The Cure (33 page)

In the center of the room stood a stainless-steel device about the size of a large refrigerator, with a touch-screen monitor attached. Seq-Magic Ultra was emblazoned in blue, stylized letters across its front. The device contained a variety of cabinets that slid open at the touch of an icon to reveal slots for key reagents, which its internal robotics would use to build long stretches of DNA, one nucleotide letter at a time. The series of chemical reactions inside the state-of-the-art device occurred at breathtaking speeds, but couldn’t come close to matching the speed of the simple
E. coli
bacterium, which could replicate an entire genome of over four million bases in less than thirty minutes.

Burghardt slid a pair of disposable latex gloves onto his hands, and removed a box of inch-long, sealed plastic tubes from a freezer rack. He selected a vial and showed Erin the tiny, carefully written label on the side, which read Cure Construct—Final, along with a date. Hansen read the label as well, although he was determined to be a silent observer during this process.

Burghardt dialed a micropipetter to draw up a single microliter from the vial, popped on a sterile plastic tip, and removed an almost imaginary amount of fluid. Ten minutes and several ministrations later, the Seq-Magic Ultra was digesting the sequence of the construct with superhuman speed, and strings of A’s, G’s, C’s, and T’s were streaming across the monitor faster than human eyes could follow, each letter appearing in a different color.

Within thirty minutes the sequence had been completed, over six thousand base pairs long, and checked for accuracy twice.

“Can I assume the sequence can be directly uploaded to an online site?” said Erin.

“Of course,” replied Burghardt. “This device is wirelessly connected to the Internet,” he added, a statement Hansen thought was unnecessary. What device
wasn’t
connected wirelessly to the Internet these days?

“Good,” said Erin. “Go to GeneRepository-dot-com,” she instructed.

“Never heard of it,” said Burghardt.

Erin shrugged. “So what?”

“So, while there isn’t a single database that contains all known gene sequences, CodeMaestro comes the closest.”

“GeneRepository has the complete sequences of more pathogens,” said Erin. “And better software.”

Burghardt stared at Erin in contempt. “How do you know anything about any of these databases?” he said. “When do
you
do molecular biology?”

“Not as often as you,” replied Erin with a scowl, clearly annoyed at the short genetic engineer. “But my field uses these tools also. It seems I know more about what you do than the other way around.”

Hansen finally decided it was time to step in. “This is ridiculous,” he said. “Who cares? Both sites will have rhinovirus sequences, correct? So let Erin use the one she likes. This is for her benefit anyway.”

Burghardt nodded. “You’re right,” he said, but couldn’t help turning to Erin and adding, “but you’re still wrong about this. If I haven’t heard about a sequence database, it can’t be very good.”

Within two minutes they were on the site Erin had wanted. It was a bare-bones, no-frills site that was very simple to use—which had been Google’s claim to fame.
Maybe this was why she liked it so much
, thought Hansen.

The Seq-Magic Ultra uploaded the sequence to the Web site. Given that the long stretch of DNA had to be checked at different starting and stopping points, and thus different permutations, even checking against the rhinovirus database took several minutes. But in the end the site confirmed that the sequence was 84 percent homologous to conserved rhinovirus regions.

Burghardt beamed. “Satisfied?”

Erin nodded. “Almost,” she said, instructing the software to check the sequence against all known pathogens, looking for 50 percent or greater homology. This was a far bigger and more complex job and took almost an hour before the site reported back that there were no matches.

The construct was based on the common cold, just as advertised. With no known deadly sequences inserted.

They had Drake back on Skype within minutes.

“Congratulations,” said Erin cheerfully to the alien when he appeared on the monitor. “Your construct checks out. So grab a pen and paper. Because we’re about to change the course of human history.”

38

ERIN HAD MEMORIZED
the precise dosages necessary for each of the eight genes, and carefully provided this information, making sure it was read back to her twice. When she was through, Drake asked to confer with Burghardt in private, probably about his plan for disbursing the virus, which he refused to disclose to either Hansen or Erin.

