"Can we go to the lab now?" he said, realizing immediately that there was a new deference to his tone.
"Of course." She was nude and beautiful, her black hair tousled but attractive, her face animated and her eyes flashing. Because she had never let her body go, and gave it many forms of exercise, her stomach had the flat look of youth and the definition of an athlete. Even in prison she trimmed her pubic hair, her arms had contour and definition, her butt was like two cantaloupes, and her breasts were a mouthful—but petite and shapely. He wondered if she really had had three orgasms or if it was all feigned. Never mind; he would get his information now.
"Tell me about Chaperone," he said as she pulled on her panties. Oddly, he thought to himself that he still had not had enough.
"You are sure you can get me a pardon?"
"I have discussed it with the admiral. He said yes." Baptiste felt guilty for lying about something so important to her, but what could he do? He had a job.
"I will tell you about Chaperone on the way to the laboratory. More important, I will tell you about a man named Georges Raval. Through Raval we can know the precise details of the science behind Chaperone. I believe that he is the only living scientist that understands the technology and can teach it. He is the primary inventor. And I will tell you about Gaudet's plot, or at least its name—'Cordyceps.' Right now I want to talk about my new routine. What time do I leave the prison each morning for work?"
While he answered a multitude of questions about shackles and security and where she could go and where she could not, Baptiste watched a fascinating reverse striptease and repressed a great deal of marital guilt.
Sam and Grady sat around the hospital bed. The yellowed paint on the walls was thin with tiny cracks that splintered and forked like the rivers that seemed to drain the soul of this place. The structure was dying along with many of the patients under the ruthless onslaught of humidity, heat, and the DNA of abundant life that seemed to eat without end. The linens in the place were gray like the muggy afternoon sky, the fan whirled cheerlessly, its blades matching the yellow of the walls as the plastic became brittle from ultraviolet. Age and decay were moving with remarkable speed—the downside of life in a paradise that otherwise was a symphony of rebirth.
Michael remained mildly drugged on small doses of morphine and Sam stared with some sense of horror at the bloody bandages, imagining the infection that was sure to come. He wondered whether the IV could pump antibiotics fast enough. Fortunately for Michael the bullets had found their way through meat rather than organs. With luck all his body parts would work as before—if he could survive potential infection. As they sat there, Michael shook himself fully awake and Sam could see the strength in his face and eyes. The guy was tough. As soon as they were able, they planned to move him to a large hospital in Rio.
"You're looking better," Sam said, putting a hand on his shoulder. "Much better. How do you feel?"
"Depressed, and like a caiman bit three times as he swallowed me. I was very fond of Marita, the girl, and I'm going to miss her. Did we get the bastard who shot her?
"I don't think so. There were a few guys in the jungle around there and we didn't get them all. We didn't get the leader yet."
Michael looked dejected.
"Well, you're alive and we're going to take good care of you. That's a promise."
"You never told me how you happened along," Michael said, amazingly coherent.
Michael knew Sam as "Robert Chase." Grady and Yodo had so far managed to keep the name straight when Michael was present, but Sam knew that soon he would have to lose a little of his anonymity where Michael was concerned.
"We were looking for you," Sam said. "We knew that Devan Gaudet was looking for you as well."
"What does he want with me?"
"We hoped you had some idea."
"My work, maybe."
"We think Gaudet wants information about something called Chaperone."
"Never heard of it."
"It's one part of an advanced technology that he stole."
"How does it work?"
"Well, the technology itself genetically alters targeted brain cells in a living human being. It works quickly, in a matter of minutes or hours."
"That's pretty hard to imagine. How did it come about?"
"A company called Grace Technologies took a herpes virus from a monkey, pulled off the outer protein layer, broke apart the DNA, and discarded the portion of the DNA that made it infectious. Then they spliced in their own engineered DNA. Specifically there were two strands, a promoter sequence and the coding sequence. The promoter sequence ensures that only the correct brain cell types are altered. The coding sequence does the actual alteration of the DNA in the brain cell. Then they gave this new string of DNA a protein coat." Sam stopped.
Michael seemed to be following him fine, narcotics or not. "How exactly does this technology alter brain cells?"
"It installs DNA that adds an extra receptor to the dendrite, thus making them hypersensitive."
"I would think it's complicated to alter brain cells to achieve a particular effect."
"They were looking for generalized emotional effects, like increases or decreases in anxiety or aggression."
"How do they suppress the immune response?" Michael wondered aloud.
"How did you think to ask that?"
"lama biologist. If you are changing the DNA in a body cell, the immune system may reject that cell if it is producing proteins that are foreign. It may also reject the vector, just like it would a virus. Basic biology. And I might add that I think there is no known way around that. Only immuno-suppressant drugs, and they don't do such a good job. I can't imagine the brain functioning well after such a transformation."
"You're right. It doesn't. Except in Grace's initial trials. They were using something called Chaperone, which we think alters the immune system. We believe that you have discovered organic material that Chaperone came from. Something you sent to Northern Lights Pharmaceuticals," Sam suggested.
Bowden only nodded.
"Whatever the case, you won't be safe unless Gaudet believes you're dead. It is extremely important that we convince him that you are. So we've put out a story."
"What do you mean?"
