We heard Brown’s soothing voice, “You’ll understand very quickly, sir. I think you know Baker and Farrell here. We have something to show you all.”
I imagined his two guys going to Lauren and Hutch while Brown stepped closer to Mitchell. I hoped they couldn’t hear my heart pounding. There were a couple of seconds of silence and then kerthlump. Like bodies hitting the floor. Then we heard the reverend call out, “Dr. Perry?”
We opened the door and rushed in to see Lauren, Hutch, and Mitchell all on the floor, convulsing slightly. After a minute Hutch and Lauren began to wake up.
Dr. R.W. Hutcherson. . .
It was . . . beyond imagining. All my thinking, priorities, ethics, were entirely altered, upgraded, enhanced. The mental brilliance I’d received from the Friends’ initial gift had been astonishing, but this . . . this reached into the depths of my being.
It was overwhelming, as though I’d gone unconscious as an infant and awakened as Athena, the goddess of wisdom, springing fully formed and mature from the mind of Zeus. This new . . . evolution . . . brought far more than intellect; it brought clarity, understanding, empathy, and a serene soulfulness beyond measure. Tears of joy and gratitude filled my eyes as I tried to catch my breath, to comprehend—
But then I saw Susan and Katie standing over me—and suddenly there came a terrifying backwash; a nightmarish, turbulent tsunami of shame, guilt, and nausea churning catastrophically over me, uprooting my heart, shredding my nerves, ripping the fabric of my being, regurgitating the horrors I’d committed. Bile rose in my throat. I grabbed for a trash can nearby on the floor and shoved my head in, vomiting violently, then dry heaving, trying to expel all the burning malice and cruelty I’d been responsible for. But I couldn’t. I was choked, repeatedly, by the faith I’d breached, the trust I’d betrayed, the pain I’d inflicted. The lives I’d taken.
Katie McLane. . .
Seeing Hutch vomit his guts out over and over again, I can’t deny how I felt that was only the smallest taste of what he truly deserved. Yes, I remembered the good guy he’d once been, but the bad had been far too extreme. I stood there watching with my teeth clenched. Glad that we had eliminated him as an adversary.
But feeling absolutely no compassion.
Dr. R.W. Hutcherson. . .
When I finally came up for air, exhausted and weak from the vomiting, I saw that right beside me on the floor Lauren was undergoing similar convulsive responses to this new awakening. She was gagging, panting, tearfully amazed—yet simultaneously thunderstruck, agonized, distraught, emitting a mournful, “Horrifying . . . !” She painfully clutched fistfuls of her hair, white knuckles jammed against her temples, staring into herself wild eyed, rocking in place, her voice high pitched, plaintive. “What have we done . . . ? How could I have . . . ?” Her haughty, biting superiority had vanished. Lauren had become a different woman, staggered as her new consciousness confronted the breadth of the evil her old self had generated. She sobbed, repeating tearfully, “Horrifying . . . horrifying . . .”
Then Mitchell began to quiver with emotion as his eyes opened slowly, startled such as I’d never seen him. Of the three of us Mitchell seemed the most shocked and revolted by the monstrous, malevolent immorality he had unleashed. His breaths came in short, powerful growls as he got weakly onto his knees, staring straight ahead, seemingly watching the entire panorama of his wrongdoings play back before his horrorstricken eyes. His nostrils flared with each locomotive grunt, which repeatedly sent massive tremors through his large frame. His normally granite-solid stature quaked again and again apparently from turmoil like my own, roiling deep within. It was like watching the malicious Mr. Hyde transform before my eyes into the humble picture of humility, the ultimately humane Dr. Jekyll.
Eric Tenzer. . .
Bradford Mitchell had clearly been shaken to the core of his being. He was not tearful like Lauren or Hutch, but I saw his lower lip trembling with emotional stress. Finally, like the old soldier he was, he gritted his teeth, set his jaw hard, and seemed to shoulder the tremendous mountain of his guilt, taking responsibility for the enormity of evil he had caused.
Still on his knees, he looked around at all of us, then bowed his head like a supplicant, speaking with a low, strong voice, “We—I—have to . . . set things right.”
It was very clear that Mitchell, Lauren, and Hutch had all taken the Leap. Each had achieved a new birth of humanistic insight. Such extraordinary turnarounds would have been impossible to believe were it not for the similar transformations Katie had triggered in Brown and his assistants, plus Jimmy-Joe’s change that we’d witnessed—and of course Lilly’s own astonishing metamorphosis.
