“Are you sayin’ the guys in Geneva started a plague back in the days of Rome?”
“Bingo. The Justinian plague,” Sam replied. “History’s recorded the outbreak in Constantinople as having been carried to the city by infected rats on grain boats arriving from Egypt, but we know better. I’ve a few pages of history on the pandemic.”
Sam reached back to his attaché case and took out a note pad. He ran a finger down the first page. “You see here, it says it was the middle of the 6th century. Justinian had spread his Byzantine Empire around the rim of the Mediterranean and through Europe. Rats from Egypt spread the plague to Alexandria. From there it went by ship to Constantinople, Justinian’s capital. It eventually wiped out half the population of Europe. Everything stopped, trade, expansion - it marked the beginning of the Dark Ages.”
“That uh, plutonium - that’s really got me worried.”
“Yeah, and it has the bagel boys beat too. CERNA had two of its people attend a recent world conference in Rome. They’re setting up a kind of think-tank on the causes of the re occurrence of the pandemic, are trying to figure out the evolution of the plague bacillus, how it infects humans and what can be done to counteract its spread. These were questions they hoped would be answered.”
Hunter nodded slowly. “I thought CERNA was all about sanctionin’ the pandemic, they wanted to cull the population, right?”
Sam shook his head. “And how do you think CERNA would best stay ahead of the race?” Pause. Then, “What do you think they need to stay abreast of?”
“Jesus Christ, you sayin’ they attended the Rome conference just to...”
“You got it. They needed to keep the enemy close to their chest, to understand exactly what they needed to protect their research from. They needed to make certain their research couldn’t be neutralized by progress in other facilities. Physicists are like doting mothers, they like to parade their babies, and they like to brag. That’s why CERNA has a finger on the pulse.”
“Goddammit,” Hunter groaned. He turned and looked back toward the galley. “Gotta get another coffee
- need to clear my head.” He signaled the flight attendant who promptly brought coffee. Twenty minutes later as the landing gear lowered, Sam stared at the amber tinted clouds on the outskirts of Zurich.
“Sam, this guy, Moreau, just say he does somehow slip on by - is there some kind of serum if he makes it back to the States?”
“There is for the pandemic that’s here already, the earlier strain. It’s the third pandemic, the one introduced to China in the late 19th century that eventually spread here; we’ve already got ourselves a large dose of that one in animals in the southwest.”
“Anythin’ nearer to home?”
“Yeah, Los Angeles in 1924.”
“So what happened - is it still in LA?”
“That outbreak was contained. The Rome conference worked on man-made viruses. During the Cold War, Soviet physicists created organisms that if unleashed would’ve had a terminal effect on the planet. There’d be no burials. People would be dying at too rapid a rate. They’d be left to rot, further adding to disease. Mankind wouldn’t have survived had the Cold War exploded. A Third World War would mark the end of civilization.”
“So wha’dya find so overwhelmin’ in that file?”
“This file? Well, it’s only a matter of time before the world experiences another outbreak like the 1918 influenza according to the information in this file. Not only is it inevitable, it’s imminent.” Pause. “Got your interest yet?”
“Keep goin’.”
“Based on historical patterns, influenza pandemics can be expected to occur three to four times each century when new virus subtypes emerge and are spread from person to person. If the source of the pandemic is a new virulent pathogen, or a new form of an old virulent pathogen, very few people, if any, may be resistant to the disease. The reduction in world population will be high, unless effective prevention strategies are rapidly developed and implemented.”
Hunter asked, “But there’s no preventative strategy for the stuff the guys have taken back, right?”
“Right . . . none. The most recent pandemic scares occurred in ‘97 and ‘99. In ‘97 at least six hundred people became infected with the avian A/H5N1 flu virus in Hong Kong. Eighteen people were hospitalized, six died.”
“Yeah,” Hunter nodded. “I remember that one. I had a shot for it.”
“This virus was different,” Sam said. “It moved directly from chickens to people, rather than having been altered by infecting pigs as an intermediate host.”
“Intermediate host?”
