Nobility

by Dana Lyons

  Over the years, the list grew. Once he’d filled both sides of the notebook page, he kept it folded in his wallet, realizing—

  There are too many who don’t deserve.

  His mother was indeed proud of him that day. From there on, she took him with her to social gatherings where elite, moneyed folk quietly talked about those who were a burden to society and what could be done about them.

  In time, he came to understand how inadequate his list was, that an infinite number went beyond those he carried written down in his wallet. When other data such as genetic, behavioral, and lifestyle habits were factored in, the list became astronomical.

  Unmanageable, until today.

  Laughter and good cheer were in the air amongst his guests. At today’s meeting, representatives of ninety-nine percent of the planet’s wealth gathered, eager to applaud the launch of Operation Patience.

  He rose and whistled loudly through his fingers. Startled, they all turned toward him. Men and women from powerful political families rubbed elbows with mega-billionaires. Ancient bloodlines gazed with quiet acceptance of the nouveau riche, anything to get this operation off the ground.

  “Attention, everyone.” He glanced at his watch. “Welcome to Prospect Island. I hope you’re prepared to get your tans during this next week while we go into isolation.”

  Those with drinks lifted their glasses. Someone called out, “Thanks for the hospitality, Dick!” followed by cheers.

  He gave a polite bow. “It’s my pleasure for this auspicious occasion. We have an hour before lunch is served. Please, enjoy yourselves until the meeting at three. I’ll see you in the conference room then.”

  “Is it true?” someone shouted. “It has already begun?”

  Richard held a hand up to stem the tide of questions. “It’s an exciting day, but let’s hold off celebrating until after the meeting. I have much to share.”

  “Come on, Dick, at least give us a number,” another cried.

  The calculated number of deaths were titillating. According to their models … “We’re expecting millions. Tens, maybe hundreds, of millions by the end of the operation.”

  Satisfaction and excitement lit their faces. He held his hand up again, seeing the questions on the tip of their tongues. “No, that’s all I can say. So, enjoy yourselves, and I’ll see you at three.”

  * * *

  Richard sat at the head of the long conference table, enjoying the quiet before the meeting began. While it was too early to collect mission reports, his insides sang with accomplishment. Just as when he was growing up: solve the problem and win the prize. With Operation Patience, the prize was a new normal—one designed by the people in this room.

  Mother, I wish you were here.

  As his papa said that day, “Your mother will be so proud.” He couldn’t have accomplished such a grand project without her early guidance. “To you, Mother.” He lifted his water glass in salute.

  The door opened and everyone began trickling in wearing boardroom clothing. Fun in the sun was one thing, but business was business. And today’s business was serious.

  They took their seats and settled in.

  He paused, letting the suspense expand in the silence until they all leaned forward, waiting for him to speak. “As you all know, Operation Patience began today. We have operatives on the ground delivering the contagion to international airports in the United States and Europe.”

  Applause came slowly with measured respect, growing louder and louder until they stood and clapped with vigor. He basked in the heat of their accolades, giving himself this moment to enjoy the prize.

  “We all participated. While some of you have been working on this project going back generations, it is us few today who are able to take credit. But I acknowledge all who have been involved. Now, first things first. Did you all take your 22-b antibodies? It came in the blister packet.”

  “Do we have your word it’s only antibodies and not a vaccine?” one asked.

  He waved a hand in dismissal of such concerns. “I promise, the packet contains only antibodies.” He pulled one from his pocket and showed it. He popped it open and displayed the small white pill. “Your packets say 22-b, just like mine. I highly recommend you take it, because the virus is spreading as we speak.”

  Another spoke. “If the virus is out there, why aren’t we getting a vaccine?”

  “The brilliance of this contagion we created is its programmed mutations,” he bragged.

  “I’m concerned about this creation. Can it be traced back to us?” the senator complained.

  “Our scientists are the best,” he answered. “The genetic editing is exemplary and brilliant. Even if someone could unravel it, by then we’ll have protocols implemented. You know how difficult it is to reverse something once begun. So, no we have nothing to worry about.”

  He paused as a sliver of memory surfaced.

  The one that refused us. Well, we moved with what we had to work with. At this point, anyone who gets in the way can be neutralized. They don’t say, ‘What Dick wants, Dick gets,’ for nothing.

  The memory was brushed aside and he continued. “Phase one, released today, is designed for rapid transmission. Once it attains a host, the phase two mutation will ravage the entire body looking for a weakness, whether it be metabolic disease, cancer, and so on.

  “That assures us a high kill rate, especially considering the metabolic bomb the average person’s been eating for the last twenty-five years. The specific targeting of the virus, combined with their weakened immune systems gives us confidence for those high numbers I quoted on the beach, especially in the US.”

  He took a sip, his excitement growing for the coup d’état of his final plan, solving the many problems with one simple solution.

  “Then we have the third mutation, which is designed to cease replicating, lose potency and fade away after creating these horrific casualties.

  “But what we wanted from the virus was to stop the world, create maximum fear, thereby nudging the population in the direction we want. As I always say, give a man a problem, show him the solution, and he’ll likely take it.”

