And hours away from Armageddon, the potential savior of the world, Matt Griffin, was sound asleep in his quarters, hooked up to an IV dispensing yet another bag of glucose and other nutrition directly into his bloodstream.
Three men were stationed just outside his room, and six more covered all points of access from the corridors. Ironically, Jake had heightened security around Matt Griffin when he needed it the least. He was the only hope to fend off doomsday. The fate of the world was riding on his mountainous shoulders, and disturbing him in any way, let alone killing or kidnapping him, was equivalent to suicide for the perpetrator—and for the planet.
Desh rapped on the door to the stateroom three doors over from Griffin’s. The colonel swung the door open and motioned him inside. Dutton was the only other inhabitant of the room.
“You asked to see me?” said Desh, his stare fixed firmly on the powerful civilian who was calling the shots.
“That’s right,” replied Dutton. “How is Matt doing?”
“Sound asleep last I checked.”
Dutton frowned. “I know he’s exhausted, but shouldn’t he be working? He’s our only hope.”
“He isn’t,” corrected Desh. “You could give Matt a million years and he’d never figure out how to disable the nanites. Sleep is the biggest contribution normal Matt can make to this project. His altered self is our hope, and he can’t be recommissioned for a few hours yet. As it is, even then Matt will be taking a big risk.”
“You really think he can pull it off?” asked Dutton nervously. Desh could hardly blame him. It was a chilling feeling to know that nuclear Armageddon was just hours away and it all hinged on the suppositions of one slumbering hacker.
Desh shrugged. “You heard the same thing we all did,” he said. After Matt had all but delivered humanity’s epitaph to everyone on board, he had done his best to reassure his listeners that he was nearly certain he could perfect a self-destruct code in time to stop the threat. “Matt told me in private before he went to sleep that he thinks his alter ego will only need about ten minutes to crack the final piece of the code.” He paused. “Personally, I think our chances are better than fifty-fifty.”
“Good to know,” said Jake wryly. “Heads it’s doomsday, tails it isn’t.”
“So what’s happening at your end?” asked Desh.
“It’s been a real shitstorm as you can imagine,” said Jake.
“Ninety percent of the countries have confirmed Matt’s analysis on their own now,” said Dutton. “Those with ready access to free uranium or plutonium have verified that the damn bugs migrate toward the shit right away, just like Matt predicted.”
“So the world’s governments are convinced the threat is real?”
Dutton laughed. “Yeah. they’re convinced all right. And they’re shitting in their pants. And why not? So is everyone here.”
“Did they all agree to keep it under wraps?”
Jake nodded. “After Matt said in his address that he was confident he could disarm the things with an hour or two to spare, what would be the point of disclosing it? Not even the most open governments in the world would do that. If the world ends, it doesn’t matter. And if Matt succeeds, they’ll have thrown their citizens into mass panic for nothing.”
“Not time enough to really disclose the situation anyway,” added Dutton. “Those in the know are probably at home fucking their wives one last time.”
“What are you talking about?” protested Desh. “Aren’t they all making sure they disarm their nukes?”
“Too late,” said Jake. “If this had been discovered earlier, it could have been done. As it is, it’s Matt or it’s Armageddon.”
“If he does perfect his self destruct sequence?” said Desh. “Will an hour or two before time zero be enough?”
“Should be plenty,” replied Jake. “Matt said he’s certain that if he does find it, it’ll be relatively simple, and transmittable by a variety of means. Every radio station, cell phone tower, Wi-Fi provider, and communications satellite on earth will be standing by to transmit.”
Desh shook his head. “You’d better be making sure that someone on every last submarine and in every last nuclear silo will transmit the signal as well. Up close and personal.”
Jake nodded. “All governments, including no doubt, any terrorists organizations harboring nukes, have gotten this message.”
Dutton walked to a minifridge and pulled out a soda. “We still have a lot to accomplish, so why don’t we get to the reason I asked you here.”
Desh raised his eyebrows. “Which is?”
“We need to ready an evac for you and Matt for the second he comes up with a self-destruct code.” Dutton frowned deeply, and it was clear he was adding, if he comes up with a code, in his head.
“Say again?” said Desh in confusion.
“The moment this crisis is averted, Matt becomes the most wanted man on earth.”
“What are you talking about?” challenged Desh. “He becomes the most idolized hero on earth.”
“Yeah. That too. Idolized by the people of the world. Feared by their governments.”
Desh considered. “He was just a little too impressive, wasn’t he?”
“You think?” replied Dutton, rolling his eyes. “If I knew they had a Griffin equivalent in China, and suspected he worked for the government, I’d be shitting bricks also. Unofficially, we’d put out a hit on him so fast your head would spin. What do you think China, and Russia, and Iran, and Syria, and a handful of others are planning right now?”
Desh shot the civilian a look of disgust. “So it’s, thanks for saving our bacon, but you’re too off-the-charts talented to be allowed to live?”
“Basically,” replied Dutton. “I think we can protect him, especially on a neutral, weaponless cruise liner. But why take chances?”
“I’m not buying it,” said Desh. “Have you not been paying attention? If we survive the next few hours—an enormous if—the world will never be the same. We’ve got some other species out there to worry about now.”
