The Enigma Strain (Techno Thriller Science Fiction Best Sellers): Military Science Fiction Technothriller (Harvey Bennett Thrillers Book 1)

by Nick Thacker

  “Ah, right. Seems perfectly safe.”

  She shushed him, then withdrew the syringe slowly from his arm.

  “How much do you need? Seems like overkill,” Malcolm said.

  “I don’t know how many units are left inside the bloodstream or if we’ll be able to see it at all. Plus, the virus is wearing off, as we saw earlier. I may not have time to extract more later, since the units might be working their way out.”

  She placed the cap on the syringe chamber and loaded another. This one, she stuck into her own arm, not bothering to check for a vein or tie off her upper arm.

  “Units?” Ben asked.

  “Like chickenpox,” she answered.

  Malcolm and Ben still didn’t understand.

  “I’m developing a hypothesis about it, but it’s pretty simple. Imagine a kid has chickenpox — the varicella zoster virus — and has a birthday party. Some kid comes to the birthday party and gives the birthday boy one unit of the virus. That unit multiplies — as viruses do — to a certain point, until the virus has physically manifested itself in the host’s body.”

  “Little red bumps all over his skin.”

  “Yes, exactly. But that’s it. It doesn’t ever really get worse than the bumps, though as you might remember, those bumps are bad enough. The virus has reached its ‘critical mass’ in the kid’s system. The units have reached their maximum exposure ratio, and they won’t — can’t — proliferate any more. But he’s still very contagious, too. Since the virus is at critical mass, every kid who comes over will probably get it, right?”

  “Unless they’ve already had it,” Malcolm said.

  “And then they’ll do the oatmeal baths and stuff and eventually the virus goes away,” Ben added.

  Julie nodded, removed the full syringe from her arm, and continued. “Well, this virus-bacteria is a bit different. Let’s say the kid was infected with a unit of this… stuff. Whatever it is. That one unit would reproduce and multiply into ten units, become contagious, and spread to other people, just like the chickenpox. They’d all get infected, it would grow to ten units in each of them, and they’d all be contagious — but still alive.”

  “So far, so good,” Ben said. “Except for the life-threatening rash.”

  “But, if the kid is infected with more than ten units initially, it’s over. He’s quarantined, but the effect is devastating — the virus is too much for the body to handle and will begin to shut down."

  “The body can’t handle more than ten units?” Malcolmasked.

  “Well, ten is an arbitrary number, but in this scenario, yes. Whatever number of units our virus needs to reach critical mass is the amount of virus that can ‘safely’ infect a person. Anything over that, and the host dies. Below that —”

  “And it reproduces itself up to that number but doesn’t go over,” Ben finished.

  Julie nodded. “That’s my hypothesis. After that, the virus naturally works its way out of the host’s system, rendering them immune to further attack.”

  Ben and Malcolm thought about this a moment. It made sense — hypothetical or not — and both men nodded their approval.

  “I’m guessing that whenever we were exposed to the disease, it was only a small amount,” Ben said. “Less than critical mass. It’s run its course and is now working its way out.”

  They heard the laboratory door slam shut, and all three turned to look. A tall, thin man stepped into view, smiling. “That’s exactly right, Mr. Bennett. What a precise deduction.”

  “Benjamin?” Julie asked, jumping up from her perch near the table and microscope. “What — how are you here?”

  “I was already on the way,” he responded, coming closer to them. “When I called, I was already in the area. I thought I’d check in with you in person, since our tech communication seems to be consistently ineffective.”

  Julie didn’t respond.

  “Don’t worry, Julie. Ben —” he turned to look at the third man in the room, hesitated for a split second, and frowned. “Mr. — I’m sorry, I don’t believe we’ve met.” Benjamin Stephens walked over to Malcolm and stretched out his hand.

  “Dr., actually. Dr. Malcolm Fischer.”

  “Right. Dr. Fischer. My apologies.” Stephens had the room completely focused on him, and he savored the moment. “Sorry for my intrusion. As I mentioned, I merely came to help. Julie, what can I do?”

