The Cure (32 page)

The thinner man now had a phone in his palm. “Any sign they were followed?” he said into it without bringing it any closer to his mouth, indicating it was on speaker.

“No,” said a distant voice. “They look to be clean.”

Both men holstered their weapons. “Sorry about that,” said the thinner man, holding out his hand. “Greg Gibb. I head the security detail.”

After Hansen and Erin had shaken his hand, he gestured to his partner. “And this is Slade Zalinsky,” he added, after which the handshaking ceremony was repeated.

Hansen wasn’t at all surprised that Drake had hired these men to protect this property. He certainly hadn’t skimped on security in Yuma, for all the good it had ended up doing him.

Gibb led them through the towering doors into the house, which was just as spectacular inside as out. “Tough duty,” said Gibb, noticing his guests gawking. “But somebody has to do it.”

As they walked through the residence, Hansen couldn’t help but notice that the spectacular bookshelves they passed were largely empty. No paintings hung on the walls and no knickknacks adorned shelves. Most of the rooms didn’t contain a single piece of furniture. The size and opulence of the mansion was just a cover, ensuring the outer gate and presence of a security detail wouldn’t be out of place. But when Drake had purchased it and the previous owners had moved their belongings out, no one had taken the time to personalize the place in any way.

A short, heavyset man with glasses rushed down a magnificent spiral staircase and greeted them, introducing himself as Max Burghardt. Minutes later Gibb and Zalinsky had gone back to their duties while Burghardt and the two newcomers gathered around a marble-and-glass table in a kitchen the size of two large living rooms. The short molecular biologist procured three sixteen-ounce bottles of Coke from a stainless-steel refrigerator and handed them out.

“I take it Drake hasn’t made it here yet,” said Hansen as he unscrewed the lid.

“No,” said Burghardt. “But he’s acquired a smartphone and has been calling in.”

“And you know how to reach him?” said Hansen.

“Yes. You can call and say hello soon.” He checked his watch. “I’m scheduled to call him in forty minutes. First things first, though. We’re on the verge of an epic transformation of the human race. With respect to speed and impact, unquestionably the most profound change in the history of the species. Revolutionary.
Evolutionary
.”

It was surreal to hear this, but Hansen knew that as over the top as he sounded, Burghardt was absolutely accurate.

“But Drake has filled me in on current events. He tells me there’s someone who is ruthless and controls vast resources trying to prevent us from succeeding. So our window of opportunity may not be very wide. So as much as I’d like to spend time getting to know you both, we really don’t have that luxury. I have everything ready to go. With the help of Drake’s computer again, I’ve just finished engineering the most infectious agent the world has ever seen.”

Burghardt turned to Erin. “So if you tell me the precise relative concentrations needed of the eight genes, I can see that they are modulated in exactly this way after being released from my viral construct.”

“How is that done?” asked Erin.

“Are you a molecular biologist?” he asked.

“No, but I have some background.”

“As you know,” explained Burghardt, “the levels of gene expression are controlled by promoter sequences in the DNA upstream of the open reading frames of interest. Another factor is how many introns are in the sequence, and how efficiently they are removed. With the help of Drake’s advanced computer, I’ve come up with an algorithm that tells me the exact sequence and placement of promoters to use to dial in any required expression level. With breathtaking accuracy. I’ve perfected it through tests on hundreds of insertions so that it’s now absolutely foolproof.”

“Once I give you the required levels for all eight,” said Erin, “how long for the algorithm to spit out the answer?”

“Fifteen or twenty minutes. The algorithm is very complex, and the number of calculations required is mind-boggling. Even so, fifteen minutes is an eternity for a modern computer.”

“Then how long to finish your construct?”

“Say … twenty-four hours. Working around the clock.”

“Somehow I imagined it being faster than that. Isn’t the synthesis all automated?”

“Yes, but I have to cut open the DNA for each gene where the program instructs me to, insert the proper sequences, and close them up again. Then I have to insert all of this into the virus. Then I have to ramp up production so huge numbers of infectious constructs are synthesized. And finally, I have to put the finished product in aerosol form to enhance the spread of infection.” He paused. “So no time like the present. If you tell me the combination now, I can enter it into my program and have my algorithm solve it by the time we contact Drake.”