“The intermediate host, the swine. They could incubate and carry the pandemic in a kind of dormant state that could be released at some future date, a swine pandemic eliminating a huge number of the planet’s population.” He took a break, sipped the remnants of his coffee.
Hunter showed anxiety. “That anti-virus injection I had...”
“You’re fine. You can’t contact the earlier virus. CERNA’s following a British team from Cambridge’s Sanger Center actively studying the plague organism. They’ve achieved an amazing feat until recently believed to be impossible; they’ve decoded the complete DNA sequence of Yersinia pestis.” He glanced about, hoping his voice wasn’t heard by nearby passengers. “They’ve reproduced a genome sequence containing every possible vaccine necessary to eliminate the pandemic organism.”
“That other plague, Ebola - the one they’re fussin’ over,” Hunter said. “What’s the difference between the two?”
“Ebola spreads by human to human contact. No fleas required.” Sam pulled a file and carefully fingered his way through an alphabetical set of tabs. When he came to E, he paused. “Ah yeah, here it is - two British historians, a guy named Christopher Duncan and a woman, Susan Scott. It says here they published “Biology of Plagues.” They argued that death spread way too quickly through Europe in the 14th century for the cause to have been Yersinia pestis. Scott and Duncan believe the Black Death spread through human-to-human contact. An anthropologist from Pennsylvania State University, James Wood, made a similar case at a meeting in Buffalo. He said the disease spread too rapidly among humans to have originated in the rat population as the bubonic plague had.
“The research has obviously shaken the boys at CERNAand Libra. Libra sped up the transfer of Moreau and Campion with their ampoules.” He flipped to a dog-eared page. “It says right here that Ebola was not in contention. It says those ampoules could only affect rats and the fleas living on their blood. If Ebola was a contributing culprit, it was purely coincidental according to these notes.” He put on a solemn face and repeated, “Purely coincidental.”
Sam took another pull on his coffee, read further into the CERNAfile and gulped as he came across a yellow hi-lighted paragraph. “Well, well - look here. This’ll put a dent in the Ebola argument. It says here that two molecular biologists; Drancourt and Dutour from the University of the Mediterranean in Marseilles did some research in ‘98. These guys identified Yersinia pestis in human remains from 1590 and 1722.” He studied the file more closely, moving it nearer his bifocals. “Hmm, interesting, says that two years later they reported a similar finding in remains dating back to 1348.”
Hunter was intrigued. “That’s impressive evidence that Yersinia pestis played a major role in the Black Death, right Sam?”
“Impressive enough, it says archeologists are now intensively searching for plague cemeteries from the time of Justinian. The theory that Ebola was the sole cause of deaths is under scrutiny.”
Sam’s eyes were stinging from the strain of reading small print. He reached for a paper napkin, folded it, dipped one corner into a glass of untouched ice water, compressed it into a ball and pressed it into each of his eyes. It was a premeditated pause, time to soften the blow he was about to deliver to Gardner Hunter.
Sam said, “I don’t understand these references to plutonium and uh, see here.” He pointed at one partia
lly scratched out line. “It mentions Mexico and right here - they’ve scribbled over what looks like Lucifer Pecillius. I think that’s what it said, can’t quite make out the rest.”
Hunter looked closely at the scribbled notes. “Don’t know. Looks like it could be New Mexico. Like that.”
There was a break in the conversation that continued until the plane touched down and taxied to the gate.
“There’s one important name you need to familiarize yourself with,” Sam suggested. “An organization whose interest is, uh, well . . . their interest is world dominance, the beneficial needs of mankind - according to their members of course. These guys - they uh - they appoint world leaders. They’re known as the Bilderbergers, power mongers who determine through their so-called scientific and economic resources what, ‘in their opinion’, is best for the planet, and what might affect what is truly good for the planet. You see, they’re two different objectives, Gard. You understand where I’m coming from with this?”
“Yeah Sam, I’ve heard about those guys. The Bilderbergers . . . sure.”
“They finance movers and shakers,” Sam added. “They contribute funds to political campaigns. They get their people into power.”
