The Seraphs Call - Chapter Fourteen

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

May 20, 2049 Stone Mountain, GA – U.N. Research Facility

The days flew by as the team poured over the hundred of names on the list.  With every ten names they produced, only three would pass the security screening set up by Rathborn, his strict requirements cutting out many of the top scientists from around the world.  It was during one of their brainstorming sessions, the tempers flaring when Gabriel and Rathborn stood face to face.

“Damnit, Rathborn.  What are you trying to do, sabotage out project?  Gabriel scoffed.

“Dr. Scott.  My job is to make sure that this facility and project are secure.  MY RESPONSIBILITY, not yours.  You do the science work, and I’ll do security and we’ll get along just fine,” the Colonel yelled back.

“Look, you arrogant son of a b***h, I don’t give a s**t what your 'responsibilities' are, he said spitting the word in Rathborn’s face, “I am the project director, and I will choose the scientists for this project.  We tried playing the game your way, and now we are going to play it mine.  If I am not allowed a little latitude on this, you can find another director.  I don’t need this s**t, not from your or any other wanna-be Rambo!”

Everyone in the room saw the blood rush to Rathborn’s face as the young scientist, standing much taller, dared to usurp his authority without regard for his position.  The gasps could be heard around the room as Rathborn grabbed Gabriel by the lab coat lapel, pulled him down to eye level and barely above a whisper spoke, “Dr. Scott.  This is the only time I am going to tell you this and you had better listen.  I report to one person and one person only, and it is not you.  The only thing keeping me from whipping your lily-white a*s is I am an officer and a gentleman.

The color left Gabriel’s face as he tried to pull away.  He was unable to budge, the older man’s strength much greater than he had expected, and remained motionless as Rathborn continued to speak, “We will follow the procedures to the letter.  If you don’t like, then quit and we will replace you.  We will do this my way or no way at all.  Do you understand me?”

Shelby Holiday stood and slammed his book on the table, drawing the attention of everyone in the room, “Gentlemen, if you please.  I think I have a solution which will soothe both of your egos and allow the rest of us to get back to work.”  The room was silent as the two men standing face-to-face broke eye contact and looked in his direction.

“Why don’t we use the scientists who spoke at the Security Council Emergency Session?  They have been cleared by the U.N. Intelligence.  Correct, Colonel Rathborn?”  Rathborn nodded and began to speak but Shelby cut him off, “And Gabriel, will they satisfy your requirements as being the top in their fields for getting the project off the ground?”  Gabriel too nodded and began to speak, but Shelby cut him off as well, “Great.  That’s settled.  Illyana, contact U.N. Headquarters and have the paperwork readied for these scientists.  Gabriel, draft up your procedural and research requirements for me and I’ll make sure they're taken care of.  If there’s nothing else, we have much work to do.”  Shelby recovered the papers from the table, walked out the door with Illyana close behind.

 

May 21, 2049 - Raven Genetics Research Facility - Baton Rouge Louisiana

The week had been tumultuous for Dr. Stephen Edgar Green III.  Since the outbreaks in Honolulu, San Francisco and Baltimore, every hospital, medical company and research lab spent most of their efforts containing panic that threatened to engulf all the major cities in the United States.  He had spent more time then he had ever dreamed of in handling public relations, and he wearied of dealing with the frightened public.  At the moment, the young Creole Doctor almost wished the world would end, so he could get back to the science that he loved the most.

When Green went home, now, he was always at the thin line of exhaustion.  As much as he fielded issues with the outside world, he held onto with determination the hours that he spent doing “real” work.  He extended himself to the point of fourteen to sixteen hours at Raven Genetics’ main lab, depending on how busy a day it was.  This had the affect of blurring the time so much between waking and sleeping hours, that he could not feel human until the first prodigious amount of caffeine intake for the day.  Thus his nerves were wearing lastly too thin for most humans to handle, when the message came in over fax from the United Nations information system.

“What’s this?!”  Green stormed into the administrator’s office, his big beefy frame tense and menacing behind fists the size of the other man’s head.  “I thought we’d secured these lines from public access!  I don’t need anymore political idiots wasting my time when I have real work to do.”

The administrator looked up from his paper work, unperturbed as he was used to Green’s outbursts, and had developed the infinite patience of a man used to dealing with temperamental genius.  He pursed his lips, which caused them to disappear on his thin face, and looked at Green with stoic resignation over his horn-rimmed glasses.  “I thought you would be honored Stephen.  It isn’t every day a man is asked to help save the world.”

“Damnit Charlie Bryce…how long have we known each other…I’m not interested in the recognition, because I know it doesn’t amount to a lump of s**t in real scientific progress when all is said and done.”  The gigantic Creole man was slowly coming down from the darkest stage of purple that had flushed his face.

“Then you’ll want to be in on this one Stephen…you’ll be working under Dr. Gabriel Scott, the one name synonymous with real scientific progress so far in this century.”  Bryce calmly handed his copy of the same fax to Green.  “And besides, it’s specially come down from on top of our parent company, R&D Petrochem.  Two of us will be going to the project, I’ve already volunteered to step down as administrator, and I’d like my best scientist with me.”

“I thought you said this was serious science…you don’t exactly qualify in that category.”  Green’s voice had come down to a normal volume level, which still boomed in the office and made it sound like he was yelling at Bryce.

