by Dana Lyons
“She’s been there.” He rifled through the other files of her co-workers, one Morgan, Kingston, and Sinclair, and noticed they all had redactions on their passports.
There were several photos. He peered closely. She’s a beautiful woman. Strikingly more so since her time on Draco Station. I wonder, why was she there?
His mind drifted to a cocktail party some years ago, one of those soirées where people with ideas mingled among people with money. This particular night, a genius young doctor was being sought after by the powers-that-be, including himself.
“Dr. Lazar, I’m Richard Getz. A pleasure to meet you.”
“Likewise,” Dr. Lazar had answered.
Richard remembered the critical eye Lazar held. That and the slight tilt of his nose seemed to pass a judgement on the people and surroundings. Hubris assured his lofty status.
Maybe he’s a candidate for us.
“I understand your specialty is genetics and DNA modification. That’s an ambitious undertaking.” In response, Lazar produced a smile, a gesture of extreme self-confidence for one so young. “What’s your goal?”
“Nothing less than the betterment of humanity,” Lazar answered.
An excitement bloomed. Richard nodded in understanding, sensing he and Lazar held similar ideals. “How would you define the betterment of humanity?”
The doctor’s eyes brightened with idealism. “Mankind’s abilities are an untapped resource; there’s vast potential to be harvested from humanity. I believe we could live far beyond our current wildest dreams.”
“I agree. My wife and I have a foundation you may be interested in. Perhaps you and I have a common purpose and ethics in moving toward our mutual goals. Just what are your ideas for expanding this human potential?”
“Undoubtedly, the point for expanding human potential is in the DNA.”
“Precisely,” Richard responded enthusiastically. “DNA is the ultimate resource, unfortunately ours now bears a plethora of undesirables. As a first step in decluttering the gene pool, how do you propose to achieve population reduction?”
Instantly the energy shifted. The doctor’s critical gaze intensified. He swept his eyes up and down and his nose lifted a fraction higher. “I’m afraid that’s not the direction I’m going.”
Richard brought his attention back to the present and the woman in the photograph. All the other operatives had reported in with success except for the team at Dulles. “Intercepted by the FBI,” he mused.
“A redacted passport and a Draco Station connection to Dr. Lazar, the one man who might cause a problem.” He scrawled a note. Dreya Love FBI? Anthony Lazar?
The next day by noon the reports of casualties began pouring in. Richard inspected the photo of Patient Zero/Casualty One in the US, Sam Collins, as he hovered over the FBI agent. “She laid on the vial, he stood nearby. He’s dead. But there’s no mention of her. Where is she?”
The success rate in Europe made up for the lack luster results at Dulles. Still, the connection between failure at Dulles and potential risk for the entire operation gnawed at his perfect success rate. He spied his notation from yesterday, Dreya Love? Anthony Lazar? and drew an X across both names.
He made a phone call.
* * *
Rhys drove forty-five minutes from the FBI office to a quiet suburb off the highway. In this neighborhood, every plot looked the same, with the rows of houses flowing like ocean waves, none distinguishable from the next.
He stopped in front of a memorized address and lifted his shades. In the deepening afternoon, front door lights were starting to come on, some folks walked their dogs, kids played ball in a yard out of sight.
What he appreciated at first inspection was no stray cars parked on the street, his being the only one, no out-of-place occupants hanging about, no odd utility trucks parked anywhere. Satisfied, he pulled into the driveway.
He knocked and waited at the door, listening for the sound of a gun cocking or a shotgun racking a shell. But he heard nothing beyond footsteps approaching the door from inside. The door cracked open and a pixie form peered at him.
“Gertie, how are you?”
She squealed, “Rhys!” before pulling him in the door. “Come in, come in.” She dragged him into the light and circled him, exclaiming, “You have a woman. I’ve never seen you look this good.”
He grinned. “As a matter of fact, I do.” He left it at that, hoping she didn’t ask more questions. “Hey, I have something for you to look at.” He pulled the envelope from his jacket. “I want you to find someone.”
She grinned and winked. “Tell me who I’m looking for before I agree.” She took the envelope and peeked inside. “You know I’m not supposed to do this work anymore.”
“You still have your contacts, don't you?”
“I do. You going to make this worth my while? Come on, talk to me,” she ordered as she led him into the kitchen. “You still like that ginseng tea?”
He took a seat at the counter. “I do if you’re making it.”
After the tea was poured, she sat with him. He sipped, enjoying the warmth. “How’s life treating you, Gertie? You like hiding out here?”
“It’s quiet,” she mused, setting down her cup. “No drive-by shootings, no bombs under cars, no shotgun blasts in the middle of the night followed by squealing tires.” She wrinkled her nose. “Yeah, I like it here.” She eyed him critically. “So how did you find me?”
“I have a friend in Witness Protection,” he said. He held his breath, wondering if that would be enough. But as he glanced at her, she eyed him like he’d grown warts.
“You’ve got something bigger than that if they gave you my address.” She touched the envelope which she hadn’t opened beyond the cursory peek. “What are you involved with?”
He took her hand. “I need the best mafia forensic bounty hunter in the world.”
