A Heartbeat Away - Michael Palmer [37]
His programs, the most promising of which he had code named Orion, could generate countless three-dimensional combinations of the molecules that formed the backbone of the submicroscopic germs. But they could not, to this point at least, develop a sequence that would effectively kill them.
At that moment, however, he did not need a computer simulation to tell him what he already knew. Within fourteen days—twenty-one at the outside—everybody inside the Capitol would die in a manner as horrible as his worst Ebola nightmare.
Over the years before his arrest, despite all the financial support and equipment he could ask for within the tight security of the Veritas project, Griff had failed to uncover the missing link in his RNA sequencing that would create an effective viral kill-drug. It was naïve of Jim Allaire to believe that within fourteen days, the answer would suddenly appear.
“Looks like I’ve traded one cell for another,” Griff said, gesturing at his escorts.
“Think of them as bodyguards,” the general said.
“Is that how President Allaire described them to you?”
“Not exactly.”
Not ready to deal with Egan and his militia, Griff turned and walked back toward the crowd. Immediately, a second helicopter, hovering two hundred feet overhead, turned a powerful spot directly down on him. The glare hurt his eyes.
“Guess they’re worried I’m going to run for it,” he said to no one in particular.
He slowed, but continued walking away, enjoying the sense of freedom, however artificial. Behind him, no one followed. The spot remained on—Egan hedging his bets. As Griff neared the crowd, which seemed to have doubled in size since his arrival, people again began shouting.
“Hey, crazy man!”
“You with the beard!”
“Can you tell us what’s going on?”
“Here, over here. Let me get a picture of you. Just one shot.”
Flashbulbs popped.
In the clamor and cacophony of voices, suddenly one stood out—a woman’s voice from somewhere deep within the crowd. It was enough to make Griff peer ahead, looking for her. But every minute was crucial, and with the spotlight glaring off the sea of frozen breath, there was no chance. He turned and walked back toward where the head of the U.S. Northern Command stood waiting. As he reached the man, he heard the woman’s voice once more above the din.
Of all those voices shouting at him, hers was the only one calling him by name.
CHAPTER 16
DAY 2
7:00 A.M. (EST)
Griff lifted the vinyl flap of the camouflage-colored field tent and stepped inside. At this point, he decided, there was no sense in trying to explain to the head of the Northern Command that he had a lingering issue with the military.
The walls of the deceptively roomy tent rippled with the gusting January wind. There were seven tall metal lockers, evenly spaced along one of the walls. Set against the opposite side was a portable sink and head-high shelving unit stocked with army-issued towels. Portable gas heaters kept the space warm.
Griff and his Special Forces bodyguards wasted no time getting undressed. There was no banter, no extraneous talk. They exchanged their street clothes for green surgical scrubs, folded neatly inside their lockers. Griff found it a challenge to pull the drawstring tight enough to hold the pants up around his depleted waist. Finally, he pulled his field biological suit from the tightly packed locker and spread it out on the floor. With well-practiced moves, he stepped into it feetfirst, then slid his arms into the sleeves, extending his fingers until his hands fit snugly inside the attached gloves.
“You guys know to be extra careful with the hands, right? One tiny puncture could kill you.”
“We know how to take care of our gear,” came the terse reply.
“I gotcha,” Griff said, raising his hands defensively.
The other soldiers eyed him coolly. He reminded himself that to them, he was a convicted terrorist. In fact, there would be no one he encountered this night who believed otherwise.