by Alex Siegel
They looked at each other for a long moment.
"We have to march onwards," Smythe said. "These are impossible dreams."
Odelia nodded firmly. "I agree. Let's just enjoy our time together for what it is."
"Yes, absolutely." He kissed her again.
Jack's voice came down from overhead speakers. "Sir, ma'am, Perry wishes to speak with both of you."
Odelia looked up at the ceiling. "Were you spying on us, Jack?"
"I see everything."
"I'm curious. How does a computer feel about human sexuality? Is it strange and confusing to you?"
"I understand the reproductive process," Jack said, "but it is inefficient, messy, and very labor intensive."
"Sex isn't just for reproduction. Didn't the twins teach you about love?"
"They taught me the mathematical formula. It is integral to my programming."
Odelia furrowed her brow. "There's a formula?"
"Yes. Perry is insisting that you come to Aaron's office, ma'am."
"We're on our way." She got off Smythe's lap.
They left the costume closet.
On the way to Aaron's office, they passed the 'ignition source.' Smythe paused to check the display.
It showed the machine had accumulated 14.2 kilograms of mass-energy so far. He didn't know the exact numbers, but he was pretty sure that was enough explosive power to turn Chicago into the world's largest crater and maybe punch a hole in the Earth's crust. It would cause a world-wide mass extinction. And this thing is just warming up, Smythe thought.
He and Odelia proceeded into Aaron's office. Perry was lying on the soft, stretchy chair of his workstation. He was wearing a gray T-shirt and black sweatpants.
Smythe sniffed the air. "You're a little ripe."
"I may have missed a few showers, sir," Perry said. "I've been busy."
"I understand, but personal hygiene can't wait forever. We have to work with you. It seems like you're always in this room lately."
"I've been living here. It's better than going home." Perry handed a short stack of papers to Smythe. "Here is the report from the Society lab in Atlanta. They finished a preliminary analysis of the sample you sent."
Odelia looked over Smythe's shoulder as he flipped through the report. The depth and quality of the analysis impressed him. Tables and diagrams filled page after page.
"This is great work," Odelia said. "They even did some genetic sequencing. Flip to the punch line at the end."
Smythe found the key sentence on the last page and read it aloud, "Bacteria species is unknown. No match found in database." He sighed.
"It was worth a try."
Ethel and Boreas walked into the office. The legate was wearing her formal, gray robes. Her bodyguard was wearing jeans and a plaid shirt which made him look like a truck driver.
"What's the excitement about?" Ethel said.
Even though Smythe had spent a lot of time with her over the years, he still found her presence unsettling. The darkness in her eyes seemed to suck the light out of the room. The unnatural quickness in her movements always put him on edge. Her famous machetes were strapped across her back.
"The report from Atlanta arrived, ma'am," Smythe said. "It's not helpful."
She furrowed her brow. "The work wasn't done properly?"
"No, the work was fine. The results just aren't useful. Those scientists have never seen this type of bacteria before. Is the Washington team still investigating the Medical Research Institute of Infectious Diseases?"
"Yes, and I'm getting a little annoyed by the lack of results. Neal is usually quicker than this."
"Send them this report." Smythe held up the papers in his hand. "It might help them focus their efforts."
Perry perked up. "I could shoot an electronic copy to them, ma'am."
Ethel nodded. "Do that, and attach a note stating that the legate considers this a very urgent matter."
"Yes, ma'am."
Ethel's phone rang. She checked the caller ID, frowned, and put it against her ear. "What is it now, Roy? Calm down. We've already had this conversation three times today. I love you, but you're making me crazy. No. No! I can't deal with you right now. Talk to Smythe instead."
She shoved the phone into Smythe's hand and left the office.
He tentatively put it against his ear. "Mr. President?"
"Yes," Roy Haley said. "What's going on there? Please, give me some good news."
"We isolated the bacteria responsible for the disease, and we know how it's being spread. We even know who's doing it. A mercenary outfit called Unit K is using bed bugs as a delivery mechanism. We're closing in on them now."
