Hybrid
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“Yes,” Stanley answered. It was a rather ignominious end to the life of the former French ambassador to Spain.
“I met St. Clair once. He was short and pompous.” The president didn’t add the word rich; it was an uncomfortable fact that St. Clair had been a financial supporter of his first presidential race. “Do we know any more about him and his seven friends?”
The Cabinet members only stared back at the president, and it was the director of the FBI who answered. “If I may, sir?” Stanley asked the attorney general. “Very little. We have made a formal request to the Russians to interview Igor Nachesha, but it seems that he has disappeared.”
“So this Group of Eight may be recruiting more than one new member,” the president said. “What do a French diplomat and a Russian oil baron stand to gain by attacking the United States?” He silently polled the room, but no one had an answer they wanted to share. “I’m guessing we will continue to try and answer that question?” All the heads in the room began to nod.
“Well, for now it’s over. This Reisch fellow is a red spot on a New Mexican road, and we have the virus and vaccine. There are no more new chapters or twists that are going to keep me awake at night, are there? ” He asked his advisors.
Once again the Cabinet remained quiet, and it was left to General McDaniels to answer, “Yes, it’s over.”
“Eight dead in L.A., 636 in Seattle, and God save us, more than nineteen thousand in Colorado.” The president dropped the report on his desk. “Christ, we’ve had shooting wars with fewer casualties.”
“It could have been a lot worse,” the secretary of health added.
“A lot worse,” Kyle Stanley whispered to himself.
“So how does this cure cancer?” the president asked the secretary.
“Not all cancers, and not even in everyone. Most leukemia, maybe lymphoma and a few others, but not all. Its biggest impact is going to be on stroke and spinal cord injury. If we can eliminate the lethal aspects of the Colorado Springs virus, we probably will be able to treat, maybe even cure them.”
“That is really good news; I’ll bet Dr. Avanti never dreamed that he would be extending human life instead of extinguishing it.” For a moment, he smiled. ”We still have an issue, though, don’t we?” The president’s Cabinet allowed him to take the lead; it was usually the vice president who led the weekly meeting. “A security risk that no one, not even the framers of the Constitution, could have anticipated.”
The attorney general and the president’s national security advisor exchanged a glance
“Any idea how many of . . . I don’t even know what to call them?” The president panned the room for suggestions.
“Dr. Rucker said that the German called them the ‘Evolved’ and the ‘Chosen,’” Kyle Stanley answered.
“So by extension, we are not evolved and have been excluded. I think we should find another term.” Everyone in the room nodded their heads. ”I guess we can figure that one out later. Any estimate on their total number?”
The secretary of health opened up his presidential briefing folder. “We think that this change will occur in about one in four who survived the Colorado Springs virus and in all those who survived the original EDH1 virus.” He turned several pages. “The population of Colorado Springs is about four hundred thousand. About half developed a clinical infection, so that means roughly fifty thousand.
“In Los Angeles and Seattle just under thirty thousand people were infected with the EDH1 virus; most will survive and probably change as well.”
“Somewhere in the neighborhood of eighty thousand potential weapons of mass destruction,” the president summed up. The seven men shared a thoughtful and solemn moment. “So how do we control them?”
Nathan Martin was busy typing away at his computer. He had enough information about the Hybrid virus, or EDH1, he still hadn’t decided what to call it, to fill a computer hard drive. He could spend an entire career dissecting the nano-sized virus and eventually unlock the answers that had eluded him his entire professional life. Adam Sabritas would ultimately finish the work that he had started. When the young man had become as old as Nathan was, he would probably be awarded the Nobel Prize for the discoveries that would come in time. It was ironic that they had Jaime Avanti’s warped vision of humanity to thank for it. It was also an uncomfortable fact that Nathan didn’t think that Jaime was all that far from the truth.
“You have to be kidding me. Not again!” His secretary shouted loud enough to pull Nathan out of his thoughts. “Oh, General,” a suddenly very different Martha Hays said.
Martin stood, leaned to peek out his door, and found the ever-silent Captain Winston standing next to a large uniformed officer. He listened as General McDaniels thanked his secretary for her work and insight over the past month.
“Is he in?” the general asked politely.
“Of course sir, go right in,” Martha said, obviously forgetting for whom she worked.
McDaniels walked into Martin’s office. “Make yourself at home,” Nathan said, still standing at his desk, which was covered by hundreds of files and articles. “We’ve been hard at it,” he answered McDaniels’s gaze at his desk.
“I was on my way to Chicago and I thought I would stop in and say hello.”
“You do know that there is a more direct route to Chicago.”
“I thought I would give you an opportunity to discharge an obligation.”
They were going to make him wear an isolation suit, and it took the combined efforts of Ron Benedict and his boss, Kyle Stanley, to convince the CDC that Rodney Patton could be released and allowed to travel to Chicago.
