The Seraphs Call - Chapter Twelve

CHAPTER TWELVE

March 04, 2049 – 0900 Hours - 3rd Army Compound, Beijing China

Colonial Hsengo Tai surveyed the devastation that remained of the compound that his brigade once protected.  All who had been on duty during the night shift were dead. The General of the Third Army, Xiang Po, was missing.  Two platoons of Chinese Special forces destroyed.  The State Council of the Peoples Republic of China, all the heads of his government, lay strewn in pieces among the wreckage of their convoy.  He could not imagine a worse disaster to have befallen his country any time during the thirty-six years of his life. 

They were so shorthanded in the brigade that he had to help his men pick through the bodies that littered the compound.  There were so many.  Who could be responsible for this slaughter?  He had his suspicions, the Americans being on the top of the list, but the only weapons and casings that were not Chinese issue, were of indeterminate origin, German made H&K MP8’s produced and sold all over the world.  Most disturbing about the only traces of enemy casualties, were the bullet ridden black uniforms soaked in a viscous substance, that was nothing remotely like blood.

Tai had found two of these uniforms buried under the bodies of dozens of Chinese Special Forces. He muttered obscenities when he pulled them apart.  They stuck to his hands as if covered by an enormous amount of mucus.  Tossing them down, he held his hands over his mouth nearly retching from the smell that invaded his nostrils then pulled them back cursing again. 

It had clung to his fingers, ooze dripping down his palms and onto his sleeve.  Tai snatched a handkerchief from his uniform pocket and vainly tried to wipe it off, but it adhered to his hands tenaciously even after the handkerchief was dripping wet with the substance.  Fighting back the urge to vomit he stumbled to his car and snatched a towel from the backseat.  He paused as his image flashed in the mirror, and looked more closely.  Whatever the substance was had gotten all over his nose and mouth.  He scrubbed it furiously with the towel until his face reddened.  It was several moments before he was satisfied.  He zipped up the towel in a plastic bag and tossed it in the back seat.  The Army scientists would want to study it, to extract a DNA sample that would possibly lead them to the culprit of this massacre.

 He picked up his radio receiver and thumbed the broadcast button.  “Ghenjo…I’m going home for the day, finish tagging the remains and wait for the morgue to pick them up.  Then seal the place up, the Criminal Investigator will be here in the morning to collect the rest.”

Colonial Hsengo Tai drove home, unaware of what he carried in his backseat.  He did not recognize the symptoms that began to appear that night, as being anything relating to the incident at the compound.  It seemed to be just a cold.  Nor was he worried when his wife and children showed the same signs in the morning.  He did not worry as he passed through his office in Beijing, infecting countless others with a friendly touch, or a comradely pat on the back.  He did not have a care in the world, until 8 P.M. when he was about to finish all the days reports and go home for the night.  No concern crossed his mind until he keeled over, headfirst into his typewriter, blood flowing from his eyes, and died.

0700 Hours - March 05, 2049 –

Hsengo Minma left for work that morning feeling terrible.  She had been coughing and wheezing all morning, as had her husband and children.  However, she could not justify staying home from work for a common cold; so she packed the kids off to school in downtown Beijing and drove to airport where she worked as a flight attendant for Air China.

Minma checked in at the security station, and they waved her through, the guard smiling timidly as she brushed his arm with her hand.  His eyes followed her appreciatively a she glided down the causeway.  He did not know that Death had given him its lethal touch.  The guard would later pass the infection onto his girlfriend, and together they would contaminate several dozen people in a downtown theater, before dying twenty-four hours later.

Minma arrived at her flight counter and coughed daintily into her handkerchief, before she whispered something into the attendant’s ear about the cute guards.  Giggling the younger woman gave her a hug, and kissed her on the cheek.  The exchange of gossip sentenced the counter girl to death thirty hours later, after she had infected several thousand people whose tickets she punched. 

Boarding her plane, Minma chatted with her fellow flight attendants, as they prepared the food for the passengers.  Their mood was light as they were flying to New York, with layovers for fuel, and the disembarkation and boarding of passengers at Honolulu International, San Francisco Oakland, and Baltimore-Washington International Airports.  All of them were eager for their destination and the forbidden thrill of shopping in the glamorous downtown Manhattan stores.  She carefully packed the food into each individual tray along with something a little extra--death. 

