A pause, and Navarro heard the two men discussing the matter.
“October thinks we’re good for a couple of hours,” Redhawk said. “That’ll put us in Kazakhstan’s capital, Astana. That ‘major’ enough for you?”
“Yeah, that’ll do just fine.”
Austen nodded. “The sooner we touch down the better, as far as I’m concerned.”
“And with any luck,” Preble sighed, “they’ll know how to make a proper cup of tea.”
The jet made a slow turn to the west as October tried to put as little strain on the airframe as possible. In the meantime, Navarro and Austen looked out the blackened, cracked window. They were silent as they regarded what lay behind them.
A new mushroom-shaped cloud rose into the sky, eclipsing the one that had hung like a prescient warning over the former open-pit mine.
Chapter Fifty-Four
United States Senate Building
Washington, D.C.
The high arches of the U.S. Senate building’s halls made Austen’s heels click and echo with every step she took. She’d gone back to her sleek gray-on-gray look to set off her freshly styled copper locks. Yet, if she looked like a million dollars, she felt closer to broke.
Is this really what it’s all about? Leigh did her best not to deepen her frown lines as she thought about it. I wanted to help people. I wanted to do something good. And all that came from it was death. Amy Zhou, Helen Lelache, Navarro’s men…it just went on and on. What was the point?
At least the killing had stopped. The killing of human beings, anyway.
She’d reported to the Senate Foreign Intelligence Committee that the hit from Thor’s Hammer had effectively sterilized a fifth of the entire province of Ozrabek. That it was overwhelmingly certain that any Nostocales remaining on the surface had been vaporized.
Yet the countries surrounding the incident’s epicenter weren’t taking any chances. Both Kazakh and Mongolian shepherds had culled a quarter-million sheep from their herds. Russia had sent in hunters to slaughter deer and other animals migrating north from Ozrabek. And China had exterminated its entire poultry farm industry in its Westernmost province over fears that wild birds had spread the sickness to its chickens.
Austen had thought it wasteful. But she couldn’t blame them. Historically, fear of the unknown had been just as lethal and contagious as any bioweapon.
“Leigh!” a familiar voice called. “Hey, hold up!”
She turned, surprised. Navarro walked up to her, wearing the same off-the-rack sports coat as from the first time they’d met. The swelling at the side of his face where Chelovik had hit him was gone now. It had been replaced by purplish bruising and an impressively shiny black eye.
Just seeing his face buoyed her spirits. While she hadn’t been shot at, beaten, or buried alive in the last couple of days, being dragged in front of Senate Committees was its own form of grueling torture. To her surprise, she found herself smiling as she spoke.
“Nick, you have no idea how good it is to see you.” The words came out in a rush. She paused and cleared her throat before going on. “I mean, it’s nice to see someone who doesn’t want to tear apart every action I’ve taken over the last few days.”
“That’s politics for you. Something happened, and they have to find someone accountable for it all. Someone they can grandstand against, with luck.”
She nodded. They continued along the marble-lined hall towards the exit doors. They passed a smattering of people, all talking urgently on their cell phones or sitting on the slick stone benches, patiently waiting to be called in.
“Then maybe I’ve been lucky,” Austen admitted. “I’ve been in front of at least three Special Senate Committees already. All closed-door, thank God. Eventually I’ll have to report in to the WHO and the CDC. That’s going to be barrel-of-monkeys level fun.”
“Perhaps you can shut them up a little,” Navarro considered, “if you start asking who accepted the money from Turrim to fund Ian Blaine’s corporate jet.”
“I just might!” she agreed firmly. “I’ve been flat-out surprised by a lot of things recently. Blaine working to make money off a world-ending pathogen has been one.”
“And the other?”
“The other…is that the very same Ian Blaine is taking most of the flak for us, and he’s doing it from a hospital bed! He’s the one who authorized the strike by Thor’s Hammer, so he’s the one who’s really in the hot seat. Among other things, the Department of Defense isn’t happy that Russia and China got a front-row seat to see how the system works, and they got it free of charge.”
