Plague, p.20
Plague, page 20
“Exactly.”
Mitch took a sip of water. “Could the same thing be said for running the numbers forward?”
“I suppose so,” Cindy said. She then leaned back, folded her arms, and grinned. “Now I think I see where you’re going with this. Interesting. Very interesting. You want to calculate when the next cometary ELE will happen.”
“Do you really think that’s a possibility?” Kiana asked in a tone that hinted she was already afraid of the answer.
“Only a matter of time,” the rear admiral said, still smiling.
Mitch stared at his unfinished meal. “Great,” he said in little more than a whisper.
Kiana, also thrown into momentary reverie, quickly found her voice. “Seriously, Cindy, how do you sleep at night?”
“Like a baby. If you can’t do a dang thing about it, why worry?”
“I disagree,” Mitch said, dropping his fist to the table, rattling silverware and startling his tablemates. Speaking resolutely, he continued, “Because I can do something about it.” Then, realizing what he’d done, he apologized.
Cindy waved it off. “Forget about it. I like a man of conviction.”
“Thanks. My nerves have been on edge for a few days, and I haven’t
slept much.”
“Well, now that you’ve got a big lump of protein in your belly, you should sleep like a bear in hibernation. And when you wake up, all this may have already happened, so you won’t have to worry anymore.”
Mitch scoffed. “That’s not as reassuring as you mean it to be, but thanks.”
At that moment, his cell phone vibrated in his pocket. Who could be sending me a text? He didn’t dare look at his phone in front of Kiana, so he excused himself to go to the restroom. Kiana gave him a smile and a subtle nod.
Choosing a stall, Mitch pulled out his phone and sat. The incoming number was one he didn’t recognize. Opening the text, he frowned at the numbers: 48.8330:115.7087. What did that mean? Figuring it was a wrong number, he closed the app, washed his hands, and returned to the table.
Chapter 40
The Montrose Cabin
It was one of the few times Suko could recall having no appetite. The dining area was filled with delicious aromas. The turkey on her plate was still moist, the mashed potatoes had the perfect creamy-to-firm ratio, the gravy smelled of drippings, seasonings, and love. She took a few bites, but she tasted very little. It was a strange quirk of hers; when she was experiencing hardship, her appetite was as voracious as usual. When someone else was in peril—someone whom only she had the potential to help—her compassion overrode her gluttony.
The girl in isolation room 3. Who was she?
“I thought you were starving,” Joiner said, a spoonful of mashed potatoes poised at his mouth.
“Yeah. Sorry. No offense to Hiru. I just . . .”
Joiner finished his bite before asking, “Just what?”
Think, Suko. Figure this out. Stay on the offense. She picked up a croissant and slowly turned it in her fingers, thinking. “I wish I wasn’t so useless. As you know, I’ve seen only a few rooms. And I haven’t yet tried to escape. That’s because I’m smart enough to know I can’t. So why not make the best of a bad situation, right?”
“Sounds logical,” Joiner said in a noncommittal tone. Taking a mouthful of turkey, he gazed out the window as if in great thought.
Suko followed his line of sight, wondering if—dreading that—he knew she’d seen the girl in room 3.
Outside, the sun hid behind the horizon but still painted the mountains a golden-red, melding to warm crimson then to deep purple at the base. The wispy clouds caught every shade of scarlet. Normally it would be a spectacular, even tranquil, sight. To Suko, the mountains looked bloodied and bruised, the sky crisscrossed with a web of arteries pumping fresh plasma into a hemorrhaging firmament.
Stop thinking negatively. Concentrate on gaining advantage. The Native American girl in cell 3. Why is she here?
Like Suko, did the girl have a talent for something Edgar could use? Or was she just another of Joiner’s guinea pigs? How could Suko find out? Then, suddenly, the angle she sought became crystal clear.
“Say, J.J.? Edgar said now that he’s revealed his plans to me, I can never leave. From what I’ve seen, I think I’m okay with that. It’s beautiful here. So what’s it going to take to get you to stop treating me like we’re inside the old Iron Curtain? Why not let me help around here?”
