“Hoop jumping comes with the territory,” Prentice chided, with an understanding roll of her eyes. “After you’ve been working for a certifiable genius for a while you’ll learn to expect it.” She added with a smile, “I have it on good authority that Daedalus and Archimedes were even more demanding.”
“The old man’s complaining that the present land-sea transport is too damned slow to satisfy the WHO’s needs,” Narayan, the gang-of-three’s final member, contributed. “He wants all future shipments sent from London by air.” Demands were flying faster than automatic rifle fire. Were they pushing just to see if he would push back?
“The WHO’s desperate for the latest and greatest,” Gordon added. “Tardieu probably has had a string of firecrackers tied to his own tail by his superiors in New York. If he can get Atma to agree, you’ll be shipping untested beta configurations by supersonic transport next.”
It all sounded like the same demanding melody to Lyköan. Whitehall hadn’t said a word since Prentice had interrupted, but Lyköan had no trouble finding his voice, which emerged piqued. “Am I getting this right? The Primrose build-out is now playing second fiddle to the WHO? Did I miss something? I’ll see what I can do but, until about an hour ago I didn’t know satisfying the WHO's demands was even on my radar. Now they’re suddenly more important.”
“I shouldn’t have to tell you, Lyköan,” Gordon said with an exaggerated sigh, “the WHO deliveries and the Primrose build-out are equally important. Succeed in achieving both objectives and ― maybe ― you’ll prove your value and thereby earn the generous wage Innovac is paying you.”
“I’ll do the best I can, but a guarantee? Sorry, I can’t give one.”
Lyköan tried to mirror Gordon’s calm, relaxed stare, but something had been triggered by the exchange that he couldn’t explain that had now taken on a life of its own.
“You have to understand, Gordon, this isn’t London. Bangkok operates by completely different rules ― and at a pace most Westerners can’t really appreciate.” Out of the visceral depths of his subconscious, the Tanner that Sun Shi had often warned him about was reacting. Lyköan purposefully steadied his breathing, recalled Sun Shi’s admonition, thought about Right Action, thought about the middle way, all in an attempt to settle himself, but none of it seemed capable of lowering the rising temperature of his response.
“I promise, I’ll do the best I can. I might even be able to pull off some magic, but not if push has to come to shove. Understand? Now, why don’t you boys shuffle off and hassle another mark.”
Gordon reacted with a glare. Prentice and Whitehall cast their glances elsewhere.
“All well and good, Mr. Lyköan,” Gordon said, his lips narrowing. “Just make sure the critical deadlines are met and we will remain chums. And that, I hope, you understand.”
But Gordon wasn’t finished. “Mr. Sawadviphachai and Minister Intatha have made it quite clear that the Thai government, particularly the Ministry of Health, considers the WHO’s efforts in addressing the recent outbreak a matter of national security. And because they do, Mr. Lyköan, Innovac finds them to be equally important.”
Narayan appended Gordon’s comments again. “To satisfy our commitment, we have promised everyone that we will have the database integrations up-and-running by Friday. So you see, both goals must be considered an integrated responsibility. Your value to Innovac, at least at this point, is entirely dependant on your ability to achieve both objectives. To be frank, in order to fulfill your contract with us, success in achieving both objectives is your only option.” Narayan had said his piece without raising his voice above a conversational monotone.
You grinning corporate fucks, Lyköan seethed silently, even while he was wrestling with keeping his composure. Is ‘national security’ also the reason the Thai military is secretly involved? Who’ll tell me that? No one here, that’s for sure. I’d be an idiot to ask.
Swallowing the impulse to bite back, he instead gave them what they wanted. “Then I’d better get to work. I hope you’ll excuse me so I can get started.” Could save even the slightest bit of face from this nearly out-of-control exchange? Unlikely.
“Goodnight gentlemen, Ms. Prentice,” he managed through a forced, toothy smile. “Whitehall, any chance we can share a cab?” He still wanted to pursue his Ōkii’s cyber-vulnerability.
