Lethal Savage

by Dave Edlund

  “Well, one of the component gene sequences in this new virus was copied from HIV. This is concerning because there is no effective vaccine for HIV because of the way vaccines work. You see, a vaccine is a cocktail of dead or weakened virus that stimulates the human immune system to produce antibodies. These antibodies attack the live virus and stave off infection. However, HIV attacks the very part of the immune system that would ordinarily produce these antibodies.”

  “I’m no science expert, far from it. But it sounds to me that whoever engineered this virus knew exactly what they were doing.”

  “They successfully designed a viable virus that infects males, likely causing sterility, and for which we have no precedent to develop an effective vaccine. Fortunately, it appears to be spread through water, at least if what Mr. Price has shared is truthful. It would be worse, much worse, if it was an airborne contagion.”

  Detective Colson was silent in thought for a moment. “That’s an interesting point. Let’s assume that a person, or group of people, deliberately developed this virus with the goal of infecting a civilian population center. It stands to reason, they would want to be able to limit the spread so as not to inadvertently be infected themselves.”

  “They could simply vaccinate themselves and those they want to be immune to the disease.”

  “You’re assuming that whoever engineered the virus also developed a vaccine. You tell me, is that a safe bet?”

  “Well,” Julia hesitated, “for the reasons I’ve already shared, it’s a long shot.”

  “What you’re saying is there’s no guarantee a vaccine was also developed along with the viral agent.”

  “I see your point,” Julia said. “In that case, a water-based virus makes perfect sense. I have a bad feeling this is only the beginning. I’ve been warning about a global pandemic and no one in congress wants to do anything to prepare.”

  “Whoa. You think this could spread around the world?”

  “If the virus is introduced into a major water supply, hundreds of millions could be infected. Once a localized population is exposed, it’s possible the disease would spread through the exchange of body fluids—possibly even through coughing and sneezing which introduce tiny aerosol droplets in the air and others then breathe in those droplets. We’ve modeled these scenarios, and the results are frightening. In dense population centers, the virus spreads at a phenomenal pace.”

  “But what you’ve just described about the spread of the disease, that would also place the developers at risk, wouldn’t it?”

  “Not necessarily. Not if they isolated themselves from any local outbreaks until it burned itself out. This could be the perfect bioweapon.”

  s

  Detective Ruth Colson debated calling over to the Eugene PD for several minutes. Finally, she decided that paranoid suspicions did not carry equal weight with professional relationships she’d developed. She knew a detective there from a conference both had attended a year earlier.

  “Hey, Hector. It’s Ruth Colson from over in Bend.”

  “Hello, detective. It’s been a long time. What’s up? My skills at deductive reasoning tell me this isn’t a social call.”

  She shared the information gleaned from Darnell Price and relayed a summary of her conversation with Dr. Julia Zhong.

  “And you think this guy’s for real?” Hector Lopez said.

  “Yes, I do. I’m going to send a file over to you later today. It’ll have everything we’ve got on Price. Let me know how you want to coordinate the transfer, as we have no jurisdiction here. It will be up to your captain and the DA to decide if they want to charge Price or not.”

  After the call ended, Detective Lopez looked at the stack of files on his desk. It leaned to the side, threatening to fall over. He grabbed the top half of the stack with both hands and plopped it onto another portion of his desk. With a sigh, he rose and walked to a colleague. “Hey, Jackson,” he said.

  “What’s up?” Jackson was younger than Lopez by ten years. He’d just made detective and seemed to get along well with everyone.

  “I just had an interesting call with a detective I know over in Bend. I’m slammed with cases and wanted to see if you could help me out.” He shared only the most essential portions of his prior conversation with Colson.

  Jackson raised an eyebrow. “Sounds interesting. When the file comes in, forward it over to me. I’ll fit this in with my workload.”

  “Thanks, man. I owe you.”

  “Damn right you do,” Jackson said with a smile. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got a potential witness to interview.”

