Crime Zero (24 page)

Still, Decker couldn't see how Kathy's life was worth the futile goal of thwarting a project she herself had initiated. However, he realized that if he refused to help her, she would go it alone and wouldn't last five minutes. Plus Matty had been fussing over her the last two days, telling him how something had to be done to stop this.

"Let's say you could prove all this, and that's a big assumption because I bet Naylor and Prince have already got plans to discredit you, then who would you tell?"

"Pamela Weiss."

"What makes you think she isn't involved?" he asked. It didn't fit with his impression of her. But he wouldn't bet on Weiss's not being involved.

"Because when Naylor and I argued about this, she insisted that Weiss knew nothing. She seemed furious at even the idea of her finding out. I'm telling you, we've got to get to Weiss." Kathy stabbed her finger into one of the photographs. It showed her house viewed from the rear. The top of Rocky's pen was just visible over the fence of the backyard. "And to make her believe us, we've got to get the evidence that proves her friends are deceiving her."

"I assume Rambo." Decker corrected himself again. "I mean, Rocky can be noisy. And he'll get pretty excited when he sees you?"

"Yes," said Kathy. "He'll make some noise." Her face fell. "Are you saying we can't get to the trunk until the men have gone?"

"Not if we don't want to be found out."

"Shit."

Then Decker smiled as an idea came to him. "But that doesn't mean we can't start stirring things up before we get all the evidence. We've got the Axelman disc, and you know what's in the trunk, yes?"

"Yes."

"And you reckon Pamela Weiss should be informed of what we know as soon as possible?"

"Of course, but how? There's no way I can get to her, and even if I could, Naylor would get to me first."

"You're right," said Decker, reaching for the phone, switching it onto speaker. He dialed a number he knew by heart. "So we need a go-between. Someone with access to the great and the good."

Kathy gave him a quizzical look, but he didn't say anything. Matty smiled as if he'd already guessed what Luke was going to do. The phone rang five times before the familiar voice of his old Berkeley buddy picked up. "Hank Butcher," the journalist said, his voice filling the room. He sounded harried.

"Hank, hi, it's Luke. Do you remember the other night when you said that you were tiring of just doing profiles and witty stories and wanted to get your teeth into something big? What did you call it, a real Pulitzer prizewinner?"

Butcher laughed. "Yeah, buddy, isn't beer great? Hey, Luke, now isn't a great time, OK? You might not realize it, but one of the most historic elections in American history is taking place tomorrow. This Project Conscience announcement has changed everything. I've even got myself invited to a celebration party on Thursday, assuming Weiss wins and becomes our first female President. Frankly I don't think any story of yours is going to cut it right now."

"What if I said my story involves the star of that historic celebration bash you're going to on Thursday?"

"Oh, yeah?"

Decker looked over at Kathy, who was now nodding her understanding. "How about an exclusive on Weiss's Project Conscience announcement from the scientist behind the original idea?"

Hank gave a dismissive snort. "You mean, Alice Prince?"

"No, the person she got the idea from."

"Go on."

"And what if I told you that Project Conscience wasn't all it seemed?"

"Meaning?"

"There's a huge cover-up under way, including abducting the scientist behind the project, deceiving the FDA, and cov

ering up deaths related to the Conscience treatment?"

"Luke, this is on the level, right?"

"Yup."

"I assume you've got evidence?"

"Let's just say I've got enough for you to ask our future President some pretty searching questions. And there's more evidence coming." Decker could almost hear Hank's mind working, preparing his Pulitzer Prize acceptance speech. "So, Hank, do you want an exclusive or not? Of course, if you're not interested, I can call someone--"

"Cut the crap, Luke." Hank interrupted with a short laugh. "You have my undivided attention. Tell me more."

Chapter 21.

ViroVector Solutions, Palo Alto. Wednesday, November 5, 6:00 A.M.

As the United States of America awoke to the news that it had elected its first female President, TITANIA was not surprised. It had planned for Pamela Weiss's victory and based many of its far-reaching projections on its coming to pass.

TITANIA had had no vote to cast in yesterday's election, but since it never slept, it had been busy all night raiding the computer-controlled electronic ballot boxes, counting up the results. TITANIA knew within a matter of hours that Pamela Weiss had won with the biggest landslide victory since Rea-gan's in 1984. The reason for TITANIA's lack of surprise was that this victory represented yet another domino falling in a sequence it had long predicted.

As always, a small proportion of its vast neural net was focusing on Crime Zero, continually updating progress on the differing phases and fine-tuning its predictive sequences. Phase 1 was now complete, as was the related Project Conscience. The supercomputer needed to check how Phase 2 was developing. Its progress against predicted action standards was vital to the launch of Phase 3. Interrogating its search engines, TITANIA scoured the Internet for feedback on Iraq.

Logging on to hospital databases in Baghdad and military systems while at the same time piecing together apparently unrelated snippets of information from Reuters, CNN, the BBC, and the other syndicated news agencies on the World Wide Web, TITANIA soon found the pattern it was looking for.

The above-average number of deaths on the computers at the military hospital in Baghdad, all males below twenty-five with suspected brain hemorrhages, and isolated reports of an unexplained rash of suicides within the armed forces of Iraq told TITANIA all it needed to know. The Iraqi military was fast becoming an amplification zone, and the reports were increasing in number. TITANIA would continue to monitor these reports, feeding the findings into its predictive model. But for the moment Phase 2 appeared to be on schedule.