Every passenger and crewmember she encountered that day, she infected with the contagion.  She passed death on blissfully unaware, as her husband had at his work and her children would at their schools.  The plague spread out from the Hsengo family in a web and in twelve hours over one hundred thousand people had contracted it, in Beijing, and in twenty-three cities worldwide.

2200 Hours - March 05, 2049

Hugh Kilbourn was sweating profusely.  He was flying back to his Baltimore office from China.  His communications company, Kilbourn Limited, was brokering a deal to break ground on a wireless network to begin construction in Beijing and Spider outward to serve 129 Chinese cities with a Sprint based PCS system.  With the help of the big guys, including developmental partnerships with Sprint, Microsoft and GTS Europe, they were about to make history and for the large part privatize almost half of China’s communications systems.  Things had gotten a little rocky on the negotiations table when China invaded Taiwan.  The Multinational conglomeration he had formed had faced the decision to either go forward regardless of U.S. objections or back down and lose an investment of billions the Chinese were not about to give back.  They decided to go forward with the project, sending the angry Department of State their deepest regrets.  After all they were in the largest developing market in the world and no bureaucrat was about to make them back out of getting in on the ground floor; and Kilbourn Limited made their own peace with China.

I hope I didn’t get the damn Asian flu.  Maybe this is my penance for making my percentage in the millions.  Kilbourn wiped his brow with a cocktail napkin and almost choked as he coughed up a large chunk of phlegm.  He checked his watch, twenty minutes until landing at Baltimore-Washington International.  Drinking heavily already, he was in no pain, and was sure he could pick up some flu medicine at the airport.  No matter that it would be three-four times street value, he had money to burn now. 

Kilbourn waved the flight attendant over and barely noticed that she looked worse then he felt as he snatched another nip bottle from her hand and bolted down the whiskey.  It barely burned going down; he was well past the grimacing stage.  He looked with bleary alcohol strained eyes around the first-class cabin.  Must be the flu season, there are an awful lot of people coughing on one plane.  Oh well, nothing like a kick-start to the influenza season to get him past the only sickness he usually had all year.  He flipped his PDA out of his briefcase and checked his stocks.  His portfolio was doing well; his company was doing well, what was a little sickness in the mix?

The plane lurched slightly as the landing gear touched down on the runway.  He was going to be on time, despite the stops in Honolulu and San Francisco producing slight delays.  Kilbourn reached up into the overhead compartment to retrieve his carry on and buckled up his PDA in his brief case.  He already had a driver standing by to pick him up and was eager to get home.  As the plane reached the terminal, he made a mental note to put a private jet on the list of his company’s next acquisitions.  He had never been able to sleep on these flights, and the sixteen hours had left him light-headed from exhaustion.

His stumbled towards the exit, as the attendant made the call to exit first-class passengers.  Funny, I didn’t think I drank that much?  He clutched his hand on the back of a seat to steady himself as the ground and the aisleway swooned in front of his eyes.

“Sir, is something wrong?”  A flight attendant asked in heavily accented English and reached out to help with a concerned look on her face.

Kilbourn could not focus on her face and brushed her away.  “I’ll be fine, just a damn flu.”

“Sir I think you better sit down, you’re bleeding.”

“No I’m not…” but Kilbourn’s words stopped short as his hands touched his face.  They came back red with blood. 

The flight attendant started screaming, and turmoil broke out in plane.  Kilbourn reeled forward and collapsed.  His eyes dimmed red as blood poured from them and his mouth and nostrils in an ever-increasing pool covering the rubber matted aisle.  His last conscious thought was to clutch his briefcase in his arms, as if protecting his future would insure that he had one.

 

March 06, 2049 – 0330 Hours – Johns Hopkins Memorial Hospital

Illyana Andropov woke and tossed her beeper into a wall.  She glanced at the clock, 3:30 am.  Damnit this better be important, only two hours of sleep and 3 hours since she had left Johns Hopkins.  She reluctantly rolled out of bed and retrieved the Motorola that still lay obnoxiously beeping at her in the corner.  It was lucky these little things were so tough usually, as the hospital only paid for three replacements a year.  She stared at the text message for a few moments, having trouble believing what she was reading.  CDC alert to Johns Hopkins, level 4 Biological breakouts, all emergency containment teams report to duty.