  Julie thought about it for a few seconds. “You agreed with Ben when you walked in. Why? What do you know about the virus?”

  “Well, for starters, as I’m sure you’ve already discovered, it’s not actually a virus. Or, to be specific, it’s not only a virus.”

  “We’re past that already, Stephens,” Julie said. “How do you know that?”

  “Julie, my job is to collate and organize information. Every disease prevention authority in the country is working on the same thing you are. I saw a report yesterday that confirmed your theory of a viral-bacterial strain.”

  Stephens had stopped in front of a square table in the center of the room. He pulled out a folding chair from beneath it and sat down. He placed his arms on top of the table as he spoke. Trying to appear submissive, Ben noticed.

  “I also found out where the strain originated.”

  At these words, Malcolm stepped toward him, then halted.

  “The virus is the byproduct of an ancient extinct plant that was found inside Native American baskets in a Canadian cave. An unlucky Russian expedition found it and thus became the virus’s first modern casualties.”

  “Who told you that?” Malcolm asked, his voice low, almost a whisper. Ben reached out and held the man’s shoulder.

  “Again, it’s just some of the information that’s come across my desk.” Stephens turned and looked directly at Julie. “Julie, that’s why I’m here. I’ve been sending this stuff to you for days, but I know you haven’t been getting it.”

  She shook her head.

  “I sent it up to a lab, and they’ve been processing it with the CDC as well. From what we can tell, someone found that original strain, put some sort of protective ‘shell’ around it, and created the ‘super virus’ we’re now dealing with.”

  Stephens stood up, and Julie saw Ben cross his arms.

  “But like I said, I couldn’t get through to you. It seems like Brown found some sort of redirect on my account, but he didn’t set it up. Maybe Livingston —”

  “Livingston’s dead,” Julie said.

  Stephens was about to continue, but Julie’s words stopped him in his tracks. “Excuse me?”

  “Livingston,” Julie repeated. “He’s dead.”

  “But…”

  “They found him at his home, in his office. Suicide.”

  Stephens’ face seemed to scrunch a bit around the eyes, for the briefest amount of time. But as soon as Julie noticed it, it disappeared. She must have taken him by surprise.

  “You — you can’t be serious,” he said.

  “Stephens, I wouldn’t joke about this. You know that.” She turned to watch Ben’s and Malcolm’s reactions. Both men stood still, stoically gazing toward Stephens. They were watching his reaction, she realized.

  Stephens seemed to falter a bit, taking a step back. He grabbed the corner of a table and steadied himself. “But… but that…” his voice trailed off.

  “Stephens.” Julie’s voice was strained, but she tried to pull him back in. “Benjamin. I know it’s insane, but we have to keep moving forward.”

  He nodded.

  “Can you tell us the rest? What else do you know about the virus?”

  He swallowed, but began to speak. “Well, as you already know, our organization isn’t exactly swift when it comes to handling crises, but there have been a few departments that have had a little success modeling the strain and calculating its progression.” He walked back to the chair and sat back down at the table. Julie found a bottle of water and brought it over to him.

  “They found out that the agent works by infect
ing the bloodstream, but also the air around its host. It sort of ‘festers’ inside the host, releasing particulates through the skin — likely the reason we see a physical manifestation in the outer epidermis.”

  “The rashes and boils,” Julie said.

  “Right. So it spreads to a human host through the air — it doesn’t need direct contact with blood or fluids, just time and close proximity. Once it’s in the bloodstream, it moves to the internal organs, where it proliferates and reaches viral titre for contagion.”

  “What’s viral titre?” Malcolm asked.

  “Viral load. It’s like a concentration of the actual virus. The point at which the virus will infect enough cells to become contagious.”

  “The critical mass,” Julie added, explaining it to the two men standing next to her.

