The Seraphs Call - Chapter Thirteen

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

May 8, 2049 0900 Hours White House Oval Office

President Theodore Porter sipped his coffee from the blue and gold embossed presidential mug.  He had not slept more then three hours in the last forty-eight and it was beginning to show on his eighty seven year old body.  Now he imbibed ample amounts of caffeine just to remain coherent, so he could automatically sign the papers that his advisers put before him.  His eyes weighed heavily and he had to blink constantly to remain focused. 

“Sir, Dr. Janus is here to see you.”  McCollum peered in the door to check on him.  Genuine concern showed in the big Scot’s eyes.  Like his President, he had not been home in two days, staying consistently by Porter’s side to offer any support he could.

“Don’t worry McCollum, after this meeting I’m going to take a nap.”  Porter held up his hand reassuringly.  “Show Roger in.”

Porter noticed Janus’ nervous tick as soon as the man walked in the door.  “Don’t worry Roger; I’m not angry with you taking the initiative to solve our Chinese problem.  It was creative to say the least and almost worked.  What I do object to is leaving your mess for me to clean up!”

“Sir there is no connection linking us to Beijing, all physical proof the Chinese could use to prove that connection was destroyed.  The virus was engineered to die after it destroyed its target….”

“But instead it became dormant, and now we have a worldwide epidemic, and three American cities that I have had to place under marshal law.  The only reason I am not having you drummed out of the Project, is your screw-up has offered me an opportunity.”  Porter shifted in his seat and handed a stack of paperwork with the U.N. Seal emblazoned on the letterhead to Janus.  “If I play this right and provide the United Nations with their research facility, and offering all the expert support we can muster, this will provide me with currency of immeasurable value.  And placing the United States there means I am there also.”

“Ok Mr. President, what do you wish me to do?”  Janus’ nose twitch had become more pronounced.

Now he smells the savory tidbit that I am going to brush off my table, a typical rat, Porter thought.  “As it stands I’m not sure whether to have you shot or reward you.  It would look better, from a public relations viewpoint, if I had a dead patsy to pin this on.  But your value may yet prove itself to me in those you have under your thumb, so I won’t kill you yet.” 

Roger’s pulse raced and he brushed away the rivulet of sweat that traveled slowly down his temple, staring at the man he respected yet despised.  “Mr. President, if I may make a suggestion” and paused, waiting for acknowledgment.

“Well?” The President snapped, “Don’t keep me waiting, Roger!”

Roger Janus stammered, “Sir…the United Nations Security Council has recommended that Dr. Gabriel Scott head the project which is good for us.”

“And what does this mean to me, Janus.  Is Scott one of ours?”

“No Sir…”  Janus tried to respond but was cutoff before he got started.

“Then what value is it to us if this Dr. Scott is the head of the project?” the President retorted

“Sir, I was getting to that.  Dr Scott is not one of ours, but I do have someone we could place in project who is.  He is a perfect fit as Assistant Director, and following his presentation and with a recommendation from you; I believe we could get him in”

“Well, Roger.  Don’t make me guess.  Who is this person?”

“Sir, it’s Dr. Holiday.  He works for Army Research at the Institute of Infectious Diseases.  He’s one of our top geneticists and he owes me.”  The conniving smile slowly appeared on Roger’s face at the thought of exerting his control over Holiday again.

“Janus!  Wipe that stupid grin off your face and pay attention.  Get this Dr. Holiday and don’t screw this up.  I will have my Chief of Staff draft a recommendation letter to the U.N. Secretary-General.  If what you say is true, then we will have no problem getting this Dr. Holiday in the project.  You will report to me and only me on this matter.  You know what the consequences are for failure.  Now, if you don’t mind, I have things to do.  Good day, Dr. Janus.”  The President turned his attention back to the stack of papers on the desk before him, shuffling through, scratching his signature, and blatantly ignoring the man who stood before him.

Janus wanted to say something else, if only to cater more to Porter’s ego, but knew better.  He hastily retreated from the confines of the Oval office, wiping the sweat that had formed on his face and neck.  He shot the President’s secretary a nasty leer, causing the woman to flinch, as he passed bound for the Pentagon to snare Dr. Shelby Holiday.  Scaring people was his element, the underbelly of what he knew best, and the President had set him loose to work his nasty pleasure again.