“S**t,” She dropped the beeper on the floor and barely paused to slip on her pants and shoes as she raced out the door.

The emergency room entrance was in chaos when Illyana pulled up to the hospital.  Regular hospital workers were being ordered to clear the wing, as workers clad in white bio-contamination suits wheeled blood soaked gurneys into the sliding doors.

“Dr. Andropov, I have a bio-suit for you, please put it on immediately.”  She barely recognized Dr. Frank Gall, a short sandy haired resident in immunology.

Illyana took the suit and start slipping it on.  “What is going on here Frank?  Is it true we have a level 4?”

“Yes ma’am.  An entire Air China Flight of 147 passengers are being quarantined as we speak.”  Gall quickly checked her seals for her before he helped her fit her headgear.  

“Do they know what it is yet?”  She sniffed disdainfully as she triggered the breathing unit and the scent of canned air filled the suit.

“Unknown, except for it’s extremely nasty and extremely lethal.”  Frank raced towards the emergency doors, Illyana at his heels.

Another ambulance screeched in and barely stopped before the back doors burst open, and the paramedics leapt out wheeling two gurneys toward Illyana and Frank.  They rushed in entryway beside the paramedics, but were stopped by the rows of screaming patients that choked the hall. 

Illyana flashed the penlight in her patient’s eyes.  He was unresponsive, blood caked around his eyes, mouth, and nostrils.  She checked for a pulse her finger pushing past the blood-encrusted collar of his expensive tailored suit.  It was there but faint.  Her hand bumped something heavy as she opened his shirt.  His right hand was clasped tightly around the handle of an expensive Italian leather briefcase.  “What the hell is this,” she barked at the paramedic beside her.

“We don’t know Doctor.  He was clutching it with a death grip when we arrived at the scene.  We couldn’t take the time to get it lose and stabilize him.”  The paramedic retorted, not at all apologetic for doing his job.

Illyana’s intensity softened when she noticed his abjectly petrified expression.  “That’s all right; cut it off…we will need to identify him if we can’t pull him through.”

No sooner had the paramedic reached to cut off the handle, when she heard him cry out.  The briefcase dropped to the floor with a thud, the patient’s hand letting go on its own accord.  “Doc…I think you should see this.”  Illyana could barely hear the paramedic’s frightened voice over the din of the emergency room.

“What is it?”  She bent down to where the man was crouched, directed by his staring eyes.  The hand that held the briefcase had started to fall apart.  It liquefied before their eyes.  The patient’s body started to shudder as it began to run with rivulets of bodily fluids that erupted from every major cavity.

The paramedic backpedaled and nearly fell.  He swooned and vomited on the floor.  Illyana saw the terror in his eyes.  “What have they exposed me to Doc…am I going to die like that?”

Illyana could not bring herself to answer those pleading eyes.

March 06, 2049 – 0630 Hours – The White House

 “Mr. President….”  The voice broke through his light sleep.

“What is it Howard?”  President Theodore Porter rolled up from his bed to see the head of his Secret Service detachment, Howard McCollum standing at the door to his bedroom.

“Sorry to wake you…we have the head of CDC seeking an emergency meeting with you.”  The square jawed, red-haired Scot was soft-spoken for a man of his size, but the seriousness of his expression told Porter more then words could explain.

“Tell Alec I’ll meet him in the drawing room immediately.”  Agent McCollum bowed out the door without another word.  Porter hastily drew on his blue velvet housecoat and leather slippers and headed after the Secret Service agent. 

Alec Robbins already sat in the drawing room when Porter entered.  He leaned forward tensely in the cashmere and oak chair and did not even look up when the President entered, eyes intent on reading a sheaf of documents that he was leafing through rapidly.  The brown haired Southern Cal graduate, was a man that always had a studiously grim expression, but Porter noticed something different on the man’s thin face, a twinge of nervousness perhaps akin to fear.

“What’s the situation Alec?”  Porter spoke abruptly and nearly startled the other man into dropping the sheaf of papers that he was reading.

Alec cleared his tightly throat and responded.  “We have a level 4 biological breakout in three cities Mr. President.”  

President Porter’s face went white.  “What cities?”

