Extinction Level Event (31 page)

Krishnan, with his bag in his hand, reverses his step
and turns back to the escalator. Walking as nonchalantly as
possible while aware that security personnel may now be interested
in approaching him, he keeps his glances casual as he surveys the
terminal scene, suddenly a much more hostile environment. Glad that
he didn't step into the monorail to Terminal A, he glides from the
escalator out into the stream of people heading towards their
respective flights. Nearly colliding with middle aged woman on his
way out, he smiles briskly and apologizes quickly. She flutters
slightly, ignores him, and continues on her way.

He sees three security officers by the closest doors,
and chooses to continue walking to the next entrance. Many
passengers flock by, taking little to no notice of him. He exits
the building at the second entrance and walks casually over to the
shuttle pick up. Leaning slightly, he takes out a pair of
sunglasses and puts them on. Even in winter the Texan weather will
allow people, at times, to get away with wearing sunglasses without
being out of the ordinary. Dozens of people walk out of and into
cars, buses, and limos pulling into the large U shaped road hugging
the terminal built for incoming traffic. Krishnan is pleasantly
surprised when after five minutes the shuttle arrives. Krishnan
walks in, noticing another two police strolling through the crowds
of arriving passengers. The Shuttle, nearly empty, whisks him from
the masses of people at the terminal to the less crowded outlying
parking lot.

He steps out, taking a look at the passengers waiting
for the shuttle before walking past them and heading through the
vast parking lot towards his car. No trouble, he thinks to himself.
Getting in, he drives out of the airport complex heading south
towards downtown Houston.
Find a pay phone, make a quick call,
try to reach Onassis.
If that fails, talk to McCarthy.
Krishnan drives down on the southbound Toll road, paying close
attention to any police cars on the road. Even though they are
probably doing nothing more than hunting speeders, Krishnan is
taking no chances. Disinclined to be apprehended when he knows
himself to be free of any wrongdoing, Krishnan decides to make it
to Konovalov's house later in the day if conditions permit. He
keeps an eye on his speedometer- as the last thing he would want
now is to be pulled over for a simple violation such as breaking
the speed limit.

He pulls into downtown's traffic soon enough, the
brunt of morning rush-hour having dissipated by ten o'clock.
Krishnan pulls the Accord into a supermarket parking lot. Getting
out, he walks around the block, checking out the CVS, Pharmacy,
clothing stores and passerby. He finally finds a phone booth a
hundred meters away and walks towards it. Clinking in several
quarters he picks up the phone and dials Onassis's number. The line
puts him on hold. After waiting patiently for two minutes a machine
answers, prompting Krishnan to drop the phone and dial McCarthy
instead.

Krishnan is rewarded when McCarthy does, indeed, pick
up the phone. "Its Dr. Krishnan." "Ah, Dr. Krishnan, I see. You
know, I'm technically supposed to have you arrested the moment I
see you." "Yes, about that- what for? By whose authority? I did
nothing wrong." "I'll believe you, for now. . . but I'll need
details if you expect my help with this. Where are you now?" "I
can't tell you." "I need to know. And what are you doing there?"
"Look. . .EWK-1 was designed by Dr. Konovalov's company, GeneZTech,
and someone had him taken away three days ago because of that. Now
someone wants me out of the way too." "Out of the way?" "Yes. The
project was codenamed
Deniability
, and was procured by NBACC
secretively, confidentially. However, I have managed to download
all of Dr. Konovalov's files, including all dealings with NBACC,
onto a flash drive. I have it with me. I also think that someone in
Defense knows this and wants to prevent me from looking at the
files. I can't say more." "I see." Krishnan hears McCarthy let out
a breath of thought over the phone. "I see. It could be a mistake
on someone's part, rather than some paranoid conspiracy. Either
way, we need to find out. I'll try to shake up some sympathy, get
that arrest warrant called off. You on the other hand, stay low for
now. And try to send me those files so I can have a look at them as
well." "Ok. I'll see if I can get them to you today."