  “Exactly. The lab reported that anything below around 8,000 copies per milliliter of the virus is considered below the danger line. Above it, the host can’t contain the virus in its own body, and the strain tries to jump to another host within range. If it doesn’t jump and proliferate there, the initial host’s systems will shut down. If it can jump, it will, causing the titre to drop by half in both hosts.”

  “Does proliferation continue from there?” Julie asked.

  “It does, but only to that magic line of viral load — somewhere around 8,000 copies. If the load is higher than 16,000 when it jumps, though, both hosts have a concentration of higher than 8,000 cpm. The virus will continue to spread inside their systems, consuming cells and antibodies mainly, but also overloading vital organs.”

  “So the answer is to find a third host?” Malcolm asked. Ben was nodding along, trying to piece it together as Stephens explained.

  “Right. And then a fourth, fifth, and on, until the virus has equally spread through these hosts and the titre count drops below 8,000 in each.”

  “What happens then?”

  “We don’t know,” Stephens said. “But it dies on its own, somehow. Initial tests have shown that it starts to clear up within a day or two, and works its way completely out an infected host within a week.”

  “Ok, so we don’t have an antidote for it, yet. But we know that it goes away on its own?”

  Stephens nodded. “It does, but like I said, only when the concentration in the host is low enough. Under load, it will increase to the point of becoming contagious to others, but then stop, immunizing the host.” His eyes flicked to Malcolm. “Over the viral load, however, and it will completely destroy the host’s internal system.”

  “That’s good news, Stephens,” Ben said. “But we’re running out of time. This thing’s spreading around the country, and it’s not slowing down. Plus —”

  “The bomb,” Julie finished.

  “Right,” Stephens said, nodding. “The bomb. Any ideas as to where it is?”

  “No, not yet.”

  “Okay, well I can help. Julie, why don’t you and I —”

  “You’re not going anywhere with her,” Ben said, stepping forward.

  “Excuse me?”

  “You’re not leaving.” Ben said again.

  “Ben,” Julie said, coming up alongside him. “What’s the deal?”

  Stephens stood up from the chair again, frowning. He looked at Ben, scrutinizing him.

  Before he could react, Ben took another step forward and punched Stephens in the gut, hard. Stephens doubled over, trying to catch his breath.

  “Ben!” Malcolm ran toward him, but Ben held up his arm to halt his approach.

  “Stop — let me deal with this.” He turned back to Stephens. “What else do you do, Stephens?”

  “Wh — what are you talking about?”

  “You know exactly what I’m talking about. Who are you working with?”

  Julie became panicked as she looked between the two men standing in front of her. “Ben, wait, just —”

  Ben grabbed Stephens under the chin and hoisted him up straight. He delivered another blow to the man’s side. “It’s not just that you were suspicious to me from the beginning,” he said. “You came in here, somehow finding the road without, apparently, outside help. These back roads aren’t on any map, and we’ve specifically removed them from GPS data feeds to make sure wandering tourists don’t end up finding a back entrance to the park.”

  Julie watched the exchange, mouth agape.

  “I — it was the IT… Randall. He got me here. He helped me find —”

  “That’s not true,” Julie said. Ben looked at her, surprised. “Randy didn’t even know we were coming here. I didn’t tell him where we were going, and even if he tried to track me through my phone somehow, he wouldn’t be able to do in time to send you our coordinates until we were here. You showed up minutes after we arrived, Stephens.”

  Stephens’ eyes grew wide. “Seriously? You don’t think —”

  “Explain how you know so much about this virus,” Ben said. “You’re a research assistant, right? You collect research and deliver it to Julie?”

  Stephens’ nostrils flared, and he gritted his teeth.

  “And I saw the way you looked at Dr. Fischer when you mentioned ‘immunization.’ How did you know that he was immune?”

  “I didn’t!”

  “You did. I saw it in your eyes. You knew exactly who he was the moment you walked in here, didn’t you? You’ve seen him before!”

  Stephens’ eyes darted back and forth from Julie to Ben to Malcolm. Ben grabbed him again and started to swing his arm back. A slight smile escaped the side of Stephens’ mouth, and just as quickly, it vanished.