“Baltimore three hours ago, San Francisco six before that, and Honolulu over thirteen hours ago,” the CDC head tapped the documents pensively.

“Thirteen hours…why have you waited until now to notify me?”  Porter slumped in the opposite chair, taken aback by this bombshell.

“Apparently Honolulu thought it was the flu when the cases started coming in.  The nastiest of the symptoms didn’t start manifesting until the same time Baltimore got wind of the situation.”  Alec shoved the reports in Porter’s hands.  “The W.H.O. had just come on the wire to us transmitting crisis bulletins when all hell broke loose.  Since then we have had reports of breakouts coming in worldwide, from twenty other cities.”

“What are we looking Alec…and don’t bullshit me.”  Porter glared at the younger man sitting across the table.

“Mr. President.  What we are looking at is Chaos, Sir.  Nobody has seen anything like this before.  This is worse than Aids, Ebola, and the SARS all put together.  We are losing hundreds of people by the hour.  Civilians, Government workers, Healthcare workers, they’re all being hit and there’s no pattern to the spread.  We have isolated the Hawaiian Islands, the entire bay area, and the Baltimore Metro Area.  We have…

“Where the hell did this come from?” the Porter interrupted

“We’ve isolated it to the Air China 785 from Beijing, China.  It made stops in Honolulu, San Francisco, and then Baltimore.  We’re lucky we quarantined it when we did; otherwise, we have a lot more dead on our hands.  Its final destination was New York City.” 

The President interrupted again, “Just how many dead are we talking?”

“Preliminary reports show, just in U.S. cities roughly 25,000 dead, and the count is rising rapidly.  At the rate we going, the entire population of Oahu, San Francisco, and Baltimore, about nine million people, assuming we don’t stop the spread, will be dead in less than twenty-four hours. 

The President’s color drained, leaving his face pallid and cold.  He knew immediately where the virus came from, and grimaced at the thought.

“Mr. President, are you alright?”  The look of concern spread across the Alec’s face.

“Yes.  I’m fine, Alec.  I can’t believe the numbers we’re talking.  Are you sure your calculations are correct?”

“Yes, Sir, they are accurate.  I wish I was wrong.”

“Alec?” The President spoke, “from this point, any conversation we have about this is considered classified top secret,” as he pressed the button on the intercom.

“Howard?”

“Yes, Mr. President,” came the response through the speaker.

“I want you to contact my Chief of Staff and Press Secretary and get them here ASAP!  Advise the Vice President that he is needed here as well.  I am calling an emergency meeting of the cabinet and the joint chiefs.  Make sure it happens.”

“Yes, Sir!” was the only response he received.

President Theodore Porter turned to Alec Robbins, running his hands through his graying hair, the steel blue eyes piercing the young man’s gaze, “Alec, the Chief of Staff is on his way.  I want you to coordinate this with him.  Get a hold of the W.H.O. and make sure they are on top of this, but do not release any information until I say so.  We need to minimize our losses on this.  If what you say is true about the source, then it appears the Chinese have released a viral agent and we need to prepare for the worst.  I am returning to my quarters to get dressed.  Wait here and get your s**t together on this one.  There can be no mistakes.  This is now a matter of national security.  I will have the Chief of Staff draw up the paperwork, but as of now, you are granted a Top Secret, Special Compartmented Information Clearance.  All information on this issue is now only for authorized personnel.”

The CDC head, now almost in shock at realizing the full impact of the day’s events could barely muster a response, “Yes, Sir.  Mr. President.  You can count on me.”

Porter pushed away from the long table and walked out the door into the office.  Agent McCollum was busily making phone calls, more than merely persuasive as he barked orders over the secure lines to the Vice President’s home, and to the Chief of Staff already enroute to the White House. 

He turned as the President passed, “Mr. President.  The Chief of Staff and Vice President are on their way.  I couldn’t reach the Mr. Callahan.  I have two agents out looking for him now.  I have already contacted the Pentagon and the Joint Chiefs are being told as we speak.”

“Good Job, Howard.  Make sure that we increase security around the White House as well.  I want to make sure that with this many people here, we don’t run into any problems.”

“I’m already ahead of you, Mr. President.  We have recalled all the staff agents and reinforcement from the bureau.  We will have a full contingent on grounds in Thirty minutes.”

