The Chimera Sequence (38 page)

“No, thanks,” she said. “I don’t think we have much time.”

He pulled out a chair on the other side of the table and sat down.

“Forgive me, I didn’t even introduce myself.” He reached a hand across the space between them. “Arthur Attenborough. I teach here at the university.”

“And I’m Leila, Leila Torabi. It’s a pleasure.”

She could feel his penetrating eyes moving over her face, as if he were trying to decide if she were really who she said she was.

“I knew Sohrab had a sister, that she had lost touch with the family after some youthful rebellion, but I didn’t expect her to show up at my door, today of all days.”

His words made her feel a little better. The fact that he already knew this much meant he was probably the right guy.

“Let me get straight to the point.” Leila rested both hands palms down on the table. “I need your help. I don’t know why Sohrab chose you, but he’s in trouble. We’re all in trouble. And you’re the only person he trusts with the information I’m about to share.”

Fadi Haddad sat in his old Chevy, staring out into the trees as he waited for the melancholy folk ballad to finish.
A Prairie Home Companion
was broadcasting a special late show live from Wolf Trap, courtesy of the local public radio station, and he hated to miss it. But the team was expecting him, and Myriam would be hungry. He reached into the passenger seat for the carryout bag. Sushi rolls, with a side of miso soup—her favorite. He was doing everything he could to make up to her.

His life’s new mission.

The parking area was bright—too bright. He’d always hated those glaring flood lights, mostly because they burnt out far too quickly. Changing the bulbs required a precarious reach from the top of a rickety ladder, and that was a task better left to others. His shadow followed him up to the entrance, stretching and then shrinking again behind him.

Here goes
.

He unlocked the door and felt a welcome rush of cool air as he stepped into the hall.
Climate-Controlled! 24-Hour Security!
The words on the billboard, towering above the forest from the building’s roof, shouted to bored drivers sitting in traffic on the parkway below. A funny business, this, not one you would ever find in Lebanon. Did people really need to accumulate so many things, in such quantities that they could not even keep them in their own homes? But it had been lucrative over the years, supplementing the more temperamental income from the restaurant to provide a comfortable lifestyle for his family. And it was perfect now—finally serving the purpose for which it had been purchased so many years ago—providing a safe and secluded place for the hidden project currently underway in unit number twenty-six.

Adel sat outside the closed door, a pistol resting on one knee. They had each accumulated a small collection of weapons, legally purchased over the years at gun shows around the state, but Haddad always left his own in a locker in the backyard cellar at home. He wished he’d thought to get one that evening, though he knew the others wouldn’t have let him keep it. They didn’t trust him.

“Cousin, we were beginning to wonder,” Adel said, eyeing the bag in Haddad’s right hand.

”Sushi, for Myriam.”

Adel stood, pulled a key from his pocket, and knocked hard on the opposite door.

“It’s your father.”

Her angry voice answered immediately. “I don’t want to see him.” It sounded weaker than usual.

Haddad stepped to the door. “I brought you some dinner.”

He pushed it open and stepped inside. The dancing reflections from a movie playing on her laptop provided the only light in the room. His daughter lay on a single mattress in the far corner, the blankets pushed up in a pile at her feet.
If Nour could see us now.
He felt against the wall for the switch.

“Mind if I turn on the light?”

“Yes.”

“Myriam, I just want to see you, talk for a few minutes.”

“Go away.”

“I brought you sushi.”

No response. Fadi walked slowly toward the bed, the bag stretched in front of him.

“Aba, I don’t feel good.”

The words hit him like a train. It was a strange combination of terrifying fear for her health and joy that she was finally trusting him with something, anything. He knelt down and put a hand on her forehead. She pulled away at first, then rested back on the pillow. The skin felt warm, but he didn’t even know what was normal. In their unspoken division of parenting duties, that initial determination on the presence of fever had always been one of Nour’s tasks.

“When did it start?”

Silence. He could imagine the debate raging inside his daughter’s head—hold on to the anger and continue punishing him, or give in to the temptation be a sick little princess again?

“Just this afternoon. Headache is killing me.” She brought a hand up and massaged her temple. “And now my throat is hurting, too.”

He closed his eyes, cursing silently.

“It’s the virus, isn’t it?” she whispered.

He was still clueless about what was growing in those eggs across the hall. Not because they wouldn’t tell him. He just hadn’t wanted to ask. Better not to know—but now he was curious.

“What have they told you?”

“Nothing.” The bitterness in her voice was almost gone, replaced by the calm pragmatism of one resigned to her own fate. “But I listen to them talking, through the door. It’s a virus, and they’re going to kill us all with it.”

She began to cry suddenly, a full-body weeping that caused the whole mattress to shake. Maybe she hadn’t given up yet.

Haddad pushed his fingers through her smooth black hair, just like he’d always done while putting her to sleep as a little girl.

“I’m sorry, my daughter.” He squeezed her hand and stood. “I am so, so sorry.”

Haddad closed the door gently, then leapt across the hall.

“What have you done?” He was on top of Adel, both hands around his neck, before the other man had a chance to react. “You promised me you would take care of her!”

He felt the steel muzzle of his cousin’s weapon dig into his ribs.

“Stop—I don’t want to hurt you.”

Haddad released his grip and fell against the wall. “You promised.”

“She’s only tired,” Adel said. “That’s all.”

He spat at his cousin’s foot. “That’s a lie, and you know it. She says it is a virus.”

“I’ve spent much more time in this room than she has,” he said, placing a hand on the opposite unit’s door. “And I am doing just fine.”

“She’s only a girl,” Haddad murmured. “My only child.”

“This is the life you wanted, cousin. I chose to keep things more simple.”