  When he was several blocks away from the police station, Jackson pulled to the side of Franklin Avenue and placed a phone call using a cheap burner phone he’d bought using cash.

  “Yes,” the voice said.

  “Something just came across my desk. I thought you should know.”

  “Go on, I’m listening.”

  “The Bend police are holding a suspect, name is Darnell Price. Know him?”

  “Yes. The owner and former president of Cascade Aqua.”

  “He’s told them a story about virus-tainted bottled water. Said the virus came from Utopian-Bio.”

  “Is that so? Anything else?”

  “I’m expecting a file from a Detective Ruth Colson later today. We are being asked to seek a search warrant on Utopian-Bio and Cascade Aqua. They’re calling it bioterrorism.”

  “Have you been contacted by the FBI or Homeland Security?”

  “Not yet,” Jackson replied. “But I expect we will.”

  “When you get that file, get me a copy of everything it contains. And bring it personally. I’ll be at the ranch.”

  “You can count on it.”

  Roger Corbett ended the call. Local and federal law enforcement could search all they wanted. There was nothing to find.

  Chapter 38

  South of Eugene, Oregon

  March 29

  After traveling through Eugene, Corbett ordered the car to stop on a deserted stretch of road. He placed a canvas hood over Peter’s head, then instructed the driver to continue. They drove on, passing heavy timber and old clear cuts that had been replanted with fir and hemlock. The young trees were only as tall as a man. The last house they’d passed was miles ago.

  “Where we going?” Peter asked. His question was answered with silence. “These handcuffs are digging into my wrists.”

  “Just relax. It’s not much farther,” Corbett said.

  No sooner had he spoken the words when the SUV slowed. The driver steered the Suburban onto a one-lane, gravel road. He covered about fifty yards, then stopped at a gate just long enough to enter a code on a control panel to allow passage. The gravel drive cut left and right as it meandered through the forest. Finally, the trees ahead thinned, and they entered a large clearing, pulling to a stop.

  The driver helped Peter out of the SUV and removed the hood, while Corbett maintained a safe distance to the side, his pistol drawn. Peter was forced to bend over at the waist, his hands still bound behind his right leg. “Remove the hand cuffs,” Corbett ordered the driver.

  Free of his restraints, Peter stood straight and stretched his back. He rubbed the marks on his wrists where the metal cuffs had bit into flesh during the long drive.

  “This way,” Corbett said, motioning with the gun. Far to the left was a large barn, and Peter saw men dressed in light-blue coveralls scurrying about on the lawn. They seemed to be working on some contraption, but he couldn’t make out what it was. Ahead and closer was a large ranch-style house painted robin’s-egg blue with white trim, and a large wrap-around porch. He noticed a man sitting on the porch, although from the distance, he wasn’t certain he recognized him.

  “Keep moving,” Corbett prodded him with the pistol barrel against his spine.

  Peter trudged onward along the flagstone path. To either side, daffodils and tulips had erupted in bloom, a vibrant pallet of yellow, orange, purple, and red showing
bright against a carpet of green. The bucolic landscape stood in stark contrast to his dire situation.

  Peter climbed the steps to the porch, his eyes on the man in the chair. Corbett was three steps behind Peter. Two other guards joined them.

  “Do you know who I am?” asked the sitting man.

  Peter studied the face, then shook his head. “No. Should I?”

  A thin smile crept across the man’s face. “My name is Dr. Ming—Dr. Simon Ming.”

  Peter eyes widened. “So you’re the one.”

  Ming smiled in amusement. “The one what?”

  “The psychopathic mad scientist behind this operation. There’s always one, right?”

  The smile quickly vanished from Ming’s face. “You have no idea the sheer genius behind my work, do you?”

  “I see modesty is not your strong suit.”

  “I’ve often wondered what it would be like to meet you. I never imagined you’d be so brash.”

  Peter raised an eyebrow. “You know me?”

  “In a manner of speaking. Yes, you could say so. But, I digress. I trust my men have treated you well?”

  Peter glanced over his shoulder. As expected, guards were still blocking his escape. “Let’s just say I won’t be posting a five-star review for the car ride.”

