Circle Series 4-in-1

by Ted Dekker

  Svensson reached forward and pressed the space bar. The simulation froze.

  “That brings us up to date.”

  At first she didn’t understand. Up to date, meaning what?

  “Give or take a few hours,” he said.

  “You’re saying you’ve actually done it?”

  “As promised. And I will admit that not all of the infected cities represent saturation. The red light means the virus is currently airborne, sweeping through that city. We calculate that it will take two weeks for global saturation.”

  He pulled out a small vial of amber liquid. Uncorked the lid. Sniffed the opening. “Odorless.”

  She knew the whole truth then. It was hard to grasp, even with his simulations. Computer models and theories and pictures were one thing, but to imagine that what she was seeing had actually happened . . .

  He could be lying about all of it, forcing her to slave on an antivirus so that with it he could blackmail the world.

  “You need more convincing, I can see.” He pressed the intercom button on the phone. “Bring him down.” He picked up a clean slide.

  Maybe he really had done it.

  “This is crazy. The United States would come unglued if—”

  “The United States is coming unglued!” he shouted. “Every nation with anything resembling a military is coming unglued. The people don’t know yet, but the governments have been scrambling for two days already. The CDC has already verified the virus in over fifty of its cities.”

  The door opened, and a bound man wearing a green shirt and a black bag over his head stumbled in. Carlos entered and shut the door.

  Svensson withdrew a scalpel from his pocket and walked to the man. “We picked him up in a Paris nightclub. We have no idea who he is, although he looks like he might be a visitor from the Mediterranean. Perhaps Greek. His mouth is taped, so don’t bother asking him any questions. The chances of him being infected are pretty good, considering where he was spending his time, wouldn’t you agree?”

  Without waiting for an answer, Svensson slashed the man across his chest. The man jerked back and moaned behind his gag. Svensson whipped the slide along the seeping line of blood that darkened the green shirt.

  He walked toward the electron microscope, snapped it on, and slipped the slide into place.

  “Look for yourself,” he said, stepping back.

  The man had fallen to his knees, shirt now soaked red.

  Monique’s head swam.

  Svensson walked to the man, pulled out a pistol, and shot him in the head. His victim dropped to the floor.

  The Swiss shoved the gun at the microscope. “Look!”

  Ears ringing, pulse pounding, Monique walked to the monitor. She worked the familiar instrument without thinking what she was doing. It took too long to focus because she couldn’t control her hands. They were shaking and seemed to have forgotten just what to do.

  But when she finally found a patch on the slide that cooperated with the intense magnification, she could hardly miss the foreign bodies swimming through the man’s blood.

  She blinked and increased the magnification. Behind her the room was silent. Just her, breathing through her nostrils. This was it. This was the Raison Strain.

  She straightened.

  “No more games, Monique. There’s no way to stop the spread of the virus. Without an antivirus we will all die. It really is that simple. We know that you engineer a back door into your vaccines. We need you to identify this back door, verify that it hasn’t mutated with the vaccine, and then create the virus that will turn the Raison Strain off. I won’t lie to you; I’m not telling you everything—you’re clever enough to figure that out. But I am telling you what you need to know to play your part in helping humanity survive.”

  She faced him, suddenly cold. “I don’t think you know what you’ve done.”

  “Oh, we do. And I, like you, am only playing my part. Everyone must play his part or the game will indeed end badly. But don’t think any of this has escaped our calculation. We’ve anticipated everything.”

  He glanced at Carlos. “There is the matter of the pesky American, of course. But we’re dealing with him. He may not die so easily, but we have other means. I doubt a soul alive understands the breadth of our power.”

  Thomas was still alive.

  She glanced at the crumpled body on the floor. He was dead, but Thomas was alive. A sliver of hope.

  “We need the key,” Svensson said.

  “I’ll do my best.”

  “How long?”

  “If it survived the mutation, three days. Maybe two.”

  Svensson smiled. “Perfect. Now I have a plane to catch. They will take good care of you. You are very important to us, Monique. We’ll need brilliant minds when this is over. Please try to think positively.”

  “This is an outrage!”

  Three of the four men in the room looked at Armand Fortier with shock in their eyes.

  “Is it, Jean?” Fortier stood and faced France’s leading men: the premier, Boisverte, who had just objected; President Gaetan, who was a weasel and would ultimately capitulate; Du Braeck, the minister of defense, who was the most valuable to Fortier; and the head of the secret police, the Sûreté, Chombarde, who was the only one without round eyes at the moment. Each had been intentionally selected; each was now faced with the decision to live for tomorrow or die tonight, though they didn’t understand it in those terms. Not yet.

  “Be careful what you say,” Fortier said.

  “You can’t do this!”

  “I already have.”

  As minister of foreign affairs, Fortier had convinced Henri Gaetan to call this emergency session to address Valborg Svensson’s recent ultimatum. Fortier had critical information relevant to the virus, he told Gaetan, and suggested that the leaders meet at the Château Triomphe in the Right Bank.