May 8, 2049 0900 Hours Stone Mountain Georgia – U.N. Research Facility

“Wakeup, kid.”  The frigid water doused Gabriel Scott, and he bolted straight up, staring in confusion around the clinically white cell that he lay in. “Clearly alcohol and electroshock don’t mix too well with you.”  The short, heavily muscled man set the bucket he was holding to the side grinning and waited patiently for Gabriel to get his bearings.

“Who the hell are you…and where the hell am I?”  Gabriel’s face flushed and he reached out to grab the man, but found that he arms where manacled to the bed that he sat in.

“I am your Security Chief…who else…I had to have you secured when you attacked two of your men.”  The older man flexed his hand thoughtfully and crouched closer to Gabriel’s face, staying just out of range.  His blue gray eyes took measure of Gabriel with a cold efficiency.  “My name is Colonel Darryl Rathborn of the Office of the United Nations Security Coordinator.”

“Don’t play mind games with me Colonel…If you are my Security Chief, what does that make me.”  Gabriel stared back furiously at Rathborn.

“You are the Project Leader of the United Nations Viral Research Project, Stone Mountain Georgia.  I was brought here to help you put together and screen your research team.  You collapsed after you had been drinking heavily, and my men came to help you, you fought them and they had to tazer you.”  The Colonel did not betray a hint of emotion as he spoke, relating the account as if he was giving a standard report to his superior.

Gabriel shook his head, confused.  He reached back in his patchy short-term memory but could find nothing.  “I don’t remember anything about this.  What are we researching here?”

“Don’t worry Dr. Scott; I am told combining shock and alcohol only causes temporary memory loss.  As for the other question I will unfasten you if you promise not to cause any more problems and your Assistant Director Dr. Shelby Holiday can bring you up to speed.”

Gabriel simply nodded and the Colonel reached over with his set of keys and unfastened his bindings.

“I’ll show you to your room so you can change clothes and wake up fully before I let Dr. Holiday brief you.”  Rathborn turned to the door.  “Jackson, you can let me and Dr. Scott out now.”  The Colonel helped Gabriel to his feet, as a black man wearing the same gray uniform as Rathborn, and bearing a set of Captain’s bars on his collar, opened the door.

Rathborn led Gabriel through a series of concrete floored corridors, past a several other cells and storerooms to a brown painted elevator door.  They said nothing to each other, Rathborn supporting the younger man, as they waited for the elevator. 

The elevator ride took but a short time, and they stepped out into a new landing and Colonel Rathborn paused, extracting a slip of paper from his breast pocket.  “Your room is the fifth door on the right down this hallway.  This is your security code to the keypad.  Memorize it and destroy the paper.”  He handed the code to Gabriel.  “Try not to forget it again.”

“Thank you Colonel…”  Gabriel said halfheartedly and stumbled down the hall.

Rathborn waited until the younger man was out of hearing range and pulled the radiophone from his belt.  “It’s done but I don’t like lying to him.”

“We had no choice,” Holiday’s voice came over the receiver.  “We can’t waste time in convincing him to work again, in getting him over his Grandfather’s death.  We have his girlfriend Illyana Andropov on her way to the site; she should be able to help acclimatize him.”

“What if he finds out…?”

“When he does, his nobler instincts will have taken over, and he won’t quit the project and allow the blood of millions to be on his hands.  I know his kind of man.  Watch him and tell me when he is fully cognizant so I can come bring him up to speed, Holiday out.”  The line went dead as Dr. Holiday dismissed Rathborn.

Rathborn stood for a few moments, staring down the hallway towards Gabriel’s room, and then shook his head.  “Nothing good ever comes from betrayal, Holiday.”

May 8, 2049 0930 Hours-Stone Mountain Georgia – U.N. Research Facility

The console was flashing the incoming message alert as Shelby Holiday entered his quarters.  This was the second time in Gabriel’s life that Shelby had intervened, the first as an angel of mercy.  Now he was the opposite, dragging the younger man into the same quagmire in which Shelby was trapped, drawn deeper into the cesspool created by one Roger Janus.  Shelby had crossed Janus one time, and paid dearly for it.