She preened. “Aww, you’re buttering me up so I know it’s something big.”
“It could be dangerous.”
She shrugged. “Bout the only fun we get around here is when the neighbor’s cat beats up old lady Swanson’s poodle. I could use a little excitement. Whatcha got?”
He released her hand. “Have you heard about the incident at Dulles and the deaths in Europe?”
“Oooh, you are into something big.” She picked up the envelope by the corner and the papers spilled out across the counter.
“We don’t have much, but if there’s a trail to be found, you’re the one to do it. I thought if you can find—”
She threw up her hand to stop him and blurted, “We don't say his name out loud.”
“Right,” he said slowly. “Gotcha.”
She looked through the pages. “You’re right. Not much here, but everything is connected … somewhere.”
He passed her a burner phone. “Got my number in it. Be careful what you say.” He rose and she walked him to the door. He took her hand again. “Look, Gertie. Go to the grocery store and stock up on groceries and supplies, at least a month’s worth. Come home, don't go out. Not until I tell you to, understand?”
Sadness eased into her bright eyes and she nodded. “Gonna be that bad?”
His phone pinged again—Lazar was updating them with the numbers. He nodded. “Worse. Remember, stay inside. Go into isolation, okay?”
He returned to the office where Dreya, Quinn and Simon waited. When he walked in, Dreya sniffed him.
“Ginseng?”
“I visited an old friend of mine. She’s a mafia forensic bounty hunter. If there’s a trail, she’ll find it.”
“Haven’t seen the news lately, have you?” she said.
“No, what’s happened?”
She turned on the monitor where her photo and video still ran prominently. “Are you kidding me?” he exclaimed. He walked to the window and looked though the blinds. “Quinn, come here.”
Quinn walked over and they all congregated at his back. “What do you see in that vehicle, Dreya?”
“I see windows not quite dark enough to keep me from seeing him looking at us with binoculars.”
“I’m going to circle around behind him,” Quinn said and he rushed out the door.
“I’ll get Jarvis,” Simon said.
Jarvis rushed in and looked through the blinds at the SUV. “Didn’t take them long,” he said.
She pointed at a figure coming up behind the SUV. “There’s Quinn.” As he got within twenty yards, the vehicle started up and pulled into traffic.
License plate is a standard government issue, Quinn said.
“We’ll add the license plate to the forensic trail,” Rhys said.
“Do we call them threatening or just curious?” Dreya asked.
“Their presence is threatening,” Jarvis said. “And I don't like it.”
“I agree,” she replied. “You’d better put a protection team on Lazar.”
Jarvis glanced at the monitor and her multiple images. “You and your heroics,” he muttered.
“Hey,” she protested. “Nobility demanded I act.”
“Well, when the first cell phone camera finds you walking about, that’s going to raise a lot of questions. Questions we don't want asked.”
* * *
Lazar rose as Dr. Hastings, Chief of Staff at Washington University Hospital approached.
“Dr. Lazar, we’re grateful for your help,” Dr. Hastings said. “Your reputation precedes you. What do you have for us? I hope it’s a miracle, because this thing is eating us alive.”
“Let’s see what you have,” he said. He followed Dr. Hastings into a changing room where he donned a personal protection suit, gloves, and a head cover with a plastic face shield.
Dr. Hastings paused. “Ever been on the front lines of a biological event before?”
“I have. In the Sudan, Bangladesh, and the Congo.”
His breath fogged up his face shield and his mind went back to the Sudan. Patients were dying, slipping right through their fingers like grains of sand. The moans, the weeping and the sounds of retching remained in his ears long into the night. The stench clung to him for a month.
This came right after his sister Nina died, reinforcing his drive to end disease. Where he had originally meant to focus on specific diseases, his time on the front lines of a biological contagion had moved him to seek a cure for all disease.
And now, here I am, back again, but this time I have a cure.
They walked through the doors into chaos. Patients on gurneys lined the hallway, with others on the floor huddled in blankets.
“We’re completely overrun. Out of beds, personnel, supplies. It hit so hard and fast we were just unprepared.”
“What are your primary symptoms?”
“This virus is vicious. It attacks each patient differently. What we’re seeing is it goes for whatever weakness the patient has. Heart, lungs, cancer, liver. No organ or system is safe, even in previously healthy patients.”
They passed by rooms where staff labored to resuscitate patient after patient. Stat monitors beeped and their lines fell flat, again and again and again.
“I have an experimental drug for you to use as a last resort. If it gives you positive results, as I believe it will, then we can share our success with other hospitals.”
“I have the President’s personal recommendation to use your drug in the worst cases, Dr. Lazar.” Hastings gazed at the chaos of death and dying. “Whatever you have, we’ll take it.”
It took two hours to transfer patients into a separate isolation section. Lazar injected .5 milligrams of Nobility into their IVs, going from patient to patient and notating the new drug in their charts.
The ultimate test of Nobility. Time is not on our side.
He pulled a chair by one patient’s bedside, awkward in his protection suit. This young woman had a previous diagnosis of desmoplastic small-round-cell tumor, the disease that had killed his sister.
Like Nina, she’s too young to die of the desmoplastic tumor or this madman’s contagion. Will Nobility be enough?