  The private conference room beneath the ancient two-story retreat was the perfect setting for new beginnings. Lamps mounted on the stone walls cast an amber light across the plush furnishings. It was more like a private living room than a conference room: tall leather wing chairs budding with brass buttons, a large fireplace licked by greedy flames, a crystal chandelier over the brass coffee table, a fully stocked bar.

  And most importantly, heavy walls. Very heavy walls.

  Armand Fortier was a thick man. Thick eyebrows, thick wrists, thick lips. His mind, he would say, was sharp enough to cut any woman down to size in a matter of seconds. They never knew what to do with such an assertive statement, but it generally put them in a defensive mind-set so that when he did dominate them, they were not quite so submissive.

  It was his only vice.

  That and power.

  He knew that he could have muscled his way into the presidency long ago, but he wasn’t interested in France—the scrutiny leveled at such an office would have worked against him. His appointment as the minister of foreign affairs, however, put him in the perfect position to achieve his true aspirations.

  Henri Gaetan was a tall, thin man with deep-set eyes and a jaw line as sharp as Fortier’s mind. “What are you saying, Armand? That you work for Valborg Svensson?”

  “No.”

  Fortier had first recruited Svensson fifteen years ago to conduct a much simpler operation: untraceable arms deals with several interested nations, which involved biological weapons research in exchange for lucrative contracts. The deals had earned him billions. The money had fueled Svensson’s pharmaceutical empire, with strings attached, naturally.

  Fortier hadn’t grasped the true potential of the right biological weapon until he watched one of those nations discreetly use an agent of Svensson’s against the Americans. The incident had forever altered the course of Fortier’s life.

  “Then how is this possible?” the president demanded. “You’re suggesting that we give in to his demands—”

  “No. I’m suggesting that you give in to my demands.”

  “So he works for you,”
said Chombarde.

  “Gentlemen, perhaps you don’t truly understand what has happened. Let me clarify. Half of our citizens are going to work and feeding their children and attending school and doing whatever else they do in this wonderful republic of ours today without the slightest notion that they have been infected with a virus that will overtake every last soul on this planet within two weeks. It is called the Raison Strain, and it will sit quietly for the next eighteen days before it begins its killing. Then it will kill very quickly. There is no cure. There is no way to find a cure. There is no way to stop the virus. There is only one antivirus, and I control it. Is there any part of this explanation that escapes any of you?”

  “But what you’re suggesting is morally reprehensible!” the premier said.

  Only the minister of defense, Georges Du Braeck, hadn’t spoken. He seemed ambivalent. This was good. Fortier would need Du Braeck’s cooperation more than any of the others.

  “No sir. Embracing death is morally reprehensible. I’m offering your only escape from that most certain death. Very few men in this world will be given the kind of opportunity I’m giving you tonight.”

  For a few moments no one spoke.

  The president pushed himself to standing and faced Fortier at ten feet. “You’re underestimating the world’s nuclear powers. You expect them to just load up their aircraft carriers and their merchant fleets and float their entire nuclear arsenals to France because we demand it? They will launch them first!”

  It was the same objection other heads of much smaller states had voiced when he’d first suggested the plan a decade ago. Fortier smiled at the pompous pole of a man.

  “Do you take me for a fool, Henri? You think I have spent less time making calculations in the last ten years than you have after only a few minutes? Please sit down.”

  There was a tremble in Henri Gaetan’s hands. He reached back for a grip on the chair and sat slowly.

  “Good. They will object, naturally, but you underestimate the human drive for self-preservation. In the end, when faced with a choice between the bloody death of twenty million innocent children and their military, they will choose their children. We will make sure that the choice is understood in those terms. The British, the Russians, the Germans . . . All will choose to live and fight another day. As I hope you will.”

  The nature of his threat against each of them personally was starting to sink in, he thought.

  “Let me phrase it this way: In fewer than eighteen days, the balance of power on this planet will have shifted dramatically. The course is set; the outcome is inevitable. We have chosen France to host the world’s new superpower. As the leaders of France, you have two choices. You can facilitate this shift in global power and live as a part of the leadership you’ve all secretly wanted for so many years, or you can deny me and die with the rest.”

  Now they surely understood.

  The minister of defense sat with legs crossed, glowing like any good Stalinist faced with such an ultimatum. He finally spoke. “May I ask a few questions?”

  “Please.”

  “There is no physical way for the United States, let alone the rest of the world, to ship all of its nuclear weapons in fourteen days. They have to be evacuated from launching points and armament caches, shipped to the East Coast, loaded on ships, and sailed across the Atlantic.”

  “Naturally. The list we have given them includes all of their ICBMs, all long-range missiles, most of their navy, including their submarines, and most of their air force, much of which can be flown. The United States will have to take extraordinary measures, but we’re demanding nothing of them or anyone else that can’t be done. As for the British, India, Pakistan, and Israel, we are demanding their entire nuclear arsenals.”

  “China and Russia?”