Shelby could not shake the vivid memory of watching Roger Janus take his own father’s life, without remorse, without the slightest him of humanity.  It was then Roger knew the true depth of evil off which Janus fed.  He had tried to report Janus’ abuse of government resources, especially the use of live test subjects, to several other people besides Senator Janus, but at each turn, he was either blatantly stonewalled or his calls were never returned.  He left the project in disgust, seeking employment in the civilian sector, but Janus’ influence reached him even there.  Every door was slammed in his face; responses did not come from the many companies to which he applied, though his expertise was greater than other applicants'. 

The phone call had come in the middle of the night, as they always had.  The shallow breathing on the other end waiting for a response, only acknowledging him after he had nearly lost his patience, “I see still are the impatient sort, Shelby,” the sinister voice chuckling and immediately recognized as Janus. 

“What do you want, Roger?”  Shelby spat.

“Oh, it’s not what I want, Shelby.  It’s what you need.  The grapevine has it that you are having a problem getting a job in the civilian sector.  I was just calling to see if there was anything I could do.”

Shelby could almost hear the laugh in Janus’ voice as he sat in silence, listening to the man speak.

“Shelby.  As you have found, nobody will hire you.  Word has it that your work is sloppy, your methods unpredictable, and your science seriously lacking.  Of course, that is what I heard.  Of course, I know better, but there’s not much I can do.”

Shelby could feel his anger flare and fired back, “You son of a b***h.  You did this.  You made it so I couldn’t get a job.  I should…”  Before he could finish his last remark Roger Janus cut him off,”

“Now you listen, you little worm.  As it stands right now, you have no job, no prospects, and no future in this field and you’ve done it all to yourself.  You never know, you make have your license removed.  Stranger things have happened.  You betrayed me once, and I let it go and now you have betrayed me a second time.  You have but one choice left if you want to continue being a Doctor.  ”

Shelby realized there was nowhere else he could turn.  The resignation began to seep into him and Janus continued his tirade, “and another thing, Shelby.  I am sure you remember what happens when people cross me.  Monday morning, be ready to pick up where you left off and all will be forgiven.  Should you fail to report for duty, I will be forced to take the necessary measures.

Shelby’s patience had reached its limit and he screamed into the phone, “Janus, you are full of s**t.  You can’t touch me anymore.  I don’t work for you, or the government, so leave me alone” and slammed the handset down on the phone, breaking the base in two.

Shelby poured the last of the twenty-year-old scotch into the glass and downed it in one gulp, allowing the burn of the whiskey to caress his throat as it made its way to his stomach.  He had no worries.  He would find a small clinic somewhere and if it meant donating his services, he would be a real doctor again.

The doorframe to Shelby’s apartment exploded inward as the four agents from the F.B.I. smashing the wood around the locks and hinges with the small ram, forced their way into the house.  Shelby jumped to his feet, ran from the bedroom, unaware of the cause of the noise, and was met with four black hooded figures pointing weapons in his direction.  He was ordered to the floor and was bound, his feet and hands tied together, and watched as they ransacked his apartment, sweeping the contents of the cabinets onto the floor, shredding his furniture, destroying all of his possessions.  He tried to speak was sprayed with CS Pepper spray and hit with a stun gun, sending him into unconsciousness.

When he awoke, he was seated in a gray metal chair in front of the long gray table, isolated in a room with only a mirror.  Shelby knew right away he was in an interview room, but he didn’t know exactly where.  The dark gray walls, and light gray tiled floor reeked of the government.  His mind was still foggy from the attack, and his eyes, nose and mouth still ran constantly from the remnants of the pepper spray.  A glass of water sat on the table before him, but he did not drink.  He didn’t know how long he’d been out, but it couldn’t have been too long as he was not hungry and it had been nearly four hours since he’d last eaten.

The man entered.  The dark pinstriped suit and mirrored sunglasses, though the room was dark, marked his profession.  He was a government agent.  He was Secret Service, Army CID, or the F.B.I, but at this point, it didn’t matter to Shelby.  The man placed the manila folder he carried on the table in front of Shelby and stood staring, not saying word.  

