Invasion (29 page)

“The protein reacts with the particular segment of DNA that was previously considered noncoding,” Nancy said. She could see that Sheila was getting angry. “Perhaps it is better to say it’s functioning more like a promoter.”

“Perhaps we could take a short break,” Sheila said. “I know I could use a little coffee.”

“Of course,” Dr. Marchand said. “How thoughtless of me.”

BEAU GAVE KING AN EXUBERANT SCRATCHING BEHIND HIS
ears as he gazed out over the lawns in front of the institute.
From the wrought-iron balcony off the library, he and King could see a long stretch of the driveway before it disappeared into the trees. It was clogged with new converts patiently making their way to the château. A few waved up to Beau, and he waved back.

Letting his eyes roam the rest of the grounds, Beau could see his canine friends were reliably on duty. Beau was pleased. He did not want interruptions.

Turning back into the house, Beau descended to the first floor and entered the ballroom. It was jammed with energetically toiling people. Now that the space was almost completely gutted, it looked far different than it had just the day before.

The people working in the room were a remarkably diverse group from all walks of life and of all ages. Yet they were working together like a synchronized swim team. From Beau’s perspective it was a sight to behold and the picture of efficiency. No one had to give orders. Like the individual cells of a multicelled organism, each person had in their mind the blueprints of the entire project.

Beau saw Randy Nite laboring happily at a makeshift workbench set up in the center of the room. Randy’s team was particularly disparate, with ages ranging from a man in his eighties to a girl less than ten. They were working on banks of sophisticated electronic equipment. Each person wore lighted magnifying headgear reminiscent of a retinal surgeon.

Beau strolled over.

“Hey, Beau!” Randy said cheerfully, catching sight of him. “Great day, huh!”

“Perfect,” Beau answered with equal enthusiasm. “Sorry
to interrupt, but I’m going to need you this afternoon. Your lawyers are coming by with more papers for you to sign. I’m having the remainder of your assets signed over to the institute.”

“No problem,” Randy said. He wiped some plaster dust from his brow. “Sometimes I think we should move these electronics away from all this demolition.”

“Probably would have been a good idea,” Beau admitted. “But the demolition is almost over now.”

“The other problem is that these instruments don’t have the sophistication we’re going to need.”

“We’ll just use what we can of theirs,” Beau said. “We knew there would be problems with their degree of precision. But what we don’t have, we’ll have to develop ourselves.”

“All right,” Randy said, although he was less than convinced.

“Come on, Randy,” Beau said. “Relax! Everything is going to work out fine.”

“Well, at least they’re making fantastic progress with the space,” Randy said. His eyes roamed the room. “It certainly looks different now. The realtor told me it had been a re-creation of the ballroom of a famous French palace.”

“It will serve a far greater purpose once we’ve finished it,” Beau said. He gave Randy a friendly slap on the back. “Don’t let me keep you. I’ll see you later when the lawyers get here.”

STEPHANOS PICKED UP THE SOILED DISHES FROM IN FRONT
of Cassy, Pitt, Jonathan, and Jesse. Jesse asked for another
“hit” of coffee. Stephanos went back behind the counter for the coffee pot.

“Did you hear him cough just before he got to our table?” Cassy asked.

Pitt nodded. “He’s coming down with it. No doubt about it. But I’m not surprised. Last time we were in here we thought his father was infected.”

“Hell with the coffee,” Jesse said. “This place is starting to give me the creeps. Let’s get.”

The group got to their feet. Jesse threw down a tip. “This is my treat,” he said. He picked up the check and headed for the cash register by the door.

“What do you think Beau is doing right now?” Pitt asked, as the group followed behind Jesse.

“I don’t want to think about it,” Cassy said.

“I just can’t believe that my best friend is the leader of all this,” Pitt said.

“He’s not the leader!” Cassy snapped. “He’s not Beau any longer. He’s being controlled by the virus.”

“You’re right,” Pitt said quickly. He knew he was touching a sore point for Cassy.

“Once the CDC is involved,” Cassy said, “do you think they could come up with a cure, like a vaccine?”

“A vaccine is used to prevent an illness,” Pitt said. “Not cure it.”

Cassy stopped and with eyes that reflected a hint of desperation, looked up into Pitt’s face. “You don’t think they could come up with a cure?”

“Well, there are antiviral drugs,” Pitt said, trying to sound hopeful. “I mean it’s possible.”