Bryce shook his head and smiled.  “They need someone to organize you scientific types and make sure all you geniuses can handle normal day to day operations.”

Green snorted and stopped just short of chuckling.  “So they’re sending a handler for the beast.  What do they think?  That I will single handedly thrash the project staff if I have one of my legendary falling outs?”

  “Well you did hospitalize that one guy…”  Bryce shrugged.  “You have to admit if Damien Demoir hadn’t recognized your potential and got you a good lawyer you’d be serving ten-fifteen upstate instead of doing your real work.”

“It helped that he hired my best chum to watch over me…”  Green twisted a stray curl thoughtfully that hung from his mop like hair and smiled.  “I owe you for more then one time you didn’t let me give a well deserved beating.  Man, who would have guessed that we’d take it to this level.”

“Yeah, a real Beauty and the Beast, David and Goliath pair that we are.  Lucky that we knew Mr. Demoir even then and he helped hide our past so well that we could pass the security checks for an assignment of this high a level.”  Bryce took two envelopes out of his desk.

“What’s that?”

“Somehow I knew I could talk you into this, so I took the liberty of buying us two tickets to Atlanta….”  Bryce gave his large friend a slyly evil look reminiscent of their old days on the streets of New Orleans.

“Wait a second…I didn’t agree…”  Green stopped himself in mid-sentence and threw his hands in resignation.  “Oh what the hell…when do we leave?”

“Better go home and pack quick Stephen, we leave tonight.”

May 21, 2049 – London, England - Royal Institute of Medicine

“You are bloody useless.”  Sir Aubrey James Stuart roared at his wife.  “The world is going to hell and your biggest problem is the inconvenience of having to reschedule your evening pedicure.

“Aubrey…please control yourself, you are making a scene.”  Elisa Payne Stuart, a thin anorexic woman in her forties, had tried her best to whisper.  “You are royalty, and I am your wife.  We have propriety and image to preserve…” 

Bloody hell, Woman.  Have you not seen the news, or are so blinded by yourself.  I don’t have time for this …” the tall lanky Welshman raised himself to his full height, to cow his wife into submission. “There are two thousand people dead so far in London, Elisa, and they’re never going to have to worry about their image again.”

“I’m going home Aubrey…obviously you’ve had a stressful day and you need some space to cool off and get a clear head.”  She turned and began to exit his office.

“No I think I need a little more then space…I will sleep at the office tonight and pack my bags in the morning”

Elisa stopped and turned to meet his gaze, “Aubrey, you are cold and brutal.  I do not know what I ever saw in you”

“Elisa, you are wrong.  What is happening in the world now is brutal.  And yes, I may be cold, but as you recall, our marriage had nothing to do with what you saw in me, nor I in you.  We are royals my dear, and with that, comes great responsibility.  Do you not recall saying that to me?  Had I other choices, marriage would not have been an option.  To you to anyone else for that matter.”

The tears began to form in her eyes as the harshness of his words pierced her, and she turned and left the room.  They would be the last words spoken between them.

Aubrey returned to his desk and opened the manila folder.  The neatly arranged stack of documents contained the data and images from London.  The death toll was climbing hourly, the populace reaching a near mass hysteria; the medical facilities unable to keep up with the flow of patients, and the British military trying to uphold order in the streets. 

Now he had been called away to America to work for the United Nations on some bloody research project.  How am I supposed to help my own people if I am off gallivanting with the Americans on some half-hearted attempt to stop this?  He had no choice in the matter.  The orders had come directly from the Prime Minister, with full backing from Her Majesty.  He would report to this Stone Mountain Research Facility in a place called Georgia and work with this American, Gabriel Scott.  It was now a matter of duty and pride for Aubrey, and not a matter of choice. 

 

May 21, 2049 – Geneva, Switzerland - U.N. Scientific Foundation

Drs. Emilio Velasquez and Armando Villanova viewed the screens in the United Nations Emergency Response Center, normally used to view military actions around the globe.  The death toll was rising exponentially in twenty-five major cities worldwide, the hardest hit Beijing, China, the Island of Oahu in the Hawaiian Island Chain, San Francisco, Baltimore, and now London.  The projections posted on the screens were disastrous, the estimated death toll in the next hour reaching near a quarter of a million people on four continents.  At this rate, the death toll, unless the virus was fully contained would reach over two and a half million with the next forty-eight. 

Of Argentinean Birth, Dr. Velasquez was relieved to see no outbreak reported in his homeland, but he felt for his college, Dr. Armando Villanova of Spain.  The city of Madrid had reported twenty cases in the last hour and he knew they would see an exponential increase in the number.  The number for each of the cities scrolled across the bottom of the huge eight-foot screens, a ticker of the death count, the numbers increasing on every sweep through the scroll.

The military reports were coming in from the United Nations headquarters in New York.  The Chinese had mobilized their forces to surround the city of Beijing and Shanghai, the two largest cities affected by the catastrophe.  Evil appearances of death were played on the screen as the Chinese military opened fire on occupants of the cities trying to flee from the deadly virus as it swept through their populations. 

The same scenes placed throughout the world.  In the cities where the virus was running its course, the militaries of the world were moving into action, killing civilians of these areas most affected in a vain attempt to stop the spread.  The United States had declared martial law in the all the cities affected, including a naval blockage on the Island of Oahu, and the ports of San Francisco and Baltimore.  Both watched, as the boats loaded with passengers, tried to flee the cities, and were summarily destroyed by the large U.S. Navy and Coast Guard vessels under orders of the U.S. President, to stop the spread of the virus at all costs. 