Shelby reached for the folder and opened it.  Inside were photos of him with someone he didn’t recognize, and copies of documents classified top secret marked with U.S. Department of Justice evidence labels.  Shelby knew he was in deep s**t.

The agent pulled the chair away from the table and sat, still silent, watching as Shelby absorbed the information.  Five minutes elapsed before a word was said, Shelby being the first one to speak, “What is this all about?  That’s me in the pictures, but I don’t recognize any of these people.  What the hell are these documents?”

The man removed the sunglasses from his face, revealing coal black eyes, whose darkness permeated Shelby’s mind, “Dr. Holiday.  I am agent Vincent Morris, with the Federal Bureau of Investigations.  What you see in front of you is the evidence we have collected since we have discovered your theft of classified government documents.  They were found at your residence and the photos were taken by our agents who have been watching you for the past three weeks.”

Shelby’s temper flared.  There were setting him up and he knew it was Janus’ doing.  He took the papers, threw them at the agent, and shouted, “This is bullshit.  These photos have clearly been doctored, and I have never seen these documents before in my life.  I want to talk to my lawyer.”

“In good time” the agent responded, “but first we’d like to ask you some questions about your espionage activities.”

“What espionage activities?  I haven’t done anything.  I don’t work for the government and have stolen anything.”

“Dr. Holiday” the agent paused as he retrieved the pictures from the floor, “is this you in these photographs?”

“Well, yes.  It looks like me, but I have never seen any of these men in my life.”

“I believe you, Dr. Holiday, but it’s not me you have to convince.  My superiors have presented me with this evidence and unless I am able to prove otherwise, they will proceed with the indictments and prosecution.  I don’t know if you are aware, but since the inception of the Walker Law, espionage now carries the death penalty.  Who don’t you help me to help you by telling me about what you’ve been doing?” 

“I haven’t done anything, I tell you.  I haven’t done anything.  I am being framed and those pictures are the proof.  You don’t have any evidence besides them to say anything.”

“Dr Holiday,” the agent replied, “the gentlemen in the photos are known terrorists from Europe.  They were arrested at the same time, and have already implicated you.  If you are willing to turn state’s evidence, I might be able to convince my superiors to get you a lighter sentence under a plea agreement.  Otherwise, you’ll have to take your chances.”

“Aren’t you listening?”  Shelby screamed, “I didn’t do anything.” 

“Yes, Dr. Holiday.  I heard you say that before, but the evidence points to something different.  Why don’t I leave you alone for a while to think about your choices.  I’ll be in the other room if you need anything” and the man pushed back the chair, snatching the folder from the tabletop, and exited the room, leaving Shelby alone again in silence.

Shelby knew Janus had him.  He would have to bow to Janus’ demands, returning to the work, which he hated--the work that had violated his Hippocratic Oath, hurting human beings instead of healing.  He realized too that even if he kept on fighting Janus, it would take little effort on the other man’s part, to make Shelby just disappear.  The only reason Janus did not do this to date, is that he took great pleasure in slowly tormenting his victims. 

Shelby banged on the mirrored glass and waited, seating himself in the cold gray chair.  Five minutes elapsed and the agent returned, this time with two other men Shelby didn’t recognize and one he did.  Roger Janus.  Though in his mid forties, Shelby was still in good shape and leapt across the table, charging toward Janus as he made his way through the door.  The two men with Agent Morris grabbed Shelby by the arms and threw him across the room, slamming his back and head into the wall, the impact nearly causing Shelby to black out.  As he regained his senses, he realized he was on the floor, the pain of the impact emanating from his shoulders and head. 

Roger Janus stood over the semi-lucid Holiday, the look of triumph on his face and spoke, “Dr. Holiday, it looks like you are in some trouble.  I was told just a short time ago about your predicament, and came as soon as I could.  Are they treating you well?”

Shelby could feel the anger rising within him, but the two agents present would keep from taking his aggression out on the man who stood before him, the man he hated, at this point, with his entire being.

Roger Janus turned to the agents, “Could you leave me alone with my colleague for a few moments?  I have some things I wish to discuss with him.  The agents turned, as if on cue, left the room, closing the door behind them.  Shelby just stared at Janus, the loathing evident in his expression as he pushed himself to his feet to stand directly in front of the man. 

