House of Acerbi (god's lions)

by John Lyman

Leo handed the paper to Lev and stared back out the window as they approached the hill country of Umbria.

  “This organism has been artificially engineered,” Lev said. “But there’s more. It has some very specific markers.”

  “What kind of markers?”

  Lev hesitated as the enormity of what he was looking at began to sink in. “Genetic markers, Leo.”

  “I’m not sure I understand?”

  “It was designed to affect certain people … maybe even a specific race.”

  “Are you saying this thing could be ethnically targeted?”

  “Precisely. They could do it by manipulating the pathogen so that it would affect only those with a specific DNA sequence, which itself is actually a code.”

  Leo’s mind was reeling from the implications. “That’s monstrous! Who in their right mind would do such a thing?”

  It was a typical response, but in truth, Cardinal Leopold Amodeo knew quite well that the world was overflowing with those who would love to acquire a weapon that could wipe out an entire race while leaving others untouched.

  Lev cracked his window a few inches before pulling a cigar from his shirt pocket and lighting it with a match. “We know that there have been several attempts at such a thing in the past, most notably in South Africa. Ten years ago, an Israeli Mossad agent spotted a well-known South African scientist at an airport in Libya and followed him to a secret underground biological lab that Colonel Gadhafi had constructed out in the desert.”

  “I’ll bet that got the Israeli’s attention.”

  “It not only got our attention, but it prompted us to launch a full scale investigation into just what the South Africans were up to. I was working for the Mossad at the time. Turns out the scientist our agent had followed was the head of a South African biological warfare research program. The program was called Project Coast. What we found sent chills up everyone’s spines. We discovered that the South African government had constructed their own biological research facility beneath an old farmhouse located on scrubland ten miles north of Pretoria. We had accidently stumbled upon what was possibly one of the most evil research centers since the Nazi experiments in World War II. They were working with smallpox, Ebola, anthrax, botulinum, the plague … they had it all.”

  “Do you think the same scientist is behind this new outbreak?”

  “It’s possible. After the apartheid regime collapsed the lab was destroyed, but the scientist, along with most of his research notes, disappeared. Evidently, he tried to burn some of his secret files, but one of his research assistants was actually a Mossad agent that we had just put into place. After the other scientists had left the room, our agent put out the fire and retrieved the notes. That’s when we found out what these guys had really been up to. In addition to learning the essentials of biological engineering, they were discovering ways to freeze dry and weaponize various organisms by mixing them with nanopowder so that the pathogens could become easily airborne and penetrate human lungs. All of this was being done elsewhere around the world of course, especially in Russia and North Korea, but what was different about this program was the fact that they were also doing genetic research and isolating genes with the goal of making a biological weapon that could target a specific race. They were actually creating an ethnic bomb.”

  “Sounds like some kind of diabolical Nazi plot,” Leo said.

  “Believe me,” Lev continued, “if Hitler had been able to develop such a weapon he would have used it. When word of what the South Africans were up to got out, a well-known Nobel Prize-winning scientist dubbed it the monster in our backyard. He also predicted that the release of a genetic weapon like that would unleash genetic variations that could create a mutant form of the pathogen that would wipe out not only the targeted race, but the entire human species … a real life Andromeda Strain. Unfortunately, we now know that the North Koreans have taken over where the South Africans left off. They’ve invested huge amounts of money and manpower into the same kind of research. In fact, some of our people believe that North Korea is where the missing scientist fled to, so the threat is still out there.”

  Leo shifted uneasily in his seat and tapped his fingers on the armrest as he looked around inside the vehicle. “Your men didn’t happen to stock any wine in the back, did they, Francois?”

  Francois looked up into his rearview mirror and winked. “Of course, Cardinal. I knew who my passengers would be, so I added wine to the list of critical supplies.”

  Lev laughed out loud. “I think we could all use a drink right about now.”

  “I’m afraid I’ll have to wait,” the Swiss Guard chief frowned. “I’m your designated driver.”

  Lev eyed a closed gas station on the side of the highway as they drove past a seemingly deserted small town. “How much fuel do we have?”

  “We’ve already used almost half a tank, but we have contingency plans.”

  “Can we make it to Portofino?”

  “Not without refueling.” Francois smiled. “Why do you ask?”

  “Because that’s where the Carmela will be waiting for us.”

  “We know.”

  “What?”

  “She put to sea an hour ago. We’ve been monitoring your communications with the villa. The captain just sent you a text message. They’re headed across the Mediterranean at full speed.”

  “I should have known,” Lev said. “You guys are good.”

  “There’s only one problem. The yacht won’t be here until tomorrow, so we’re making arrangements to secure a safe-house until she arrives. There’s bound to be more crazed mobs like the one we just encountered, and we need to avoid any more contact.”

  Lev flipped his cell phone open and stared at the screen. “I just lost the signal to my cell phone.”

  “They’re shutting down the cell phone towers, Professor. You can use my radio if you need to call the yacht.”

  Francois was just reaching for the radio when they all noticed the reflection of flashing blue lights and heard sirens behind them. Two police motorcycles screamed past and disappeared around a bend in the road ahead.