"An account of your death. Not in the States. Just locally in Peru and Brazil. We told your publisher confidentially that you are not dead, but that you needed to appear so for your protection. They told your agent. Their publicity people will refuse to confirm it at least for the moment."
"I don't want my readers to think I'm dead."
"You'd be a lot safer if they did," Sam explained.
"I'd rather take my chances. I don't understand why Gaudet would want me dead."
"He wouldn't until after he had tortured you and gotten the information he needs. So at least don't screw up the scuttlebutt in South America. It'll be much easier to keep you safe. With two bullets in you it's easy for Gaudet to believe you're a dead man. Let's not change that."
"From what you're saying, Gaudet would need my journals. They're gone. The Matses have taken them to my scientist friends in Pacaya-Samiria. I hope that by now they'll have shipped them to New York."
"That will piss him off, all right." Sam smiled at the good feeling it created. "We know about Professor Lyman at Cornell. One of my associates will be ensuring the journals get there safely."
"I'd rather pick up my journals personally. I doubt Richard would release them to anyone else anyway. It looks like I've got to go to the U.S. Who is going to believe I'm dead when I'm walking around New York?"
"Well, that's a point I wanted to make. You have to hide, not be public at all. Go out in a disguise."
"Hide? I would think you'd want him to chase me so you could get him yourself."
"Gaudet isn't the kind of person you bait. Not unless you're willing to run a terrible risk. I tried. My friend is dead," Sam answered.
"Well, I'm not cowering."
"I'm sure Grady would be happy to go to New York with you.... It isn't that you could never go out...."
"I appreciate what you're suggesting, Mr. Chase, but I'll take whatever risk I have to."
Sam could tell Michael needed to rest. He nodded and led Grady into the hallway.
"He seems to like you, and he's a nice guy.... I was hoping you wouldn't mind staying with him and the men."
"And maybe convincing him to lie low?"
Sam nodded and dialed Jill on the sat phone to learn what Big Brain was uncovering.
"For reasons that are typically convoluted, after hacking into the Hertz car rental company in Sydney and a nearby hotel, we think we have a recent Gaudet alias—Jean Valjean— a character out of
Les Miserables.
The hotel that we hacked was his last watering hole before the Amazon. We also ran the parcel delivery database and looked at all the packages from that hotel."
"And?"
"Somebody sent an express package on that date from Gaudet's hotel to a woman in Manhattan by the name of Claudia Roche," Jill revealed.
"Who's she?"
"She's Georges Raval's aunt. He's now the highest name on our list of ex-Grace scientists that might be alive and not be working for Gaudet."
"Has somebody talked with this aunt?"
"Oh yeah. Our locals in Manhattan. Raval is supposedly in the U.S. and they're wondering if he's in Manhattan near his aunt."
"What do you suppose Gaudet sent to Raval's aunt?"
"When our locals paid their first visit, she didn't admit to receiving any package. But they won her confidence to some degree and finally she said she received a promotional cell phone from some company. It had five hundred free minutes—supposedly a trial gift," Jill outlined.
"Clever. No doubt it has a very extended memory for the call log. So Gaudet knows about Georges Raval and is looking for him just like we are."
"Sure looks that way."
"Had she used the cell?"
"Yes, but she gave it to us. We looked at the call log and found nothing that helps us find Raval. And the aunt is very tight-lipped. Claims she hasn't seen him in years. We think she's lying, but what can you do? We're watching her. We don't have a great ID on Georges Raval yet. He's blond, apparently," Jill offered.
"If he hasn't dyed his hair."
"But I saved the best until last."
"Okay. Shoot."
"Grogg's got to tell you this one himself. It was a masterpiece. Here." Jill signed off.
"Hey, Grogg, you're the man of the hour. What do you have now? Jill says it's hot," Sam teased.
"Remember 'popsicle boy'? Well, we got into his computer and found an IP that matched the old Grace Technologies mainframe. Then we used our favorite former disgruntled employee of Grace."
"Jason Wade?" Sam suggested.
"None other. And he knows that mainframe intimately. It disappeared when Gaudet gutted Grace. Now it's on a satellite link in some computer room somewhere on the planet. We can't figure out where, but with Jason's help we actually broke in and found an interesting file. It's called Cordyceps. Actually, two files. One just Cordyceps and one Cordyceps/ Windows SMB/CIFS. Without Jason's old password we could never have gotten in because it shuts you out if you make a handful of unsuccessful attempts. Somebody just forgot to delete that particular password. We tried to open them both and they both self-destructed. I think the SMB file is related to a computer worm. I'm betting someone's building a computer virus. SMB files have had weaknesses that have been exploited in the past by virus builders."
"But now it's gone?" Sam questioned.
"Actually, no. Just for the hell of it we went back there again and there was the file—restored. So it actually disappears for a time, probably into some disk memory, and then it is visible again. So we get another shot and we have an idea about how to get around the password from something that Jason Wade discovered a long time ago about how this security works. With a general password we can make the document stop disappearing into memory and maybe we can download it, even if we can't yet open it. We're working on that. Jason thinks that when we open it, we'll know a whole lot more. So we'll see. The files had a silent alarm, but we were able to neutralize it. Hopefully, they won't detect that we invaded," Grogg summarized.