Navarro sighed. “They’re trying to lock the barn door long after the horse has bolted. October’s been flown to Russia so that his cousin can debrief him. From what I hear, even Ted Preble’s talking to his people back in London. But that’s not what I really wanted to ask you about.”
That got her attention. “What, then?”
“I wanted to know…” Navarro paused and waited for a pair of nattily dressed women to pass by. “I wanted to know if you’ve heard anything since you got back. From DiCaprio.”
“As a matter of fact, I did,” Austen said quietly. “When I returned home, I logged in and sent him a ‘thank you’ message. I made one remark at the end which got an interesting response.”
“What was that?”
“I told him, ‘I hope that’s the last hot zone I see for a long time’.” I got back a pair of emoticons from him in reply. Those are little pictures you can put in a text or an email. You know, to show mood or make a joke.”
“I know what those are, Leigh. So, what were the pair he sent you?”
“One was a smiley face with a winking eye. The other was a picture of crossed fingers. For some reason, I think he’s really saying: We’ll see what happens next.”
“Maybe he is.” Navarro rubbed his chin in thought. “What are your feelings on the matter?”
“Honestly, I’m not sure. I don’t have the shakes when I gown up anymore. No more nightmares. On the other hand, I’m pretty sick of these Congressional committees. After that last one, I feel like I’ve been raked over a set of hot coals.”
Navarro nodded sympathetically. “The powers-that-be got me called on the red carpet as well, but I’m used to it. I’ve been grilled more than a few times over M&B’s actions in the field. It happens when you involve private security in international affairs. You’re not even acknowledged as having been there, but you sure catch hell when the, ah, stuff hits the fan.”
She quirked a grin at him. “You mean shit.”
Navarro grinned back. “As a matter of fact, I did. I was trying to spare your delicate ears, Doctor Austen.”
“My delicate–” Austen burst out laughing for the first time in days.
She felt good. Better than good.
They reached the tall bronze exit doors at the end of the hall. A quick show of their temporary badges, and they passed out into a bright, unseasonably warm day. Throngs of tourists, security personnel, and Congressional aides filled the outside plaza.
Austen and Navarro moved to stand by the balustrade to the side of the Senate building’s marble steps. Before them stretched the winter-browned grass of the National Mall. The Washington Monument’s snow-white spike gleamed in the distance.
“You know,” Navarro began, “I’m going to be in the city for a few days before M&B finds me something to do. What about you?”
“I was going to visit one of my favorite book stores,” she replied. “It’s a great place. Nice selection of classics. I bet they’ve got lots of Robert Louis Stevenson.”
“Perhaps I could give you a lift there?” he ventured. “I’m up for lunch afterwards, if you are.”
She pursed her lips theatrically to give the impression of serious consideration.
“I don’t know. After all, I’m a very picky eater. Unless I get my sheep’s head properly boiled, I’m going to be very difficult company.”
Navarro put his hand over h
is heart. “I promise to have you served only the best boiled sheep’s head in the city. And if you’re still difficult company, you’re in luck.”
“How’s that?”
“I’m still a slow learner.”
“Well, then,” she said, “I think we have enough in common to spend the day together.”
Leigh slipped her arm through Nick’s. Together, they turned and walked down the steps. A smile blossomed on her face, one that finally looked as if it belonged there.
Yes, she thought to herself, I understand it now. This is really what it’s all about.
She pulled him closer, laughing as the two blended into the morning crowd.
Epilogue
Saint-Germain-en-Laye
Île-de-France
Outermost suburbs of Paris
The twin-engine Gulfstream G150 would’ve looked like a mere sparrow compared to an ocean-crossing passenger airliner. Yet it blended in among a sea of small corporate jets at the Paris – Le Corentin airport. So did its only passenger.
On paper, Le Corentin was an all-purpose civilian aviation center. In practice, the airport kept its business restricted to the ‘discrete’ elite. It served those who wished to arrive in Paris without having photos splashed across Le Monde.