Ron had arranged for a plane to pick up the new Colorado Springs police chief from LAX and fly him to O’Hare. He watched as the large man climbed out of the backseat of a small sedan; Patton had lost a lot of weight, but the pilot would still have to adjust the trim of the plane to account for him. “Uh, I don’t mean to be personal, but aren’t you black?” Benedict had meant it as a joke, but Patton wasn’t in a mode to find anything funny. His face and arms were a painful shade of scarlet and patches of the dark man’s face had peeled down to pink skin.
“I was before I went to that damn hospital. They asked me what I was allergic to, I tell them sulfa, and so that’s exactly what they gave me. I start blistering up, so now I have the Hybrid infection, and before I could call them ‘assholes,’ I’m in isolation with three IVs in each arm. I should sue the bastards.” He slowly climbed the stairs, ducked his head, and boarded the plane. Benedict imagined that the Gulfstream tilted to his side as Patton sat in his seat. “I hope you brought food; man cannot live by Jello alone.”
“The president is going to dedicate it personally on Saturday, but I thought we might want to have our own personal ceremony,” Greg stood with Lisa. Amanda and Phil flanked them.
A small plaque had been built at the foot of John Oliver’s grave . Thanks from a Grateful Nation had been etched in marble.
“I’m a little uncomfortable with the sentiment,” Francis Coyle said to the group. “I knew and worked with John Oliver for more than four years, and I can tell you he would be embarrassed by all of this.” By order of the president, a road sign outside the gates of the cemetery had been erected that read National Historic Site.
Before anyone could respond, the small group turned as a trio of cars approached. Three black SUVs pulled up in front of the gathering. A very large and red man climbed out of the first one. He waved as Greg Flynn approached him.
“Rodney, I’m so glad to see you well,” Greg said with obvious sincerity, pumping the giant man’s hand.
“If by well you mean that I look like a stewed tomato, then I’m well,” he smiled and the effect was nothing short of terrifying to those who didn’t know Patton.
More doors opened and the small group had doubled in size. Another large man dressed in full military uniform introduced himself to everyone as William McDaniels. Nathan Martin stood next to him and grew su
rprised as the general introduced himself using his first name.
“I didn’t know your first name was William,” Martin said. “It’s so ordinary.”
“My brother’s name was William,” Amanda Flynn said addressing McDaniels. She turned and faced the shorter man. “Dr. Martin, it’s been a long time.” Her voice was anything but cordial. “What are you doing here,” she demanded and everyone around them froze.
Martin didn’t answer, but General McDaniels interceded. “He is here to pay his respects.”
Amanda looked up at the large man, held his eyes for a moment, and then turned away.
“Phillip Rucker,” he said first to the general and then to Martin. Nathan had come out of the general’s shadow to shake Phil’s hand.
“Dr. Rucker, I haven’t had a chance to thank you for your help. Everything that you surmised has turned out to be true. We are in the process of serotyping . . .”
Phil politely listened as Martin droned on in his scientific persona. His mind ran through the life and experiences of Nathan Martin and found that he couldn’t completely agree with Amanda. Martin was flawed, prone to acts of selfish irresponsibility, but he was no worse than most people were. After a few minutes, Phil excused himself while Martin was in mid-sentence, and he felt the man’s irritation. He may not be the devil that Amanda made him out to be, but he certainly is boring, Phil thought.
The group assembled around the plaque, and Father Coyle led them in a prayer. He then spoke about his friend and colleague, and after a few minutes, most everyone had started to tear up, except for Phil.
“I know I’m being selfish,” he said, as he was finishing. “But I just want my friend back.”
Amanda said a few words, and then turned away from the group and faced the marker that said simply: John Oliver. Only Phil could hear her thoughts, and he kept them secret.
Greg followed, and while holding Lisa’s hand, he spoke of a man who had dedicated his life to something greater than himself and enriched the lives of those he touched. He looked up into the warm spring sky and apologized for ever having doubted him, and then thanked the priest for saving his life.
He looked away as Father Coyle gave him a hug, and the two men cried softly. Everyone else looked away, except Phil.
After a discrete interval, Lisa asked if anyone else had anything to say. To everyone’s surprise, Nathan Martin stepped up carrying a case of Guinness beer. He began to hand them out one by one, and when everyone had a bottle, Nathan stood before the grave, opened his bottle, and drained it. “I am a man of my word,” he said wiping the foam from his face. ”But this stuff is nasty.” He looked up to find that no one had joined him in his salute.
Greg and Francis Coyle began to laugh; even Amanda smiled. “What?” Martin asked.
“Oliver hated beer,” Greg said.
Table of Contents
Acknowledgments
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Chapter 45
Chapter 46
Chapter 47
Chapter 48
Chapter 49
Chapter 50
Chapter 51
Chapter 52
Chapter 53
Chapter 54
Chapter 55
Chapter 56
Chapter 57
Chapter 58
Chapter 59
Chapter 60
Chapter 61