Madisons work had vastly enlarged the pool of potential vectors. The new strain would mutate faster, and in more likely adaptive directions, than any natural bacillus. It would seem as though it were adjusting its own DNA to accommodate the different protein profiles of hundreds of families of animals, not just primates. B. czerwicki could jump the species barrier again and again, back and forth, throughout the biosphere. Ordinarily epidemics become less virulent as they spreadsince otherwise there wouldnt be any vector animals leftbut with so many species susceptible to the Goat, it would be a long time before that happened. Some of the CDC projections said it could probably kill off all species of primates and all or most other mammals. Which just tells you what an angry little weasel Czerwick was. People is one thing, but when you go after Bonzo you know youre really fucked up.
Like its ancestors the Goat could probably be treated by intramuscular injections of streptomycin. But with timed, simultaneous symptomaticity, there wouldnt be enough antibiotics to go around even if there were still people who were able to administer them. And of course, the CDC was already working on a vaccine, but it would take another week or so to finish developing it and more than a year to produce it in anything like medical quantities. The CDCs projections, or at least the ones wed gotten reports on, suggested that some people in polar areas might survive. But with the Goats resistance to cold, it wouldnt be many. The species-jumping geneware would keep the subarctic world too hot for humans for decades. At least.
How much of the stuff do they think he has in there? A2 asked. I realized she was standing on tiptoes to get close to my ear. I guess she was too polite or uptight to grab my shoulder and drag my head down. I crouched down a bit.
Ana thinks its about two gallons, I said. Hes been going through bovine colloid like it was bean dip.
Is that enough?
You mean, like, enough to do the whole planet?
Uh-huh.
Well, you have to figure thats about three point four trillion microbes per gallon, I said. So say you had, like, a ten-percent-per-day division rate, even with a twenty-percent die-off per day youd get around, uh, two times ten-to-the-eighteenth bugs in one week, and thats more than most diseases that are, you know, considered epidemics.
Oh, she said.
Yeah. Yeah, depending on the number of added vectors … in a month or so it could be as common as, like, say, Staphylococcus.
Gesundheit, Michael Weiner said in my other ear.
Thanks, I said. Yeah, theres no humor like gallows humor. He nodded.
At least it sounds like they know everything, anyway, A2 said.
One hopes, I said. Actually, she was right, or righter than I was. From what Id seen, at least, the U.S. and Canadian detectives had, amazingly, done a good job. Id have thought theyd take weeks to build a case against him, but they were ready in couple of days. Although I guess you could get probable cause off the Web site. In fact, hed dropped enough hints in his blog that youd think Id have spotted it right away all that time ago. The way hed been going on about the Disney World thing had been more like somebody who was afraid he was going to get scooped, that some slant teenager was going to steal his place in history, than like somebody who actually cared about the problem. Shouldve made him then, I thought for the nth time. Idiot. Could have avoided this whole thing. Except its not so easy, is it? Especially for somebody like me, for whom empathy requires some effort. Anyway, cut yourself some slack. Hell Rot wasnt a big page, but thousands of people had seen it, including DHS profilers, and none of them had flagged it, despite the fact that it included such gems as this:
People have been making movies and games and stories about the END TIME
for FOUR THOUSAND YEARS. The Reason is that they KNOW it is the RIGHT THING TO DO. And finally Now it is achevable [sic].
Maybe it hadnt gotten singled out simply because Madison hadnt put up anything specific. He hadnt mentioned any names, places, or dates. Speaking of which, one odd thing was that from the blog, at least, it looked like hed chosen December 21 arbitrarily. There was no mention of the Maya calendar, or pre-Columbian stuff, or anything. It was like hed just pulled it out of his paper hat. Although I was sure he hadnt.
Two hundred seconds, Ana said.
Everyone in the room straightened up a little. Michael Weiner started to cough and then didnt follow through. Nobody threw up, though. Somebody turned on the general operations audio and we listened to the CO running through the final checklist.
Hazmat Unit A, his voice said.
In place, a lady from Hazmat Unit A said.
Hazmat Unit B, the CO said.
They covered a lot in the next sixty seconds, a chemical hazard team, a poison specialist, a biohazard reduction team that used antiviral and antibacterial sprays, two inhalation specialists, two gas compression trucks, a truckful of tracking dogs, a bomb squad, a bomb-disposal robot, and a bomb-disposal robot wrangler. Next, the three five-person assault teams checked in. Or, rather, they called them elements, not teams. Each element had a captain, two assaulters, a spotter, and a rear guard. Two elements would go in the front door and the front ground-floor rooms and the upstairs. The other would go in the back, check the kitchen, and then head to the basement.
High Man A, the CO said.
In place, High Man As voice said.