Compartmentalization.

While Burghardt would now be working furiously for twenty to thirty hours, Erin and Hansen no longer had any responsibilities. Since it was unwise for them to risk leaving the premises, they sent Zalinsky on a shopping errand to pick up clothing they had chosen online at a local Target store, including underwear, so they could change out of garments that had been worn hard for several days and were about as fresh as month-old cheese.

They both took naps, cooked up omelets using the ample ingredients found in Burghardt’s well-stocked kitchen, and after their change of clothing arrived, took long, hot showers.

Hansen felt fantastic. Against all odds, they had prevailed. In less than a day they would achieve their goal. And if it took a while for them to create a new base of operations completely off the grid, he was prepared to live with that. The residence they were in could house dozens of people in comfort, so if Hansen had to choose a place to hole up in, and a female companion to hole up
with,
he could do a lot worse than this spectacular mansion and a remarkable woman named Erin Palmer.

Burghardt came downstairs as night was falling to tell them Drake had requested another call with them. The short molecular biologist set up the call and then left, disappearing once again into his lab.

When Drake’s face appeared on the monitor, Hansen said, “How’s it coming?”

“You’re in the same house as Max. Why are you asking me?”

Hansen glanced at Erin. “Well,” he replied, looking a little embarrassed. “He’s holed himself up in the lab, and he’s working so hard we didn’t want to bother him. Even to ask how it’s going.”

“I approve,” said Drake. “I’m told it’s going great. Max is ahead of schedule.” He sighed. “But let me tell you why I called. I’ve decided on a change of plans. Instead of meeting you out there, I’m going to need you both to bring the finished virus to me. The three of us can implement the release plan together.”

“What
is
the release plan?” said Erin.

Drake smiled. “I’ll tell you when we’re about to release it,” he replied. “The point is, you two are the only ones I trust to do this. Other than Max, of course. But he’s been working around the clock. You two are fresher.”

“Where are you?” asked Hansen

“Near San Francisco.”

Erin and Hansen traded glances. They had barely survived traveling from Arizona to Colorado. They were still the subject of a massive manhunt.

As if reading their minds, Drake said, “This should be very simple. I’m at a safe house I set up a while back for emergencies. This will probably ultimately become the new Yuma. So I have access to my resources again, including our quantum computer. Which I managed to save, by the way.”

Hansen’s eyes widened. How had he forgotten to even ask about this?

“This includes financial resources,” continued the alien. “So I’ll have one of the men in my employ deliver a van to your location. All you have to do is get in the back and let him drive you here. No one will stop him. And no man, woman, highway camera, or satellite will be able to see you while you’re hidden in the back.”

“Sounds like a stress-free trip,” said Hansen. “We could use one of those.”

“Great,” said Drake. “Max thinks everything will be ready by noon tomorrow. Be in his garage at one, and my man will meet you there.”

They agreed and ended the connection.

As soon as Drake’s face disappeared from the monitor, Hansen took Erin in his arms and kissed her gently, savoring the feel of her soft lips and tongue and the clean scent of her hair. “I guess it’s going to be a long, boring night,” he said playfully. “I just wish I could think of something fun to do that would help us get through it.” He raised his eyebrows. “Something that would provide healthy exercise and burn calories.”

“Normally, I’d think this was a great idea,” said Erin. She paused for a few seconds, blew out a long breath, and added, “But this is an important night. We’re on the eve of a momentous change. So what I’d really like is if you would just hold me tonight. We can lie together and watch a movie. Get to know each other better.”

Hansen was all for them getting to know each other, and this plan sounded great. But it would sound even greater if it was implemented
after
they had made love. “We can do that,” said Hansen, trying unsuccessfully to hide his disappointment.

What did this mean? Did she regret their night together? Was she trying to pull back? Given the warmth he had felt from her, and the sentiment toward him she had openly expressed, this was the last thing he had expected.

As if reading his mind she leaned in and kissed him, only separating several minutes later.

