Redivivus Trilogy (Book 1): Threnody Page 2
The well-dressed ICT representative took his position at the head of the imposing boardroom table in the impressively equipped meeting room and began to speak. “Gentleman, welcome to ICT. I am quite sure that your questions far outnumber the answers you’ve received at this point, and I assure you, all will be addressed in time. Let me start by emphasizing that we feel it is imperative that everyone working on this project do so completely of his or her own volition, without any coercion whatsoever. You are both here because you are the best at what you do. As you were both briefed, once the project commences, neither of you will be permitted to leave this facility until cleared to do so at project completion. Similarly, there will be no means of communication with the outside world. There are measures in place to ensure the integrity of this facility and project. Your complete consent and understanding of the demands of this job up front will ensure the full extent of these measures never need to be implemented.”
Marcus sensed a subtle undercurrent of malice swirling behind the man’s words and wondered what his last statement meant.
The man continued, “As you were told, any and all necessary resources will be provided for you. At the conclusion of today’s briefing both of you will be asked to reconsider this position in light of the additional details provided. If either or both of you feel you cannot consent completely to the stipulations presented, we will take you back to your old life with no questions asked. The only thing that will be required of you, should you choose to leave, is complete confidentiality regarding all you have been told about the project thus far. Are there any questions at this point?”
Marcus shifted in his seat and sheepishly raised his hand. “Yeah. You guys already seem to know everything about us. What’s your name?”
“My name, Dr. Johnson, is not important. I, too, abandoned my old life when I joined the project. You, gentleman, may call me Mr. Handler.”
After the briefing Marcus and Sanjit sat quietly for several long moments, vacant expressions etched on each of their dumbstruck faces. Marcus felt as if he had been hit squarely in the solar plexus, forcing all of the air to rush out of his entire world.
Sanjit, on the other hand, felt little if anything at all. Again, they had been informed of the necessary quarantine at the facility, as well as the communications blackout that would be enforced for the duration of the project. The ‘measures,’ they learned, included a tracking device they would be required to wear on the wrist. Not only would it relay their GPS coordinates to ICT, but it also recorded and logged several vital parameters including pulse, temperature, and vascular tone. The latter was a surrogate measure of autonomic nervous system activity that, in turn, provided information regarding the stress level of the wearer. Additionally, the device served as a proximity alarm designed to ensure the wearer remain within the designated area. Mr. Handler indicated that an electronic perimeter was established at approximately 100 yards around the facility and repeatedly stressed the importance of maintaining its integrity, noting ‘dire’ consequences should an internal breach occur.
“As I told each of you during our first encounter, secrecy is paramount in any R&D venture, and what we are developing is worth far more than its weight in gold. While every effort has been made to vet each person working on this project, the shareholders are not so credulous as to ignore the impact of stress and the unpredictability of basic human nature. I’m sure both of you can appreciate the need for such precautions,” said Mr. Handler in a cool, almost cordial voice that resonated with the slight hiss of a venomous pit viper.
To Marcus, the ‘internal’ security measures were far from the most disconcerting thing he heard during the briefing. The aim of the project proved much more nefarious than his unsuspecting mind allowed him to consider previously. In short, the true goal as Mr. Handler described it, was the creation of a new bio-assassination weapon: a completely lethal and entirely undetectable – and thus untraceable – pathogen that could be delivered with the precision of a modern surgical airstrike, only on an individual level. The ‘precision,’ as Mr. Handler called it, would be possible due to the non-transmissible nature of the pathogen, while the ‘undetectability’ would result from engineering a new pathogen for which no clinical testing existed. The ‘lethality’ spoke for itself. He recapped the historical importance of ‘modifying’ political landscapes from behind the scenes, citing that traditional tactics for accomplishing such things were no longer adequate in a nontraditional, modern world.