“Anyone you can name?”
“U.S. Secretary of the Treasury, Timothy Geithner immediately comes to mind. There’s hardly a world leader who doesn’t owe favors to the Bilderbergers.”
Sam faked an exaggerated shudder. He placed a finger in his water, touched his cheek and made a hissing sound. He slid his eyes sideways, did a little role playing and whispered, “Motherfuckers of the highest caliber.”
The monotone voice said, “Please remain in your seats until we’ve come to a complete stop. Also please check on your overhead carry-on luggage as it may have shifted . . .”
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
The Device
Libra Facility, Zurich
A middle-aged man dressed in a nondescript gray suit flicked his eyes from one passenger to another. In his hands was a sign with the words SoCal Exports.
Hunter retrieved both pieces of luggage and moved toward a line of sign bearers. Sam raised a hand, called out, “Here – SoCal!”
The man gazed beyond them. Hunter said to Sam, “You think anyone else arriving is SoCal?” He tried for eye contact, missed and chuckled, “That guy ain’t playin’ with a full deck.”
Sam walked to within a few paces, placed his bag by the man’s feet and turned to Hunter who’d stopped a few paces short.
Gardner Hunter had caught the eye of a Lufthansa stewardess and seized upon the opportunity to utilize his only memorized German phrase. “Hallo, wo ist das Mannbadezimmer?” He liked the way it rolled off his tongue; made him feel well traveled, made him feel - continental.
She blushed as she pointed off to her right. Duly impressed that Hunter had gotten some type of message through, Sam asked the sign bearer, “What’d he say?”
“He asked where he can locate the bathroom for men.”
Sam chuckled. “That’s it?”
“Yes sir, that is quite close to what he said.”
When Hunter was through blushing, he turned to Sam, his face showing embarrassment. “Something got lost in the translation. I asked her...”
Sam waved him off as the girl gave an amused grin and moved toward the interior of the terminal. She paused at a blue door, turned, and slyly looked around knowing full well Hunter was still watching. She tapped on the door as a man exited the lavatory.
Hunter gave an appreciative smile, waved and mumbled, “Fuckin’ Rosetta Stone.”
When the girl was out of view, he passed Sam a self-deprecating glance, avoiding the sniggering sign bearer who’d found it all highly amusing. Sam gave the man an acknowledging smile and turned to Hunter. “You’ve been hanging around Dal too long.”
The man in the gray suit squeezed an agonizing amount of mileage from Hunter’s ‘German 101’ experience.
“Welcome gentlemen. Please come along. You’re taking a flight to Andermatt. Oh - and there’s another bathroom for men just ahead.” He gave a flippant smile to Hunter as he tugged at the luggage cart. When he passed the door he nodded. “Right here sir, behind this blue door.”
“Andermatt, how far is that?” Sam asked.
“It is two hundred miles. The facility is in the mountain valley of Andermatt.”
“Who are we meetin’ there?” Hunter asked. Sam gave him a not too subtle elbow jab.
The man gave a quizzical look as Hunter raised his voice a notch. “What I mean to say is what’s your employer’s name?”
The man smiled broadly. “All that I am at liberty to say is that we are going to Andermatt. My involvement is to collect and deliver guests. All of your questions will be answered on arrival at the facility.”
*****
The Limousine reached a private hangar where an MD520 NOTAR chopper stood by.
“This is our shopping cart. It flies to the city to collect supplies. We held it back for your incognito arrival.”
Hunter walked around admiring the chopper; it was unlike any he’d ever seen. The pilot appreciated his interest and flicked a thumb at his pride and joy.
“Impressive, is she not?” the Swiss accented pilot said. “She has the speed of a cheetah, the agility of a hummingbird and the presence of an eagle. She’s an MD520 NOTAR - queen of the skies. Our guests are among the very few people privileged to travel the Zurich skies in her, she’s the Ferrari of helicopters.”