Armando turned and looked at his colleague, the first to speak, “Dios Mio, Emilio.  Is there hope or will we be forced to watch the world’s population die before our eyes?”

The short stocky Spaniard, his eyes still glued to the screens, responded to his friend, “Amigo, we have only once choice.  We will go to this Stone Mountain Proyect, and will have to find a way to destroy this virus.  There are no others who can.  We must leave tonight.”

“Agreed.  We leave tonight.”

 

May 21, 2049 Fort Meade, Maryland - U.S. National Security Agency Headquarters

Harlin Masters sat in the corner of the Zen garden, and let his mind become entranced in the concentric patterns of sand and stone.  To an observer, he might have been a statue, his unblinking eyes set in a face of passive stone, his spine rigidly erect above legs folded in a classic lotus position.  Had it not been for his dress shirt, rumbled and unbuttoned, and the conservative cut slacks rolled up to his knees above his bare feet, he looked the envy of Zen masters merged with the void.  That insane focus had astonished his superiors early in his career, earning him notoriety as a cold efficient killer when he had worked in the field.  With the ability to bridge astounding leaps of logic with a quiet Buddhist calm, he correlated seemingly disassociated facts with an unrivaled accuracy of never being wrong.  All this and his innate skill of blending into his environs made him the perfect spy and brought him to the attention of President Theodore Porter. 

The President had taken the spy and molded him to the level that he was now.  Yet it was difficult to tell whose will had bent more, on whether it had been the Commander in Chief’s decision or if Harlin assumed the role of NSA Director as his natural birthright.  Being a spy was the only life Harlin had ever accepted and he was well known in reputation as being the best--quiet, unobtrusive, the face that a person could forget in minutes after just meeting him.  Their underestimation had always been his greatest asset, and his enemies’ gravest mistake.

Now Harlin faced a new opponent in game that he loved the most.  He only knew Dr. Gabriel Scott by reputation.  As with all he faced across his mental table for the first time, he was beginning use his intuitive mind to crawl inside the man’s skull.  The image formed of mental clay.  He brought it to life from the cold facts and it stared back at him from across those concentric Zen circles.  Harlin understood within the span of a heartbeat that he could never predict what the outcome of this match would be.  At his worst, Dr. Scott was a young man to be reckoned with, at his best this brilliant scientist could bring about the fall of the most powerful nation in the world. 

Harlin began to unfold the first move of his opening gambit in his mind.  The first plant was already in place at Stone Mountain, with the other four pieces to be placed with a precision that would slip past the toughest security protocol that Colonel Darryl Rathborn could muster.  The NSA head knew all the intelligence tricks in the book, as he had written most of their definitions in his quarter of a century as a spy.  Though he respected Rathborn as a military man, a top field level man in military black-ops, the Colonel was out of his league in the level of play that Harlin had mastered. 

Harlin roused from his trance and smiled.  Whatever the outcome of this match was, whoever the victor left standing when the dust settled he held for contingency the ploy that would leave him, the practical spy ready to serve the next master in line.  Many fools had mistaken the NSA Head’s devotion to his duty as a sign of unswerving loyalty, but he knew intimately when to cut his losses, and retreat from checkmate with the elusive speed of quicksilver.  Although he would never betray President Porter, neither would he doom himself to a pointless sacrifice in the man’s defense.  When the game was over, the spymaster would be there to tilt his king, and the board would be reset to play again.  The game mattered most to Harlin, not on whose field he played.

Harlin flipped his cell phone out and placed a call to a number known by only a select few in the intelligence community.  It rang through on a phone deep in the heart of the CIA Headquarters in Langley, Virginia.  The line picked up and he gave the voice verified pass phrase.  “Is the child still asleep?”

“He has awakened and achieved full awareness.”  The rehearsed reply came through the line.

“Very well, open the back door and let Angel find his father.” 

 

May 21, 2049 Leningrad, Russia - Russian Academy of Science

The Chairman of the Russian Academy of Science sat on the park bench in the middle of Gorky Park and wished he were dead.  He had grown up as a boy under the regime of Joseph Stalin and had seen too many horrors to count perpetuated by men against other humans.  He had seen the last of the purges wind down only to be replaced by the unjust tyranny of a new line of dictators when he was a teen.  He had been a student at Moscow University and barely escaping many sweeps that had sent many of the most brilliant and irrepressible intellects of his peers to rot in nameless Siberian gulags.  Then as a scientist he had fallen out of favor and been sent himself to the frozen reaches of Siberia taken away from his young wife and son.  There he experienced unspeakable suffering first hand perpetrated on his flesh, mind, and soul.  Only when the Soviet Union had fallen did he after twenty years of confinement get a chance of redemption, but at this too he failed.  Forgive me Illyana; I had hoped I had placed you beyond their reach.  Yuri Andropov felt a cold tear began to form on his cheek, as the more frigid snow began to fall from the sky.