Helen Lelache wore a denim blazer over a champagne-colored shirt and ankle length jeans. It was chic enough, but the fabrics were stained and rumpled as if from hard travel. A long black limo pulled up at the foot of the deboarding ramp and waited for her.
She descended the ramp with an aluminum hard-shell case held close to her side. Though the case was rugged, she made sure not to bump it against anything. When the driver offered to place it in the trunk, she gently refused and held it next to her as she was helped into the rear of the vehicle.
Lelache reclined in the seat as the limo left the airport and made its way along the roads north of Paris. The sun had set, and the last afterglow had turned the sky the shade of rich burgundy. She closed her eyes and listened to the rumble of the car’s motor. It was a great deal deeper than that of a motorcycle.
In the final hour before the Karakul’s compound had been turned to so much rubble, she’d made her way down to the infirmary’s basement. Chelovik knew that she’d stored a motorcycle there. He’d probably expected her to catch up to him when he left the base with his convoy of trucks.
She shook her head. Quels imbéciles!
None of them – not Blaine, not Chelovik, no one – truly appreciated Nostocales for the unique life form the universe had birthed. As soon as Lelache had gotten through the main gates, she’d turned the cycle down a different road and sped across the rolling Kazakh plain as fast as she’d dared.
She’d looked up and seen Navarro’s cargo jet cruise by overhead. That was just before her world turned upside down. A mushroom-cloud raising blast to the north hammered the landscape just as the road dipped into a deep ravine.
Lelache was tossed from her seat even as the cycle itself was flung off the road. Much later, when she came to, the rest of the day was spent cleaning dirt out of the vehicle’s motor. Miraculously, she’d gotten it working again.
She’d had a bad couple of days making her way to the Kazakh–Mongolian border. Not once had she thought that Austen or Navarro might drop a nuclear weapon on the mine. Yet after her beautiful hair refused to fall out, she accepted that perhaps radiation sickness wasn’t in the cards.
A couple stacks of freshly minted Mongolian tugrik greased the border guard’s hands, allowing her entry into the country. She continued on until her cycle finally coughed its last. Then she bribed her way aboard a local rancher’s pickup truck to reach the capital at Ulaanbaatar.
From there, it was easy enough to arrange a series of flights that would get her back home.
The driver’s voice cut through her thoughts.
“Mademoiselle, nous sommes arrives.”
“Ah, merci,” Lelache breathed. She turned down his offer of assistance and sent the limo on its way. Then she turned and tapped a code into a box by her home’s entryway. Soundlessly, a set of well-oiled gates slid apart, allowing her access.
A full moon hung low on the horizon as she made her way up the curve of a tree-lined driveway. The moonlight glanced off the ivy-covered walls of a splendid house. It had been built in the Château style of steeply sloped blue shingle and powder-white stone.
The house lit up as she drew near enough to trigger the motion sensors. A cheery glow lit the windows and the front door opened automatically with a robotic chuff. She strode through, noting that everything was in order, just as she had left it.
She let out a relieved sigh. Blessed isolation and comfort at last. Epidemiology was her passion, but her passion forced her to mingle with the outside world in so many unpleasant ways.
Lelache passed through two more doors as she made her way into the very heart of the house. She passed rooms filled with fine furniture, paintings depicting scenes along the Seine, and windows inlaid with one-way viewing privacy glass.
Finally, she stood before an ornately decorated desk. Though it looked vintage, a brass plate with modern buttons and a bejeweled dial jutted from the desktop. She tapped a trio of the buttons and waited.
Track lighting glowed, illuminating the room. Classical music filled the air from speakers hidden amongst the fixtures in the ceiling. The wall before the desk slid apart as if unlacing before her eyes.
A set of foot-high display cases slid out, each in the shape of a Victorian glass bell jar. Etched into the dome of each jar in scarlet ink was the orchid-like biohazard symbol.