Whitehall had kept his peace through the entire unraveling exchange and now shook his head, evidently embarrassed for Lyköan. “Not right now, lad. Think I’ll stick around a bit longer. Anyway, the Innovac people and I are all staying at the same hotel. You’re headed in a different direction.” The comment harbored dual meanings. Lyköan chose not to dwell on them.
“Okay, but I’d like to revisit our earlier conversation again ― soon. In the meantime, looks like I’ve got my work cut out for me.” He smiled with forced composure, turned on his heel, and left over nothing but scorched earth.
Exiting through an empty hallway, he wondered: Sure, there was way too much ego in the air, but what have I really got against these people? It was an observation, not an explanation.
Outside, the heat and humidity were still hovering beyond intolerable, even after sunset ― perfect for a guy whose emotions were equal to the environment. After pushing through the thick atmosphere for a block, it began to rain.
So what? he thought. It was only thirteen kilometers back to his apartment. At a brisk pace that might take two hours. Almost enough time to cool off.
* * *
“You know, Nora,” Pandavas suggested in the muted illumination of the hotel lounge, “unless you have some pressing reason for staying here in Bangkok, your TAI virus investigation might be better served at our English research facility, that is if you can convince the CDC that a change of venue makes sense.” Formal address had been abandoned in the limousine ride back to the hotel.
Nora looked at Tardieu as she replied, “If JG is still willing to allow one of his teams to accompany me, sure, I’d head for London in a heartbeat. I see no problem with my superiors at the CDC. They’re sure to give me a green light once I explain everything.”
“I don’t have any problem at all with the reassignment,” Tardieu said, shrugging. “As far as your personal investigations go, that’s entirely up to the CDC and Innovac. In the next day or two we should have the survivor serum titres loaded and available for study. I’m sure Chen and her team will jump at a opportunity to work with experimental technology. I have absolutely no problem with loaning them to you, at least for the short-term. What’s advantageous to one is likely to benefit all. If everyone is being relocated, team leadership is no longer an issue.”
“Sounds promising,” Nora said. “At least we will all be headed in the same direction.” Perhaps it was the ambiance and the wine, the exhaustion accompanying another long day, but Nora felt as though she, Pandavas, and Tardieu were thinking in perfect synchronicity.
Tardieu repeated the wrinkles he had added to Nora’s original suggestion. “Allow the advanced HM algorithms to pinpoint when and where the next outbreak will most likely take place and identify the structure of the anti-telomerase trigger ― perhaps even determine why the sequence exists and how it operates... Developing a vaccine demands we find those answers as well.”
“Please, Jean-George, one unreasonable request at a time,” Pandavas deferred.
Nora saw her opening. “But they’re important questions, Atma. Answering them is crucial. Personally, I think this mysterious trigger is the most intriguing. By far. Understand it and a vaccine is possible, even if it’s something jury-rigged and experimental. I’m still hoping to save lives. I’ve got two people back in Atlanta who could use a miracle.”
“It’s certainly something we can investigate,” Pandavas agreed. “But I wouldn’t hold out much hope that anything useful will arrive soon enough to help your friends.”
The caveat was not unexpected. Still, while the exotic atmosphere of the Ayutt Haya lounge surrounded her, in the company
of two of the most brilliant scientific minds on the planet, Nora felt herself settling into a pleasant, enveloping dream where anything was possible. She hadn’t spoken with Kosoy since yesterday, but it might as well have been a lifetime ago. Leaning back in her chair, she invited the complex aroma of pinot noir to sooth her, every breath an invisible bouquet, the rich liquid swirling in its crystal chalice. She was reveling in the languid atmospherics, a brief reprieve from weeks of uninterrupted stress, filled with buoyant conversation and a future fragrant with possibilities. For a suspended instant she was even capable of loosing the bonds of her maternal responsibilities, oblivious to their normally persistent tug. The hectic pace of the past week, which had transitioned from congressional testimony to the more frantic pursuit of the TAI virus, was frozen in space and time. She was content to let the metered hum of conversation sing to her, its tones sweet and soothing as a lullaby.