“Excellent.  I’m going to change and be back in about fifteen minutes.  Call me when everyone arrives.  I’ll be in the Oval Office.”

The Secret Service agent nodded as the President left the room, heading for his personal quarters. 

President Theodore Porter began piecing together the day’s events in his mind.  The Longreach team had come under heavy fire, and was presumed dead.  This could mean only one thing.  The Lucifer X Protocol had been activated, but it couldn’t have caused this.  The tightening in his stomach and burning sensation in his throat told him otherwise as the full implications came to bear.  Roger Janus had released the virus.  Now, not only was a good percentage of Beijing infected, but three of his cities as well.

A smile creased his lips as the plan began to form in his head.  With no evidence implicating the United States, and with the Chinese already in Taiwan, he could easily connect the invasion with the outbreak.  All he would have to do is convince the United Nations and NATO of “his” facts.  The ones, which he could so easily manufacture as he had done so many times in the past.  This power play belonged to President Theodore Porter.

March 07, 2049 – 0530 Hours – U.N. Intelligence Center, New York

Isaak Morikov sat staring at the data that fed over his screen.  The statistics where staggering.  The U.N. Intelligence chief felt as if he was watching a new holocaust unfold in front of his eyes.  In eleven cities in Europe, the death toll was rising into the thousands in a span of twenty hours from the outbreaks.  The British media had dubbed the epidemic Lucifer X, and the name had become emblematic throughout nightmarish scenes of bloody death, picked up on the wire and spreading to a worldwide panic.

Morikov numbly reached for his phone.  “Get me on the line with the W.H.O. right away Marsenko.” 

“Sir we already have representatives arriving this evening, an emergency summit has been called, and all leading biological experts from around the world will be present.”  The Chief’s aid appeared on his vidphone, solid broad faced Viktor Marsenko, who never let any crisis perturb him no matter how grave.  “I have your car ready to take you to the lake.”

“You never fail me, my comrade.”  Isaak smiled tensely.

The air was crisp, as it always was in Geneva, as they drove to the main U.N. complex by the lake.  Isaak gazed at the mountain peaks that surrounded the Swiss town and wondered if even their fortress size could keep out what was coming.  They had managed to keep the bubonic plague away in the thirteenth century, but the new carriers of this plague where not rats.  The humans that this incubated in on by all accounts could appear healthy, all the while spreading death with a touch, ‘until six hours before they died.

Within an hour, Marsenko was opening Isaak’s car door and hovering near him as the older Russian climbed the steps into the palisade of the United Nations building.  Isaak stopped for a moment and looked at the multitude of flags arranged in a circle in front of the largest assembly of the world.  He did not want to speculate on how many of them would fall before this disaster played out.

Isaak recognized all the faces that he passed as he made his way to the General Assembly, if only from Intelligence photos that he had viewed over the last many years in Russia and now as the Chief of U.N. Intelligence.  Yet one face shocked him, not out of fear, but a marked strangeness.  Dr. Roger Janus, of United States Army Medical Research, was the last person that Isaak expected to see here. 

The last intelligence Isaak had received had placed the dark haired rat faced man, so enwrapped in black ops projects for his government that nothing of him had been seen in public for a decade.  The Intelligence Chief kept watch on the Doctor out of the corner of his eye as he passed towards the door of the Assembly Marsenko closely on his heals.  Who was the man Dr. Janus spoke with urgently? 

The hawk faced man, black hair bound in a ponytail, stood only half listening to Janus his nervous steel gray eyes drifted every so often as if afraid of being watched or perhaps searching for a way out.  Janus spoke sharply to him and the man cringed.  Just whom have you gotten your rat claws into these days Janus? 

Isaak pondered this for only a moment before the doors closed to the assembly chamber behind him.  Janus had not entered; instead, the hawk-faced man took a seat on the front table among the panel of experts.  Isaak rubbed his chin thoughtfully.  This was going to be interesting if one of Dr. Janus’ minions was speaking to the United Nations Special Council.  What did U.S. Black Ops have to do with this crisis?