  “Do you mean a vaccine? I thought you said there wouldn’t be a vaccine?” another asked.

  A smile tugged at Richard’s lips. “Getting people vaccinated was never the goal, although vaccines did provide the perfect rebound point, helping us guide people to the answer we really wanted: capture and control.

  “With the rapid onset of high casualties, the population will be too panicked with fear to think. After months of death, isolation, social deprivation and inconvenience, we’ll offer a simple solution: the bio-watch. Each of you has one in front of you. Open it up.”

  It was sleek and slim, even fashionable, with sensors on the bottom side of the watch where the casing met flesh.

  “We’ll announce that a vaccine isn’t coming for years and roll out the watch as the best non-invasive solution. We’ll create a global registry. WHO will do door-to-door swab testing of everyone in the civilized world. Test results will come immediately. Anyone infected will be taken to isolation. Continued testing will be mandated, ‘just to be sure’. That testing will actually serve other purposes.

  “They’ll get tired of the fear and uncertainty, of having their lives disrupted. They’ll want equilibrium, they’ll cry for normal to return. At that point, we’ll roll out the watch as a solution with assurances of how it will keep us all safe.

  “Most will see the watch as an option less invasive to their lives. Those resisting will be taken into isolation under the pretense of a positive reaction from their latest swab.”

  “The watches don't look bad,” someone noted. A chorus of affirmations followed.

  “We wanted them to be attractive and appealing because everyone will be wearing one. ‘Be safe, Wear your Watch’ will become the new motto, plastered in advertising and social media, pushed by our influencers, promoted by the news and media.”

  He put his wat
ch on his wrist. “Please, put yours on.”

  As they strapped them on, a screen opened on his tablet. One, two, three, they all came on until the last watch registered as active. He tapped on the screen and sent them each a link to their readout. “Look at your tablets.”

  “What are these numbers up in the corner of the watch?” the senator asked.

  “That’s the wearer’s GPS location.” He scanned all of their screens and said, “Senator, it looks like you might have to cut back on that beloved vodka, your liver enzymes are high.”

  Each person slowly cracked a smile. A slow ripple of laughter circled the table. He dipped his head in appreciation of their praise. “So, everyone will be required to wear the watch at all times, a small price to pay for the return of social gatherings, movies, sports, concerts, and travel.

  “When they go for a job, or enter a grocery store, or get gas or get their hair done, their watch will be scanned for a health grade. We’ll run a campaign, ‘What’s Your number?’ making it everyone’s primary source of bragging rights.”

  He rose and leaned his hands on the table, making eye contact with each one. “This is our goal. By using herd management tactics like fear and manipulation, we’ll convince them this is the only way to ‘return to normal’, that, of course, being a new normal of our design.”

  “That’s an enormous amount of data to store and use,” someone said.

  “Yes, and we now have the networks to handle it. Once all this is up and running, we can begin the next phase of action.”

  He sent them a link to a fresh screen where he had already collected their personal data for this demonstration. It contained their individual information including personal wealth, romantic involvements, shopping habits, and whereabouts for the last two weeks.

  Several of them gasped and covered their mouth. One began to rise, exclaiming, “How dare you!”

  Another cried, “Dick!”

  “Relax,” he said. “Please, sit down.” He nodded to the senator. “No worries, your predilection for young boys remains our secret. You can all take your watches off. When the time comes that everyone, even us, will wear them, ours will be disabled.” They quickly removed the devices and tossed them on the table, glancing at one another and fuming with anger.

  “I wanted you to see the extent of the watch. Now, this is how we’ll use all that data. We create a profile of habits, productivity, lifestyle, expenditures, and usage. Those who remain within certain metrics according to the algorithm can maintain their lifestyle. Those who don’t get a positive mark from the algorithm will have opportunities to raise their status by adjusting their behavior, or they can see a reduced quality of lifestyle, it’s their choice.”

  “What about ST41?”

  “Yes,” he said. “Thank you for mentioning that. ST41 is the sterilization agent we extracted from one of our other vaccines and we’ll be dispersing it covertly.

  “Those we deem in need of sterilization will be administered the ST41 when WHO swabs them for the contagion. They won’t realize they’ve been sterilized.” He sat back, eminently pleased with how the many facets of the plan all worked together.

  “Do we have any reports from the ground?” the senator asked.

  “Not yet, it’s too early. Ground supervisors will be reporting in the next few hours. As soon as I get updates, I’ll pass them on to you. Everyone, that’s it for today.”

  He rose and clapped his hands. “Now that we have business aside, they’re serving cocktails on the patio before dinner.”

  * * *

  Back at the White House The Next Day

  After leaving the President, Dreya and her team, along with Lazar and Jarvis were escorted back to the entry. Dreya’s heart raced with the enormous importance and sensitivity of their mission. She glanced about. No one dared to speak.

  Jarvis stopped at the desk before exiting and took a slip of paper, scribbled on it and tucked it in his pocket. He thanked the receptionist, and led them out the door. “Let me walk you to your car,” he announced.