Yuri bent over and recovered his cane at his feet, and used it as a lever to hoist his thin framed body.  He leaned on it gingerly as he limped across the Park in the gathering darkness.  His apartment building was located at its south end, and he pulled his keys from his heavy fur lined trench coat, stopping at the set of lockboxes near the entrance to get his mail.  He pulled out the posts and rifled through them, scanning quickly the addressees.  A letterhead with the United Nations emblem on it caught his eye and he pulled it out of the stack, dropped the rest in his pocket, and went up the apartment stair as he opened it.  He nearly dropped the letter in surprise before he finished reading its contents, his hands shaking with palsied excitement.  Finishing the steps to his apartment with a pace belaying his age, he unlocked the door and bellowed for his live in aide.  “Nina, pack our bags, we’re flying to Atlanta tonight.”

Round two my dear Illyana, I won’t fail you this time.

May 22, 2049 0700 Hours Washington, D.C. - 1600 Pennsylvania Avenue – The White House

What the hell do you mean; Yuri is coming to the United States?”  President Theodore Porter shouted, slamming the folder down on the desk in the Oval office, “I thought you had this under control, Roger.

“Mr. President, Please let me explain.  I wasn’t made aware….,” Roger replied, but was cut off mid sentence.

“Damn it, Janus.  Is this a game to you?  Do you know the damage that can be done if Yuri is allowed to make it here?  Do you fully grasp in that pea-sized brain of yours just what will happen if anyone finds out about the project?” The President continued his tirade, “You will take care of this right now, and I don’t want any excuses or screw ups on this.”

“Mr. President, if you will let me finish, I have already expected this,” President Porter’s temperament began to cool as he listened; “The U.N. is flying Mr. Andropov in this evening.  I have someone in St. Petersburg and should be hearing back within the hour.  The plane is due to stop in London for refueling and then onto New York where he will be changing planes.  Mr. Andropov will not make the connecting flight to Atlanta.”

“And what if he does, Roger?” The President stammered, “what if he does?”

“Mr. President, I assure you he will not.  Mr. Andropov will meet with a most unfortunate accident, we will offer our condolences to the Russian Ambassador, and nothing else will be said,” the expression on Roger Janus’ face turning into a wicked sneer.

“If Yuri Andropov makes it to Atlanta,” the President’s gaze now fixed directly into Janus’ eyes, “then there will be nothing we can do.  If any information about the project gets out, then my career is ruined and if I am ruined, there are many who will go down with me.  Do I make myself clear, Roger?”

“Yes, Mr. President.  Crystal,” as he turned and exited the Oval Office.

 

May 22, 2049 Leningrad, Russia - Flight 407 from Leningrad, Russia to Atlanta Georgia, United States

 The man waited, eyeing the boarding passengers in the crowded terminal in Leningrad Airport.  He spotted his target, and casually pulled the needle like stiletto from his overcoat.  The target’s bald, white fringed headed bobbed up and down like a pink apple in the sea of heads.  Every so often, the assassin could see the flash of the man’s thick-lensed glasses as he turned to speak excitedly to a young Russian woman, obviously his aide.  It would not be difficult to slip behind their notice.  All that was needed from the blade was a scratch, and the old man would apparently suffer a heart attack in the crowded airport, not something that would seem out of the ordinary for one of his age.  The assassin’s frame was slender enough that he could easily slip through the milling crowd of bodies and he inched closer to Yuri Andropov and Nina, holding the blade carefully in his palm.  He closed within striking distance, one quick jab and it would be over. 

The assassin stabbed the blade upward, but was stopped short by an iron grip that nearly shattered the bones in his wrist.  The stiletto was slammed from his hand, and he was picked up bodily and dragged into a maintenance closet.  Viktor Marsenko twisted the thin man’s neck until he heard a satisfying crunch and dropped the body and the stiletto into a trash disposal unit.  He exited the room, closed the door, and broke the lock with one wrench of his beefy hand. 

 Yuri Andropov, noticed Marsenko’s presence almost immediately, but then the big Russian had not tried to hide his approach.  “Hello Viktor, strange seeing you here…are you on this flight too?”

     Viktor grunted noncommittally.  “Isaak thought you might need an escort to Atlanta, these are very unpleasant times.”

 “It’s nice to know that Colonel Morikov has enough time these days to be concerned for his friends.”  Yuri nodded slowly.  “But then again, he’s probably more concerned for Illyana than his old teacher.”

 “I am just following my orders to make sure you get safely to Atlanta Doctor.  I will not be staying to baby-sit you and your daughter.  Isaak has me on a connecting flight out, and hour after we land, to Beijing.  He wants to know more of what started this virus; he doesn’t think the Americans are playing above the table with the rest of the world.”

 “Oh, he should know that for a fact, the Americans never do.”  Yuri turned to give the boarding attendant his ticket.  “You do have a ticket, don’t you Viktor.”

 The big Russian flipped out his U.N. Security Badge and a lopsided smile cracked his broad face.  “This is the only ticket I’ve ever needed, you know that.”

 They boarded the plane, and readily found their seats.  Viktor sat in the jump chair near the rear of the cabin, looking morosely out the window as the plane taxied down the runway for takeoff.  “What are you hiding my American friends?”

 

May 22, 2049 New Orleans, LA

Damien DeMoir’s mood reflected in the black storm clouds rolling in from the Gulf of Mexico.  The economic indicators had plummeted, but that did not jar him as much it might other companies.  He had pulled R&D Petrochem through worse crisis’s including a brief attempt by Congress in 2013 to push converting the nation’s fuel supply to alcohol bases.  This virus was causing more harm to his information gathering abilities in cutting into his network of human informants.  The loss of system centers in San Francisco and Honolulu had nearly blinded him to the entire Pacific rim, and he did not relish being sightless to half the world.