  Ming’s lips curled into a grin. “Mr. Corbett,” he motioned toward his head of security, “tells me you have met Darnell Price and are aware of his work on my behalf.”

  “I know Price. He told me about your plans to introduce your engineered virus into the bottled water so you could infect large populations, rendering the men sterile. You won’t succeed.”

  Ming chuckled. “Why is that?”

  “Because my partner has turned Price over to the police, so he can tell his story.”

  “I own the police.”

  “In Eugene, I’ve no doubt you do. But Darnell Price was surrendered to the Bend police—to a particular detective I know to be untouchable.”

  “Everyone has a price. Even you, Mr. Savage.”

  “Don’t be so sure.”

  Ming locked eyes with Peter. He expected to see uncertainty and fear. Instead, he saw fierce determination and unwavering conviction. “It doesn’t matter,” he said after a moment. “Darnell Price can talk until he goes hoarse, and it won’t change anything. There is no physical evidence to support his outrageous claims.”

  “There’s the bottled water he earmarked for shipment to Nigeria,” Peter said.

  “That water has already been disposed of, flushed into the sewer system after Mr. Corbett and his very capable team removed all of it from the warehouse at Cascade Aqua. And the manufacturing facility in eastern Oregon—well, you know that it no longer exists, burned to the ground. But not to worry, I have other facilities.”

  Peter shrugged, hoping his charade of indifference would fool Ming. “The CDC will reopen their investigation based on the testimony of Mr. Price. My guess is they’ll receive support from the FBI, maybe even Homeland Security. The government doesn’t take kindly to threatened acts of terrorism.”

  “Of course they will. In fact, my sources tell me they are already making plans to investigate Cascade Aqua as well as Utopian-Bio. Alas, it will be futile. There is nothing to find.”

  Peter’s air of confidence cracked as the realization dawned on him. “You removed the virus from your labs.”

  Ming nodded. “Naturally. As soon as manufacturing was shifted to our remote facility, there was no reason to maintain supplies at my research laboratories. In fact, to continue to do so would have represented an unacceptable liability.”

  “And I had Darnell Price sterilize the bottling line.” Peter felt like he’d been punched in the gut.

  “How considerate of you!” Ming’s mouth curled into a reptilian smile. “Believe me when I say I am sincerely grateful.”

  “So why bring me here? Sounds like you figured everything out.”

  “Indeed, I have.” He rose and paced a circle around Peter, who stood motionless. After he completed his circuit, he stopped and faced his captive, appraising him. Then he said, “You don’t fully comprehend the gravity of your situation, do you?”

  “I think I have the general idea.”

  “Do you? This is much more than my simple science experiment and exercise in genetic engineering.”

  Ming stood in front of Peter, staring into his eyes with smug satisfaction. “Think,” he said. “My name should have much deeper meaning to you than merely the recent events.”

  Peter pinched his eyebrows in thought. He had met thousands of people over the years, many Asian, and Ming was a fairly common surname in China. But still…

  Could it be? He recalled only one person named Ming. Someone he had crossed paths with years ago.

  “No. It can’t be you,” Peter said, shaking his head slowly for emphasis.

  “The Sudan. You do remember, don’t you?”

  “No. It’s not possible.”

  “Can you be certain?”

  “Colonel Ming was killed. The entire complex was destroyed, along with everyone within it.”

  “Hmm.” Ming motioned his chin toward a chair and one of the guards moved it closer. “Have a seat, Mr. Savage.” Ming eased again into the bent-willow rocker. Peter resisted, remaining on his feet. “Sit down!” Ming commanded.

  Peter lowered himself into the chair, uncertain where the theatrics were going.

  “Colonel Ming was my father.”

  Peter’s eyes widened. “You are his son?”

  A discrete nod was sufficient reply.

  “Do you know what your father was doing?” Peter said. “The research he was directing?”

