He thought about their one night together in Gibraltar, how his entire world had felt complete in that moment, for the first time in twelve years. Then he had awoken to find her gone. He forgave her for that; she had been trying to save him. But he had made another mistake: letting her out of his sight again in Antarctica when he had stayed behind to hold off Dorian and his men.
David decided he wouldn’t let that happen again. If he ever got out of this room, he would find Kate, wherever she was in whatever was left of the world, and he would never let her out of his sight again.
CHAPTER 29
Marbella, Spain
Kate had awoken in the dark confines of a semi trailer filled to the brim with people, packed in like a fresh catch on the way to a fish market at the pier. Or at least, that was what it smelled like: sweat and fish. People coughed and elbowed as the trailer bounced incessantly. The truck pulling it must have been doing top speed through Marbella’s bumpy streets.
Kate wanted to find Martin, but she could barely see a few feet in front of her. She settled for sitting quietly against the wall in a less-crowded section of the trailer, near the front, far away from the double doors at the end.
The truck slowed, stopped for a few seconds, and continued on, barely creeping this time. Then it came to an abrupt halt and its air brakes squeaked loudly. The rumbling engine died a few seconds later.
A wave of panic seemed to sweep the trailer’s inhabitants. They were all on their feet and rushing the door a split second before it opened.
The light from the setting sun revealed the scene beyond. Kate stood there, taking it in, letting the people flow around her.
The two blue Orchid flags that had hung on the fence were simply charred remains. The Immari had left the remnants hanging, perhaps as a symbol, a sign of their triumph. They had placed their own black flag on each side of the camp’s entrance. Immari soldiers in black uniforms paced in the guard tower above—the one that hadn’t been completely destroyed.
The trailer was emptying quickly now. Kate’s mind grasped for a plan. She slipped the backpack off her shoulders and unzipped it. The pack had some kind of heavy lining. Fire and waterproof? Would it hide the items inside from detection by the Immari? Probably not. Kate surveyed the contents: a handgun, the laptop, a sat phone, and the thermos-like device Martin had placed the sample in. She took the gun out. She couldn’t shoot her way out of here; in fact, she wasn’t sure she could shoot the gun at all. She needed a better plan, and if she was caught with the gun… She slid it into the darkened corner. She needed to keep the other equipment—Martin had saved it; it must be essential to finding the cure.
Martin had also told her what would happen next: the Immari would sort everyone. The dying would be left to die. The survivors could either pledge or perish.
She had a choice to make.
CHAPTER 30
Centers for Disease Control and Prevention (CDC)
Atlanta, Georgia
Dr. Paul Brenner paced in front of the screens that covered the wall. The world map they displayed was covered with red dots: one for each Orchid district. A number floated above every point: the Orchid failure rate for that district. Since the outbreak, Orchid had been ineffective for roughly 0.3% of those infected. Now the numbers were climbing. In one district in Germany, almost one percent of the inhabitants were now dying from the plague, with no way to delay the eventual outcome: genetic transformation for a few, and for most—about ninety percent of people—death.
They had seen temporary, localized Orchid failures, but that had been due to formulation issues—manufacturing. This was global. If it was another… Paul resisted even thinking the word mutation; but if it was…
“Roll it back,” Paul said. “Show Orchid failure rates one hour ago, two hours ago. Keep stepping back an hour until they stabilize.”
Paul watched the numbers gradually decrease, then level out. “Stop right there.” He glanced at the time.
He walked to his station in the large conference room and rifled through a stack of papers. What had happened then? Had the Immari released a mutated virus—one Orchid couldn’t stop? That was their plan, or at least that was the working theory. He focused on the memos regarding Immari activity. One caught his eye. He checked the time. It was close. He scanned it.
Eyes Only
Suspected Nuclear Explosion at Immari Corporate Research Campus outside Nuremberg, Germany
Cause (best theory): industrial accident; detonation of an experimental weapon, part of Immari Research Advanced Weapons Program
Paul knew Immari Research was working on all kinds of advanced weapons. But the timing… He glanced at the rest of the memo.
Alternative Explanations:
(1) Immari believed to have removed object from location in Antarctica for study in Germany; possibly connected.
(2) Immari could have purposefully destroyed facility to prevent Allied seizure following their invasion of southern Spain.
Paul took a deep breath. He was sure of two things: one, that Orchid was failing around the world; and two, that it had begun with an Immari act. How much time did they have? One, possibly two days? Was there anything they could do in that amount of time?
“Get the group on the line,” Paul said. It was time to throw a Hail Mary pass.
CHAPTER 31
David Vale had tried the doors and control panel more times than he could count. He had even gone and stood in the tube, hoping it might activate an escape route. The room hadn’t changed since he had awoken. He could feel himself getting weaker. He had a few hours left, maybe.
He needed to make a move. He walked to the damaged Atlantean suit that lay crumpled on the floor. Maybe if he put it on… He held it to his chest and let the legs hang down. They barely cleared his calves. David was six-foot-three and broad-shouldered. The owner had been under six feet and rather small in stature, a woman perhaps. He dropped the suit and looked over at the other suit—the Immari colonel’s uniform, crisp and new.
He sat on the bench next to it for a long while. It was the only thing he hadn’t tried. What choice do I have? He grudgingly slid the pants on, then the boots. He stood and held the tunic for a moment. The four oval glass tubes in the room each reflected a warped view of his figure, like angled mirrors in a carnival fun house. He was just as muscular as he had been when Dorian had first shot him, but his body was “new”—even the skin was as smooth as the day he was born. Gone were the fresh gunshot wounds in his chest and shoulder that Dorian had inflicted technically days ago. Across his chest, older scars had also been erased: burns from a falling building that had trapped him in the 9/11 explosions, a stab wound just below his ribcage he had received during an operation outside Jakarta, and a smattering of shrapnel impacts from Pakistan. He was a new man. But his eyes were the same—intense but not hard.