The Demon Crown

by James Rollins

  On a phone call earlier, Painter had shared that same worry. He had also updated Gray on the evacuation of Hawaii. Two words exemplified those efforts: panic and chaos. The situation was rapidly deteriorating out there.

  Recognizing this, Painter had stressed the priority for this current mission: to discover what countermeasures the enemy had against this threat. Gray had also understood the implied command underlying this order. Even if it means sacrificing Seichan and Ken.

  Too much was at stake for this to be a rescue mission.

  Hundreds of thousands of lives were in jeopardy.

  Through his helmet feed, Gray watched the main Japanese security force reach the campus’s main gate. The group was led by an armored urban assault vehicle. The mini-tank didn’t slow. Equipped with a battering ram, it smashed through the steel gates, opening the way for the brigade that followed. Sirens suddenly flared across the sweep of motorcycles and military police jeeps.

  As if responding to the noise, the storm broke overhead. Thunder boomed, and forked lightning ripped open the clouds. A cold rain fell like a heavy drape from the sky, smothering the commotion below.

  “Go, go, go . . .” Gray radioed.

  Using the cover of the storm and the distraction of the raid occurring at the front of the compound, Gray and the others swept from the heights above the rear of the campus. They raced through the dark woods with their headlamps extinguished. Pelting rain further obscured their sight. But the head-up display inside the helmet transmitted a night-vision view of the rough mountain trail they descended. Unfortunately, lightning flashes occasionally whited out the views, which was unnerving, but no one slowed.

  Not even Palu.

  The Hawaiian had already informed Gray of his experience with trail bikes back on Maui. The fireman proved to be a man of his word, impressing Gray with his skill atop the cycle as it bumped and slid across the rocks and thickening mud.

  Not having to worry about Palu keeping up, Gray increased their pace the last quarter mile through the woods. With attentions focused up front, no one at the compound raised an alarm as the five bikes crashed out of the forest and braked into a skid before the rear fence.

  Hoga leaped off his bike before it had fully come to a stop, letting the cycle topple as he flew forward. He unstrapped a canister at his hip and lifted it to the fence. A nova-bright blue flame shot a few inches out. He swept it across the chain link fencing, melting a way through with a single swipe of his arm.

  The tool was no ordinary acetylene torch, but something concocted by Aiko’s new agency, which Gray suspected was in all likelihood a Japanese version of Sigma.

  Not that Aiko would admit as much.

  With the way open, the group slipped into the grounds and ran low across manicured lawns and through a copse of trees. They aimed for a helipad. According to specs obtained by Aiko, the nearby building had a tunnel into the basement levels of the main tower.

  Their goal was to reach the labs buried under the tower before the frontal assault triggered a purge of the facilities. They couldn’t risk evidence being erased or destroyed.

  With a final dash through the rain, the group reached the concrete-block building next to the helipad. Sirens could be heard blaring on the far side of the tower, punctuated by orders barked through bullhorns.

  Upon Gray’s signal, the strike team burst through an open door into the small hangar. A pair of workers in beige jumpsuits flinched at their sudden appearance, already tense from the commotion of the raid.

  Hoga and Endo rushed forward with weapons raised, silently picking separate targets. Hoga fired first. A scatter of thin darts struck his target’s chest. As they hit, a chain of electricity frazzled between them, jolting the worker into a cataleptic seizure, then stillness.

  Endo shot at the other worker, striking him in the neck with what looked like a quarter-sized black steel spider. The implant pumped in a load of swift-acting sedative. The target took two steps, then crumpled to the floor.

  The attack took all of three seconds.

  As Gray rushed past the prone men, he glanced at Hoga and Endo’s handiwork. He admired their weaponry, recognizing that Sigma needed to up its game . . . or at least compare notes with Aiko’s burgeoning agency.

  He faced forward again as they reached a ramp heading down.

  He focused on his goal, knowing how much was at stake. While the raid was not primarily a rescue operation, Gray knew the two objectives were likely intertwined.