“Saul,” he reached down to his desk and keyed his office intercom.

“Yes, Mr. Demoir,” came the response over the intercom.

“Come into my office.”  Damien paced back and forth across the office, waiting for the tall blond man to enter.

 “They will be leaving tonight, Sir,” Saul said as he entered the room, “We’ve made all the necessary arrangements, and they will arrive in Atlanta in a few short hours.”

“Thank you, Saul.  You always seem to be one step ahead of me, my friend,” as he smiled.

“That’s what you pay me for, Mr. Demoir,” replied Saul as he turned to leave the office.

“That I do, Saul.  That I do.  One more thing…,” stopping the tall blond haired man in his tracks, “We need to work on our Pacific Rim network.  We’ve lost most of our contacts, and I don’t like being blind.”

“Yes, Sir,” was Saul’s only response as he stepped through the door into the outer office which guarded the door to Damien’s inner sanctuary.

 

May 22, 2049 London, England - Heathrow International Airport

Sir Aubrey James Stuart moved his bag to the counter.  The British Army escorted him to the airport, only minutes before an angry mob tried to overrun the Royal Ministry of Health building.  Eight people had been killed in the firefight, including his secretary and one of his lab assistants.  His wife had escaped unscathed, taken to their home on the outskirts of London by a small detachment of Royal Marines. 

The airport was now blocked off to all but official traffic, only designated personnel approved to enter the airport’s grounds.  Had it not been for status belayed on him by the P.M, he would have been turned back like many others, royal or not.  The single document in his hand would be one that would save not only his life, but also that of countless others.

The counter agent viewed the official British Government Passport with contempt, scoffing at his rank, stamped by the British Government as one of Royal patronage.  Aubrey hated the recognition, or mostly, the notoriety, which the passport brought him.  He had worked with the commoners most of his life, many of them his closest friends, and never considered himself above them.  To those who did not know him, this fact was lost; only the name and title he carried their only impression of his personae. 

He produced the letter to the agent, hoping this would speed up the process, but to the agent, it was just another document.  It wasn’t until she read the letter, did she fully understand the role in which Aubrey would serve.  A look of concern crossed her face and she spoke in her cockney accent, “Pardon my rudeness, Sir Stuart.  I apologize if I offended you in anyway.  I have seen many people leaving London, while so many others, including members of my own family lay dying in the streets and there is nothing I can do.  Please do something to stop this thing.”

Aubrey reached out his hand, placing it atop hers, “It’s ok, Miss.  I understand.  I will make sure that we do our best to try to save everyone we can.  Try to keep the faith dear, as we are and God willing we will stop this thing in its bloody tracks.”

She produced the ticket from the machine and handed it to him, wishing him well as he left the ticket counter.  He reassured her one last time, pausing with his hand on her and nodded.  He turned and headed down the long corridor to the awaiting aircraft, one of only twelve passengers on the flight bound for New York.  As he approached the gate, he turned and stared, wondering if this would be the last time he saw his home.

May 22, 2049 New York, NY - John F. Kennedy International Airport

The flight to New York was uneventful, Yuri able to sleep for only brief periods, roused by the bumpiness of the plane flying through the crosswinds which, even at forty thousand feet, buffeted the aircraft. 

As they taxied to the gate, Yuri glanced at his long time friend and live-in assistant Nina, as she slept peacefully in the seat next to him.  She had been with him for nearly twenty years.   More than just a helper, she comforted and supported him in his greatest times of need.  Though he did not love her, he could not see his life without her and wondered; that if they made it through this evilness, would there be anything for them to go back to.

He nudged her softly with his hand and in his native tongue spoke, “Nina, we have arrived in New York.  We must change planes to Atlanta.  We do not have much time.”  She stretched her arms and arched her back and he smiled, knowing she would be safe as long as she was with him.

They left the aircraft and walked up the passenger ramp, Nina helping him as he used his cane to steady his gate.  They had only fifteen minutes before their next flight departed, taking them to the United Nations facility at Stone Mountain.  He stared at the hundreds of passengers waiting to depart, many carrying what appeared to be their only possessions, dressed haggardly and unkempt, as if they had departed their homes in haste.  These people were fleeing, Yuri knew; fleeing to escape the virus, which would eventually gain a foothold in the city that never sleeps.  He silently wished them well as he made his way down the concourse, Nina helping him along, avoiding the masses as they crowded themselves into the gate area.

The short nondescript man watched Yuri and his female companion as they walked the concourse.  He fell in behind them, keeping his pace, stopping occasionally, as did they, waiting for his chance to move in.  He would have but one chance, and he could not fail.  He recovered the satellite phone from his pocket, instinctively dialing the number.  After three rings the line was answered and he listened as the warble of the encryption string was enabled, securing the communication line between him and the source. 

The tinny voice, masked by a voice encoder, spoke, “Do you have them?” 

“Yes.” 

“Good” the line went dead, only the static hiss remaining.

The assassin stayed behind the two as they approached the main intersection in the terminal, turning left towards their connecting flight.  He would have to get them away from the crowds before he made his move.  He stepped into the alcove, tapped on the screen of the vidphone calling up the airport paging system and placed a video interference transmitter, the size of his watch face, atop the video camera on the screen.  This would assure his anonymity. 