Joiner stopped chewing and gave her a look of skepticism. He swallowed forcefully. “Help how?”
“You tell me,” she said with a hopeful smile. “I can organize stuff, collate, and input data. How about I start by making that spreadsheet for your fly-by-night drug-inventory system?”
A gleam of delight grew on the doctor’s face. “I knew it! I told Edgar you’d come around if we were just patient with you.”
“What choice do I have, when the only clear choice is right in front of me?” she said in her best playful tone. Inside she was reeling. She could not shake the image of the captive girl and, worse, hated that she was offering to be an accomplice to whatever madness was happening. But it was the only way she could help the girl in cell 3. “It’ll be better than just sitting around watching my hair grow.”
Joiner began to ramble. “I’ve been waiting for so long for him to bring in someone I can talk with, someone I can have a challenging, scientific conversation with. Edgar’s interests are so myopic. And I’ve had to work with some real duds. Do you know what a pain that is? Ever since Liz died, I haven’t had a decent assistant.” He sucked in a sharp breath from a fresh idea. “Hey! You could be my new assistant! You’re smart. You know science. It’s just a bonus that you’re super sexy.”
“Woah. Easy there, fella,” she said, holding up her palms. “It’s not like I’m ready to become a concubine. And who is—was—Liz?”
Joiner’s look of elation flipped to one of guilt. “Oh—no one. She came here to be my assistant, but she . . . well, she, um . . . it didn’t work out, so she moved on.”
Suko’s eyes narrowed. “You said she died.”
“Yeah. That’s what I heard.”
“Where and when did she die?”
“A year or two ago. She was living in . . . Pocatello.”
“Pocatello? As in Idaho?”
“Yeah, that’s it.”
Suko saw through the smoke screen. “Dude. Really. What happened
to her?”
“I can’t remember. But forget about that, about her. Let’s go see if Edgar will allow you to be my assistant.”
She couldn’t let that happen. Edgar was shrewd enough to see through her ploy. “Why do we have to ask him?”
“He’s in charge,” Joiner said, shaking his head as if she’d asked a ridiculous question.
Play to his ego. “Wait. You need to ask his permission? I thought it was your lab, your hospital and triage center.” She scoffed loudly. “What does he know about medicine? You’re his doctor, right? He’s not yours.”
“Well, yeah, but—”
“But nothing. Did he go through all those grueling years of medical school? Look, he may know computer systems, but you know the human body. That’s the most complex system on earth. You’ve developed groundbreaking surgical procedures; he hasn’t. Seriously, J.J. Without you, he’d be dead!”
“Well, not exactly . . .”
“Besides,” she pressed on, “I’m going to be your assistant, not his. I don’t give a rat’s bushy backside about his fancy artwork and tapestries. I’m a scientist, just like you. So what do you say, Doc? Let’s do this.”
She took a huge mouthful of potatoes and gravy. Then, standing, she slapped a slice of turkey on a split croissant and headed out of the dining area. “We’re wasting time,” she called over her shoulder. “Let’s get to work.”
“Wait,” Joiner hollered after her, leaving his stool so quickly it
toppled over.
* * *
Entering the lab, Suko marched straight to the computer. She booted it up and found a spreadsheet program that had yet to be used.
J.J. came up behind her. “What are you doing?”
“Starting your inventory registry. Do you have any paperwork on your current drug stock?”
The doctor looked genuinely unsettled. Suko could see a strong desire on his face to make her stop inserting herself into his world, but she also saw excitement in his eyes at the prospect of working with her.
Don’t lose you momentum. “Look. Do you want to spend useless hours doing it the old-fashioned way, or do you want to catch up with the twenty-first century?” She swallowed and forced herself to add, “Together?”
Unsettlement turned to befuddlement, but the glimmer of hope was still there.