As they slowly came fully into the moment, we helped them up, explained the situation.
Hutch was still swallowing surging emotions and nausea, but had great concern and said to Mitchell, “But if that CAV-B shipment gets to our Washington people, they’ll just take over leadership and continue.”
“We know that,” Susan said. “Our team is on the way to intercept it.”
“You mean destroy it, I hope,” Mitchell said, with the certainty that it was the only correct choice.
“No.” Gwyneth shook her head. “We need that large supply to use as a base so that Lilly can create more of this.” She held up one of the spray bottles of white liquid.
Dr. R.W. Hutcherson. . .
“Lilly?” I choked saying her name, new tears welled in my eyes. “Lilly created . . . ?”
Susan and the others nodded, but Mitchell had been processing the situation and was all business, though now completely, uncharacteristically subservient as he spoke softly, “Dr. Perry, there will be a time for . . . the enormous congratulations and gratitude you and your team obviously deserve for this”—he shook his head—“this astounding breakthrough. I appreciate that you have people attempting to capture that shipment, but I have a profound desire to be certain they’re successful. We absolutely cannot allow that material to reach Washington. May I use the helicopter I have standing by to personally intercept that convoy?” Susan nodded. Mitchell looked to Brown and Lauren. “Will you two come along to help treat anyone with this cure who might need it?” Lauren was shaky, but agreed. “And Dr. Hutcherson,” Mitchell said respectfully, “could I ask you to do likewise with our people at the CDC?”
I nodded. As we headed out, Susan said to Mitchell, “I’d like to go with you.”
I saw him look into her eyes with admiration and sincerity. “I’d welcome that, Dr. Perry.”
Katie McLane. . .
Outside, Susan, Lauren, and Dr. Brown climbed into the back of Mitchell’s stretch limo as he shouted to his bulldog of a driver, “Dubrovski, we’ve got to get to that chopper as quickly as possible.”
The driver snapped a nod. “Sir. Yes, sir.” They sped off as Eric got in our SUV’s driver’s seat while Gwyneth, Hutch, and I climbed aboard. I hated sitting beside Hutch. Wouldn’t look at him. I know he felt it.
As we headed for the CDC, Hutch was still very emotional, trying to get his head around it all. “Katie,” he asked with a tremble in his throat, “was it really . . . Lilly?”
I stared straight ahead. “Yes. Really Lilly.”
“Is she . . . all right?”
“Better than all right. And much better than the way I found her”—I turned, looked him right in the eye—“after you ran away. She survived what you tried to do to her. She might even forgive you. But I can’t.”
He held my gaze. “I’m”—his voice cracked—“so ashamed.”
I stiffened, stared forward again. “Sure. Now.”
We rode in silence. Finally he asked quietly how Lilly accomplished it. When Gwyneth told him, he was beyond amazed.
“And it elevates infected people up to 3.0?”
“Not just them,” Gwyneth said. “It can elevate everybody.”
As Hutch processed the concept, his voice became a whisper, “But that could . . . change the world.”
“Aye,
” Gwyneth confirmed, “there is that.” Hutch was appropriately stunned.
Then I glanced sharply at him. “’Course it doesn’t make up for all the bad things some people have done.”
I had to give him credit: he took the punch. Nodded acceptance of guilt.
Gwyneth added, “And Lilly said there is a tiny percentage of people—with AB negative blood—it might not work on.”
Hutch pondered it all for a moment. Then suddenly jumped like he’d been struck by lightning.
His face went totally white. Panicked.
Elia Dubrovski, 43, Bradford Mitchell’s security chief. . .
Dr. Perry was in the middle of the back seat. Dr. Fletcher on her left, Brown on her right. Mr. Mitchell was on the rear-facing seat opposite ’em, the back o’his seat was against the back o’mine. They was all real quiet. I knew somethin’ big had gone down. Then I heard a cell phone vibrate. Dr. Perry looked surprised. As she was gettin’ it out, Mr. Mitchell said, “I’ll take that.” She looked at him, and we all saw that he’d pulled his Walther PPK outta his jacket. Perry stared a second, then handed him her phone.
The reverend and Dr. Fletcher looked confused, talked at the same time: “What are you doing?” “. . . Bradford?”
Pop. Pop. A clean bullet into each of their heads. Blood across the back window.