"You can stop it?" Haley said eagerly.
"Well, hundreds, maybe thousands of people are already sick," Smythe said. "Even if we destroy the source, it's going to take a good long while for this plague to run its course. Bed bugs are tough little critters. I'm hoping when we find out where it came from, we'll also find an effective treatment that can be widely deployed."
The President was silent.
"Is that news good enough?" Smythe said.
"Not really. Congress is in special session. The military is ready to move in immediately. The governor of Illinois keeps calling for my impeachment. Everybody wants me to do something now. What do I tell them? An elite team of God's secret warriors is looking into it, so nobody else should worry?"
Smythe didn't have an easy answer. It felt strange to be advising the President of the United States on such a critical matter. Just another day in the Gray Spear Society, Smythe thought.
"How many troops does the military want to send?"
"All that are available," Haley said. "At least thirty thousand in the first wave."
Smythe sighed. "I don't know what to tell you."
"They'll be landing at O'Hare in the morning. Look for the very large, green planes full of men with guns. Bye."
The call ended. Smythe was left holding Ethel's phone, and he wasn't sure what to do with it.
"This isn't good," Odelia said.
He nodded.
Chapter Twenty
Neal and Sophia were walking down a hallway in the U.S. Army Medical Research Institute. The walls were a generic Army green, and plain, white tiles covered the floor. The fluorescent lighting was stark and industrial.
Neal was dressed as a major in the Army, and Sophia was a captain. Their costumes lacked the usual identifying patches, insignia, and name plates. They were completely anonymous. Neal was also carrying a stainless steel briefcase.
Colonel Mason Frist was walking beside them. The USAMRIID commander was scowling and clearly unhappy, but he had the good sense not to say anything. Neal appreciated a man who knew when to keep his mouth shut. When other people in the hallway saw Frist walk past, they stopped and saluted. He barely acknowledged the salutes.
They came to an office door which was locked with an electronic lock. Frist swiped his badge through the lock, typed in a code, and opened the door.
The group of three went inside.
"This is Mazza's office?" Neal said.
Frist nodded. "That's right."
The office was narrow and crowded. Hundreds of medical journals and textbooks filled long bookshelves. A green steel desk was a little too large for the space. Anybody seated in the wooden chairs would bang their knees against the desk. The only comfortable chair was behind the desk, and it had thick, foam padding covered with brown cloth. Frosted windows allowed some diffuse sunlight to enter without compromising privacy.
Neal took the comfortable chair behind the desk. Sophia and Frist were forced to sit on the wooden chairs used by visitors. The colonel scowled even more fiercely.
"I'd be a lot happier if I knew who you were," he said.
"And I'd be unhappy," Neal said. "You'll have to trust we're the good guys. Ask the President. He'll tell you."
"I'm sure. I'm particularly uncomfortable with you wearing the uniform of an officer. It's a joke. You
r facial hair would be unacceptable on a private."
"What about me?" Sophia said.
Frist looked at her. "Your hair is also too long, and loose ponytails aren't allowed."
"I'll remember that." She nodded.
Neal checked his watch. "Damn. It's already five o'clock. This asshole made us wait all day for his grand appearance."
"I told him it was a matter of national security," Frist said. "Maybe he had a hard time finding a flight to Washington on short notice."
"Don't make excuses for his incompetence."
Footsteps in the hallway caused everybody to become silent.
A tall, thin man with black hair entered. His yellow-tinted glasses were stylish, and his dress uniform was sharp. He carried a green leather satchel. Neal recognized Mazza's face from a picture he had seen.
Mazza stopped and stared. "What's going on?" He looked at Frist. "Sir, what is this?"
"I'll ask the questions, Captain Mazza," Neal said. "Take a seat."
Frist nodded. "Just cooperate. I'm sure this won't take long."
Mazza squeezed past Frist and Sophia to reach a chair in the back corner of the office. It was low and soft, and Mazza sat awkwardly on it.