Six other spotters, or high men, checked in after him. Each one had a different perch on a rooftop or a telephone pole. Normally, some of them would be snipers, but today they were unarmed. In fact, the Goat Operation differed from most raids in that there were no guns anywhere near the assault zone. It wasnt just because there was no real chance of return firewho cared about that when we were all screwed anyway?but because delivering the suspect alive and coherent over[rode] officer survival. Last of all, the marked vehicles came into view. Two ambulances pulled into Marguerite and stopped a block short of the house. An ordinary fire engine stationed itself on Emerald. About twenty regular police cars materialized out of nowhere and formed a four-block-wide perimeter centered on 820.
Any issues? the COs voice asked. Right. Were at T minus seventy seconds. I want to check prep on Eight twenty.
All target preps are in, a British-sounding voice said. He meant that they were ready to turn off the main electricity just as the assault teams breached the doors so that there wouldnt be any lights flaring in anyones night vision, that the Czerwicks door alarm had been turned off at the service provider, and that Mrs. Czerwick still had two cats but no dog. Anad said that six neighbor dogs whod been judged overly vigilant had all been lightly sedated. It wasnt quite clear how, but they hadnt wanted to tip off anyone in any of the surrounding houses, so probably theyd sent in burglars with bacon-wrapped diazepam. Target prep also included what they called a wire delay. That is, at about two A.M. theyd moved the whole house sixty seconds back in time. Theyd reset the link to the atomic clock on Madisons computers, theyd put a sixty-second delay on the Internet and on the cell phone readouts, and they were even sending new, delayed signals to the TV satellite dish on the roof and to old-fashioned radios that anyone might turn on. Of course, any watches or unattached clocks or watches would be off, but who looks at those things anymore? So if some blabbermouth noticed any of what was going onand to me it seemed like enough of a buildup to invade a whole countryand started talking about it on the Net or TV, theyd catch it.
All right, the CO said. Brown team, I want
The audio cut out. There was silence.
There was a sense of everyonethat is, everyone in our conference roomstirring uncomfortably. It was the aural equivalent of watching a black marker redact a line of text on some CIA document.
I bet hes checking the FAEs, Anas voice said.
She meant fuel-air explosives. And she was referring to a bit
of information that we, and probably the folks in the VIP trailer, and probably even Lindsay Warren himselfwho was undoubtedly watching the same array of windows in his pathogen-proofed safe room in the Hyperbowlwerent supposed to have.
Early in the Goat Op discussions, more than one person had mentioned the possibility of eliminating the entire town. Apparently, these days that sort of thing got done with a ring of fuel-air explosives that were positioned to incinerate any living particle in the area. Anad said that the U.S. had done it twice in Afghanistan, and each time, no biohazards had gotten out of the targeted factories. Anyway, as far as the Goat Op went, this option had gotten rejected pretty quickly, not out of any moral qualms, but because, despite a psychological profile that said it was doubtful, it was still possible that Madison was working with others, or that others knew about him, or that he knew about others, or that hed mailed some of his research work to others, or that others had sent stuff to him, or, most nightmarishly of all, that hed already started the dispersal. It wasnt quite clear how he planned to handle it, but it could be as easy as sending small packages to addresses around the world.
Two days ago Anad told us she was guessing that there were still FAEs fused and positioned outside the city and that somebody in Victoria would detonate them if they determined that there was an uncontrollable release in progress. She said part of the giveaway was that the real big shots from D.C. and Ottawathe directors of the CSIS and FBI, for instancehadnt wanted to be on the scene. If the biowarfare experts said there was a noncontainable release in progress, we should expect the whole place to disappear, and then we should all just hope that the heat had got most of the bugs. During the conference call, Michael had asked her why she was still there, in the blast zone, but Ana blew off the question. I guess she was just too butch to think about girly issues like personal survival.
The COs voice came on again.
… nus twenty seconds, it said. All ready?
Our conference room was silent. On Anas speaker the room she was in was silent. On the video windows 820 Marguerite looked like peace on earth itself. Someone had opened an audio channel to one of the parabolic mikes on Marguerite, and you could hear mourning doves and a little rush of breeze in the bare branches but nothing else.
Wait, hold up, the COs voice said. Were holding the count.
There was a pause. It was uncomfortable at the beginning, and then it got more uncomfortable, and then unbearable. People shifted around me. I could smell sweat in the room. There was an odd little sound next to me and I realized it was A2s teeth chattering. Put an arm around her? No, dont. If anything touches her shell probably have a stroke.
Window six, Anas voice said. Its nothing, its a neighbor. Her cursor pointed at someone with big puffy red hair in a gray bathrobe. It was a lady from 818, the house next door. She toddled out to her car, which was in the driveway as always, slowly and deliberately opened the door, rummaged in the front seat for something, didnt find it, and minced around to the drivers side. I thought I was going to tear off my own scalp. Twelve seconds away from the earths most critical moment since the Chicxulub meteorite and were waiting for Endora to find her Dulcolax. The lady opened the drivers-side door, found whatever it was she wanted, closed it, and, shuffling in her puffy slippers, made her way back toward her house. By now I was sure one of us was going to vomit, or lose control of his or her bowels, or at least faint. Nobody did, though. I guess we were all just rock-hard. Or sufficiently medicated.