  Ming’s hands gripped the rocker arms, his fingers attempting to dig into the bent willow twigs. His eyes appeared to be bottomless pits, black and foreboding. They bore into Peter with electric intensity, his lips pursed.

  Peter continued. “Homothals—that’s what he called them. He infected men and turned them into animals.”

  “He was my father!” Ming launched himself from the rocker, sending the chair flying in the opposite direction. He slid to a stop in front of Peter, dropping to one knee so he was face to face.

  “I’m sorry,” Peter replied in an even voice.

  “Sorry about what? That I am his offspring or that you murdered him?”

  The events of that ordeal in the desert came flooding back. Memories Peter had tried to lock away, denied from conscious thought. His son, Ethan, had been beaten nearly to death. It was a miracle they got him out alive. As much as he wanted to forget those horrible events, he knew he never would.

  “I never met your father.” Peter paused for a heartbeat, and then added, “And I didn’t kill him.”

  Ming slowly rose and returned to his chair, which a guard had righted and put in place. “No, perhaps not directly. But you are responsible nonetheless. I was fortunate to survive the bombs. Only a handful of us escaped. It took many surgical procedures,” Ming absently brushed his fingers along the side of his face, “to hide the scars.”

  Peter’s mouth fell agape. “You were there?”

  “Of course,” Ming snorted a laugh. “I studied under the brilliant leadership of my father. I knew the day would come when it would be my duty to carry forward his work.”

  “You’re mad.”

  “You should be more polite. You must have figured out that I plan to kill you, yes?”

  “The thought crossed my mind.”

  “And did you know that I placed a contract on your life?”

  “You? Why?”

  “Really? I thought you were smarter than that. Why? Because I want you to pay. You, and everyone else who is responsible for murdering my father! For destroying his life’s work. It took time, but eventually I learned who you are, where you work and live… everything about you.”

  “How?”

  “Ah. Always the inquisitive mind. It was old-fashioned detective work. I started with sources I have ins
ide the Department of Defense. You know, if your government paid their analyst better, it would be much more expensive to buy them off. Anyway, for mere pocket change I got my first lead—the name of the team that infiltrated my father’s compound.”

  “SGIT,” Peter said.

  “That’s right. The Strategic Global Intervention Team. And it is under the direction of Commander James Nicolaou. Some more research eventually connected his name with you. Fascinating history—best friends in high school and all. And that brings me to you. Seems like you are a veritable legend in your insignificant, little hometown. Rumors of your exploits are repeated in certain circles, and, well, people do like to talk.”

  Peter’s eyes were drawn beyond Ming, to activity in the grassy open area between the house and the barn. Several men were pouring a tan powder from bags into the cargo hold of a large drone.

  “Are your men loading the virus into that drone?” Peter said.

  Ming glanced over his shoulder, following Peter’s gaze. “Very observant. The viral agent was engineered under my direction.”

  “So that’s it. You never did plan to use bottled water as the means to spread the virus. You plan to contaminate the municipal water supply.”

  “Bravo. I see you do possess an above-average intelligence. The bottled water was merely a convenient test vehicle.”

  “Not to mention that it would misdirect any investigation that might ensue.”

  Ming nodded. “Indeed. You see, the virus was designed with certain characteristics.”

  “And?” Peter prodded.

  “The protein shell, or capsid, that surrounds the genetic material had to be specifically engineered to meet certain criteria. Namely, stability in water and the ability to selectively target certain organs in the host. Of course, we also employed gene editing techniques to appropriately modify the virus genome.”

  Peter was repulsed by the notion, but by virtue of his training in science and engineering he also understood the academic perspective. He said, “You had to test the virus, to be certain.”

  “Yes! As a scientist, I see you appreciate the challenge I faced. I had to put theory to experimental test to know how it actually functioned. I needed a live population to test the virus and infection method. At first, my team suggested testing it on homeless people. But we eventually abandoned that plan. Many of those infected might not seek medical attention. Instead, after considering several alternatives, I decided to conduct our experiment on the people of Warm Springs. It was Darnell Price’s idea, actually.”