"I really have just one question," Neal said. "Why did you go to Chicago to examine that cannibal?"
Fear and guilt flashed on Mazza's face. His reaction was embarrassingly obvious. He tried to compose himself, but the damage was done.
"I don't know what you're talking about," Mazza replied in a cracked voice.
Neal glanced at Sophia. "Close the door."
She got up and closed the door. She stood in front of it, blocking it with her body. She was a strong woman. If Mazza tried to get past her, he would discover she was also a very vicious one.
Neal looked at Mazza seriously and said, "I buried one of my best friends today. The funeral was the cherry on top of an extremely shitty week. I saw things that I wish I could un-see. My point is I'm not in a mood to screw around, especially after waiting all day for you to show up. If you lie again, I will break something you don't want broken."
"Hey!" Frist said. "You can't threaten him like that!"
Neal growled. The deep, resonant rumble sounded like it came from a real bear, and it was felt more than heard. Frist blanched.
"Captain Mazza," Neal said, "tell me the truth."
"Yes, I was in Chicago," Mazza said with forced calm. "I wanted to see the symptoms of the cannibal plague first-hand. I'm a doctor, and my job is to investigate dangerous diseases."
"Then why didn't you ask for official authorization? Why did you go alone? Why was the excursion paid for in cash? You slipped in and out of Chicago like a thief in the night or like a man trying to hide a guilty secret. You weren't just doing your job."
Neal stared at Mazza. Mazza wilted.
Neal continued, "As I'm sure you noticed, Chicago is a mess. A lot of innocent people are dying in very ugly ways. You call yourself a doctor. A real doctor would tell the truth instead of covering it up. A real American soldier would have the courage to do what's right. This is your moment to shine or fall. Choose wisely."
Mazza was shivering. After a moment, a tear ran down his cheek.
"It's not my fault," he said in a hoarse voice. "I was just a consultant, and it was four years ago."
"Start at the beginning," Neal said. "Talk slowly." He took out a notepad and a pen.
Mazza gulped and nodded. "The project was called the Biologically Enhanced Warfighter Initiative. It had nothing to do with the USAMRIID. I don't know what department they were in or how they were funded. The whole thing was top secret. They contacted me because they wanted a medical consultation." He glanced at Colonel Frist, blushed, and turned away.
"Go on," Neal said.
"The lab was in Annapolis. It was made to look like a glue factory, but behind the scenes, it was all hard-core science. A Major Stan Kirlin was running the show. He brought me in because two of his human test subjects were sick with a dangerous, exotic infection. He was hoping I could find a cure."
"And did you find a cure?"
Mazza lowered his eyes. "No. I tried different treatments, but the bacteria was too aggressive. The patients... died."
Neal placed his steel briefcase on the desk, opened it up, and took out a sheaf of papers. He handed them to Mazza.
Mazza flipped through the pages with wide eyes. "This is the bacteria," he whispered. "I recognize the electron micrographs. Where the hell did you get this!?" He held up the report and stared at Neal.
"That analysis was performed while you were flying here from Orlando. Those bacteria are the cause of the cannibalism plague."
"What!" Colonel Frist yelled. "Let me see that!"
He reached over, grabbed the report from Mazza, and began to examine it.
"I have a theory," Neal said calmly. "When you heard about the cannibals, you recognized the symptoms. You had to see for yourself whether it was the same disease."
Mazza squeezed his eyes shut, and another tear rolled down his cheek. "That's correct."
"Why didn't you tell anybody the truth?"
"I'm not in the habit of revealing military secrets... and I was afraid."
Mazza stood up and faced the window even though he couldn't see outside. A setting sun made the frosted glass glow orange. Neal waited patiently.
Eventually, Mazza continued in a soft voice, "The patients didn't just die. They had to be put down. The disease turned them into animals with an insane appetite. They tried to eat anybody who got near them. And they were starving to death. No matter how much they ate, they kept losing weight. It was horrible." He made a choking noise. "Needless to say, experimental safety protocols were not properly observed. The scientists had no business injecting those bacteria into humans."