  Ben stopped, shocked. “You do know something, don’t you?”

  A look of anger washed over Stephens’ face. He spat.

  Ben punched him in the jaw, sending the man’s head hurtling backward as it absorbed the blow. Ben winced in pain, opening and closing his fist.

  Stephens didn’t react. He stared coldly back at Ben.

  Ben hit him again. Julie ran forward and grabbed his arm, trying to stop the attack.

  When Stephens’ head came back up this time, Julie saw a trickle blood dripping just next to his mouth.

  His smiling mouth.

  Stephens spat out a mouthful of blood, then spoke. “You just couldn’t figure it out, could you?”

  Julie was stunned. “What are you talking about?”

  He laughed. A chuckle, slowly rolling out of his bleeding mouth. “It’s too late anyway. Too late.”

  Ben looked at Julie, silently asking her what to do. She shook her head, and Ben dropped his hand.

  “It’s too late. Too late —”

  “Too late for what?” she yelled at Stephens.

  “You can’t save them. Couldn’t save them. Diana Torres, Charlie Furmann, David Livingston. And the others. You can’t save them now.”

  Ben took a step back. Stephens. It was him — the man who’d killed them. And Diana.

  His mother.

  Chapter Forty-Four

  JULIE COULDN’T BELIEVE WHAT SHE was hearing. There was Stephens’ confession, but mainly the unbelievable scope of what Stephens claimed he’d done. Following Julie’s threads of evidence and research to Diana Torres’ door, then to Charlie Furmann and Livingston. Anyone who’d gotten in his way had paid the ultimate price.

  Not to mention however many others they didn’t know about.

  Julie was beside herself. She’d worked with Stephens long enough to trust him, to even grow fond of him. He was a smart kid, and he worked hard.

  But he’d betrayed her.

  He’d betrayed them all.

  She didn’t know how to respond. Malcolm was also shocked, still recovering from Ben’s attack on Stephens. He slumped in the corner, leaning on the table Julie had been using as a lab table.

  Ben, however, did know how to respond. Julie watched as Ben laid into Stephens, landing punches as fast as his arms would allow. They weren’t targeted well, and many brushed Stephens’ head and shoulders. Ben lacked control, and he wasn’t putting mu
ch force into the blows. It was an emotional reaction, one Julie and Malcolm were both astonished to see.

  But it made sense.

  The man in front of her had killed Ben’s mother. He had been the cause of her infection and eventual death, all while Stephens led them through a dead-end maze.

  But why?

  The question nagged at her. She hadn’t noticed it the first time, focused instead on overcoming the initial shock of Ben’s accusation, and the subsequent revelation that he’d been right.

  Still, the question was there, and she had to know the answer.

  “Why?” she asked, softly. Then again, louder. “Why, Stephens?”

  He looked up at her, and Ben stopped swinging.

  “Why?”

  Ben stepped back, his breathing labored from the exertion, and also looked at Julie.

  Waiting for the answer.

  But Stephens only laughed, gurgling blood that had filled his mouth. He spat, a wry smile on his face. “It’s too late,” he said.

  “You mentioned that already. But I’ll make that decision for myself,” Ben said. “Where’s the bomb, Stephens? I know it’s in the park somewhere. In the caves, like you said on the phone?”

  “You’ll never find it,” he replied.

  “Stephens, please,” Julie said. Stephens just shook his head.

  “Like I said,” Stephens said, looking at each of them in turn. “It’s too late. America isn’t united enough to save itself.”

  Julie cocked her head. Where had she heard that before?

  “This country values freedom, but you and I both know that ‘freedom’ is a joke. We’re somewhere between a third-world country with a corrupt government and an overbearing corporation on the scale of how free we really are. Americans now hold on to every scrap of ‘freedom’ they can find, including their own individuality —”

  Ben stepped forward and punched Stephens again. “Where is the bomb?” he yelled.