He hangs up.
I need an internet cafe.
He walks
over to a grocery store and asks them for the nearest place where
he could access the internet. Getting two good answers from the
store clerk, he gets back in his Honda and drives to the first
place. Walking in he asks for 'the Net' and is waved over to one of
the terminals in the back of the store. Logging in, he quickly sets
up a new GMail account. Plugging in the flash drive, he uploads all
of the
Deniability
files and sends them in two separate
batches to McCarthy. He then types in a quick letter to his wife,
quickly explaining that he is wrongfully wanted and not to expect
him back for a while. Finally, he decides to ditch his car and rent
a car instead, quickly finding several rent-a-cars scattered
throughout the downtown. Writing their locations down, he rapidly
logs off, pays the fare, and returns to his car.

What now? I'll drive to California if I have to,
but I should tell Konovalov's family that he is ok and will be out
soon. In person.
He decides to head for Konovalov's place, to
rest for the night. Firstly, he drives into a drive-through to get
some late lunch, parking in the parking lot to take his time eating
it. Then he starts the sixty minute drive across Houston to , where
he hopes there will be no police to arrest him the moment he enters
Konovalov's driveway.

Soon enough Krishnan finds a parking lot near one a
Hertz rental. He leaves his car and walks over to the
establishment. Refusing to use a credit card, he pays for a week's
usage and is soon given a dull gray Toyota. Driving out with the
new car, Konovalov makes his way onto Interstate 45 towards Dallas.
A good seventy minutes later he reaches Konovalov's large suburban
home. He creeps up the street once, driving two miles below the
posted 30 mile speed limit, on the lookout for snoopers,
plainclothes officers, or anyone who could possibly report him to
the FBI. Seeing no one, he parks the car by the sidewalk curb and
climbs out, walks casually up to the front door and rings the
doorbell.

No one answers. He rings it again, waiting for
another minute. A busty fortyish blonde, on the shorter side and
slightly squarish of face, opens the door. As expected, it is
Natasha, Konovalov's partner for several years whom Krishnan had
met on a few occasions. "Hey, VK.", she greets him, nonchalantly.
Whether she is surprised or not by his sudden visit doesn't show.
"Natasha". She gives him a quick, distantly friendly hug. "What is
it? It has to do with Viktor, hasn't it?", she asks in a moderate
Russian/East European accent. He never figured what country exactly
she was from, but assumed Russia as well. "Yes." She invites him
in, motioning with the hands. "I can't stay too long, have they
asked you about my whereabouts?" "No. I just saw it on the news
though, and about Viktor! Oh, I don't know what to do!" "Nothing.",
he tries to reassure her, "there's nothing you can do at the
moment. I'm working on it. He's not guilty of anything, you have my
word on that.. .did you talk to him?" "Oh, yes.", she replies
sadly, "he called three days ago. Said he was being put in a
federal prison, in Maryland, for a while. Only said it had to do
with his work. She sobbed a bit. "Can I get you something?" "Some
drinks and snacks would be great."

She goes into the kitchen, leaving Krishnan pacing
around the living room, pondering his next move.
Simple, LA
.
Maybe McCarthy got the memo, but I need a way of contacting him.
Not from here, though.
Natasha returns with a two drinks, a box
of snack bars, and a sandwich. "What have they got you for?", she
asks conversationally. "Taking secrets and keeping them for
myself", he replies humorously, trying to lighten the mood,
"Basically the same reasons as Viktor. It is certainly related to
what is happening around the world right now. But don't worry too
much, we'll have a permanent fixture soon." "I certainly hope so,
have you been reading any of the news from around the world? They
said squirrels, birds are now dying out because of a lack of food,
the poor creatures! Oh, you just have to do something!"

"We are", he replies soothingly. "I need to get
moving." "Oh, stay a little longer, no one is moving you from
here." "Has anyone come by looking for me?" "No." "Which means they
probably will soon. One thing, Natasha, I'd like to borrow a few
hundred dollars, I may need it and I don't have that much cash on
me. I'll return it whenever I get the chance." "Ok, sure, VK." "And
one last thing- Can I borrow your car? They most likely already
have mine under the radar." "My car. . .?", she goes over it for a
second before replying, "sure why not. I suppose I can live without
if for a week or so. What about your rental?" "Return it." She
cocks her eyebrow, questioningly, before heading out of the room,
returning a short while later with another box of snacks and the
cash that Krishnan needs for a relatively anonymous trip west.

