding one more thought. “And maybe one of the last.”

  34

  In Beijing, a blaring musical chime awoke M0ngol from a fitful sleep. With his long dark hair plastered to his head and still dressed in the previous night’s clothes, the hacker instinctively rolled over and retrieved his phone from a side table. He then found his glasses and slipped them on to study the phone’s bright screen.

  It wasn’t a person calling him but rather one of his computers. And instead of a call, it was actually a notification generated by one of the computer scripts he’d written. Known as a bot, the program was constantly churning through thousands of pages of communication logs from other agencies, looking for anything that could be related to their search for Li Na Wei.

  It wasn’t until M0ngol clicked through a series of links that the information that triggered his script was revealed, and he practically slid off the side of his bed. The source was an image, from one the Ministry’s public surveillance databases. And even though they had been scouring for any possible trace of the teenage girl, when he finally saw the digitized image of her face, he couldn’t believe it.

  The photo appeared to be taken from an angle and under less than ideal lighting, but it was her. There was no question. She was alive.

  And she was still in the country.