The system rang twice and the operator answered, “Airport paging, I’m sorry but we are having problems with your video.  Please standby while we attempt to correct the signal.”  After fifteen seconds, the operator came back online, and spoke again, “I’m sorry, we are unable to receive your video, do you wish for this to be an audio only call.”  The man answered yes, as he waited for the call to be processed.  The operator spoke again, “How may I help you, Sir.”

In a voice disguised by the voice transmogrifier held to his throat, the man spoke, “Please page Dr. Yuri Andropov.  The operator repeated his message and disconnected the line.  He stepped back into the hallway and caught sight of the two as they were walking away and waited.  Two minutes passed and he heard the words coming over the intercom, “Dr. Yuri Andropov, please pick up the Airport Convenience Phone.  Dr. Yuri Andropov, please pickup the Airport Convenience Phone.” 

He watched as Yuri and the female stopped mid stride and looked around, seemingly searching for the convenience phone.  He could not have planned it more perfectly as just ahead of them on the left in a small alcove was another station.  He picked up his pace as they approached the alcove, retrieving the small dart gun from inside his jacket, palming it as he approached.  Two quick shots from behind and Dr. Yuri Andropov and the female would be dead. 

Yuri looked at Nina with bewilderment, “Who could be calling me here, Nina?  Only a few people knew I was taking this route.”

“I do not know, Yuri.  I did not tell anyone of our departure.  Could it be the United Nations?”

Yuri looked at her, “I don’t think so.  They do not want any attention brought to us, but I still think we should at least see.”

Yuri stepped to the phone, touched the screen pad for the convenience phone and spoke, “This is Yuri Andropov.”

The line was silent.  Strange, he thought. 

Viktor Marsenko watched as the short chubby man approached Yuri and Nina from behind.  He was out of sight of them, but could easily cover the distance in ten seconds.  This was the second attempt on Yuri’s life in one day, and Viktor was tired, tired of having to waste his energy on this, instead of finding the source.  He promised himself that he would track down whoever was responsible for this after he took care of the problem. 

He reached into the vest pocket of his jacket and retrieved the small silenced pistol, fully hidden by his huge hand and approached Yuri and Nina who were now walking away from the phone in the alcove.  The short man did not see him approach and increased his pace, closing the distance between himself and his two targets.  Now within ten feet, he brought the dart gun to his side, sliding his finger into the trigger guard, aiming from the hip at his intended victims.

Viktor saw the flash of the small weapons appear in the man’s hand and increased his pace to a brisk walk, his long legs allowing him to cover the distance between him and the man.  As he reached the man’s side, the assassin still unaware of Viktor’s presence, only focused on the two in front of him.  The assassin didn’t realize he was walking his last steps until the bullet slammed into his neck, and he was dragged into the alcove, the blood gurgling in his throat as he gasped for his last breath of air.  Viktor supported the man’s weight with his immense arm, lowering the now limp body to the floor in the far corner of the alcove, lifting the man’s collar to cover the wound where the bullet had penetrated his esophagus.  Stepping from the alcove, he scanned the concourse for Yuri and Nina, and saw them walking toward the far gate, now boarding passengers for the flight to Atlanta.  He had done his job.  He turned and headed in the opposite direction, the United Nations car waiting for him outside the airport.

 

May 22, 2049 Atlanta, GA - Atlanta International Airport

The security convoy entered the outer perimeter of the Atlanta International Airport, separating and taking the multiple paths leading to the large hangar in a remote part of the airport where the aircraft would land.  When the unconfirmed reports of the assassination attempt had come in, Colonel Darryl Rathborn voiced his refusal to the Security Council.  He would not take any unnecessary risks, and requested the seven scientists be dropped at his remote location minimizing the risks.  The council relented to his request. 

The hangar, normally reserved for VIP flights, was where he would personally supervise their arrival and transport back to the compound.  With a good view of the surrounding area, they would at least have a better chance of survival, should things turn ugly.  He scanned the list of scientists arriving within the next few hours, his face wrinkling at recognizing many of them. 

They only waited fifteen minutes before the first plane landed.  To Rathborn, all of these people were VIPs, the fate of the human race lying in the hands of the men and women under his charge.  

As the plane rolled to a stop, the small detachment of security personnel fanned out around the perimeter of the hanger and small tarmac, taking up defensive positions, scanning the fence line and surrounding areas that bordered them.  Seven planes from different airlines would be diverted on their arrival and one or two passengers would get off under the Colonel’s direction.  The aircraft would then continue to the gate to deliver the remaining passengers.

The first two arrive were Drs. Stephen Edgar Green III and Charlie Bryce, the huge Creole dwarfed his thin pale bespectacled colleague but held onto the smaller man’s hand as a huge child would his miniature father.  The flight roster showed they were from Raven Genetics Laboratory, located in Baton Rouge, LA, and he knew them only by reputation.  He had checked their backgrounds well, suspicious of the holes in their past, confirming their entrance in the United Nations organization as experts in genetics research, only after conferring with his many extra-legal sources.  They passed the first round, but with Rathborn, no one was beyond reproach.