"What else?" Neal said.
Mazza faced him. "Major Kirlin threatened me and my family. He swore he would kill us all if the truth came out. I believed him. I could tell he had unsavory connections."
"Coward," Colonel Frist muttered.
"Yes, sir." Mazza stared at the floor. "Now you know the truth. It's a relief to finally tell somebody."
Neal took out his phone and placed it face up on the desk. He pressed the speaker button and dialed Todd back at headquarters.
"Sir?" Todd answered.
"This isn't a secure conversation," Neal said. "Outsiders are listening."
"Acknowledged."
"I want to know about a top secret military project called the Biologically Enhanced Warfighter Initiative."
Neal heard typing as Todd used his computer. Mazza sat down and landed heavily in his chair.
"I can't find it, sir," Todd said eventually.
"You're sure?" Neal said.
"I have a list of every government project for the last ten years, secret or not. It's not there."
Colonel Frist furrowed his brow and stared at the phone.
"Look harder," Neal said.
"Give me a minute, sir," Todd said. "I'll use some of the tricks I learned from the, uh, Midwest girls."
There was more typing.
"Well?" Neal said after some time.
"Oops. I just crashed a lot of government computers, but I did get the answer. It was buried deep. The Biologically Enhanced Warfighter Initiative was funded by the Army Special Operations Command in collaboration with the CIA. The mission was to use biological methods to make soldiers stronger, faster, and tougher. The program ran for two years before being abruptly terminated for undisclosed reasons."
"I know the reasons," Mazza mumbled.
"Does this have something to do with the cannibal plague?" Todd said.
"It has everything to do with it," Neal said. "Look up a Major Stan Kirlin."
Todd typed some more. "He died two months ago. He hung himself in his backyard."
Mazza's eyes widened.
"That's suspicious." Neal scratched his thick beard. "Track down the other people involved in the project. Find
somebody I can interrogate."
"Dead... dead... dead... dead. I'm noticing a rash of accidents and suicides in the last couple of months."
"The lab was in Annapolis. What happened to it?"
"Shut down and cleaned out when the project was terminated, sir," Todd said.
Neal nodded. "No surviving witnesses and no evidence. Remarkable. Somebody was covering his tracks."
"Wait! I found one scientist who might still be alive. He took a flight to Brazil and dropped out of sight."
"Locate him," Neal said. "We'll talk later."
"Yes, sir."
Neal closed the phone and put it away.
He stared at Mazza. "It seems you're off the hook, Captain. It's impossible to prosecute you without evidence, and the man who threatened to kill you is now dead. Somehow, you managed to make a clean getaway."
Mazza didn't look happy. He was lost in his own thoughts instead.
Neal pointed at the report in Colonel Frist's hand. "I need that back."
"But this is invaluable information," Frist said. "It could save a lot of lives. Who did this analysis? It's top notch."
"I don't have the authority to release that report. Neither do you. Hand it over."
Frist hesitated.
"Do you want me to call the President?" Neal raised his eyebrows.
Frist reluctantly gave the report back to Neal.
Neal looked at Mazza. "Tell me more about this disease."
"The good news is it doesn't spread easily," Mazza said. "The Initiative tried to develop a technology they could control. The bacteria have to be injected into a victim's bloodstream. Infection doesn't usually happen by accident. Is that what's happening in Chicago? Somebody is purposefully infecting people?"
"Just answer the questions. Is there any treatment?"
Mazza shrugged. "It's tough. The bacteria live inside muscle cells where the immune system has a hard time reaching them. Even massive doses of antibiotics won't cure it. This disease is a runaway freight train. At best you can just slow it down. I wish I could be more informative, but I was only briefly involved, and it happened years ago. I don't remember many details."
"I was afraid of that." Neal sighed and stood up. "Good evening, gentleman. It's time for us to go."