  “At least the Carabinieri are still out,” Morelli said, referring to the Italian police.

  The pop of a wine bottle being uncorked sounded from the back seat. Leo had discovered the wine and was busy pouring some of the precious red liquid into the only thing he could find-a paper cup. He was just taking his first sip when the SUV rounded a curve in the road and came to a screeching halt. Up ahead, a traffic accident was blocking the highway. Looking closer, they could see bodies lying along the side of the road, covered in sheets.

  Without giving it a second thought, Leo climbed from the SUV and approached the bodies of the dead to offer prayers for their departed souls.

  “Leo!” Lev yelled from behind his closed window. “The pathogen! Get back inside the car!”

  Leo stopped and turned back toward the vehicle. Holding his rosary in his hands, with a look of complete peace on his face, it was apparent to all inside the car that Cardinal Leopold Amodeo was answering a higher calling despite the threat to his own safety.

  “Should we go with him?” Lev asked Morelli.

  “No, wait for him. He wouldn’t want anyone else risking their life. He won’t be long.”

  Both men watched as Leo walked among the dead, stopping at the head of each to raise his hand in the sign of the cross, and when he was through, he walked over and spoke briefly with the two motorcycle officers that had passed them earlier. Both officers were wearing surgical face masks.

  Returning to the vehicle, Leo opened the door and climbed inside. Leaving the door open, he refilled his cup and sipped his wine in silence as he looked out at all the empty-looking houses scattered around the surrounding countryside.

  “Those two motorcycle officers told me that a group of people just walked out onto the highway in front of a large truck.” Leo paused to take another sip of wine. “They said a sickness is spreading and that, as people b
ecome infected, they begin to lose their minds just before they die.”

  “Sounds like a neurotoxin,” Lev said. “If it’s the same pathogen that hit New York, it’s beginning to behave differently, but that’s to be expected.”

  “What do you mean … expected?”

  “If this pathogen is genetically engineered, and I believe that it is, then it was probably engineered to affect a specific genome … the sixty to eighty thousand genes that make up all human DNA of any particular race. It’s natural to assume that it will affect one race differently than another, so it’s no surprise that the pathogen is manifesting itself differently on another continent. This could be devastating to Italy, because the gene pool here is strong and steeped in history. Local families marry within their small communities, making them more vulnerable because the chances of genetic variation are even less likely.”

  Leo threw his empty cup onto the floorboard and closed his door. “But the police said that only about a third of the people in the villages around here seem to be affected. The rest of the population is terrified, but otherwise healthy … even those who have had close contact with the ones who have died.”

  Lev pushed his hands up through his thick, curly gray hair. “Something’s not right. With a genetically engineered pathogen, especially one targeted at a specific and narrow gene pool like the one here in Italy, the rate of infection should be much higher … seventy percent at least. It could be mutating, and if that’s what’s happening we’re all in trouble.”

  As the men sat trying to digest this newest bit of information, one of the police officers approached the SUV and motioned for Francois to roll down the window. “Mi scusi, Fathers … I just received a radio message. You will please follow me, capisco?”

  “Si … molto bene … grazie,” Francois replied. He looked over at the others and started the SUV while the policeman mounted his motorcycle and motioned for them to follow. With the motorcycle’s lights flashing and siren wailing in front of them, Francois guided the big Chevy down into the grassy highway median and around the scene of the accident before driving back up on the roadway and following behind the speeding motorcycle.

  For several minutes they continued up the highway until the policeman veered off to the side and waved them on. Francois waved back as they continued on the A-1 and through the spectacular Tuscan countryside. “What gives,” Leo said. “Why the VIP treatment?”

  Francois increased their speed. “They were told to be on the lookout for us … I guess you could say they just paid us some professional courtesy.”

  Leo usually loved traveling through this part of Italy. He rolled down his window so that he could inhale the unique combination of scents being released into the air as the sun made an appearance and the temperature outside began to climb. It was the unmistakable scent of moist clay, citrus trees, vineyards, and olive groves, all coming together in a symphony of regional aroma. Gazing out at the evocative landscape, he wondered why the magnificent beauty outside their windows contrasted so starkly with the human tragedy playing out on the same canvas.

  In truth, it had always been like this. The same quiet pastoral setting they were now passing through had witnessed things that even Leo could not imagine. In all of recorded history, mankind had been plagued with continuous strife. It seemed that humanity had been doomed from the beginning to live on a planet that more closely resembled a vast genetic Petri dish filled with murderous individuals who were born without warning labels. They had no discernible markings to warn others of what they were, thus allowing them to roam freely among us, walking human bombs set to explode when an invisible fuse was lit by an unseen hand.

  It was as if the rest of us were the victims of some kind of horrible cosmic mistake that had been left uncorrected by someone or something that had given up on us. Nature, it seemed, was but a delightful mask to the darkness that lay hidden within the souls of those who sought only to wreak havoc against the innocent. It acted like a barrier between order and chaos, concealing the fact that murder and mayhem lurked just beneath the surface of an otherwise idyllic setting, thus making life more bearable for those who wanted only to live in peace as they faced a fragile mortality.