  As they reached the bottom of the ramp and entered a long tunnel, Gray sped faster, leading the team, driven by a fearful question.

  Are we already too late?

  12:08 P.M.

  Time must be up.

  Ken watched Dr. Oshiro stalk across the room toward him. At the moment, Ken was seated at a workstation in Gamma Team’s corner of the lab.

  As the lab director approached, his very posture was one of dominance, demanding subservience in his little fiefdom. From the hard scowl to the man’s face, Ken could no longer delay the inevitable. This was made even clearer when Oshiro waved a guard at the door to close in on Ken, too.

  They want my answer.

  Cooperate with them or die.

  Earlier, to delay answering, Ken had asked the director to allow him to study some of their research firsthand, to help make up his mind. From the raw suspicion on Oshiro’s face, he had not been deceived by this explanation, sensing Ken was stalling. Nevertheless, the director had allowed it, apparently more than happy to end his role as tour guide.

  Still, over the past two hours, Oshiro kept eyeballing him from across the room, studying him, evaluating him, as if this were a working interview.

  And maybe it was.

  If so, it was a test he dared not fail.

  Earlier, Ken had picked Gamma Team to shadow, sensing there was something significant to their research. He sat with a folder in front of him. The label read 農林水産省, or Nōrin-suisan-shō, which was the name of the Japanese Ministry of Agriculture, Forestry, and Fisheries. The file contained a petition for a research grant, including an abstract about the promising attempts by Gamma Team to bring a new pesticide to market, a toxin derived from one of the myriad peptides found in the venom of the Odokuro wasps.

  Oshiro reached Ken’s workstation, standing with his hands on his hips. “So have you gleaned any insights concerning Gamma Team’s research? Something to prove your worth to me?”

  Ken leaned back. “Only that this work is a dead end.”

  Oshiro’s brows shot up at the boldness of his statement. Even the members of Gamma Team looked upon him with dismay. He felt sorry for disparaging their work, but the conclusions were self-evident.

  “How so?” Oshiro challenged him.

  “I’ve reviewed the DNA analysis of the ghost peptide.”

  That was the colorful term the team had been using for the missing protein they had been hunting for, the one that held such promise as a pesticide. While the group had identified a series of genes that potentially could produce such a peptide, they had failed to find any of it in the species’ venom sacs.

  “Gamma Team has indeed been chasing a ghost,” Ken explained. He waved to a computer where he had reviewed the code, reading the sequence like a textbook. “The group was correct in its genetic analysis. The series of genes do seem to code for a biolytic enzyme that targets arthropods and insects. Any prey injected with this toxin would dissolve from the inside out.”

  “Exactly,” Oshiro said. “Such a compound would make a perfect agricultural pesticide.”

  Ken didn’t back down. “But remember the Odokuro eventually learned it was better to keep their prey alive. What Gamma accidentally discovered was a fragment of junk DNA, old code that is no longer viable but remains cached in the wasps’ DNA. Didn’t you ever wonder why the team failed to actually find this protein?”

  Oshiro stammered, mumbling about difficulties and challenges.

  Ken cut him off, beyond caring if he insulte
d the man and the work. “Like most species on the planet—including us—the Odokuro’s DNA is a hodgepodge of active genes, junk, and pieces of code gained from exposure to viruses and bacteria. In fact, it was infections in the wasps by ancient Lazarus microbes that gifted the species with its ability to hibernate for ages.”

  Oshiro shrugged. “And what’s your point?”

  “The missing protein—this ghost peptide—can’t be found because its code is an evolutionary dead end.” He pointed to a member of Gamma Team. “You showed me the methylation of the DNA in those genes, how the gene sequence is locked up by epigenetic markers.”

  “Hai,” the man nodded.

  “Those epigenetic markers—which decorate the DNA like Christmas tree lights—regulate whether that code is ever expressed, whether the DNA will ever produce a protein like the one you’ve been hunting.” Ken stared across the group before settling his gaze on Oshiro. “In other words, this old bit of useless code was locked up long ago and the key thrown away.”