March 08, 2049 – 0800 Hours – U.N. Center, Geneva Switzerland – Emergency Session

Herr Helmut Kessler, Secretary of the United Nations Special Council on Biological Hazards, called the emergency session of the United Nations Security Council to Order.  Ambassadors from four of the permanent member nations of the U.N. Security council had arrived.  France, The Russian Federation, The United Kingdom and The United States, as well as seven of the ten nonpermanent member nations were present and seated about the meeting roundtable, waiting impatiently.  China was the only country not represented.  Their member had refused to attend. 

Most had arrived in Geneva only a few hours before, heading to the U.N. Complex immediately for the session.  The atmosphere was tense, the members chattering among themselves as Secretary called the meeting to order. 

“Members of the United Nations, this special session of the United Nations Security Council are now called to Order.  Herr Helmut Kessler, presiding.”

The translators busily spoke into their microphones, repeating the lines just spoken, the members listening intently, their attention focused on every word from the speaker.

“Ladies and Gentlemen, normally we do not deviate from our established routine. However, because of the severity of this menace, which has struck many of your citizens, I move we continue directly to the testimony from our panel of experts who have traveled great distances to provide us with their expertise. All in favor say Aye”

The room was filled with voices, as all the members voted unanimously to the motion from the Secretary of the special session, the translators scrambling to keep up with the barrage of words, which flew around the room.

“The vote is unanimous.  I will start by introducing each of the six people that will be testifying before the committee today. To my right are our first two experts provided by the esteemed U.S. ambassador Paul Abcott: Dr. Shelby Holiday of the United States Army Medical Research….”  The hatchet faced man stood to be recognized, and Isaak jotted down his name in a small notebook.  “…And Dr. Alec Robbins, Director of the Center for Disease Control.”  Isaak had met the Director before at the United Nations Headquarters in New York.  The man’s serious expression had not changed, but it was slightly darker in intensity. 

“Our next panel expert is Dr. Yuri Andropov of the United Russian Democratic Republic.”  Isaak smiled inwardly, the old man was no different.  Isaak remembered him from years of working with Russian Intelligence.  Illyana’s father still drooped his tall skinny frame as if he was about to fall dead on his feet at any second.  What remained of his hair scruffed wildly about his weary face, eyes staring out from old circular lenses that magnified his cautiously blinking eyes to a wildly disproportionate size, compared with his otherwise thin features.

“To my left is Dr. Emilio Velasquez, Assistant Director of Research for the World Health Organization…” The short paunchy Argentinean adjusted his bifocals and stood briefly, nodding to the members of the council seated before him. “And his colleague Dr. Armando Villanova, Head of Virology…”  Seated in a wheelchair, Dr. Villanova nodded his recognition to the panel before him.  “Sir Aubrey James Stuart, Director of Epidemiology for the Royal Medical Institute, United Kingdom…” 

Isaak finished taking down the names of all the guests present and motioned for Viktor to approach.  He held out the electronic tablet, “Viktor, I want a full background check on all these people.  I want to know everything about them.”  Viktor pulled the tablet from his hand, nodding as he turned and left the room.

The secretary finished his address to the members, “the latest death toll estimates we have are quickly approaching two hundred thousand in over twenty five cities worldwide.  Our first speaker, Dr. Holiday will give you his report on the genetics finding from the United States Army Research Medical Research Institute of Infectious Diseases (USAMRIID).  Dr. Holiday, if you are ready.”

Shelby Holiday stood and approached the podium, opening the folder he laid before him, and adjusting his glasses slightly the bridge of his nose.

“Ladies and Gentlemen, Distinguished Colleagues.  The latest estimates I fear, are only the beginning of a severe and widespread outbreak.  We have only been able to identify the pathogen and its affects on the human body, which are devastating.  There are no known survivors of this virus, leaving us with little information on the source, it method of transmission, and regrettably, any way of combating it.  The first strain was identified as a Class Four Viral agent; however, its effects are more powerful than any other known class four.  If you will turn your attention to the screen behind me,” he said, bringing up the screen on the podium, “You will see the photographs of victims in the various stages of the infection.  I must caution you as these pictures are graphic.”

Viktor Marsenko returned to Isaak’s side, electronic tablet in hand, gasping at the site displayed on the wall screen, “Sir, we are gathering the information now.  We will relay it to you when we have it”, and turned and left the room, the acid churning in his stomach at the sight of the reviling pictures displayed.