I fuckin’ freaked, swerved the car. Mitchell put that hot gun muzzle right against my temple and said, icy calm, “Just keep driving, Elia. Get us to that chopper.”
“Yes, sir. Yes, sir!”
Dr. Perry was startled when he’d done the others, now she was breathin’ shallow, starin’ at Mitchell. He looked down at her cell phone in his hand, hefted it. “A bit heavy.”
She kept starin’ right at him. “. . . Latest model sat phone.”
“Ah. And you just got a text from Hutcherson.” Mitchell sounded real cagey. “Would you like to guess what it says?”
“Probably that you’re AB negative and faking your change.”
He was surprised, but in control. “And you and Hutcherson would know that because . . . ?”
“Of the original workup that Prashant Sidana did on you. Rest his soul.”
“And I was able to fake it because . . . ?”
She shrugged. “You just watched how Hutch and Lauren reacted, followed their lead.”
“Very clever, Dr. Perry.”
“Well, I had a little help.”
Mitchell kept focused, readin’ her, said sarcastically, “You took the great Leap.”
I looked at her in my rearview. She nodded at him.
“Think that’ll help you dodge a bullet?” he said as he tossed her phone onto the seat beside him.
She drew a breath. “I sure hope so.”
I clutched as he raised his pistol—just as her phone rang again. He paused, then picked it up—and suddenly he started shriekin’ and convulsin’ like he was being electrocuted!
Dr. Perry dived for the floor as Mitchell fired the gun blindly, wildly. I slammed on the brakes, bailed out. Twisted my ankle real bad. Perry scrambled out the back, tried to help me get to the curb, but we didn’t make it all the way. Couple bullets hit beside us. We dropped down. That big, tough sonuvabitch had staggered out and fired the last of his clip. Then he stumbled into the driver seat and drove off swervin’, fast.
“Shit,” she said, breathing hard. “They sprayed you, Elia, right?”
“Yeah, yeah, your Alex guy and that Chinese chick, Choo-Ha—”
“Chunhua.”
“Yeah. They gave me the Leap while you guys was all inside. I’m wid you, Doc. But I didn’t ’spect him to pull the gun.”
“It’s okay. S’okay.” She was gaspin’ kinda.
Then I seen she’d took a bullet on her left side and was bleedin’ out bad, gettin’ hazy. I was scramblin’ to dial 911 while I asked, “What shocked him so bad?”
“My phone.” She was breathin’ in short puffs. “Because I’d taken the Leap . . . I remembered Mitchell was . . . AB neg . . . wouldn’t be affected . . . I had Chunhua rig a Taser . . . into my phone.” She showed me an opal ring on her finger. “It also has . . . a couple remotes.” I saw two tiny buttons attached on the back. She said one rang the phone, the other fired the Taser.
“The electric charge was . . .” She was really strugglin’ t’breathe. “. . . was enough to . . . knock down a mule. But . . . apparently not an asshole.” She looked off the way Mitchell’d driven, and one more time muttered, “Shit . . .”
And then she was gone.
Esteban Ford. . .
I’d dozed off while that Chris Smith guy’uz drivin’, but I woked up when I felt somethin’ sharp stick into my left thigh. I seen that sonuvabitch’d gimme some kinda shot with a needle right through my jeans. “What the hell!” I reached over to swat at him, sayin’, “What’re you—whoa . . .” All of a sudden my arms and legs didn’t feel like they belonged to me. And I got dizzy every time I turned my head.
“It’s just a little Nembutal,” he said. “Won’t kill you, just keep you kind of limp and out of it.”
Limp was right, it’uz like I’uz moving through molasses. I could barely get my mouth and tongue to make words. “Whhhy juh hellyoud ooo jhat?”
“So we wouldn’t have any disagreements.”
I looked out and struggled hard to focus on where we were. Looked like old Route 23, ’bout an hour north of Atlanta past Buford. Small two-lane country road, almost no traffic, just our rig with that container, one ARPC in front, t’other behind. Way farther back’uz a dusty, blue civilian car. But I ain’t got no way t’tell the ARPCs what’s up.
“So here’s the deal, Esteban,” Smith says, just as clear-eyed as could be. “In a few miles this truck and everything in it—and on it—is going to come to a very dead end and go blooey. But if you sit there and behave yourself, I’ll roll you out just before we get to that last stop. Okay?” It’uz too hard to talk, so I just nodded. He patted my knee. “Atta boy.”