Within minutes they were gazing from its windows, waving to their driver as the pilot made a whirring motion with one hand. A shouting match between the pilot and Hunter consumed the journey from Zurich to Andermatt
– taking turns shouting about snow, skiing, snowmobiles, and resorts. Unable to bear it any longer, Sam broke his silence by adding a shout of his own. “One more word about fuckin’ skiing and I’ll...”
***** The pilot made a hand signal indicating Sam and Hunter should remain well seated as the MD520 descended near a fog-shrouded ski run.
There was no sign of a building, nothing visible through the snow whipped up by the NOTAR’s rotor as it slowed to a whop, whop, whop rhythm.
A lonely figure riding a red snow-cat emerged from the fog, the 2005 Scot-Trac 3000R was a heavy-duty workhorse with four lights glaring from above the cabin. It came through the mist with a wiper blade flipping powder either side of the large windshield, its turbo diesel making a familiar clatter, clatter, clatter.
The powerful engine was coupled to fully hydrostatic controls allowing the unit, fitted with steel tracks, to push and pull large payloads, to make light work of the steepest snow packed Andermatt terrain. It also had great carrying capacity, accommodating three passengers in front and four in the rear cabin.
The heavily built driver was as rugged as the vehicle. He stepped from the cabin, placed a foot on the tracks and reached a hand to Sam.
“Good day. Climb on board,” and the chopper pilot passed the two pieces of luggage to the snow-cat driver.
Hunter did an instant analysis, assessing the weathered, tanned man as a retired ski instructor, or perhaps a personal trainer.
Aware of Hunter’s earlier romantic history with Patrice Bellinger, Sam had a feeling of uncertainty, perhaps a fear of danger. Throughout the flight he internally questioned the ease in which Hunter had accepted the assignment. He thought, has to be Bell, if she wasn’t with the guys, would Hunter have been so forthright in accepting the assignment? He considered asking, but each time he’d muster the courage a warning light inside him flashed and the subject was stymied.
An enormous white snow cloud swallowed the NOPAR. Within moments there was no evidence of its existence.
Sam crouched as he squinted into the settling mist and said, “I don’t see a building.”
The snow cat driver made a nodding gestured and pointed ahead. “We need to go beyond that slope.”
Eight minutes later and beyond that slope, Sam stared into the de
ep white misted terrain, couldn’t see a building, no discernible shape and no architectural profile to indicate habitation, all he could see was a cave-like hole in the side of a mountain. As the driver pulled the snow-cat to within feet of a camouflaged entry, a man emerged to greet them. He took the two bags from the cabin and placed them in the entry.
“My friends, welcome to Andermatt. Please come along, we have much to do and such little time in which to accomplish it.” He waved a hand at the landscape. “We have had much snow during the past week – far too much.” He chuckled in a yodeling sound, and Hunter gave Sam a sardonic smile. “With the heavy snowfall the facility is more veiled than ever. Did you have a pleasant journey?” He allowed no time for a reply. “You realize of course that your visit here is not taking place.”
Hunter inhaled deeply and let out a slow sigh as they were ushered inside the mountain. He leaned closer to Sam. “Are we inside of a mountain or what? Look at this place.” He could feel claustrophobia setting in. He struggled a little trying to moderate his breathing.
The corners of the man’s mouth formed a smile. “This was our original entry; it has been replaced by a western entry.”
“Why’s this entrance no longer used?” Sam asked with a curious expression.
The man appeared at the point of answering but turned about and said, “Forward, gentlemen, come along now, this way.”
Hunter and Sam exchanged brief glances as they moved out of the entry area and followed the man along a passageway. He raised a hand and turned an ear in the direction of barking dogs. His mood changed as he nodded his head to the left. “Quickly, this way.”
They moved through a nearby door and the man placed a nervous finger across his lips.
Hunter felt his frustration rising and passed Sam a ‘what the fuck’ look - Sam bounced the look back at him, a little confused at their guide’s reaction. Ascuffling sound put Hunter at ease as a large German Shepherd romped by in pursuit of a yapping Jack Russell.
Sam said, “We need to know what’s going on here.”
“Test animals,” the man said apologetically but lacking conviction.
The Lucifer Sanction Page 16