Pandavas and Tardieu were now discussing the frontiers opening to practitioners of modern investigative molecular biology. Much like space exploration had revealed long-hidden secrets of the physical universe, they contended, the elegant dance of the double helix would soon unveil the very essence of evolutionary life. In her somewhat altered state, Nora listened as though it were the music of the spheres.
“You mean like sound and resonance,?” Tardieu asked. “Random collisions of organic constructs producing ever-evolving mutations, which in turn interact with and impact all of nature? Bouncing back and forth through action and reaction, producing the very biologic reality which philosophers of every era attempt to capture in what are later proven to be wrong-headed explanations for why things are as they are. Scientists just happen to be this era’s philosophers.”
“Sound and its echo? Not quite, Jean-George. You make it sound too ephemeral. It’s not sheet music for some self-creating symphony. Even the spiraling generation of fractal images would be a poor analogy, though that is one of the basic concepts at the heart of hypothecated modeling.
“Like fractal generation, however, the deeper our gaze penetrates in any direction, the more expansive and immersing the universe grows. A corollary to old Heisenberg’s uncertainty principle. Penetrate far enough and, who knows? You might stumble upon the true nature of reality.
“But also, like many other great scientific mysteries – the Big Bang, the speed of light or absolute zero ― the approach only multiplies the expansion of hyperbolic trajectory until, just before reaching the perceived objective, the unknown variables and constricting limitations become infinite. Still, the way I see it, the double helix is more substantial, more concrete. It’s not simply a ‘design’ or blueprint ― but more a biological palimpsest, repeatedly being erased and overwritten – operating more like a device ― a self-instructing tool.”
“And you’re suggesting researchers should use this ‘tool’,” Tardieu stated rather than asked.
“Why not? In a rudimentary way, humanity has been working with the same tool set since the birth of selective agriculture and domesticated breeding of livestock,” Pandavas explained. “Though much more complex, organic chemistry and genetic manipulation are simply the next step in a process that began more than seven thousand years ago. If not you and I, Jean-George, it’s sure to be someone else. Oh, I admit, DNA is something more than an elaborate machine. But how much more? Who can say? And really be certain. This fragile thing called sentient existence. The cruel limits of mortal understanding...”
Pandavas sounded more like a wistful nineteenth century Lake Country poet attempting to express his limited ability to perceive the universe than the world’s paramount microbiologist. At this point in scientific inquiry, Nora could see, even the greatest theorists were reduced to analogy and metaphor. Even so, she sat enrapt. Unfortunately, just as Pandavas paused, nearing the summit of his iterating soliloquy, she inadvertently looked at her watch. Reality immediately returned and with it her responsibilities.
“I’m really terribly sorry, gentlemen. Personally, I could listen to your music all night. But the CDC and my daily reports beckon. It’s already midmorning in Atlanta. I’ll need Director Kosoy’s nod before I can accept your offer, Atma, but it certainly conforms to the responsibilities of my assignment. I don’t foresee any problems. I’ll let you know tomorrow.”
“We’re breaking ground at two separate sites tomorrow,” Pandavas explained. “The local crews want to satisfy the edicts of the Thai spirit-house propitiation ceremonies before the soil is disturbed and I’m expected to attend. You’re welcome to return to London with us on the Innovac corporate jet after we wrap up here this weekend.”
“I ought to head back too,” Tardieu added. Standing up from the table and touching two fingers above his right eyebrow he added, “Goodnight, Atma. It was a pleasure seeing you again. If you can pull yourself away any time before you leave, let me know.”
He then turned to Nora. “Let’s sit down with Ms. Yin tomorrow, Nora. If, as I expect, your superiors determine that you are likely to be more productive in England, we’ll make arrangements for her team to follow you.”
“Thanks so much, both of you,” Nora said, stifling a yawn. “I’ll be speaking with each of you again, soon,”
As the two men rose, she added, “You can see JG to his taxi, Atma. I can find my room unescorted, gentlemen.”