Jake nodded. “That’s where I came down also. When the survival of the world is at stake, no one is going to take out the only man who has any insight into alien technology and alien programming. No matter which government he’s working for.”
Desh thought about this. Would Matt Griffin become the property of the world, perhaps working for the United Nations? But even as he thought it he knew this was out of the question. Because Matt couldn’t hide for long that he was only brilliant on rare occasions. If he worked publically, he would risk outing Kira’s treatment and Icarus, which was still unacceptable. Matt could still research alien technology, but he’d have to do it from off the grid once again, which would be far more challenging. But those were problems for another day, Desh knew. If there was another day.
“You both may be right, and I’m wrong,” admitted Dutton. “I hope you are. And maybe all nations on earth will share your exact, rational viewpoint. But old habits die hard. Why take the chance? Let’s get Matt off this boat before anybody realizes he’s gone. Let’s get both of you back stateside and release you back into the wild like we promised. What’s the penalty for being on the safe side?”
“Agreed,” said Desh after a few seconds of further thought. “But Jake needs to be our escort on the evac. That’s the deal.”
“Why?”
“He’s the only one we trust.”
“How touching,” said Dutton with a sneer. “Even though he killed one of you? And has tried to kill you all?”
This was a direct hit on an open sore, but Desh forced himself to not let it show. “Right,” he said evenly.
“Whatever you say,” said Dutton.
“And one more thing,” added Desh. “We have to be absolutely sure Matt’s code really does disable the nanites before we go anywhere.”
“No shit,” snapped Dutton with contempt.
56
Matt Griffin was slumped in a wheelchair, still connected t
o a small peristaltic infusion pump that pushed nutrition from a transparent bag into his bloodstream. Four members of the American contingent made sure the path ahead of him was clear, one pushed him along, while four others, including David Desh, surrounded the chair as it moved, ensuring the most recognizable man on the ship wouldn’t be recognized.
They made it to the makeshift flight deck ten minutes later, just in time for the pill Griffin had swallowed on the way to take effect. A powerful computer, which Griffin had said was sufficient for his needs, awaited him on a desk placed near a large, opulent Sikorsky helicopter, about the size of a Blackhawk, colored white with red accents. It was one of hundreds of helicopters parked in just this single section of upper deck, which before being converted to a heliport had been two beach volleyball courts, a full sized basketball court, and an eighteen-hole miniature golf course. Runways for planes had been built on the opposite end of a deck that was five hundred and twenty yards long. Typically, there was at least some activity here, but now it was deserted. What was the point of going anywhere? There was no outrunning the destruction the nanites were about to unleash, and the Copernicus was as beautiful a setting as any to await death and contemplate the nature of the afterlife.
Dutton dismissed everyone but Desh, Kolke, and Jake: the only three men on board who knew about the gellcaps. They stood beside the helicopter, eyes outward to make sure they were not interrupted.
Desh wheeled Griffin to the desk they had set up beside the Sikorski so he could reach the wireless keyboard and mouse. The hacker immediately scrolled through screen after screen filled with incomprehensible symbols—which he must have converted from inputs he had coaxed from the nanites—faster than a normal human could even follow, let alone read and digest. But Griffin just stared, unblinking, at the monitor; drinking from a fire hose without missing a drop. After a few minutes his fingers began to fly over the keyboard, and he toggled between several screens at a blazing pace.
Desh checked the watch Jake had issued to him, along with clothing, before he had come on board. “Ninety-seven minutes and counting,” he said grimly to the colonel standing beside him.
Jake nodded woodenly but said nothing in reply. There was nothing to say.
Six minutes ticked by. The slowest minutes Desh had ever experienced. And the fastest.
“I’ve got it!” shouted Griffin triumphantly, startling all three men. “You fucking little bastards,” he growled. “You can kiss my fat ass.”
“What?” said Dutton, his face wrinkled in confusion. The words had been shouted so quickly they were incomprehensible.
Griffin, as exhausted as he was, still glared at Dutton with superhuman intensity and superhuman disdain. “Sending,” he said pointedly, and hit a single button on the keyboard.
Dutton’s eyes widened hopefully. He may not have understood Matt before, but the word sending had a nice ring to it. “Liz,” he said into a phone, “Matt has transmitted the self-destruct sequence. You should be receiving it on your computer now.”
There was a brief pause. “Got it,” said an American molecular biologist from her stateroom twelve levels below. “I’m transmitting it now from my computer as a radio signal.”
The moment this was complete she peered through the eyepiece of an expensive microscope at dozens of nanites she had placed on a slide.
Her breath caught in her throat.
They were coming apart.
The nanites separated into five discrete pieces and lay dormant, unmoving. While she watched, the intricate biological portions of the bugs dissolved, like sugar after water had been applied.
The self-destruct sequence had worked.
Screaming, whooping, and other unmistakable sounds of celebration came over Dutton’s phone loudly enough to be heard by everyone nearby. Griffin’s face remained impassive, but Desh closed his eyes, tilted his head back, and blew out a huge mouthful of air in relief. The tight faces of Jake and Dutton relaxed for the first time since Griffin’s discovery of the nanites’ true mission, and tired smiles appeared on all three faces.