“Oh, Pitt, I hope so,” Cassy said, near tears.

Pitt inwardly gulped. There was a nasty part of him that celebrated Beau’s departure from the scene because of Pitt’s feelings for Cassy. Yet he could see how bad she felt. Reaching out he took her in his arms and hugged her. She hugged him back.

“Hey, guys, take a gander at this,” Jesse said, while blindly tapping Pitt on the shoulder. Jesse’s eyes were glued to a tiny TV set behind the cash register.

Pitt and Cassy let go of each other. Jonathan crowded in from behind. The TV was tuned to CNN and an instant news break was coming on.

“This is just in to CNN,” the announcer said. “There was an unprecedented meteor shower last night seen halfway around the world from the extreme western part of Europe all the way to Hawaii. Astronomers believe it was worldwide but could not be seen in the rest of the world because of sunlight. The cause is unknown since the phenomenon has caught astronomers totally unaware. We will bring more to you about this breaking news as soon as it is available.”

“Could that have something to do with you-know-what?” Jonathan asked.

“Maybe more of the black discs?” Jesse suggested. “It must be.”

“My God!” Pitt exclaimed. “If it is, then it’s now involving the whole world.”

“It will be unstoppable,” Cassy said. She shook her head.

“Something the matter, folks?” Costa, the owner, asked. It was Jesse’s turn at the register. Jesse’d originally lined up behind several other customers.

“Nope,” Pitt said quickly. “It was a great breakfast.”

Jesse paid the bill, and the group walked outside.

“Did you see his smile?” Jonathan questioned. “Did you see how fake it was? He’s one of the infected. I’ll bet five bucks.”

“You’ll have to bet with someone else,” Pitt said. “We already knew he was one of them.”

AFTER A SHORT BREAK THAT SHEILA AND NANCY HAD USED
to go into the ladies’ room and wash their faces, the trio returned to Dr. Marchand’s office. Sheila was still exasperated so Nancy spoke.

“We understand that what we are saying is largely anecdotal and that our report is weak in actual data,” Nancy said. “But the fact is that we are three professionals with impeccable credentials who are here because we are concerned. This event is truly happening.”

“We certainly are not questioning your motives,” Dr. Marchand said. “Just your conclusions. Since we had already dispatched an epidemiological investigative officer to the scene we are understandably dubious. We have his report here.” Dr. Marchand raised a single-page memorandum. “It was his feeling that you people were experiencing an outbreak of a mild form of influenza. He described extensive consultation with the CEO of your hospital, Dr. Halprin.”

“His visit occurred before we realized what we were dealing with,” Sheila said. “Besides, Dr. Halprin had already been a victim of the illness. We tried to make that very clear to your EIS officer.”

“Your report is very sketchy,” Dr. Eggans said to Sheila, slapping it down onto the edge of Dr. Marchand’s
desk after he’d read it from cover to cover. “There’s too much supposition and very little substance. However…”

Sheila had to restrain herself from getting up and angrily walking out. She couldn’t believe how these passive intellectual midgets had risen to their current positions within the CDC bureaucracy.

“However,” Dr. Eggans repeated, running a hand pensively through his full beard, “it’s still compelling enough that I’d like to go and investigate on site.”

Sheila turned to Nancy. She wasn’t sure she’d heard correctly. Nancy flashed a thumbs up sign.

“Have you circulated this report to any other government agencies?” Dr. Marchand asked. He picked it up from his desk and idly thumbed through it.

“No!” Sheila said emphatically. “We all thought the CDC was the best place to start.”

“It hasn’t been sent to the State Department or the Surgeon General?”

“No one,” Nancy affirmed.

“Did you try to determine the amino acid sequence of the protein?” Dr. Delbanco asked.

“Not yet,” Nancy said. “But that will be easy to do.”

“Have you determined if the virus is able to be isolated from the patients after they have recovered?” Dr. Delbanco asked.

“What about the nature of the reaction between the protein and DNA?” the willowy Dr. Sanchez asked.

Nancy smiled and held up her hands. She was pleased with the sudden interest. “Slow down,” she said. “I can only handle one question at a time.”

The queries came fast and furious. Nancy did her best
to answer them, and Eugene helped when he could. Sheila initially was as pleased as Nancy, but after ten minutes had passed and the questions were becoming more and more hypothetical, she began to sense that something was wrong.