Roger Janus watched his discomfort without any emotion in his eyes but the pleasure of watching Shelby’s agony.  “You’re going to work for me, or I will bury you so deep, you will only half remember what the light of day feel’s like.”

Shelby swallowed hard; there was only one safe course.  Even as he said the word’s he knew he would do everything he could to find away to fight this madman, something he could not do locked inside a cell.  “Very well…I concede…what do you want me to do?”    

“Oh to do what you do best Shelby; manipulate others findings to my advantage, then provide with the real data when backs are turned.”  The feral gleam of Janus’ smile caused Shelby to shudder even now.

That had been weeks ago, and only now was the full-scale of what Janus was asking him to do becoming clear.  It did not sit well with Holiday as he left his office, folder in hand, to brief and deceive Dr. Gabriel Scott.  Nevertheless, he kept the poisonous viper nested close to his bosom, daring not to reveal the secret, until he possessed something even greater he could use against Janus.

May 8, 2049 1000 Hours Stone Mountain Georgia – U.N. Research Facility

Gabriel stared at the room after he fumbled through the door.  Everything was a perfect duplication of his office and room when he had been at Johns Hopkins.  It was too eerily perfect.  It was as if someone had trod into his memories and pulled a segment of his life, painting it with a surreal reality into the present.  The creepiest aspect was the photo that hung on the wall near his desk.  A picture he had long ago put away because he could not stand the memory of it—him and his grandfather in one of their last happy moments before Joshua had died.

Gabriel stripped his wet clothes off and felt the cold chill of the room add to his shuddering feeling.  Stepping to the closet he paused, startled as if he had expected to find something wrong beyond the thin veneer of this reality.  All his clothes were there when he opened the door, the favorite ones faded, but well cared for, hanging beside his hospital scrubs and office suits.  He shook himself, maybe his memory was too patchy to pull this together, maybe Rathborn was telling him the truth.

Gabriel selected dry underclothes, a set of green scrubs, and a lab coat from the closet.  He dressed slowly, scrutinizing each thread of his garments as if they might break down and vanish in his hands.  He could still not find a place to anchor himself when he heard the knocking on his door.  That would be the man Rathborn called Shelby Holiday, coming to brief him on why he was here.

 

Shelby flinched when Gabriel opened the door.  The expression on the young Doctor’s face told him the drug they had administered to him was still in effect. Holiday had of course not told Colonel Rathborn, when he invented the elaborate cover story in which he was now playing.  It was a drug that they had used on the “Long-Reach” Project to help the soldiers get over the pain and trauma of the implants.  It removed the short-term memory permanently and left the patient open to suggestion, an equally useful tool to build someone into a fighting machine, or to steer a young reticent doctor on the path you wanted him to take. It had not been Shelby’s idea, but rather one Janus had insisted on.

Shelby held out his hand as he approached Gabriel, feigning the familiarity, “Gabriel, welcome back.  I’m glad to see that you’re ok.  We’ve missed you around here,” as he grabbed Gabriel’s reluctantly outstretched hand.

Gabriel searched hard for the memory of this man, but couldn’t recall his name, “Dr. Holiday, I’m sorry.  I just don’t remember you.”

“That’s alright, Son.  It’s not important right now.  Your memory will return.  We’re just glad to have you back.  It’s been a mess around here.  Since you’ve been out of the loop for a while, I’ll start right away with getting you back up to speed on the project status.  How’s that sound?”

“Sounds fine, Dr. Holiday.”

“Call me, Shelby.  Gabriel.  All right if I call you Gabriel.  You didn’t mind before,” as Shelby forced a chuckle.  Shelby felt he was doing well bring the young doctor Scott on board.  So far, there had been no sign of suspicion, and if his ruse was good enough, there wouldn’t be.

“Fine, Shelby.  Let’s start.  The sooner we do; the better.”

“Great,” Shelby said as he smiled, patting Gabriel on the back, motioning him toward the door, “let’s head to the lab and take a look around.  Maybe it will jog your memory.  We need you up to full speed so we can get this project rolling.  We’ll head to the conference room, where I’ve put together a presentation outlining what you started before.  It’s a good thing you took notes, otherwise we would have been in the dark about some of this stuff.”