The second plane disgorged Drs. Velasquez and Villanova, followed by small legion of support staff.  Rathborn grimaced; this would complicate enforcing his security checks.  He was half-tempted to order both scientists back on the plane and send them packing back to Geneva.  He was certain; however, the staff was sufficiently cleared because every one of them worked for two of the top men in the U.N. Scientific Foundation.  It would be no small chore to put them through top secret requirements as Rathborn’s running count before he shook his head and gave up numbered well over five hundred.

Third, to land was the U.N. Security Plane.  Rathborn smiled as his stocky German friend, Desdin Ruetger stepped down and rushed forward to embrace him.  The clockwork efficiency of this man would do well to help tighten his security and pull tight the slack on any of the security requirements that Rathborn had remaining.  All his remaining security personnel, with exception of one, filed off the plane, the gray uniforms filling the hanger.  He summarily walked through their ranks, quickly inspecting them before the fourth plane arrived, and dismissed them to join the convoy.  The Colonel checked his clipboard, that left Sgt. Johnson his communications Chief, and Dr. Yuri Andropov arriving on the last flight.

The Colonel looked up alarmed when the sirens began to wail from the main terminal, emergency crews began to converge on the arriving aircraft. Rathborn signaled to Ruetger, and led him and four other armed security personnel up to the plane as the mobile stair hooked up to the main exit.  The door opened and Rathborn attempted to push the attendant out of the way to board the plane, but the man held fast.  “Sir we have an emergency.  I’m going to have to ask you to clear the stair.”

“I am Colonel Darryl Rathborn of the UN Security Office, what happened on this plane?”  The Colonel attempted to push past him again.  “Two members of my staff are on this flight.”

“Sir, you can assess the situation once the paramedics are through, right now I have no time to argue with you, clear the stair.” 

The Colonel stepped back as the attendant pulled a pistol from inside his jacket.  “Just who the hell do you think you are?”

“I am Sky Marshal Edwards sir, and you will clear the stair for the emergency teams or I will shoot you, and one more individual will need their assistance.”  The man did not blink as he leveled his weapon towards Rathborn’s chest, dead center mass.

“Okay…”  Rathborn held up his hands in surrender and backed slowly down the stair.

“F****n bureaucrats,” The Sky Marshal muttered just loud enough for Rathborn to hear, as the paramedics brushed past him up into the plane. 

In the entire assembly in the hanger, not one person dared so much as a loud breath, as the Rathborn waited pensively at the foot of the mobile stair.  It took minutes for the paramedics to bring the stretcher down; Yuri Andropov was strapped to it followed by his weeping assistant Nina, the old man was not breathing.  In the crowd of attendants heaving the old man’s stretcher into the ambulance, Rathborn spotted Sgt. Johnson, helping the paramedics apply CPR.  They pulled their patient into the ambulance and the Sergeant was shut outside as the double doors closed with a grim finality.

At a rapid pace, Rathborn closed the distance and pulled her aside, “What the hell happened, Johnson?”

He noticed the tears beginning to form in her eyes as she almost collapsed in his supporting arms.  “With all my training I couldn’t save him…he’s dead Colonel Rathborn…”  

May 22, 2049 Atlanta, GA - U.N. Research Facility Stone Mountain Georgia

Gabriel held Illyana that night after he had taken her to identify the body of her father.  They lay in his room, and Illyana melded into his arms, crying herself to sleep.  Sitting there, feeling the wetness of her tears drying on his chest, he felt the familiar numbness creep in and he could not shed even one.  They both shared the common tragedy of being orphaned now, but Yuri would only be one of many on the long list of misfortunes before this was over, and Gabriel knew this.  He had to steel himself for the long road ahead.  The world could not afford to have him do more then empathize with Illyana, so like all his grief, it would be shut away for as long as he could entrap it within his soul.

Gabriel did not sleep that entire night, and as the morning came, he disentangled Illyana’s sleeping form and laid her down gently on the bed.  He gazed for a moment as sad face, not even relaxed in the deepness of sleep, and pulled the covers back over top of her.  Time to work, we know what it feels like to lose everyone we ever cared for, that makes it all the more important.  He stretched out and stumbled wearily over to his computer desk.  Snatching the small plastic caffeine hypo-spray, he depressed it on his tongue and sat down to jack into his neural network interface.  He did a quick run through of the statistical, and research data that was flowing into the laboratory mainframe from all corners of the world. 

Gabriel keyed the vidphone, “Shelby, get the others together in the meeting room.”

“Do you have any idea of what time it is Gabriel?”  Shelby blinked wearily in screen.

“Yes, about thirty seconds till ten more people are dead from Lucifer X…disaster never makes an appointment.  Just have Rathborn send security around to collect them.”

The fog from Gabriel’s mind was beginning to clear as it sharpened towards its objective.  He had an unstable, constantly sifting foundation to work with in this endeavor.  One after all built by humans.  Nevertheless, the Project would have to turn their faults into salvation for humankind.  Ten men and one woman would be responsible for building this new tower of Babel, one of science to reach to whatever level they needed to save humanity and make sure that whatever malevolent force they faced, be it the virus, men, or even God could not destroy the Earth.