  Leo’s internal philosophic discussion with himself soon evaporated when he noticed they were skirting the magnificent city of Florence-once home to the Medici’s and center of the universe during the Renaissance, where countless objects of art like that of Michelangelo’s David were created. It was a statue so perfect that tourists were only allowed to view the replica because the original was hidden away for fear that some madman would one day try to destroy it.

  In the distance, towering above the red-roofed city, they could see the dome of the six-hundred-year-old Duomo as Francois turned west toward the coast. With the sun in their eyes, they headed away from all the art and grandeur of one of the earth’s most visited cities, now empty of tourists, until finally, they arrived at the rocky shoreline fronting the Ligurian Sea just in time to see the sun plunge out of sight over the horizon.

  Looking into the faint blue light of the GPS screen, Francois could see that they still had about eighty miles to go until they reached the coastal village of Portofino. At the same time, he noticed a flashing yellow light on the instrument panel. They were almost out of fuel.

  CHAPTER 12

  France

  The Loire Valley

  It was well after midnight when the long, dark-blue Mercedes limo turned off the main highway and wound its way up a twisting road beneath the dark silhouette of overlapping trees. Seated in the back, a short man with heavy black eyebrows peered through tinted glass at the enormous French chateau that loomed in the darkness ahead.

  In front of the chateau’s imposing entrance, a pair of iron lamps emitted tiny pools of faint yellow light, making it difficult to see the man in a dark suit standing in the shadows off to the side. His eyes narrowed at the limo’s approach, his only movement a slight jerk on a leash, a signal to the massive dog at his side to wait.

  Rounding the final turn in the road, the limo’s headlights painted the front of the building before it crunched to a stop on the gravel driveway. Immediately, the man in the shadows sprang from his place of concealment and rushed to open the rear door.

  “Good evening, sir.”

  Without speaking, the visitor stepped out. He paused long enough to look up at the immense stone structure, all the while focusing his attention on a faint light streaming from a window above. An invisible force called out to him from inside, dulling his ability to focus on the business at hand. Breathing in deeply, he regained his composure long enough to pass beneath a pair of medieval gargoyles and mount the aged stairway before entering the chateau. Once inside, his body coursed with excitement as his eyes darted about in nervous anticipation, for he had waited untold years for an invitation to his master’s house.

  “I trust your trip from Rome was comfortable, Father Emilio.”

  Emilio spun to see a tall man in a dark suit standing behind him. “Yes, thank you … but don’t call me Father … that title no longer applies to me. Is he here?”

  “Of course, sir. Please, this way.”

  The tall man led Emilio across an empty foyer and up a wide, stone staircase designed in the shape of a double helix. It was a brilliant piece of medieval architecture conceived so that those ascending would never meet those descending from the floors above. They turned and walked under a carved stone arch and down a long hallway until they came to a paneled section of the wall. Looking back at Emilio, the man pushed a concealed button and the paneling slid to the side, revealing a hidden alcove containing a small elevator.

  After a short ride to the next level, they stepped from the elevator onto the tightly guarded third floor of the chateau. Pausing briefly, Emilio thought he heard the low snarl of a dog coming from the far end of the darkened hallway. He hesitated before the tall man motioned him forward to a pair of nondescript, black steel doors that opened into a small r
oom.

  Peering inside, the defrocked priest beheld a scene that seemed out of place in a five-hundred-year-old French chateau. He was looking into a locker room. Green-tiled walls surrounded a space filled with rows of lockers fronted by long metal benches, and at the opposite end of the room, Emilio noticed a stainless steel door with a tiny window at eye level.

  “Take off your clothes,” the tall man said.

  “What!”

  “I said take off your clothes. You can put them into one of the lockers there. Also, remove your ring and any other jewelry.”

  “But why?” Emilio stuttered.

  “You’re about to enter a Level 4 biohazard area. Nothing goes in and nothing comes out except for your body.”

  Emilio hesitated as the man began to disrobe.

  “Either take off your clothes or leave the area. Your choice, Father.”

  Emilio glared back at the now smiling man as he began removing his shirt. “I told you not to call me that.”

  After both men had finished undressing, they opened the stainless steel door and walked stark naked into a room bathed in the purplish glow of ultraviolet light. After waiting for a red light to flash above a second stainless steel door, they passed into another room that held a toilet and white metal cabinets stocked with blue surgical scrub suits, gloves, socks, and rolls of tape.

  “This might be a good time to empty your bladder,” the man said. “You won’t be able to go to the bathroom once you’re in the suit.”

  Emilio nodded his head in resignation and relieved himself before pulling on a pair of cotton scrubs with long sleeves. The man then instructed him on how to make a seal by wrapping tape around the bottom of his pants to his socks and around his sleeves to his gloves. When finished, they passed through yet another door into a bare concrete room, where Emilio saw what looked to him like blue space suits hanging from a rack suspended from the ceiling. A sudden hiss from the air-filtering baffles opening and closing above their heads made him jump.

  Trying to keep from smiling at the former priest’s obvious discomfort, the man grabbed one of the thick, one-piece plastic suits off the rack and handed it to Emilio.