  Once in the parking lot, they climbed into their car. Jarvis leaned in the driver’s window and handed Lazar the note. He read it and passed it to Rhys. Say nothing until we get to my office.

  The silence scrapped on Dreya’s nerves like broken glass. But everyone nodded.

  “I’ll see you in my office,” Jarvis said.

  On the quiet drive home, Dreya was thankful for the telepathy. That went better than expected. At least we have the letter of marque.

  Lazar thinks he knows who’s behind this? Why’s he being so tight lipped? Simon asked. He could have announced that in the Oval Office.

  We need more than a name, she answered. We need a trail to that name. So, let’s collect our evidence and do what we’re good at.

  Lazar parked and they went straight to Jarvis’ office, streaming in and closing the door. A wealth of emotions bandied about the room, inundating her. To direct the flow, she asked, “Any more casualties?”

  “Unfortunately, yes, especially all over Europe,” Jarvis said.

  “I’m getting notices from the CDC,” Lazar confirmed. “I need to get Nobility in the air for distribution.”

  Jarvis rose. “Dreya, you and the team get me evidence—from Harper’s pocket to his thumb drive to the goon who ran him down—somewhere there’s a trail.” He glared at his desk with irritation. “And you have to find it without letting them know we’re coming.”

  “Yes, sir. I think we can do that.”

  He asked Lazar, “Do you have enough Nobility to slow the death rate?”

  Lazar gave a slow smile, a sad expression forming on his youthful face. “I do. I never imagined such an event would open the door to Nobility. I’ll keep you updated. With the President’s endorsement, I’ll make a delivery of Nobility here first and instruct the medical staff, then I’ll need transportation to Europe.” As he reached the door, Simon asked, “You’re going to the front lines, aren’t you, Doc?”

  “Yes,” Lazar tossed over his shoulder.

  Dreya’s heart accelerated with concern. She frowned, wanting a read on him, but she couldn’t see his face.

  Simon said, “You be careful.”

  Lazar opened the door and answered, “Of course.”

  Before she could call for him to stop and turn around, he rushed off. Something’s different about him. I’m worried.

  Rhys answered, He’ll be fine. When doesn’t Lazar take care of himself?

  With Lazar gone, Jarvis pointed to an evidence box. “This is everything from the hit-and-run vehicle case, including the lawyers and their court filings.”

  Rhys picked up the box. Quinn had his hand on the doorknob when Jarvis stopped them. “I know you’re exceptional, but you people be careful.”

  Once in their office, they removed all the evidence. Simon took the autopsy report and the lab results, Quinn took the thumb drive, and Rhys picked out the attorney’s information.

  They each went to a separate workspace while she took her and Quinn’s medical files from quarantine. With rudimentary medical knowledge, she could only note the numerous red flags on lab results that were out of range.

  That’s Nobility at work.

  How her life had changed since Gideon Smith tried to kill them.

  How long will our secret hold?

  They worked through lunch time and ordered take-out. When Simon couldn’t determine anything else from Harper’s autopsy, he picked up the evidence bag with the plastic marked 22-b. “Did Lazar say what he thought this might be?”

  “No. We determined it was privately produced. He clipped off a piece of the blister pack and ran it through the mass spec. There should be a report in the box.”

  He perused the box and found the report. “It’s a common plastic with a trace of non-active ingredients you’d find in a placebo.” He stared off for a long moment. “The antibody test on the heart blood is negative. Looks to me like Vince received something he thought was a vaccine
and it wasn’t.”

  Rhys huffed and stood, stretching his back. “I got nothing here. It’s like a blank wall encircling not only the financials, but Harper’s new identity and the hit-and-run pair.” He collected all the paperwork and began feeding it into the copy machine. “I have to go see someone.”

  Dreya remembered the day on their first case when he made the same statement. “Are you going to come back smelling like maple syrup?”

  He grinned and tucked all the copies into a large envelope. “Not this time.”

  After he left, Jarvis shouted and waved excitedly from his glass-walled office. He pointed to the monitor. They turned it on and the screen filled with a shot of Dreya lying prostrate on the floor at Dulles. It cut to video and displayed her leaping onto the floor on top of the vial. The headline proclaimed, ‘Who is this woman?’

  She grimaced. “My face is down, maybe—”

  “Don't bet on it,” Quinn said. He spoke into his phone. “Woman on floor at Dulles.” He passed her his phone. Her video had collected half a million views.

  Her mouth dropped open and she rolled her eyes. Next came a photo of her graduation ceremony from the FBI academy. Finally, the photo and the video filled the screen.

  “Well,” she lamented. “So much for going in under the radar.”

  9

  Day 1 Evening Prospect Island

  After their lavish celebratory dinner, Richard Getz retired to his office. At his desk, he gazed at the image of a woman at Dulles Airport. She’d thrown herself upon the vial shattered by one of his operatives.

  “Who the hell are you?” He looked through the woman’s file. “Nothing of note until—”

  A redaction smack in the middle of her passport.

  “Where have you been to earn this black mark, Miss Love?”

  He eased back in his chair and his gaze drifted out the window. There were few corners on this planet and beyond he couldn’t reach, including Draco Station.