“Come on, J.J. That’s what you like to be called, right? J.J.? What’s the hang-up here? This is your lab. You are a brilliant neurosurgeon. You’ve come up with several ingenious devices and surgical techniques. But right now, you’re hamstringed because you don’t have a capable assistant. And I’m the best there is. So let’s get to work. Where’s your last inventory report?”
“I . . . I don’t have one.”
She spun around on her chair. “You’re kidding,” she exclaimed, frowning.
He shrugged as if embarrassed. “It’s just sort of in my head. Photographic memory.”
“And your experiments? The drugs you’re working on? Do you keep a record of those?”
“I have notes on my computer.”
“And how are they organized?”
“I sort of just enter in what’s worked.”
“Just the experiments that worked? Not the failures? J.J., that’s part of the process!”
He scratched the top of his head, his eyes searching the floor, clearly to avoid meeting hers.
Suko rubbed her face in her hands while emitting a low groan. Then, grabbing his arms, she looked at him hard in the eyes. “How is anyone going to know the inconceivable workings of your mind if nothing is written down? Seeing the results is one thing. Seeing how you arrived at those results is the real medicine, the real science. Let’s show the world just how brilliant you are!”
He gave a sheepish nod, as if still unsure, but the smile on his face indicated he was one hundred percent in.
Suko hopped off the chair and marched to the trolley covered with stock bottles. “Put on your lab coat, and grab me one—small if you’ve got one. I’m going to—” She stopped short, gawking at the bottles. “Dude, these aren’t even alphabetized!”
“I know. I was getting to that,” he said like a ten-year-old explaining why his homework was still not done.
“Get my lab coat,” she said with an exasperated groan. “This is going to be a long night.”
Chapter 41
Houston, Texas
Mitch and Kiana shook hands with Cindy outside of the restaurant. The rear admiral wished them well and extended an invitation to come back anytime for a private tour of Johnson Space Center. They assured her they would.
Back in his room in the Houstonian, Mitch reclined in a soft chair, with his feet propped up. Kiana sat in an armchair next to his. Both travelers had changed into sweats and tees.
Kiana stared at the ceiling, deep in thought. “I’ve been mulling over all this new information. I bet there’s a lot more to comets than Cindy told us.”
“No doubt.” Mitch sat quietly, feeling like a pawn in a much greater game. “Do you think Edgar knows about all this?”
“You mean the comets?”
“The comets, the ice-core readings, the legends, dendrochronology. Everything.”
Her head tipped to one side. “Why?”
“I keep coming back to the suspicion that he does know and that he’s sending us—me—to discover it for myself. What I can’t come up with is why.”
“Why . . . is he helping you discover it?” Kiana ventured.
“Yeah. Why not just tell me?”
She pondered the question. “Would you believe him if he did?”
He thought for a moment. “Maybe not. But I’d like to think I’d at least look into it.”
“Does it really matter?” she asked with a shrug. “Everything has confirmed your theory. So, overall, it’s been a fruitful experience, right?”
“The information has been good, yes. But I can’t help feeling he
wants more.”
“Huh. That thought crossed my mind too,” she agreed. “Although I can’t think what more. You’re the epidemiologist. Don’t you have any clue?”
He looked at her intently, wondering if she already knew what Edgar really wanted, wondering if she was still playing the handler. “I think I might, but . . .”
“Tell me.” Her request bordered on a command, but gone was the feeling that she was merely following orders. Or maybe Mitch was simply used to her assertiveness.
Whatever the reason, he now felt he had a better chip with which to bargain. “Will you promise to let Suko go?”
She met stare for stare. “Mitch, we’ve been through this. That decision is totally up to Edgar.” She raised her hand quickly to stop any rebuttal. “But, I swear, I’ll do everything I can.”
He nodded. “Cindy was right about my end goal. My theory states that if we can pinpoint patterns of the past, we can extrapolate them to the future. I’m now convinced that whatever caused the Black Plague appears to have been brought on the tail of a comet. I further believe it is going to cycle back around.”
“Yes, but when?”