  Oshiro visibly swallowed.

  Ken shrugged. “Without that perfect key, this sequence will never produce any protein. And to forge such a key—one that basically has the equivalent of a million facets and permutations—is all but impossible.”

  Oshiro looked at the worried faces of the group. None of them would meet the director’s eye. “If you’re right . . .”

  “This research is a dead end,” Ken concluded.

  The muscles along Oshiro’s jaw visibly tightened. He spoke as if each word pained him. “Perhaps Takashi Ito was right about you. Maybe you have some use after all.”

  Oshiro nodded to the guard. Apparently after passing this test, Ken was about to be offered a permanent position, one he could not refuse.

  Still, how could I ever work for this group?

  Steel coursed up his spine as he prepared to accept the inevitable.

  Then a loud siren burst across the space, ringing with alarm and urgency.

  Everyone froze, momentarily stunned.

  Ken was the only one to let out a sigh of relief.

  Talk about saved by the bell.

  12:28 P.M.

  As the Klaxon continued to blare, Gray crouched atop the landing of a basement stairwell. Above his head, large steel blast doors closed off the way into the tower’s upper levels. He imagined similar doors were sealing all other exits.

  They’re buttoning this place up.

  While Gray’s strike team had managed to slip inside here in time, what could they do now?

  Aiko sought to gain that information. She knelt over the cowering form of a lab tech on the landing. Hoga held a blade against the frightened man’s neck, while Aiko spoke rapidly in Japanese. While she interrogated the man, Endo guarded the outer hallway, firing three-round bursts to encourage any evacuating personnel to seek another exit.

  Both of Aiko’s men had removed their helmets but continued to wear their black masks, still looking like faceless ninjas. The team had encountered very little resistance getting here. As they had hoped, most of the building’s security had been drawn to the firefight at the main entrance.

  The alarm suddenly fell silent.

  The resulting quiet was unnerving.

  Aiko finally straightened and sent her captive scurrying out into the hallway. She turned to Gray. “He said a man matching Professor Matsui’s description was taken to subbasement four.” She pointed down the stairs. “To a toxicology research lab.”

  “And Seichan?”

  Aiko shook her head. “He didn’t know.”

  Gray had no choice but to accept this, knowing Aiko had done her best. He could only hope that Ken and Seichan were still together. “Let’s go.”

  They ran down three more flights to reach the fourth level. Access to a fifth was blocked by a set of locked red doors. They ignored that mystery for now and continued out into this level.

  Aiko gave curt directions, following the intel gained from her interrogation. They crossed through a series of empty corridors. Occasional faces peered out of rooms, then ducked away at the sight of the guns.

  “At the end of the hall.” Aiko pointed to a set of double doors emblazoned with a biohazard symbol. “That should be the place.”

  Gray increased his pace. He reached the doors first and burst through into a large biolab full of high-tech equipment and instrumentation. He kept his SIG Sauer leveled, sweeping the room as the others spread out to either side.

  The place had been hastily abandoned. Papers were scattered across workstations, and glassware was shattered on the floor. One computer station smoked, as if someone had fried its hard drive.

  Gray turned to Aiko, a cold stone weighing down into his gut.

  They’re not here.

  12:32 P.M.

  Ken ran low along one wall of a darkened hallway.

  What am I doing?

  Four minutes ago, he had made a rash decision. As the evacuation siren sent the lab into a state of panic, Ken had sought to get out of everyone’s way, fearing he might be trampled. For that brief spell, he was the least of anyone’s concern. Even Oshiro had claimed the armed guard for himself, drawing the man in his wake as he crossed to a tall wall safe.

  Ken took advantage of the distraction to shift to the set of red double doors at the back of the lab. Since arriving here, he had wanted to get a look behind there, to discover what research was being kept hidden from Oshiro.

  Still, at that moment, a new motivation spurred him.