Sheila took a deep breath. Maybe she was just too tired. Maybe these questions were reasonable from such research-oriented professionals. The problem was that she expected action, not intellectualization. At that point they were busily questioning Nancy how she even came up with the idea of using the protein as a DNA probe.

Sheila let her eyes wander around the room. The walls were decorated with the usual profusion of professional diplomas, licenses, and academic awards. There were pictures of Dr. Marchand with the President and other politicians. Suddenly Sheila’s eyes stopped at a door that was open about a foot. Beyond the door she saw the face of Dr. Clyde Horn. She recognized him instantly partially due to his shiny bald pate.

As Sheila’s eyes locked onto Dr. Horn’s his face twisted into a great smile. Sheila blinked, and when she opened her eyes, Dr. Horn was gone. Sheila closed her eyes again. Was she hallucinating from exhaustion and tension? She wasn’t sure, but the image of Dr. Horn’s face brought back the memory of him leaving her office with Dr. Halprin. As clearly as if it had been an hour previously, she could hear Dr. Halprin saying: “I’ve even got something I want you to take back to Atlanta for me. Something I think that will interest the CDC.”

Sheila’s eyes blinked open. With sudden clairvoyance
and absolute certitude she knew what Dr. Halprin had been referring to: a black disc. Sheila glanced at the CDC people in the room and it dawned on her with equivalent certitude that they were all infected. Instead of being interested in the epidemic in order to contain it, they were grilling Nancy and Eugene to find out how they had learned what they had.

Sheila stood up. She grabbed Nancy’s arm and tugged. “Come on, Nancy. Time for us to get some rest.”

Nancy pulled her arm free. She was surprised at the interruption. “We’re finally making some progress here,” she forcibly whispered.

“Eugene, we need a few hours of sleep,” Sheila said. “You must understand even if Nancy doesn’t.”

“Is there something wrong, Dr. Miller?” Dr. Marchand asked.

“Not at all,” Sheila said. “I just realized that we’re exhausted, and that we shouldn’t be taking your time until we’ve had some rest. We’ll make a lot more sense after a little sleep. There’s a Sheraton nearby. It will be best for everyone.”

Sheila stepped up to Marchand’s desk and reached for the report that she and the Sellerses had brought. Dr. Marchand put his hand on it. “If you don’t mind, we’d like to peruse this while you’re resting.”

“That’s fine,” Sheila said agreeably. She backed away and tugged on Nancy’s arm again.

“Sheila, I think…” Nancy began but her eyes met Sheila’s. She could see Sheila’s intensity and resolve. Nancy stood up. It dawned on her Sheila knew something she didn’t.

“Why don’t we say we’ll be back after lunch,” Sheila offered. “Say between one and two o’clock.”

“I think that will work for us,” Dr. Marchand said. He looked at his department heads, and they all nodded.

Eugene crossed his legs. He’d not seen the unspoken communication between his wife and Sheila. “Maybe I’ll stay here,” he said.

“You are coming with us,” Nancy said to Eugene, yanking him to his feet. Then she smiled at her hosts. They smiled back.

Sheila led the way out of Dr. Marchand’s office. They passed through the secretarial area and down the pale, institutional green corridor.

At the elevators Eugene started to complain, but Nancy told him to stay quiet.

“At least until we get into the rental car,” Sheila whispered.

They boarded the elevator and smiled at the occupants. They all smiled back and commented on how nice the weather was.

By the time they got to the car and climbed in, Eugene was mildly irritated.

“What’s wrong with you women?” he said as he put the key in the ignition. “It took us an hour to get them interested and then poof, we have to go rest. This is crazy.”

“They are all infected,” Sheila said. “Every last one of them.”

“Are you sure?” Eugene asked. He was aghast.

“Absolutely,” Sheila said. “Not a doubt in my mind.”

“I assume we’re not going to the Sheraton,” Nancy said.

“Hell no!” Sheila said. “Let’s get to the airport. We’re back to square one.”

THE REPORTERS HAD GATHERED AT THE GATE OF THE INSTITUTE
. Although they had not been invited, Beau had anticipated their coming, he just didn’t know which day. When the young men at the gate had informed Beau they were there, Beau told the gatekeepers to hold them back for fifteen minutes to give Beau a chance to walk out to where the driveway entered the trees. Beau did not want any reporters in the ballroom, at least not yet.