After taking the cash and food items down to
Natasha's small European-like car, he hugs Natasha good-bye and
tells her not to worry about Konovalov.
Hell, maybe she's seeing
some other guy right now.
He glances at her once more before
brushing the thought away and driving off. Eager to beat rush hour
traffic, he presses the accelerator into I-45, heading northwards
to merge with I-35 four hours later. Unfortunately, the small
Fiat's performance on the road isn't what may be expected of sports
cars of similar size, but Krishnan accustoms himself to the new
vehicle. The road northwards ends in Oklahoma, where he intends to
overstay for the night before continuing westwards through New
Mexico and Arizona to reach California within two days. By then he
hopes this would have been cleared up and he would be able to
return peacefully to the lab without hassle.

Krishnan continues driving. Night falls, traffic dies
down, and he continues on the road. He stops by a small town to see
if he could access his e-mail. Finding a motel that allows him to
use it, in exchange for a small fee, he briefly sends a message to
McCarthy inquiring details of his 'wanted' status. Getting back in
the car, he continues his odyssey northwards, eventually driving
into Oklahoma's outskirts slightly after midnight. Finding a
reasonable-looking motel, he checks in with the very bored looking
attendant at the desk. The attendant soon waves him off with a key
to one of the rooms. Krishnan finds himself in a small, yellow-
painted, slightly dusty single-bed room with a tiny cubicle of a
toilet. Making do, he settles down his bag, takes a long drink from
a bottle of water, and soon finds himself asleep in no time.

Rome, Italy

It was becoming obvious that a conference would be
hard to come by in two weeks. Some countries were not even
concerned with the spread of EWK-1, as the current outbreak was so
far from their borders that it posed no direct threat to them at
all. Or in other, more special cases, some even expressed a
secretive, suppressed glee over the fact that their rivals and/or
enemies were being infected by a massive agricultural plague while
they were living unscathed. Manjak discussed the proposition with
Maurice, who finally supported it enthusiastically after three days
of thinking about it. By then it was already clear to Manjak that
the issue at hand would have to be discussed by the United Nations
in New York.

But before that could happen a realistic proposal
would have to be drafted and presented to the General Assembly- a
realistic idea of countering the changes that were seen as very
nearly unstoppable by many around the globe. At the moment, Manjak
was just now stepping into a room filled with premier civil
engineers, biologists, ecologists, geologists and even a
philosophers. Their came from all corners of the world, from
national agricultural ministries to private engineering firms to
Universities like Cornell, Oxford, and Tsinghua, many personally
invited by Manjak. Manjak walks into the room, shaking hands with
everyone around before talking. "Gentlemen. Ladies. I have gathered
us all here this week, to find common ground between our ideas, so
that we may find a solution to our planet's before we run out of
time. Many of you have submitted proposals to the FAO, which we
will discuss. To conclude in brief, none of us are leaving this
building, until we have a main plan and a contingency that could be
submitted to the Security Council." Heads look around at the
Deputy-Director's strong words, but he waves a sturdy gaze around
the room to make everyone notice he wasn't joking. "This may be our
one chance to get a viable, politically acceptable plan before the
entire planetary ecosystem becomes wasted."

Manjak leads the first round of discussions, slowly
developing common ground from a myriad of conflicting views. What
becomes apparent is that many propose hydroponics and aeroponics as
the means of solving the key question: growing food without a
natural ecosystem. As to producing any significant quantities, the
solutions seem to be the quaint ideas of "urban farming" and
"farmscrapers"; both ideas that contravene traditional ideas of
farming, which is usually done in rural, horizontally inclined
areas. A few argue that the quality of food will decline after such
new, artificial methods are introduced, arguing over the
differences between meat, poultry, and dairy products coming from
"industrial" versus "free-range" farms. Following the same line of
though, arguments are made that criticize how aeroponics grows
plants in a medium that may not provide the same quantity and
quality of nutrients as plants grow in soil. One engineer makes a
counter by remarking that plants have been grown successfully in
space, and there are plans to produce food in space for longer
space voyage.