  As he had hoped, someone inside responded to the Klaxon and burst out those doors. Ken had imagined there must be other exits, since no one had come or gone during the hours he had spent in Oshiro’s lab. But for at least one tech, the red doors were the closest exit.

  Ken used the chance to duck through the entrance behind the fleeing man. As the doors shut behind him, a lock engaged with a buzz of gears. He knew Oshiro did not have the clearance to follow him. With a barricade now between him and his captors, he set off into this secure area.

  As he snuck down the corridor, he heard voices rising from an open doorway ahead. Light spilled into the hallway. He approached cautiously. With the sirens ominously quieted, he feared being heard.

  Once he reached the doorway, a quick peek revealed a tiny room lined by a bank of sinks. Shelves held packs of green gowns and boxes of gloves. The place smelled strongly of soap and iodine. It was clearly a surgical scrub room.

  Past a window into the next room, a broad lamp illuminated a pair of gowned and masked figures working around an operating table. From their hurried motions, the evacuation alarm must have caught them in mid-surgery.

  Ken was about to continue past, not wanting to be spotted, when the taller of the two stepped aside, revealing the patient draped on the table.

  Seichan . . .

  Fearing the worst, he slipped into the scrub room and peered through the window.

  “We have no time to induce a coma and prep her,” the surgeon said with clear exasperation. “We’ll have to abandon using her as a test subject.”

  “Hai, Dr. Hamada,” a nurse responded. “What about the fetus?”

  “If we’re quick, we should be able to harvest it. She’s already passed out from the pain. While she’s strapped down, we’ll simply perform a hysterectomy without anesthesia. We’ll remove the uterus and fetus as a whole. It’s not ideal, not what I had hoped, but the fetal stem cells will still be of great use.”

  “I’ll prepare a surgical pack.”

  “Be quick. The bunker below could become compromised at any moment. They’ll only hold the exit through there for so long.”

  “Hai.”

  As the nurse shifted over to a set of shelves, Dr. Hamada loomed over his patient, still plainly frustrated.

  “I hate to lose this opportunity,” he told the nurse. “But maybe it doesn’t matter. The MRI showed signatures in her musculature suggestive that the second instars are beginning to thicken, preparing to molt into the third instars. Some larva
e probably have already started the process early.” He shrugged. “It’s a shame. Though in all likelihood, we’d have been hard-pressed to learn much from the viable embryo before it was consumed by the next hatching.”

  Aghast at these plans, Ken searched the small room, looking for a weapon. He kept one eye on the operating room. The nurse returned with a sealed pack, placed it on a stainless steel tray, and ripped it open.

  Out of time . . .

  He grabbed what he could, swallowed hard, then slammed into the room. The nurse was closest to the door. She jumped around, crying out in surprise. He lifted the nozzle of the fire extinguisher and blasted her in the face. Blinded, she clawed at her eyes, stumbling backward.

  He swept past her and swung the extinguisher by its handle. He clubbed the doctor in the side of the head. Metal clanged against skull, and the man went down to his knees, then crashed headlong to his face.

  Ken returned his attention to the nurse. The woman had cleared her eyes enough to see her boss on the floor. He took a threatening step toward her. It was enough. She turned tail and ran for the exit. Ken didn’t have time to chase her down. He could only pray the chaos of the evacuation would delay her ability to raise any significant response.

  Still, he hurriedly undid the straps binding Seichan to the table. Her head lolled drunkenly as he freed her ankles, her lips twisting in a rictus of pain. For now, she remained lost in a delirium of agony and exhaustion.

  He moved next to the IV line that ran from a fluid bag to a catheter in her arm. His fingers closed over the line, about to rip it away. His initial plan had been to drag her bodily off the table and over to some hiding place.

  But what then?

  He realized such a scheme would likely end with them either recaptured or dead. So instead, he turned to a crash cart standing nearby. He yanked open the top drawer, revealing an array of emergency drugs. His fingertips ran over the bottles as he read the labels. He paused at an ampule of morphine, weighing the effectiveness of the pain reliever against the risk to the child.