“Don’t get me wrong,” she said. “The other night was great. And I hope to have many more nights just like it. Besides, I’ve never been with a bald guy before. But let’s wait until tomorrow night. After we’ve successfully changed the world. We’ll be even happier, and more eager.”

The corners of Hansen’s mouth turned up into the hint of a smile. “I don’t know, Erin. I’m pretty sure it isn’t possible for me to get any
more
eager. Especially after that last kiss. But I understand what you’re saying.”

“I promise you. When we have something to celebrate tomorrow, we’ll celebrate in a way that you’ll remember for the rest of your life.”

Hansen drew her to his chest and wrapped his arms around her. “I’m going to hold you to that. But for the time being, we’ll just, ah … cuddle,” he said.

“Thanks, Kyle,” she replied.

Hansen sighed. All of her reassurances aside, there was still something about this that didn’t make sense to him. Oh well, he thought. This wasn’t the first time he had failed to understand where a woman was coming from. And he guessed it wouldn’t be the last.

39

MAX BURGHARDT WAS
bleary-eyed and disheveled, not looking much better than Hansen and Erin had after they had battled thugs at the Saguaro Inn and spent more than ten hours under a bridge. He carried a four-foot-long steel canister under one arm, packed with uncountable infectious agents, which could serve as the epicenter of a worldwide infection millions of times over.

Having been notified that the van was only a few minutes out, the three scientists stepped through a door at the far end of the mansion that opened to a ten-car garage, which Hansen guessed was as spacious as his entire apartment had been.

The garage was spectacular. The floor was not lowly concrete, but rather a honey-colored, smooth, glossy surface that Hansen thought just might be marble. Oak cabinets lined one wall and were so stylish they would have felt at home in the nicest living room. A short, glass display case sat against the wall near the door to the main house, and Hansen could only guess the use the previous owner had made of it, since it was totally empty now.

The only way one could tell this was a garage and not a small house, other than the presence of two cars at the far end of the structure—the latest Mercedes convertible and a four-door Jaguar—was the presence of a home gym in one corner, although it, too, was top of the line. Eight-foot-high stacks of black, rectangular weights were enclosed within a central steel structure, and four or five black chairs and benches extended from the center all around. Various white steel bars and levers attached to pulleys protruded from steel beams in a seemingly haphazard fashion.

Burghardt had been holding a closed duffel along with the virus canister, but Hansen had no idea what was inside. The mystery was cleared up, however, when the short molecular biologist extended it toward Erin. “I fixed up a goodie bag for your trip,” he said. “Mostly junk food. But it’s a long way to San Francisco.”

“Very thoughtful,” said Erin.

They were waiting in silence for the van to arrive a minute later when the door to the main house flew open and Gibb and Zalinsky entered, commando style, automatic weapons extended.

It took a second for Hansen to assimilate what was happening.

The weapons were pointed at him
.
And at Erin.

Hansen was more confused and angry than he was alarmed.
“What’s going on here?”
he demanded.
“Have you lost your minds?”

“Hands where I can see them,” said Gibb calmly in response.

Hansen made sure he kept his hands away from his pockets, and Erin did the same, first lowering Burghardt’s goodie bag to the glossy floor. The short molecular biologist backed a few steps away, but didn’t look surprised or troubled.

While Gibb continued to hold a gun on them, Zalinsky quickly and expertly frisked them both, leaving no intimate body part unchecked. He pulled a .45 from Erin’s belt and a small stainless-steel tube from her pocket, about the size of a bloated pencil.

Hansen was taken aback, having no idea Erin had been carrying a gun. She must have taken it from one of the men she had incapacitated at the Saguaro Inn.

Zalinsky placed the .45 and the silver tube on top of the short display case behind him. He nodded toward the gun. “I guess what I was told is true,” he said to Erin. “You
are
more dangerous than you look.”

A chill went up Hansen’s spine as he realized what was going on. Somehow, these men were working for Fuller. There was no other explanation for their actions.