Isaak noted Shelby Holiday’s cool manner as he explained the various stages of the disease, cold and distant.  He eyed the middle-aged doctor with skepticism, knowing that if Roger Janus were somehow involved, then the United States was not providing all the information they held.

Shelby Holiday continued his presentation, “Stage two of the infection is not remarkable, showing only elevated internal body temperature and increase lymphatic immune system activity.  At this point in the infection, it is difficult to identify the source as the entire body is battling the virus.  Stage three we see level one hemorrhaging from various mucus membranes, as the cell walls are slowly disintegrating.  The body’s defenses are beginning to fail at this point, the effects ten times worse than the Ebola Virus.  In stage four the victims internal organs, including the heart begin to cease functioning, as the cellular cohesiveness is disrupted, leading to total cell breakdown.  Hemorrhaging from the mucus membranes, the ears, eyes, and mouth and rectal cavities is now prolific.  Stage 5 shows the total failure of the cellular system, the epidermal surfaces beginning to dissolve as the virus reaches the outer extremities.  By this time, the victim is dead, but the virus continues its work, destroying the entire genetic structuring from the DNA and RNA level.  This results in Stage 6.  As you can see, there is nothing left but a viscous fluid remaining.  All of what you see, stages one through six take less than twenty four hours, once the patient has been infected.”

The gasps filled the room as the participants stared at the screen, some sickened to the point of leaving the room, the horrific sight more than their minds and bodies could bear.  The chatter arose among the members, ignoring Shelby, as they stood and began discussing among themselves, the threat that had invaded many if not most of their homelands.  The Secretary of the special session stood and came to the platform, rapping the hammer on the gavel, “Ladies and Gentlemen, if you could please turn your attention back to the podium.  I know this information is troubling and comes as a shock to many of you, but we must continue.  If we are to be effective today and have any hope of combating this menace that threatens all of us, then we must allow all of these members to speak.  Thank you.”  He waited for everyone to take their seats, and then returned to his, speaking to Shelby as he passed, “You may continue, Dr. Holiday.”

Shelby didn’t realize the impact his speech would have on everyone in the room.  Now aware of the attention focused in his direction, he continued, “Ladies and Gentlemen.  The time from onset of stage one to stage six is less than four hours.  The virus, which you have heard identified as Lucifer X, is by far the most deadly virus known to civilization so far.  After the victim has been dissolved, the virus goes into dormancy until it meets with living tissue.  There is a twenty-four hour incubation period, during which time we have been unable to identify its presence.  Clearly we are attempting to find a method to detect it, but all known methods have failed.  Following consultation with my esteemed colleagues, we recommend forming a joint United Nations Project to combat this menace.  At the current rate, as you will see by my next slide, shows the transmission and spread of this virus over the next forty-eight hours.  Our projection show that within twenty-four, over one million people will have become infected and by forty-eight hours, over 10 million people, with four million dead.

As he finished his presentation to the council, the morbid statistics brought verbal outbursts from many of its members.  Near chaos followed as many focused their attention on their personal interests, passing information to their aides and communicating to their respective nations.  Secretary Helmut Kessler returned to the podium and began banging the gavel noisily, attracting the attention of the council body only after raising his voice above the din of shouts.  “Ladies and Gentlemen.  Please direct your attention back to the podium.  Panicking will not solve anything.  I would ask that you stop any external communication until the proceedings are complete.  Colonel Morikov, please see to it that all communication circuits are disabled until we are finished.  Unless we have your full attention and cooperation, we will not be able to prevent any unnecessary deaths.  Thank you, Dr. Holiday.” 

Isaak did not consciously listen to most of the remaining presentations, as they reiterated much of the data presented by Dr. Holiday.  He had made the security arrangements to cut communications to the Assembly chamber, and continued to take notes automatically as he weighed the situation.  China’s absence from the emergency meeting was prominent, but then again that nagging part of his mind told him that Janus played more a part in this then met the eye.  He was so enwrapped in his connecting the evidence he barely looked until the last speaker, his old friend Dr. Andropov.