Erin took a deep breath. “Look, Max,” she began. “I understand the importance of this. I understand the monumental impact this will have. But because of that, I’m going to need to slow the express train for just a few hours.”

Burghardt looked at her in horror, as if she had just informed him he was dying of an incurable cancer. “Why?” he said in absolute dismay.

“Because before I tell anyone anything, I need to talk to Drake. I’m the only one of us who’s never done so. I’ve spoken with a human projection of him, but never to him in his alien form. I also need to confirm that the viral construct you’re using is actually the common cold, and not something more deadly.”

“It’s absolutely the common cold,” said Burghardt, as though offended. “I can vouch for that. And you do understand that Drake is trying to save the human race, right?” He turned to Hansen for help, but Hansen returned a helpless look that said,
I’ve already tried to convince her—you’re on your own here
.

“That’s almost certainly true,” said Erin. “But if I’m going to be part of releasing a hyperinfectious agent, I need to be absolutely certain it’s on the benign side.”

“If Drake wanted to spread something deadly,” said Burghardt in exasperation, “he would just spread something deadly. Why would he even need the information you have?”

“I don’t know. I admit I’m being paranoid. But I won’t risk the world’s population if there’s even a one in a million chance we’re being deceived. Drake’s powerful computer has obviously been a huge benefit to you. But without
your
help, he couldn’t have gotten this far, correct? You wouldn’t have been able to design the most infectious agent in history. Or control gene expression with such precision.”

Burghardt nodded.

“So maybe he needed the fiction of curing psychopathy to get you to help. To get you to perfect these things. And then slipped in something else. Who knows?”

“So what do you propose exactly?”

“First, I need to speak with Drake. Then, I want you to run your construct through your sequencer. I’ll take the sequence it generates and check it online against the known sequences of rhinoviruses. Any extended bit of sequence that isn’t a match, I’ll check against all known pathogens. Just to be sure.”

Burghardt digested this for some time. Finally, he glared at Erin and said, “Is there any possible argument I can make that will persuade you to change your mind?”

Erin sighed. “I’m afraid not. I guess I can be pretty stubborn,” she said.

Burghardt turned to Hansen. “And you don’t have
any
pull with her?”

“I’m on your side on this,” replied Hansen. “But without her skills, she and I would be long dead. And it’s probably only a two- or three-hour delay. So I’m going to have to support her on this.” He smiled. “Besides, I think I
will
sleep just the tiniest bit easier knowing your construct is what you think it is.”

36

WHILE THEY WAITED
to call Drake, the three scientists took the time to exchange backgrounds. Burghardt had earned his Ph.D. in molecular biology from UCLA, specializing in the study of rhinoviruses. Much of his work involved understanding differences in infectivity levels between the numerous minor variations of the common cold. Why were some strains so much more infectious than others?

It was obvious why Drake would want to recruit someone with his expertise. Drake had approached him, Burghardt explained, revealed himself as an alien, and described his goals. Burghardt would be one of only a handful of people to have knowledge of an alien on Earth. He would be saving the species. And he would have access, at least remotely through Drake, to the world’s most powerful computer, propelling his work to levels impossible otherwise.

It hadn’t been a hard choice for Burghardt to stop applying for postdoc positions and come live in a mansion a movie star would envy.

Besides, he had always been a vocal fan of science fiction, even to the extent of posting reviews on his own blog, so working with Drake was as cool as it got. At that point Erin had interrupted. “Drake seems to like recruiting science fiction fans, doesn’t he?”

Hansen shrugged. “Not necessarily. Max has some unique skills.”

She turned to the short molecular biologist. “Are there any other genetic engineers in the U.S. who are as expert with rhinoviruses as you are?”

“Four or five.”

“I’ll bet he chose you to approach because he knew you liked science fiction,” said Erin.

“Most scientists like science fiction,” said Hansen.

“Yes. But not all. I wonder if he thinks science fiction fans will be more receptive to the alien angle?”

Both men agreed that this was possible, although they seemed to think it unlikely, and the discussion moved on to other subjects, as the three of them continued to try to get to know one another prior to their scheduled call with Drake. Before they knew it, it was time, and Burghardt led them to his home office.