He retrieved his laptop and sat back down next to her. He opened it an inserted his thumb drive. While clicking from file to folder to file, he explained, “This is what I was working on before we went to dinner. I only had time to look at the incidences of six major pandemics over the last fifteen hundred years. Comparing them against severe downturns in climate as evidenced in tree rings and ice-core sampling, I found a definite collapsing cycle. Here’s a graph I ran showing the year downturns occurred in relation to a major plague outbreak. It’s a least-squares logarithmic interpolation model.”
“Which pandemics are you talking about?” Kiana asked, frowning at the graph.
“The 541 ad plague of Justinian, the 1347 Black Death, the 1630 Italian plague, the 1772 great Persian plague, the plague in 1855 called the Third Pandemic, and the 1918 worldwide outbreak of the Spanish flu. Notice the pattern? They’re growing more frequent.”
Kiana spoke in a subdued voice. “Okay, Mitch. You’re officially
scaring me.”
“That’s why it’s now even more imperative I get this report to the CDC.”
She met his eyes again. “So I repeat my question: When? When is the next catastrophic outbreak of plague?”
Mitch closed his laptop and placed his hands flat on the surface. “I didn’t include a final date in my report, because, up until now, I didn’t have enough data to arrive at one. And I’m pretty certain it’s the information Edgar wasn’t able to figure out himself. That’s why he needed me.”
“When, Mitch? Please, tell me.”
He sighed deeply. “I believe the next plague cycle will begin sometime
in 2030.”
* * *
Kiana had moved to the window. She hadn’t said anything for nearly twenty minutes. Mitch joined her and stared out at the busy Houston nightscape.
“You okay?” he asked.
“All of those people down there don’t have a clue,” she said in nearly a whisper.
“I know. But not if I can help it.”
Kiana folded her arms tightly. “Are you sure it’s going to be a comet?”
“For years I’ve been searching for anything that could explain this stuff,” Mitch said, rubbing his neck. “Not just a drought here or an earthquake there. I mean an event that could alter weather across the entire planet. I was leaning toward a massive volcanic eruption. But then we learned the chemical markers in ice-core readings don’t show any major volcanic eruption around the time of any plague, so that’s out. Now this stuff with comets . . . well, it has the potential to explain everything. As crazy as it sounds, it just . . . fits.”
“And knowing it will save millions of lives?” She turned to face him. “You told me at the onset that all you were trying to do was save lives. That’s when I first suspected you were different from my other marks.”
He nodded, not knowing if she was expecting a verbal response.
“But . . . what if it’s an ELE?” she asked, her voice tremulous. “Like Cindy said, if it is, there’s not much we can do about it.”
He smiled at her. “It could very well be. But,” he said with emphasis, “if we can predict where the comet will pass, we can estimate the amount of damage and create a triage and reconstruction plan well before the event.”
“And save millions of lives.”
He nodded. “Yeah. Hopefully.”
Her expression softened, and she gave him the most tender, almost loving, look he’d seen her express. “You are an amazing man, Mitchell Pine.”
“Thanks,” he said, feeling his face color.
Kiana thought for a moment more and then asked, “Do you know where it will hit?”
“I don’t. Once the comet gets closer we can calculate the exact coordinates for its closest point of passing. But it’ll end up affecting the entire planet anyway, so it really doesn’t—” Mitch stopped short as his mind latched on to a realization. Coordinates!
“It really doesn’t what?” Kiana prompted.
“It really doesn’t matter where it starts,” he whispered, staring back out the window. The numbers on his phone were coordinates.
Kiana rested her hand on his arm. “Mitch? Are you okay?”
He rubbed his eyes. “Yeah—just super tired. I think I’ll call it a night.”
She favored him with a look that was both skeptical and compassionate. “Okay,” she said, rising onto her toes and kissing him on the cheek. “I think you’re doing a fantastic job. I’ll see you in the morning.”
Mitch watched her leave the hotel room, wondering how he was going to secretly do what he knew had to be done.