Haddad staggered to his feet and turned, beckoning for Adel to follow him toward the entrance. Adel stood and watched him silently for a few seconds, his face an impenetrable mask. He took one hesitant step, then came down the hall after him.

Outside, the tree frogs had taken up their nightly chorus.

“We don’t have to do this, you know,” Haddad said. This was his last chance. They’d been through a lot together, he and Adel, and though they always had their differences, he never imagined it would come to this. “I know someone in the White House, a powerful man. One call, and we could be protected witnesses. A plea bargain, maybe a year or two behind bars, and then freedom. True—”

“Stop, Fadi.” Adel put a firm hand on his shoulder. “Stop. This is what we were called to do, and the opportunity has finally arrived. We will avenge the deaths of the innocent. This is our time.”

“But it’s been thirty—”

“Enough,” Adel said. “Come, there is much to be done for tonight’s mission.”

Haddad shuddered as he entered the room. The heat and humidity were overpowering, but it wasn’t only that. There was something else in the air, an unidentifiable aroma somewhere between a rotten egg and a forgotten beer fermentation. He could almost see them—tiny sperm-like viruses floating invisibly around him, filling his lungs with certain death even in that very first breath. Where were those masks? He reached into the box on the floor beside the door. Empty.

“It’s no use,” Ahmad said. He was sitting at the desk, a stack of eggs crates in front of him and a five-gallon green plastic fertilizer bucket at his feet. “At this concentration you will be exposed whether you like it or not.”

Haddad glanced at Adel, who gave a single nod, lips pressed tightly together.

“Then this has become a suicide mission?” He tried to keep his voice from sounding as strangled as it felt.

“For you and your cousin, perhaps, yes. We were more thoroughly prepared for the task.” The other one, Faisal, sat in a second folding chair, stirring something rapidly in an identical bucket. “But maybe you are old enough to have received the vaccine?”

“Vaccine?” Fadi’s mind raced through the possibilities. What virus could be vaccinated against? Would Myriam also be protected? For the second time in ten minutes, he hated himself for leaving all the medical aspects of family life to his wife.

“It’s possible some small memory lives on in your blood, maybe enough to fight off the infection.” Faisal stood. “Take my place here.”

Haddad moved slowly across the room. Could he take them all? No, there was no way. These were young, strong men. They would kill him—or at least leave him locked up behind—and then any opportunity to redeem himself would be gone.

He sat down and looked into the bucket at his feet. It was filled about halfway with a thick yellowish liquid that looked nothing like normal eggs.

“Just keep stirring until it goes easily, like water,” Faisal said, turning back to the shelves where he picked up another box. “We still have many hours ahead of us.”

Haddad could see that he was right—over half of the egg boxes still sat on the shelves untouched.

“I’m allergic to eggs,” he said.

It was true. He’d suffered through several surprise episodes of anaphylactic shock in the many years since that first incident as a child.

Ahmad laughed. “Well then, I would advise you not to eat any of it.”

Haddad took the long whisk from where it leaned against the inside of the bucket and began to stir, grimacing at the slick wetness on his fingers. No precautions now.

Adel went back into the hall, leaving them to work in silence. Faisal sat beside a new bucket, the box of eggs beside him. He opened it, carefully lifted one tray out, and set it on the floor. Then he began to crack the eggs, one by one, against the side of the bucket. The inefficiency killed Haddad, competing even with his fear and worry for Myriam next door. It took everything in him to keep his mouth shut, not march over there and show them the simple one-handed crack that would double their speed. He’d been working at the restaurant too long. But there was no reason to promote efficiency in this operation. No, every minute lost was a minute he could think and plan for some way out of this hell. It was clear now that Adel was not going to change his mind, but there might be another way.

The contents of each egg poured out easily, already having lost most of its viscosity, and there was no remaining distinction between yolk and white. Something was at work within them, eating away and destroying them as it reproduced itself millions of times over since those initial tiny injections four days earlier. The thought had never crossed his mind that these simple eggs could be used to grow something other than a chicken, but it made sense. They were the perfect balanced diet, an ideal medium for life of any variety. Life, not death. And yet here he was, participating in the production and mass replication of some sort of biological monster.

The buzz against his leg startled him.
Nour.
Only two people in the world called him at this time of night, and one of them was stretched out sick and without her phone across the hall. He pressed an elbow against it, trying to hit the silence button without letting the others catch on. Finally, the buzzing stopped.

He knew she would call right back, and they’d be sure to hear it if they hadn’t already. This was it.

“I need to use the bathroom.” Haddad spoke softly, doing his best to project complete innocence in tone and expression. He stood, wiping a hand against his pants.

“But brother, you’ve only just arrived.” Ahmad smiled at him. It was not a kind smile. “We are not slave drivers, though. Of course, you can go.”

That was easy.

He was halfway to the door when the phone started buzzing again. Hanging freely in his pocket, the sound was unmistakable.
Just keep walking
. Hand on the knob.

“Leave the phone.”

Fadi closed his eyes, resisting with all his might the urge to simply take off running. There would be other chances, but not if he had a bullet in his back. He turned around, reached into his pocket, and tossed the phone across the room into Ahmad’s slimy hands.

The younger man flipped it around and pried open the back panel. “I don’t think you’ll be needing this anymore.” He popped the battery out and threw it behind the shelving into a far corner of the room. “Now, please enjoy your break.”

The hall outside Cole’s room was quiet.
At last.
Around midnight, the same bossy nurse had come in to take vitals and a couple more tubes of blood, promising it would be the last time she’d bother him until morning. Then a few soft footsteps right at one, some unlucky patient with hourly treatments, and now silence. It was only a lull, he knew that, but it was the best he was going to get. This was the trouble with hospitals—they never really went to sleep.