The door of 818 eased itself shut.
All right, the COs voice said. Even he sounded a little wobbly. Everyone still in place? Right. Resetting to T minus twenty seconds.
A drop of something fell on my cheek and I realized it was sweat from my forehead. I wiped my face on the sleeve of my jacketit was that same gray Varvatos thing Id had in that Jeep ride with Marena and Max about seventy million years agopeeled off my hat, ran my hand through my hair that still wasnt there, and put the hat back on. Whew. De todos modos.
Seven, six, the COs voice said. Ready. Three, two, go.
On window number five the ten members of Elements A and B crossed the lawn like the shadows of crows flying over the roof. They seemed to have working keys for both doors, the doors opened without any sound that we could hear, and the elements were already inside. It took all of four seconds for them to pour through the hall, spread into the living room and dining room, and dash up the acrylic-carpeted stairs. On one of the helmet cameras there was a glimpse of gilt-plastic-framed photos on the wall, old graduations and older weddings and Madison accepting a trophy at a grade-school science fair. Ordinarily, SWAT teams make as much noise as possible when they go in, but this raid had been designed to assume that Madison might have a finger on a detonator. So there was just the creaking of the floorboards and the wheeze of the old refrigerator in the kitchen, and the darting shadows, as though the house were an aviary and the crows were all flying into their own little nests. Assaulters burst simultaneously into each of the three bedrooms. Oh, Christ. A face. It was a horrible fanged predatory face, lunging at us on helmet cam #6. There were gasps around me and Lisuarte, for one, visibly recoiled. It was one of the Czerwicks attack cats. It vanished from the frame. By the time we got over that, we could see on two other Element A helmet cams that Mom and Pop were being gently held down in their bed. There was one good, steady shot of a Kevlar-gloved hand covering Mrs. Czerwicks mouth. On helmet cam #9 you could just see that theyd gotten a restraining hood on Madisons little brotherwho was twenty-eightand that he was kicking and wriggling but not getting anywhere. And on #6, the one that had dealt with the cat, which was now in Madisons room, on that one
Hmm. Madison wasnt in his bedroom.
Oh, cońo, Tony Sic said.
Its number sixteen, Larry Boyle said. His voice was unnaturally high. Number sixteen.
We all looked at window #16. It was the helmet cam of one of the assaulters in Element C. There was a glimpse of what might be basement stairs, then a glowy bunch of shapes in the center of a dark field, and then, for a few frames, less than a half a second, there was a sofa. There was a pudgy naked torso on the sofa. There was a face on top of the torso. There was a big gawking mouth in the middle of the face. It was Madisons face. There was a sound like a big old woofer popping its voice coil and the elements windows grayed out.
That was an NFDD, Anas voice said over some kind of squealing or whimpering in the background.
Which is what? Michael Weiner asked. The video processors of the helmet cams had started readjusting and a few inchoate images drifted back into the windows.
Noise and flash diversionary device, she said. One of the assaulters had tossed what they called a double whammy into the basement. The thing looked like a pair of yellow squash balls yoked together. One ball was a regular flash-bang grenade with an eight-million-candela flare and a 180-decibel report. The other was a sting grenade, which releases about two hundred tiny hard-rubber balls. It was more reliably debilitating, especially if the suspect had managed to close his eyes and cover his ears during the explosion.
Righto, Michael said.
Shhh, we want to hear this, Larry Boyle said.
We listened, but all we could hear was a hircine squeal. It faded into heavy panting, and then, suddenly, Madison seemed to have gotten his voice back.
Whats the charge? he asked. His high tenor was familiar from the wire-taps, but it felt creepy hearing it in real time, especially since it sounded oddly calm. On the helmet cams the assaulters had switched on their flashlights for the first time and we got another unflattering close-up of Madisons jowls. I think he started say the word officer, but by the middle of the word there were Kevlar-gloved hands over his mouth. The assaulters werent supposed to let him say anything, just in case he might have a voice-activated switch somewhere. There were another two seco
nds of abstract scuffling shapes on the windows, and then helmet cam #13 resolved itself into a pair of hands holding open Madisons mouth and a third hand grubbing around under his tongue, as though he were a SMERSH agent from the 1960s about to bite down on a cyanide pill. Finally they hustled him up the stairs. Back on window #5 the Czerwick lawn and Marguerite Avenue had, with a suddenness that made me remember the jungle gym scene in The Birds, filled up with a flock of black-uniformed officers. Someone had switched the audio back to an outdoor feed, and you could hear helicopters overhead, and sirens started up. In less than thirty seconds Madison had been strapped to a stretcher and loaded into his own ambulance van. The other ambulance was already pulling out with the rest of his family. We all focused on helmet cam #13, whose owner was going along in the ambulance and, it seemed, was about to give us another rare view of Madison, but suddenly, his feed grayed out.
Brian D'Amato Page 81