Only now did it look at Phase 3, the most complex stage of all. First of all, it interrogated the control computer at the target airports, ensuring that the radioactivated bacteriophage filters were in stock, waiting for its command. Only then did it rerun its predictive sequences.

Phase 2 employed an infectious vector that was transmitted by touch. But Phase 3 was transmitted via the respiratory system. It was airborne, and therefore, once launched, the spread would be much faster and much harder to predict.

Using earlier test data, TITANIA knew how fast the Crime Zero Phase 3 viral vector incubated within the human body. It could also predict the spread of the viral vector through a population by extrapolating the spread characteristics of past airborne pandemic plagues, particularly the Spanish flu epidemic of 1918-1919, which had killed almost fifty million, and the more recent Chinese flu outbreaks of 1957 and 1961. Using this base model and continually checking empirical data on the World Wide Web, TITANIA was able to give a real-time prediction for when Crime Zero met its final objective of Time Zero.

Its original forecast was more or less unchanged, putting Time Zero still some three years away. If nothing changed and the human entity, Madeline Naylor, carried out her next task, then TITANIA had only to launch Phase 3 at the designated time and wait for the final dominoes to fall.

As TITANIA E-mailed its Crime Zero status report to Prince and Naylor, it had no conception of the morality of what it was doing, only that it was technically possible and increasingly inevitable.

The White House, Washington, D.C. Thursday, November 6, Noon

Director Naylor hated being kissed. At social functions she always tried to avoid the European affectation of greeting people with a kiss on each cheek--air or otherwise. A handshake sufficed. But at the White House champagne reception Bob Burbank held in the magnificent East Room Madeline allowed herself to be kissed. She even maneuvered her face so that the President's lips momentarily brushed against hers. As she did so, Alice Prince looked on, a nervous frown of fascinated horror on her face.

The grand room with its Bohemian crystal chandeliers and floor of Fontainebleau parquetry was filled with the party faithful who had helped Pamela Weiss win. Campaign advisers, secretaries, canvassers, and a few journalists mingled and congratulated one another as liveried waiters ferried around endless trays of canapes and champagne.

Naylor stood with Alice Prince and Pamela Weiss, talking with Bob Burbank, as his wife, Nora, chatted with Pamela Weiss's husband, Alan, and Todd Sullivan, Weiss's campaign organizer.

The President was all charm and bonhomie, beaming his Gregory Peck smile at Prince and then Naylor. "So since you guys are the real heroes in winning this election, can you tell a simple country boy like me how Conscience actually works?"

"Don't ask me," said Naylor with a smile, resisting the urge to wipe her lips. The President was no country boy, and he was only laying on this charm offensive because Project Conscience had made him look good, a visionary President assured of his place in the history books. But that was OK. Bob Burbank's charm offensive had already allowed her to achieve what she had come here for.

She turned to Alice, who now appeared to be coming to terms with the shock of seeing Libby. The funeral had been two days ago, and she already seemed calmer. She had been typically reluctant about today, though, forcing Naylor to remind her of their plans. "It's the science that makes Conscience work," she said, smiling at Alice.

"Well?" Burbank said, turning to Alice. "Can you explain it to me?"

Alice looked at her and then back at the President. "Vectors, Mr. President."

"Vectors?"

"Yes, viral vectors," said Alice nervously, clearly annoyed Naylor had focused the spotlight on her. "You see, Mr. President, Project Conscience is all about getting the right control sequence into the right cells, and to do that, I must create the right virus. Like a cross between a parcel and a cruise missile, a viral vector can target and deliver any DNA I insert into it. Viral vectors are gene changers. With them I can alter the very essence of what a person was born with."

Burbank took a sip of his champagne. "How targeted can they be?"

"Well, with the right engineering I can create a virus that will target a particular cross section of humanity, or a particular person, or even a particular type of cell."

"You mean, it will ignore any other target and hit only what it's supposed to? Like a smart bomb?"

"That's the idea."

"I wish we could be as precise in solving the Iraq crisis."

At that moment the tone changed. The escalating problem with Iraq was casting a shadow over the celebrations.

"Yes, what's the latest?" asked Alice Prince.

Burbank shrugged, and Naylor fancied she saw relief in his eyes. As if he were glad to pass on this particular baton to his successor in the new year. "Well, we're doing everything we can. I only hope he's going to see reason. But as you know, Iraqi troops are still gathering north of the thirty-second parallel."

"Surely he realizes that if his troops cross that line, for whatever reason, then the coalition allies will stop them?" asked Alice.

Burbank nodded. "Oh, yes. French and British carriers as well as our own are already on standby in the gulf. Troops and fighter planes are also on alert in Saudi, Kuwait, and Turkey. We're ready for him, but he doesn't appear to care."

"Why?" asked Alice.

"He's warned that he'll view any attempts to thwart his repossession of what he calls the Iraqi province of Kuwait as extreme provocation and will unleash an 'appropriate response.' "

"But he hasn't got nuclear weapons, has he?"

"No, not yet. Not nuclear. But we believe his biological capability is pretty awesome. Despite all our inspections, our intel suggests he's got something special up his sleeve."

"And if the Iraqi president does launch anything?" Alice asked.

Burbank frowned. "Then the allies under the U.S. will have little choice but to escalate to nuclear weapons, razing Baghdad to the ground."

Naylor turned to Pamela Weiss and could see that this very real scenario filled her with dread. Becoming the first ever woman President was fine, but becoming the first to launch a nuclear warhead in anger was not.