  “China. Let’s just say that China will not be a problem. They have no love for the United States. China has agreed already and will begin shipments tomorrow in exchange for certain favors. They will be an example for others to follow. Russia is a different story, but we have several critical elements in alignment. Although they will sound off their objections, they will comply.”

  “Then we have allies.”

  “In a manner of speaking.”

  The revelation delivered a long moment of silence. “The Americans are still the greatest threat,” said Gaetan. “Assuming the Americans do agree, how can France accommodate all of this”—the president drew his hand through the air—“this massive amount of hardware? We don’t have the people or the space.”

  “Destroy it,” the defense minister said.

  “Very good, Du Braeck. Superiority is measured in ratios, not sums, yes? Ten to one is better than a thousand to five hundred. We will sink more than half of the military hardware we receive. Think of this as forced disarmament. History may even smile on us.”

  “Which is why you’ve chosen the deep water near the Brest naval base.”

  “Among other reasons.”

  “And how can we protect ourselves against an assault during this transition of power?” the defense minister asked.

  Fortier had expected these questions and possessed answers so detailed that he could never begin to explain everything at this meeting. Inventories of hardware, possible troop movement, preemptive strikes, political will— every possibility had been considered at great length. Tonight his only task was to win the trust of these four men.

  “Fourteen days is enough time to ship arms, not deploy troops. Any immediate long-range attack would come by air. Thanks to the Russians, we will have the threat of retaliation to deter any such attack. The only other immediate threat would come from our neighbors, primarily England. We will be at our weakest for the next three days, until we can reposition our forces to repel a ground attack and take on reinforcements from the Chinese. But the world will be in a political tailspin—confusion will buy us the time we need.”

  “Unless they learn who is responsible now.”

  “They will have to assume that the French government is being forced. Besides that, they have no guarantee that an attack would secure the antivirus. The antivirus won’t be held up in a vial in our parliament for all the world to see. Only I will know where it is.”

  “Why France?”

  “Please, Georges. Wasn’t it Hitler who said that he who controls France controls Europe, and he who controls Europe controls the world? He was right. If there were a more strategic country, I would take my leave and go now. France is and always will be the center of the world.”

  The president had crossed his legs; the head of the Sûreté had stopped blinking; the minister of defense was virtually glowing. They were softening.

  Only Prime Minister Boisverte still glared.

  “Let me give you an example of how this is going to play out, gentlemen. Jean, would you come here?”

  The defiant prime minister just stared at him.

  He motioned him. “Please. Stand over here. I insist.”

  The man still hesitated. He was hard to the bones.

  “Then where you are will do.” Fortier reached into his jacket and pulled out a silenced 9 mm pistol. He pointed the gun at the prime minister and pulled the trigger. The slug punched through the chair just above his shoulder.

  The prime minister’s eyes bulged.

  “You see, this is what we have done. We’ve fired a warning shot across their bow. Right now they aren’t certain of our will to carry through. But soon enough”—he shifted the pistol and shot the man through his fore-head—“ they will be.”

  The prime minister slumped in his chair.

  “Don’t think of this as a threat, Henri. Jean would have died in eighteen days anyway. We all will unless we do exactly what I have said. Does anyone doubt that?”

  The remaining three men looked at him with a calm that pleasantly surprised Fortier.

  Fortier slipped the gun back into his pocket and straightened his jacket. “If I die, the antivirus would be lost. The world would
die. But I have no intention of dying. I invite you to join me with similar intentions.”

  “Naturally,” Georges said.

  Fortier glanced at the president. “Henri?”

  “Yes.”

  “Chombarde?”

  The head of the Sûreté dipped his head. “Of course.”

  “And how do we proceed?” the president asked.

  Fortier walked around his chair and sat.

  “As for the members of the military, the National Assembly, and the Senate, who must know, our explanation is simple: A new demand has come from Svensson. He has chosen our naval base in Brest to accommodate his demands. France will agree with the understanding that we are luring Svensson into our own web. A bluff. Voices of opposition will begin to disappear within the week. I anticipate we will have to call for martial law to protect against any insurgence or riots at week’s end. By then we will have most of the world in a vise, and the French people will know that their only hope for survival lies in our hands.”

  “My dear, my dear,” the president muttered. “We are really doing this.”

  “Yes. We are.”

  Fortier reached for a stack of folders on the table at his elbow. “We don’t have the time to work through all of our individual challenges, so I’ve taken the liberty of doing it for you. We will need to adjust as we go, of course.” He handed each a folder. “Think of this as a game of high-stakes poker. I expect you will each hold your cards close to the chest.”

  They took the folders and flipped them open. A sense of purpose had settled on the room. Henri Gaetan glanced at the slumped body of the prime minister.

  “He’s taken an emergency trip to the south, Henri.”

  The president nodded.

  “Thomas Hunter,” Chombarde said, lifting the top page from his folder. “The man who kidnapped Monique de Raison.”

  “Yes. He is . . . a unique man who’s stumbled into our way. He may know more than we need him to know. Use whatever force is necessary to bring him, alive if possible. You will coordinate your efforts with Carlos Missirian. Consider Hunter your highest priority.”