“I had a presentation of my findings in Moscow all prepared, but unlike my esteemed colleagues I don’t wish to waste the councils time by recapping the same data from a different locale.  I agree with Dr. Holiday on one thing, we need to form a cooperative team to combat this menace, but that is where our paths of thinking diverge.  We are wasting our time on conventional approaches, as the rate of spread of Lucifer X will cause disastrous loss of human life while we are waiting the fruition of typical methods.  To combat this virus as we would an enemy is our surest end, and to do this we must attack it.  We need a radical approach to this threat, one that has already brought culmination of greatest milestone in human history.  The same approach, which cured the plague of the 20^th century Cancer, must also be used to take down this new menace.  I speak of applying genetic research in virological design pioneered by Dr. Gabriel Scott, and I can think of no better man to head this effort then the man himself.  I propose that we contact the Doctor and ask him to form his team immediately, as my American colleagues might say ‘times a wastin.’”

The thunderous applause, as Dr. Andropov sat down, echoed deafeningly in the high vaulted chamber.  Helmut Kessler stood and motioned for quiet.  “I wish to put that measure to a vote, as it is the first solid recommendation that I have heard this day…All in favor of seeking Dr. Scott to head this operation…”

March 08, 2049 – 0700 Hours – Scott Family Farm, Independence, Iowa

The knock aroused him from a deep alcoholic stupor.  He rolled from his bed and his feet met little resistance on the polished oak floor.  Gabriel Scott nearly fell as he staggered toward the door to the bedroom; he barely glimpsed his haggard unshaven features in the mirror by the entryway.  He cursed as he stumbled down the stairs, the knocking now more insistent, throbbing with time to his growing hangover. 

Kicking the empty bottle of corn whiskey to the side, Gabriel lurched towards the door.  He caught the corner of the nightstand and steadied himself, squinting as he peered through the peephole.  He could barely make out the two men standing in dark suits.  They sported even blacker mirrored sunglasses, and behind them, the black Suburban with tinted windows sat parked in his driveway.  He groaned inwardly as he pulled on his housecoat from its handle by the door, government spooks.

Gabriel pulled the multiple latches and undid the dead bolt before turning the handle and opening the door.  The bright sunlight blinded him, and he cringed through bloodshot eyes as one man stepped forward.

“Doctor Gabriel Scott?”  The man asked even though it looked like he already knew the answer.

“Yes, but listen I don’t do scientific work any longer…so you are wasting your time.”

“I’m afraid I must insist that you come with us anyway.”  The man replied in a matter of fact tone.  He reached to grab hold of Gabriel’s arm.

Gabriel jerked away and backed through the door.  “Whatever the United States government wants, it can well stick up their asses.”

“This mans a f****n drunk.” The younger agent snarled in disgust.  He turned back to Gabriel his face white with anger.  “What rock have you been under?  Haven’t you heard the news Doctor…twenty million have died so far in three days.  The U.N. sent us to seek your aid, though it looks like a waste of time to me.”

Slurring his words, Gabriel replied, smiling at the agent mockingly, “That’s probably the smartest thing you’ve said in weeks and you are right.  If twenty million people are dead, then the government’s probably behind it and I’m not cleaning up your mess.  Hell, you’re still alive and look at you!”

The younger agent pushed forward as if to confront the much taller Gabriel, but tripped over the doorstop, falling at Gabriel’s feet.  The guffaw that issued forth from Gabriel’s mouth was more than the agent could handle, and he scrambled to his feet, attempting to grab Gabriel by the shirt collar. 

Even in his drunk state, Gabriel was more than a match for the younger man, grabbing him by the throat and scooping him by his groin, tossing him across the room as if her were a sack of grain.  The agent landed with a thud, hitting his head on the far coffee table, rendering him unconscious as he bounced off the floor.  The older agent stepped back and stared, amazed at the agility the drunken man had displayed and spoke, “Dr. Scott.  If you don’t mind.  We are here on official business and are to escort you to United Nations Headquarters in New York.  You can either go peacefully or not.  It’s your choice,” as the agent pulled the tazer from inside his suit.  

Not thinking, Gabriel lunged toward the agent, both arms outstretched.  His movement only carried him two feet before the two electrodes fired from the tazer struck his chest and sent twenty thousand volts screaming through his central nervous system, causing him to lose control of his body.  Everything slowed as he felt his body falling, finally crashing into the hard threshold of his front door, his consciousness fading as he saw the agent bending to revive his fallen comrade.