Since he had arrived at the hospital, the world began responding to the pandemic. All commercial flights had been cancelled. The deaths were accumulating at an alarming rate, and governments and populations were panicking all over the world.
Exhaustion rolled heavily over him now that Nobility had been administered. From here all they could do was wait. He slowly relaxed into the chair, not having slept for two days. His mind slipped into theta and lower, quickly drifting into a problem-solving level.
Dream images swirled. He was back in the Sudan with bodies piling up. The patients died in waves as if they’d been given the contagion one after another. He staggered from the hospital tent, walking away from the death that couldn’t be avoided.
He approached the pile of abandoned clothing from the dead. On the sandy ground, next to a pair of filthy pants, lay a small piece of plastic. Peculiar, it caught his eye. He picked it up with a glove. A blister pack with 15-c in red letters across the back. Hearing the sound of a round being chambered behind him—
He bolted upright. A nurse outside the room tapped on the observation window. He blinked, groggy, and followed where she pointed.
The patient’s stat monitor.
All lines were green. He looked down the row of cubicles, all the monitors were going green. A giddy rise of relief swept through him and he resisted jumping in the air.
Another tap at the window. Dr. Hastings smiling with a thumbs-up.
Nobility is working!
* * *
Dreya sat at her desk. Rhys leaned against a counter and gazed at his shoes, reminding her of the first time she saw him. Quinn sported a dark scowl as he stared out the window. Only Simon watched her.
You’re thinking about doing something crazy, aren’t you? he asked.
Quinn glanced up. “I heard that.” He peered at her, inspecting. “Yep, she has that look on her face.”
Rhys cocked his head and gave her the once over. He grinned. “Who you going to break into, now?”
They stood and surrounded her desk, grinning. She felt their enthusiasm, their eagerness to follow her into any situation. They were her family and the best team she could ever hope for.
“I think it’s time for a face-to-face.”
With who? they chorused.
“It’s too soon to have results from Gertie,” Rhys said.
“I know. And we’ve lost the element of surprise. They know who we are, but we don't know who they are.”
“So, who’re you going to face off with?” Rhys asked.
“We don't have a name or any connecting evidence. Where are you getting the who?” Simon said.
They leaned toward her, expectant and excited.
“I think it’s time to squeeze an identity out of Lazar.” She dialed his number and put him on speaker.
Lazar answered quickly. “Dreya, what’s going on? Is everyone well? No one’s having symptoms, are they?”
“No, Doc, we’re all fine. How’s Nobility?”
“Performing splendidly. We’re just starting to see a turn around. If it continues through the night, I’m off to London in the morning. But we’re greatly encouraged so far.”
“That’s good to hear. Hey, since my face and the Dulles incident are plastered all over the news, we’ve officially broke cover. They know who we are, but we don't know who they are. It’s time to let us in on who you think is behind this.”
A deep silence followed, punctuated by pings of static over the line and the loud heartbeats of everyone in the room. “Doc?”
“I’m here. Look, this is only a supposition based on a brief conversation I had years ago. When I was looking for funding for my work, I was young and brash and arrogant and I attracted a lot of attention.”
More silence. “And?” she said, coaxing.
“And I had a stimulating conversation with someone right up to the point where I was asked what methods of population reduction I would use to dec
lutter the gene pool.”
She closed her eyes. “Did you just say declutter the gene pool through population reduction?” Eugenics! Didn’t the death camps teach us anything?
A bristling surge of disapproval sprang up from the boys.
“As you’d expect, knowing me, I had to walk away,” Lazar said.
She needed a name. “Tell us who, Doc.” The silence extended to the point of irritation. She leaned forward as if able to pull the answer from him and focused on the struggle she sensed coming over the phone. She could imagine Lazar chewing his lip, wrestling with the decision.
What’s happened to him? He was never indecisive before.
“It was Richard Getz.”
Rhys immediately pulled out his phone and stepped into the hallway.
“Richard Getz. Got it,” she said. Sudden concern for his well-being washed over her. “Are you staying safe? You have a protection team, right? And you’re wearing all the protective gear?”
“Yes. I’m well protected. You stay safe as well.”
She terminated the call, certain he’d shut down her concern a little too fast. He was keeping something secret and that alarmed her. Considering the scale upon which he worked, she preferred to be abreast of what Anthony Lazar was doing.
“Richard Getz.” A big name, but this wasn’t going to be about one man. And the fact they were starting at the top portended resistance from all directions.
“Do we know where Getz is?” Simon asked.
“With his money, he could be anywhere in the world,” Quinn said.
Dreya spoke into her phone. “Where is Richard Getz?” Her phone responded with a string of news spots and sound bites. She tapped a video posted in the last hour from his tropical island in the Caribbean.
“We’re going to get through this crisis together,” Getz said, “because we’re all in this together. Whatever catastrophe humanity is facing, the Getz Foundation is here to find a solution to the problem and provide help for all. You can count on Richard Getz.”
Dreya smiled as she called Jarvis on the office phone. “Sir, we’d like Richard Getz’s phone number and transportation to his Caribbean island in the morning. Yes, sir. I’ll wait.”