“Alright, Shelby.  Show me the way.  It seems I’ve forgotten the way to the lab as well.”

Gabriel didn’t recognize any of his surroundings as they walked down the long concrete and steel reinforced corridors, passing by the many offices and labs, the technicians and administrative personnel busily arranging the offices, moving the equipment into place.

As they reached the end of the corridor, Shelby unclipped the I.D. badge from his pocket and passed in front of the sensor, the light changing from red to amber as his pass card was approved.  Speaking as he punched in the code, “Gabriel, just in case you forgot, you have ten seconds to key in the code for access following your badge swipe, otherwise the alarm is sounded in security.  You remember that Colonel who brought you in.  Well, he’ll send one of his people down to check things out and they can get downright pissy if you go around setting their alarms off.”

“Thanks,” Gabriel replied, “I’ll try to remember that.”

Gabriel stared with weak familiarity at the lab equipment that surrounded him.  Most of it he recognized, but a few devices were like nothing he’d ever seen.  He’d been at the forefront of technology in genetic manipulation, but most of this stuff looked way too futuristic, more advanced than anything he’d ever encountered.  The lab was configured like his lab at Johns Hopkins, the layout as he had designed it himself, but it seemed surreal.  I must have worked here.  Nobody else would have known how I like my labs, he thought.  Passing among the many rows of research stations that lined the walls, he felt as if his memory was beginning to return.  The familiarity was becoming more prevalent in his mind as he made note of the station configurations.  This is a top-notch genetics research lab.  Smiling briefly as he walked, I had to have been the one to put this together.

Shelby followed Gabriel as he walked through the lab, noticing his expression change as the narcissistic qualities that Shelby had been informed of took over in the young doctor’s mind.  Gabriel’s enamor of his own abilities quickly began to overshadow the discomfort he felt with his surroundings.  Gabriel turned to Shelby, “I want a meeting immediately of all my top personnel.  Rathborn informed me that we still have a team to build.  As you are the Assistant Director, I will leave it up to you to make sure that all key personnel are at the meeting.  Let’s make it for 1:00 this afternoon.  I want all the information you have on this virus on my desk by 11 A.M.  I’m still having a little problem remembering everything and want to refresh myself.”

Shelby had succeeded.  The young doctor had fallen for the ploy and would play well into their scheme

May 9, 2049 1200 Hours - Atlanta International Airport

Illyana Andropov was glad to be out of Baltimore.  Never before in her life had she seen so much death and misery.  The whole city was in chaos as the deadly disease ripped through the population, leaving over 100,000 dead within the first week.  When her boss at the Center for Disease Control, Alec Robbins, had pulled her from the disease containment unit at Johns Hopkins, it had been a miracle reprieve for her against the madness.  This was the first rest she had in weeks, the flight to Atlanta quiet and peaceful, causing her to drift off into exhaustion induced sleep. 

She slept through the entire flight and did not awaken until the Flight Attendant touched her shoulder,

“Excuse me, Ma’am.  We’ve arrived at the terminal.  Everyone else has already left the plane.  We didn’t want to wake you, but we have to leave as well.”

Illyana tried to shake the cobwebs, which clouded her thoughts, and through bleary eyes, glanced around the plane.  Pushing herself to her feet, she grabbed the overhead compartment to steady herself, and extracted her bag.  She shouldered her way through the crowded aisles as the attendant called for debarkation of first-class passengers.  She had no wish to mill around with the other sheep, fully conscious that every face that she glimpsed could be dead within a day.  She rushed through the exit and along the ramp carpeted with worn TWA blue, red, and silver.  Not looking up she did not see Gabriel Scott before she had nearly run him over.

“Hello Illyana,” Gabriel’s emerald green eyes pierced her as he helped her to her feet.  He was not as she remembered him when she had left the farmhouse in Iowa months ago.  A haunted look still clung to his gaze, but the stubble had been shaved razor clean from his face, and the strong chin had become evident again below the high hollows of his cheeks.  “They wanted to send someone to pick you up, but when I found out you were going to be on the project, I wanted to come get you personally.”