A nightmare-inducing colony of monsters lived under each glass hemisphere.
Every jar contained a specially designed bioflask. Each bioflask, a climate-controlled container the size of a small thermos, carried a handwritten label. Lelache flicked the jewel-encrusted dial. The jars moved smoothly along a circular conveyor belt before her, as if on parade. She read each label lovingly as it slid past.
Bacillus anthracis.
Vibrio cholerae.
Yersinia pestis.
Zaire ebolavirus.
And then came an empty space on in the line. An empty space in her heart. A touch of the dial, and the jars came to a halt.
She set down her aluminum case and pulled out a newly filled bioflask. A quick jot of a pen, the lifting of a jar, and the flask went onto the belt.
Nostocales Diabolus.
Lelache smiled as she spoke to herself.
“Petit a petit, l’oiseau fait son nid.”
Little by little, the bird makes its nest.
She blew a kiss towards her latest find. Her heart was empty no more. At least for the moment. Lelache turned and left the room, humming to herself. The music continued to play, though there were none to listen – or at least to appreciate – its beauty.
The bell jars glistened in the light. Their little biohazard orchids glowed softly red, like a field of flowers just waiting to bloom.
The End
Afterword
Thank you for reading The Devil’s Noose! I hope you found it as enjoyable to read as it was for me to write. Turn the page for a link to a free prequel short story, The Plague Walker – where you’ll learn why Leigh Austen is still haunted by nightmares involving the Black Nile virus!
Would you like to see Austen, Navarro, October and others return for more high-octane adventures laced with speculative medical fiction? I’d love to hear your ideas on what you liked and what you might like to see; feel free to drop me a line at [email protected].
Oh, and would you mind going here to leave me a review? Even short reviews (we’re talking two and three-word reviews here) have tremendous influence in making a book, and it would really make my day, week, and month.
Finally, there are a few notes about The Devil’s Noose that I’d like to share.
Effort was taken to ensure basic accuracy in many areas of this book. However, it is far and away a work that is equal parts sp
eculation and imagination. For example, the Crucero virus and its horrific symptoms exist only within these pages. As for this book’s star pathogen, the order of cyanobacteria known as Nostocales is real, but the species Nostocales Diabolus is not.
Colonies of bacteria do communicate with each other in nature. Slime molds are able to move using the system of cytoplasmic streaming, also known as cyclosis. But the abilities of Nostocales Diabolus to move and respond to stimulus are, to use the words of a bacteriologist friend, ‘fanciful at best’.
The Christie Theory and the pinprick holes in fossilized bone referenced by Amy Zhou are both fictional. However, the idea that an asteroid impact was the main driver of the dinosaurs’ mass extinction is very much accepted today. Since it was proposed in 1980 by the father-and-son team of Luis and Walter Alvarez, it is generally referred to as the Alvarez Hypothesis.
Kinetic weapons systems like the infamous ‘Rods from God’ have been part of science fiction for a long time. The earliest references date back to Jerry Pournelle, who came up with the idea while working for Boeing in the 1950’s. While ground-based kinetic weapons like railguns do exist, the Department of Defense has never acknowledged the existence of any system resembling Thor’s Hammer.
Finally, the Karakul open-pit mine, the Daichin Tengri worshipping rebels, and the breakaway province of Ozrabek were all invented for this story. No disrespect was meant to either the people or the country of Kazakhstan.
Again, thank you for spending time with me, Leigh Austen, Nicholas Navarro, October Shtormovoy, John Redhawk, Edward Preble, Ian Blaine, Aleksey Chelovik, and Helen Lelache.
Michael Angel
Now FREE for all Amazon Readers:
The Plague Walker
Epidemiologist Leigh Austen stumbles into a nightmare as the medical relief mission she's been sent on goes horribly awry. The African country of Malindi is in turmoil, there's been an outbreak of Black Nile virus, and Austen is put into a position where she may be the only person who can turn the tide!
The Devil’s Noose Page 24