GEORGIA AIR NATL GUARD BLACK HAWK BLF 8788 - Date: 05/01/21 Time: 16:10:13
Transcript Analysis [Abridged] by: Evans, DuShawn GA/ANG 8753
Ckpt Cam A/V: Shows condition nominal. Preflight complete.
Heads-Up Displays: functioning. Targeting Grid: inactive.
Engine: At Max Idle.
Description: Pilot and Copilot interact.
Pilot: ANG base, Black Hawk Bravo Lima Foxtrot, request takeoff clearance.
COM: Bravo Lima, stand by.
(Pilot and Copilot react to male voice coming aboard)
Male Voice: I’m in! Get airborne.
Co-P: Is it just you, sir? We were expecting—
Male Voice: It’s just me. Get going, goddammit!
Pilot: I need you to strap in, sir, before I can—
(Man sticks his head into frame beside Pilot, ID is Bradford Mitchell)
Mitchell: You get this fucking Black Hawk up now, Lieutenant, or I’ll have your balls in a meat grinder.
COM: Bravo Lima Foxtrot, cleared for takeoff.
Pilot: Copy base, Bravo Lima cleared.
Mitchell: Head north up Route 23. We have to catch that shipment convoy. Monitor them on 109.3.
Pilot: Copy that, sir. 109.3. Please hang on.
(Copilot adjusts radio, aircraft ascends.)
Courtesy GA/ANG
Esteban Ford. . .
We’uz only about five miles farther on when Smith seen somethin’ in his side mirror and mumbled, “What the hell? Another one?” Was all I could do t’twist my head t’look into my right mirror. I seen another ARPC comin’ in behind. But the new one’uz up in the air.
Veronica (Ronnie) Dodsworth, 33. . .
Crash was flying the ARPC he’d stolen from the swamp. We’d been barely skimmin’ the tops of trees. Then he clipped a couple, givin’ us serious jolts, and I wasn’t happy. “Uh . . . you wanna come up a touch, partner? Don’t feel like you’ve gotta live up to your name.”
Crash smiled, chewing that dis
gusting unlit cigar stub. “Sorry. Tryin’ to stay in their blind spot.” He was scoping out the convoy. “Okay, so we got two ARPCs, at twelve and six.”
“How about that civilian car half a click back there?”
“Shouldn’t be a factor. Got that targeting grid on again?”
“Yeah, I think so. You might’ve given me more than one practice shot.”
“Trying t’save ammo, Veronica. Can you see how much charge that El-Stat’s got left.”
I searched the heads-up targeting display, which I’d only half figured out. “Looks like about seventy-one percent.”
“Okay, I’m gonna come in low off the starboard of the trailing vehicle. You shoot for the tires. Try to disable him on the ground and not kill anybody.”
I was frazzled by the targeting controls. “Sure. Yeah. Any other requests?”
“Light my cigar?”
I came back with, “Light this, mofo.”
He laughed and said, “Hang on, Veronica, we’re going in.” I suddenly went weightless as he made a steep dive toward the rear ARPC. My first shot was short, but my second burst splattered sparks off the right fender, blew out both right tires. Crash shouted, “Whoa! Annie Oakley lives!”
Esteban Ford. . .
I heard the blowouts and seen in my side mirror the ARPC on our tail swerve onto the right shoulder, where it dug in and rolled over on its top. Smith was startled, lookin’ around angry, mutterin’, “What the hell? Oh no, no, no! Don’t screw this up!”
Then we seen the side turbines on the ARPC in front of us fold out and turn on.
Ronnie Dodsworth. . .
The front ARPC rose up in the air right in front of us. Crash smiled, saying, “That’s it, pally, get on up here.” Then to me, “Let him get clear of the truck, Veronica, then give him a kick in the ass.”
Esteban Ford. . .
The front ARPC banked off to the left with the new ARPC right on his tail. Smith was really pissed, shouting, “No, goddammit! I had this!” He pounded the big rig’s steering wheel. “Shit!”
GEORGIA AIR NATL GUARD BLACK HAWK BLF 8788 - Date: 05/01/21 Time: 16:22:43
Transcript Analysis [Abridged] by: Evans, DuShawn GA/ANG 8753
Ckpt Cam A/V: Description: Pilot, Copilot interact. Bradford Mitchell’s head seen between them.
The Darwin Variant Page 41