Three minutes later, she walked into her suite. In the darkened bedroom, on the nightstand phone next to her bed, the red call-received light was blinking. Hesitating, her grip frozen on the doorknob, she closed the door. Why the sudden anxiety? Switching on a light, she released the doorknob and walked to where the insistent siren flashed, a vague, irrational ague in her stomach. Sitting on the bed next to the phone, she lifted the receiver.
“You have two messages,” said a pleasantly nuanced recorded voice. The sky hadn’t fallen. She was relieved. “Press ‘one’ to listen to your messages now. Press ‘two’ to–―” Nora hit the one button.
“Message ‘one’ was received at 7:46 P.M. today,” the recorded voice acknowledged.
“Nora, it’s Marty. It’s important, but doesn’t demand interrupting whatever you’re doing at the moment. I’m afraid the news isn’t good. Jarbeau and Gilbert are both critical. I don’t want to burden you with more bad news ― it’s just one damned thing after another, I know ― but Hank Jackson, another member of the original clean-up squad, fell ill overnight. Same symptoms. Same prognosis.
“The only silver lining ― and it’s not much ― is that the infections remain confined to the original quarantine. But Wiznecki is demanding assurances we’ll be able to hold the line here. She also intimated that heads may roll if we can’t. I don’t need to tell you that if we can’t, a little guillotine action is going to be the least of our worries.
“If the administration wasn’t so preoccupied with the recent embassy bombing, they might already have forced us to fall on our swords. I can’t really argue with Madam Secretary’s veiled threat, can you? It did happen on our watch. So if you can offer the slightest glimmer of hope, please, call me. Time is extremely short. Thanks.”
A click, a brief dial tone and then dead air.
Hank Jackson? The name didn’t even sound familiar.
“You may save or delete message ‘one’, move to message ‘two’, or―” Nora hurriedly hit the star key. “Message ‘two’ was received at 9:11 P.M. today,” the robotic voice announced. By her watch it was only 9:24 now. This call must have come in while she was coming up the elevator from the lounge.
“Dr. Carmichael? This is Eshwar Narayan. We met today at the upgrade demonstration. I was hoping to schedule a meeting with you in the next day or two, perhaps for breakfast before you head out tomorrow? I am also keeping a room here at the Ayutt Haya. Please contact me in room 2320 at your earliest convenience. Dr. Pandavas has asked me to speak with you about the plight of your coworkers back in Atlanta and how Innovac may be of assistance.”
Nora saved the second message and, breathing deeply, hi
t the respond-dial key. Dr. Narayan could wait. She heard the click of a pickup at the other end of the line, followed immediately by Megan McBride’s voice, “Hello? CDC Director Kosoy’s Office.”
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Homecoming
Three may keep a secret, if two of them are dead.
Benjamin Franklin : Poor Richard’s Almanac
Lyköan was pushing north on Thanon Ratchaprarop, the unrelenting downpour like a thick syrup pasting his clothing to his flesh. In the heavens, an oppressive lightshow hammered heavy-metal, flashing into a face turned like flint against the elements. All around him, funnels of steam rose wraithlike from random gutter drains and underground vents, reflecting in ghostly relief the panorama of multicolored street-level neon.
Piercing the din of rain, lightning and thunder, an army of blabber-boards assaulted him from nearly every open-air Pratunam Market stall, their insistent pleas making concentration nearly impossible. Several dozen of the abusive animated marquees were strategically positioned on oscillating brackets along his route, ideally positioned to accost pedestrians as they attempted to move along the market’s perimeter. Although forced to accept their unwelcome pleading and random chatter, first in Thai, then Chinese and finally in English, he accelerated his pace.
Broadcasting in multiple languages only made the amplified blather more distracting ― and annoying. Technology for identifying a potential target’s native language had yet to be developed. Maybe with the next generation. Most of the screens were advertising personal care products or entertainment venues, attempting to capture the attention of every passerby who came within three meters of motion-sensor-activation range. Damned effective too. Their persistence paid off. Couldn’t avoid them. Supremely obtrusive ― and effective.
Sure, look and smell my best when I’m celebrating with a night on the town, Lyköan caught himself mimicking sarcastically. But he didn’t and he wasn’t.
The SONG of SHIVA Page 12