Tears that Illyana had been able to hold onto for months flowed, as the strength that had held her through the nightmare in Baltimore eroded away.  “I’m so sorry Gabriel…”

Gabriel grabbed hold of her and clutched her in his arms.  “You have nothing to be sorry about…I caused you pain because I didn’t have anything else to lash out at, and was too scared to blame the real culprit, myself.  Joshua would never have stood for that, and I did his memory a disservice just by acting that way. Damn my temper, I love you Illyana.”  He held her close until he could feel the tears begin to slow.

Illyana pulled away, trembling from the memory of his touch.  “We can’t rehash this right now Gab…we have a job to do again…and the stakes are much higher now.  One day we may have time enough for love.”

“Hopefully soon…but you are right.  You always could weather my emotional storms and hold me firmly to reality.  I’ve set the first staff meeting at 1:00 pm…we’ve got to hurry or we’ll be late.”  Gabriel smiled briefly and snatched her bag from her hand, setting off at a dead run through the crowded terminal.

Illyana giggled and yelled after him “Hey you give me back my bag you oaf”

“Only if you can catch me…come on gotta hurry…”  He yelled back.

Illyana took off after him, fond memories flooding back of the innumerable occasions he had pulled the same stunt, trying to pull her from one dark mood or another.  The amusement for a moment belayed the gravity of their purpose, as they raced through the airport, their shrieks, and laughter filling the air.

May 10, 2049 10:35 Hours - White House Oval Office

“The Chinese still have not been able to close their investigation in the Beijing Incident.”  Harlin Masters handed a copy of the brief to President Porter.  The forty-year-old head of the NSA did not look like one of the most powerful men in the executive branch of the United States government.  He was a short, nondescript, heavyset man that now peered over his thick glasses with unreadable brown eyes as the president quickly scanned the brief.  “As you can see, the United Nations and World Health organization, still have most of the relevant locations on quarantine, so it is almost impossible to trace the source of virus to the Lucifer protocols”

“Well done, Harlin” the president responded, “I knew there was a reason I hired you.  Now about the little situation with the U.N.  As you are well aware, we are to provide a facility to research and combat the Lucifer X virus.  I don’t trust Janus, so I want a team placed inside the facility as soon as possible.”

“Mr. President, I’m two steps ahead of you.  I have four operatives already picked out for the job.  We’ve had them in place on a couple of your projects already,” the short man smiled.  “One you already know.  Janus thinks he is his man, but we needed a man to collect dirt on the great Doctor—so we secured Dr. Shelby Holiday.”

“You are an evil genius Harlin…how did you guess we would need to take care of that little liability.”  The President chuckled maliciously.

“Mr. President you forget who trained me.”

“Your right, I did a damn good job.”  The President moved to his intercom.  “Sally, I want you to type up a unilateral declaration for Mr. Harlin.  Leave it blank and bring it in to me.”  He turned to Harlin.  “You fill it in and I’ll sign it.  You get whatever you need to make sure Dr. Gabriel Scott does not find out more then we want him to, understand?”

“Yes Mr. President.”

May 10, 2049 11:00 Hours - National Center for Infectious Diseases Field Office - San Francisco, California

Petri Andropov felt well beyond his fifty years.  He had been appointed to run operations for the CDC on the West Coast from the NCID Field Office during a recent outbreak of the West Nile Virus.  Now, with the onslaught of this new plague, he was exhausted from three days with no sleep.

The one hundred California National Guardsmen surrounding the office complex had been engaged in riot control for the last three days, having to kill more than one hundred and twenty people who tried to enter the complex.  They had been sent by the Governor of California upon orders from the President to protect the CDC employees, scientists and doctors, who were busily trying to find a way combat the virus which was killing hundreds everyday.

The guardsmen had requested reinforcements, but none were available; the entire Bay area under Martial law by order of the President, and all available troops had been deployed, protecting uninfected areas, keeping back the infection as best as possible.  Many of the units failed to reports for duty once they learned they would be going into the death zone, as the entire Bay area was now known, in the past three days. 

Petri had treated more than two hundred victims in various stages, trying to find a way to stop, if not slow down the progress of the virus, but he had failed.  Everything they tried failed. 