The room had built-in desks, cabinetry, and bookshelves throughout, although once again the cabinets and bookshelves were mostly empty. An expensive computer and several large monitors looked lonely on the desk.

Burghardt manipulated the computer and soon had its audio and video output thrown up on a forty-inch monitor, the room’s largest. Hansen approved. When Skyping with an alien, Erin might as well get the full effect.

Burghardt positioned himself in front of the camera first and warned Drake that he wouldn’t immediately recognize his colleagues. When they did appear, Drake looked them up and down but didn’t comment on their new looks. “Congratulations on making it to Colorado. Are you both okay?”

Erin caught Hansen’s eye and gave him a quick nod. She had recognized the voice and odd accent of the man she had known as Hugh Raborn immediately.

“We’re fine,” said Hansen. “Although I was hoping you would make it here before we did.”

“Far less urgency for
me
to get there,” said Drake, who appeared the way Hansen had described: just about average in every way. “You two are the rate-limiting step. With any luck I’ll be able to make it there before too long. But Steve Fuller is expending considerable resources to find me. And you two have an advantage over me while on the run. You don’t make other humans uncomfortable. So you can interact with them for extended periods if you have to, and maybe even enlist their help. I can’t.”

“Kyle told me the sight of you might give me the willies,” said Erin by way of greeting. “And he was right. Even on the video.”

“I know,” replied Drake. He unbuttoned his shirt to reveal the alien nature of his physique, as he had done with Hansen and Burghardt. As usual, his tendrils whipped through the air with a grace that couldn’t be faked. Hansen glanced over at Erin. She was hypnotized, and wore a crooked smile on her face.

“I’m sorry I had to resort to the Hugh Raborn deception with you, Erin,” said the alien. “But now you see the necessity.”

“Why didn’t you give me this demonstration from the beginning?” asked Erin. “Like you did with these two?”

“I had to interact with them far more extensively on this project than with you. Your activities were largely autonomous.” He paused. “So Max, can I assume the Seq-Magic Ultra is already in high gear, synthesizing our construct?”

“No,” said Erin, sparing the short molecular biologist from having to be the bearer of bad news. “I haven’t given him the combination yet.”

“Why not?”
demanded Drake. “Surely by this point Kyle has explained the importance of this project? The overarching goals?”

Erin nodded. “He has. But I wanted to talk to you first. Hear your voice. See your, ah … tendrils.”

“Okay. You’ve done that. Now let’s end this call so you can tell Max what he needs to know without further delay.”

“I need him to sequence the construct with me looking over his shoulder first.”

“What?”
thundered Drake. Hansen had never seen him react this way to anything before. The stress of the last few days must be driving him near the edge.

“It’s only a few hours’ further delay, if that. And I’ll be honest, I now have zero doubt you’re an alien. And your motives are probably pure. But then again, you
are
an alien. And the Hugh Raborn in you knows that even human motives can sometimes be impossible for other humans to fathom. So just because your expressed motives walk like a duck, and quack like a duck…”

“And if Fuller catches up to you because of your few hours’ delay?” said Drake.

“I have to take that chance. The longer we argue about it, the longer the delay,” she pointed out.

Drake glared at Erin Palmer for a few additional seconds, but she retained a look of resolve, and he reached a decision quickly. “Max,” he said. “Sequence the construct in front of her. Make it quick. Get us all back on the line the moment she’s satisfied.”

“Will do,” said Burghardt, ending the connection.

37

ONE OF TWO
palatial master bedrooms in the mansion had been converted into a biotech lab, which Erin noted was as fully equipped as any she had ever seen. A fume hood sat over a table at one end of the room. Lined up against the wall at the other end were several stainless-steel refrigerators and freezers, each set to a different degree of coldness, all the way down to negative seventy-six degrees Fahrenheit. Glass cabinets above a long lab bench were stuffed with chemicals, flasks, beakers, and petri dishes, and a large glass incubator sat catty-corner to the refrigeration units. Inside the incubator, liquid-filled two-liter flasks were growing huge numbers of
E. coli
bacteria, the workhorse of biotech, at their preferred growth temperature of ninety-five degrees Fahrenheit.