May 22, 2049 Atlanta, GA - Stone Mountain, GA – U.N. Research Facility

Gabriel stood before his colleagues, red hair tied back, his boyish face much younger then those that he faced, so young to have the fate of the world in his hands.  Yet they could all see the commanding genius in his eyes, which gave this young man stature, and it riveted them to his words as he spoke.  “Gentlemen and Lady, my esteemed colleagues, I have taken you out of your element, away from your families, your homelands, to place you on a quest of science, a quest to save the world.  I send you into danger to achieve this.  There are those in the world who would like to hide the truth from us, and the chaos of Lucifer X is rapidly spreading through the areas that you will have to tread to uncover that truth.”

“I have the various centers of the virus we can currently achieve access to here.”  Shelby flipped on the digital projection wall.  “Dr. Green, you are going to San Francisco to coordinate with the CDC there and help them control the spread while you collect data.”

The big Creole raised his hand.  “How am I going to get into the target area, Doctor Holiday? I was under the impression that all civilian airports were shut down.”

“All personnel of this project will be transported in by U.N. Helicopters.  You will each have an escort set up by the Security Chief Colonel Darryl Rathborn, consisting of four men or women trained in high profile protection and urban combat tactics.”  Shelby replied. 

Dr Aubrey Stuart tapped his fingers on the briefing folder in front of him, “Is this because of what happened to Yuri?  If someone is going to try to be killing us while we’re working, is four going to be enough?”

“The units are designed to keep you mobile while providing you with the highest protection,” Rathborn interjected.  “Sir Stuart nothing is infallible but my people will get you through, rest assured.  They are handpicked from the best Special Forces units from many countries.  Three being from your own SAS.”

“Colonel Rathborn, I am not disputing the competency of your men, but I have seen the outbreaks and they crowds are far from pleasant.  Sheer numbers alone could overrun a small contingent, if allowed, and I for one am not up to the task of risking my neck to watch and report.”

Rathborn was about to reply when Gabriel interrupted him. “Sir Stuart, I understand your concern, but though Colonel Rathborn and I do not agree on everything, I will say that I would have no one else watching my back than those men and women he has chosen.  Gentlemen, if there are no further objections, let us continue.”

Shelby stood again and continued. “Dr. Velasquez, since you are the most familiar with the South American continent, you will be sent to observe the outbreak there, starting in Rio de Janeiro, Brazil where the virus has taken a heavy toll.  Your transport leaves within the hour, so I would advise readying yourself and your staff.”

Dr. Emilio Velasquez nodded in Shelby’s direction and bade his farewell to the others in the room, leaving with his top two people.

Shelby glanced towards Dr. Charlie Bryce, “Charlie, we are keeping you here to coordinate all the data and communications with everyone in the field.  Sergeant Johnson, our communications chief, will show you to the communications so you can get started.”  Upon Shelby’s comment, Dr Charlie Bryce nodded to the others in the room and followed the Sergeant out of room.”

Shelby now turned his attention to Dr. Armando Villanova, “Armando.  It has been a long time and I wish we had time for the pleasantries, but we do not.  Since you are fluent in many of the European languages, six at last count from what I recall,” the man seated across the table nodding his acknowledgment, “you will be responsible for overseeing all operations in the European theater.  Colonel Rathborn has the data files ready for you and they will describe your itinerary.  You are also to leave within the hour.  A military transport will take you directly from the Naval Air Station near here to London where you will begin your fieldwork.  Good luck and God Speed.”

Dr. Armando Villanova walked to the far end of the long conference table and Rathborn handed him the large packet, standing to escort him from the room to the security detachment that waited for him in the corridor.

The only person remaining in the room, besides the Stone Mountain staff was Sir Aubrey Stuart.  He glanced around the room pensively, as Rathborn returned to the table and took the seat next to his.  Rathborn reached beneath the table and flicked the button, which changed the screen to a map of the Eastern Hemisphere, covering the continents of Africa and Asia.  Shelby seated himself directly across from Aubrey, “Sir Stuart.  The assignment we have chosen for you is one we can only ask voluntarily.  This is the most important assignment, besides the work we are doing here.  Your background has been verified, and your association with MI-6 will come in handy.  You will be required to traverse two major continents, with a security force of twenty men and women.  This will be a difficult assignment as you will be going into the areas hardest hit by this virus.”

Sir Stuart sat stone-faced watching the others in the room, nodding occasionally as Shelby continued. “We have already arranged with the British Government and three other MI-6 operatives will meet with you in Capetown, and from there you will travel through the various African states according to the itinerary.  From there you will travel to the Russian Republic, and then on to Asia.  We realize this is a difficult and frankly, a dangerous mission, but we have the utmost confidence in your ability to pull it off.  We estimate the timeline for your fact finding in Africa and Russia to take no more than three weeks.  Now comes the most important part,” and he paused waiting for a response.  None came and he finished, “after Russia, you will go into mainland China covertly, with your group and a small contingent of Taiwanese Special Forces troops.  We need you to report everything about the virus that you find in China.  We know it started there, but the Chinese have been uncooperative.  One more thing,  The United Nations, United States, and Great Britain will deny any knowledge of your presence in that region should anything happen.”

Sir Aubrey Stuart had heard these words before and shrugged his shoulders. “Bloody well what I expected.  Guess I should be off then.  Have many miles to travel and by the way gentlemen, Lady,” he turned toward Illyana and nodded.  “I hope you chaps are as bloody good as everyone says you are, ‘cause if you’re not, then as you Americans say, “We’ll have to bend over and kiss our arses goodbye.”  He stood from his chair, nodding to all in the room and stalked out, not waiting for Rathborn to follow.