The local hospitals were overflowing to capacity, the people of the bay area arriving in droves, draining the supplies, infecting the medical staff, creating chaos for the entire medical establishment.  And now the streets were becoming a war zone, the citizens openly combating the troops sent to protect them, seeking a way to escape the city, trying to find a way to run from the deadly virus in their midst. 

The President called in the Air National Guard, the Air Force, and even the Navy to deploy their aircraft and destroy any unauthorized vehicle that made it past any of the hundreds of roadblocks that surround the bay area.  The roads were littered with abandoned vehicles, the freeways blocked, the city streets swarming with people in some areas.  Other parts lay desolate, the tiny splotches of death visible from the area where the bodies had fallen and turned in pool of liquid death.

Petri had reached his limit of sleep deprivation, and headed toward the makeshift bunkroom.  The entire staff had been recalled when the first case was detected, and their compound secured by the National Guard troops, vehicles formed in the old-west style wagon train circle and razor wire.  Even this did not keep back the more determined, many attempting to drive their vehicles in a vain attempt to crash into the compound for aid.  The weapons fire from National Guardsmen was constant, whether small arms or the more powerful 120mm cannon fired to stop the would be intruders.

As Petri began to drift off, the screams from the dying outside echoed through the night.  The Guardsmen continued firing into the approaching crowds, at times resorting to the large guns and rocket launchers to keep the swarming masses at bay.  As his consciousness faded, he knew they didn’t have much longer before the crowds became too much for even the weapons to contain.  They would have to evacuate the complex.

May 10, 2049 13:00 Hours Stone Mountain, GA – U.N. Research Facility

Illyana sat in the wheeled office chair and watched the coverage from San Francisco with an impassive face as the others entered the staff room.  She remembered worse images in Baltimore before her evacuation, and the goriest display that CNN flashed to did not faze her.  Only briefly did she shudder when the scene around the CDC headquarters appeared on the screen as she imagined her brother ensconced inside that war zone.  She was so apathetically entranced by the headlines that she did not notice Gabriel until he placed a hand on her shoulder.

“Its time to start…,” Gabriel reached down and took the remote from her hand and turned the television off. 

“Its bad you know…so bad I wake up with nightmares of one sort or the other from it every night…”  Illyana whispered her eyes still fixed on the blank screen.

“That’s what we’re here for, to end the nightmare.”  He crouched down in front of her and clutched both of her hands tightly.  “I need you here with me to make that happen.”

Illyana nodded without another word and let Gabriel turn her around to face the conference table. 

Gabriel sat beside her, his hand still clutching one of hers beneath the table.  “Illyana this is Dr. Shelby Holiday, he is the Assistant Director of the Project…”  The hawk faced North Georgian smiled weakly at her.  “And this is our Chief of Security, Colonel Darryl Rathborn.”  The short bulky man scowled reflexively and nodded.  “Shelby and Darryl, this is Dr. Illyana Andropov, an old friend and a Cellular Biologist with the Centers for Disease Control.  She will be the Head Scientist in charge of the laboratory.  Shelby, give us some idea of where we stand with the start up.”

  “We have most of the equipment set up…what’s left is mostly the tedious part of recruiting personnel and coordinating with the CDC to bring samples in.”  Shelby handed the folder to Gabriel.  “These are the top people in the fields we need…”

“I will need to run a security check on those,” Darryl intercepted the folder and scanned through it quickly.  “There are over two thousand names here Dr. Holiday.”

“How many of those can we pick up for the project without crippling key efforts elsewhere, Shelby?”  Gabriel asked.

“We should narrow those down to mostly foreign, countries that have given their scientists the most latitude in genetic research.”  The interjection from Illyana took all four of them by surprise.

“That would cut the list in half.  I was focusing primarily on those we could get in here quickly.”  Shelby face contorted in a quizzical expression.  “Why?”

“We need those who have experience in organ cloning and genetics manipulation.  We need forward thinkers, not people used to working inside the box.”  Illyana stated plainly, steepling her fingers like a teacher about to give students a lesson.  “Those in the U.S. have been crippled too long by government restriction and interference that they would not know how to do what we need.”

“And that is?”  Shelby asked.

Her voice dropped to a near whisper.  “We need a miracle…”