The molecular biologist finally stopped shouting and described to Dutton what she had seen under the scope. Even before her description was completed she had forwarded the code to every computer on the Copernicus. Within minutes it would be distributed to governments back home, and then uploaded to satellites, cell phone towers, radio stations, and nuclear bunkers around the world.
Jake extended his hand toward Matt Griffin. “You magnificent bastard,” he said in awe. “You did it!”
Griffin ignored the outstretched hand. “Of course I did,” he said haughtily, as though Jake’s enthusiasm was insulting because it suggested he had previously had doubts.
Dutton stayed behind while the four others boarded the Sikorski, an exclusive model used by titans of industry that was much like a limousine inside. While Kolke, who had been an experienced pilot in a past life, started up the engine, Desh helped Griffin take a seat in one of the leather captain’s chairs and hung his IV.
“I’m inducing sleep now,” declared Griffin the moment he was situated, and seconds later he was unconscious.
Desh was fascinated. Griffin would still be in an enhanced state for almost forty minutes, but his superior mind must have calculated that while he couldn’t snap himself back to normalcy to spare his overtaxed system, he could at least put his brain in idle.
Desh checked his watch once again. If everything worked as hoped, they should be able to avert the crisis with ten or twenty minutes to spare. But worst case, if they missed a few nukes, at least the destruction and mass death would be local—the world would still survive. Still, Desh knew he would feel a whole lot better in seventy-two minutes. And better still in seventy-two hours.
Jake and Desh donned headphones as the helicopter lifted off and banked to the east. Desh took one last look at the magnificent Copernicus, lighted up like a massive firefly against a blanket of endless darkness, a fitting testament to mankind’s creative genius. Like everything else about the past month, the situation was surreal. If someone would have told him a month earlier that Matt Griffin would save the world from alien nanites—from the deck of world’s largest luxury cruise liner—and that rather than being heralded as a savior, he would be whisked away as though fleeing the scene of a crime, Desh would have laughed his ass off—just before having whoever had spouted such nonsense institutionalized.
The Sikorski continued on a southeasterly heading toward South Africa; the ride smooth as silk. The interior of the craft sported lacquered wood cabinetry, mirrors, and inlaid video screens, along with a fully stocked bar, and was largely empty since it had a passenger capacity of ten.
The men gazed out of the windows in silence as the clock counted down to zero, alone with their thoughts. Griffin was still out cold, having doubtlessly made the transition back to normalcy some minutes before.
With five minutes left until time zero, Jake rose from his chair, walked the short distance to the bar, and poured two glasses of Champaign into delicate crystal goblets. He returned to his seat and handed a glass to Desh.
Desh took the glass and nodded. Just when he thought things could not get more surreal, here he was in a decadent helicopter, flying over the South Atlantic with a sworn enemy and an unconscious friend, seconds away from the end of the world, holding a glass of champagne like it was New Year’s Eve.
Desh placed the glass on the armrest beside him, glanced at his watch, and once again peered out the window. Would the sky suddenly turn crimson? Would the fire of man-made suns turn night into day, and Earth into a lifeless hell? How many seconds would they have before a nuclear shock wave shattered the Sikorski like a rose dipped in liquid nitrogen?
Griffin’s code should work. But should and would were too different things.
“We’re through!” declared Jake excitedly beside him. They had hit time zero while Desh had been lost in thought.
Desh nodded, not allowing himself to be excited. Not just yet.
“Let’s wait for the celebration,” he said. “Until you get your report.”
They had to wait five additional minutes until the report came in over Jake’s headphones. He lifted his glass of champagne and faced Desh. “No explosions reported anywhere. Looks like your friend’s code worked like a charm.”
Desh grinned from ear to ear and clinked glasses with the colonel. Griffin had done it, thought Desh as he drank. If not for Kira, the world would have ended. Her treatment to boost the human IQ had staved off total disaster. But at what cost to her?
Jake listened to his headphones on a private channel and then switched over to a channel that Jake and Kolke could hear. “I’ve been told that reports are coming in from around the world—from basically everyone studying nanites—that they’ve disintegrated,” he said triumphantly. “The full story of the Armageddon we just dodged, and how we dodged it, is now being released around the globe,” he continued. “Also, the Copernicus is setting up a press conference. They were frantically searching for Matt to headline, so Dutton had to disclose that he was no longer on board.”
“How was that received?” asked Desh.
“Not well,” replied Jake. He frowned and turned to face Griffin. “I just wish the big guy was awake so we could lift him on our shoulders.” He made a face. “Metaphorically speaking, of course. When he’s not the world’s biggest asshole, he’s a heck of a sweet guy.”
Desh laughed. He wanted to ask if that meant Jake would stop trying to kill him, but he didn’t want to spoil the festive mood.
They landed forty minutes later at another hastily constructed heliport near the coast of South Africa, and were finally forced to awaken Matt, as well as remove his IV, since the bag was nearly drained. They showered him with congratulations, but he was too exhausted to even smile, barely able to lift himself out of his seat to exit the helicopter.
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