“Such ideas and actions are far from new to this world. Today, with a camera on every corner and everyone’s uncle on the other side of the world being able to know instantaneously what is happening on the opposite side of the rock, the price of secrecy and discretion has increased substantially,” said Mr. Handler.
Marcus and Sanji spent the rest of the day discussing and debating all they had learned during the earlier briefing. The following morning they awoke and began the initial work of their new project.
The progress made toward accomplishing their end goal during the first year was nothing short of astonishing. Their advances in lentiviral vector technology alone would have made even the most seasoned and accomplished researchers salivate. With the promise this technology had already shown in regards to gene therapy, the two scientists had no trouble envisioning the far-reaching clinical significance of their accomplishments to that point on the project. At that time, Marcus and Sanji talked excitedly for hours in the evenings about everything from news conferences to Nobel prizes.
For Marcus, however, everything began to change a few months later, when their animal experiments became more and more cruel and ‘unnatural.’ His disillusionment further spiraled when Manuel, one of the lab technicians, decided to leave the facility. As the mangled remains of his body were brought back to the facility, Marcus thought it looked as though he stepped on a claymore mine. Marcus began to ponder not only the morality of the project, but the ‘true’ implications of their research as well.
“How do we even know those ICT bastards will allow any of the positive aspects of our work to be implemented? Mr. Handler said what they wanted was an untraceable weapon. Maybe they will erase everything leading up to that to better cover their tracks! We don’t even know who they are!” Marcus said to Sanji during a particularly heated argument in their fifteenth month on the project.
While neither of them could deny the brilliance of their work, to Marcus, it all seemed increasingly wrong. It felt wrong. They were meddling in realms where humans were forbidden. Creating a new chimera for the purpose of ending the life of another human being made him feel like the judge, jury, and executioner. It felt as though they were trying to walk next to God himself, maybe even above him. Though he was not an overly religious man, this thought frightened Marcus more than he considered possible. Where at first he could see the Nobel Prize, now he could see nothing. Absolutely nothing.
To his concerns, Sanji replied, “Marcus, you are being paranoid. Look, I know safety concerns have always been a major hurdle in every lentiviral-based therapy to date, but the safety factors we engineered alleviate those concerns. As far as the morality of this project, that is not mine to judge. The creation of this pathogen is not the problem. What they decide to do with it is not my decision or concern. For enough money I would gladly work on mutating these monkeys into the Devil himself!” Sanji paused before adding, “Marcus, you need a break. Go outside, get some fresh air.”
Now, eighteen months after his arrival at the isolated ICT facility, Marcus sat quietly in the sunlight staring into the vast, beautiful jungle surrounding him. Contrary to their intended purpose, Sanji’s words only proved to deepen Marcus’ concern, causing him to suspect that Sanji was in fact on their side. Was he the only sane person left, or was the isolation slowly driving him mad as well? In actuality, he felt like both were true.
“I have to get the hell out of this place,” he thought as he began to laugh hysterically at the realization that he didn’t e
ven have a clue where this place was.
He was still laughing maniacally when he retired to his living quarters that afternoon. A couple of hours later when the female lab tech came to summon him to the lab, his mind was already set on his next course of action. In one pocket he carried a syringe filled with 100 milligrams of pancuronium bromide and 300 milliequivalents of potassium chloride; in the other were two high-capacity USB microdrives, each containing an identical copy of all the files pertaining to their research to date. While he wasn’t certain about potassium chloride, he was fairly sure pancuronium, a muscle-relaxing agent capable of inducing complete respiratory arrest via paralysis of the diaphragm, could be effective if delivered via intramuscular injection instead of intravenously. Either one should be sufficient to do the job. Marcus decided to give both in order to provide a little insurance. A brief wave of sadness passed through him as he considered his companion for the last eighteen months in the throes of death after he injected the medications. This sentiment, however, was cut short as his resolve to stop the madness they were creating returned.
“Marcus,” Sanji said without looking up from the microscope at his workstation, “how are you feeling? You need to see the latest test results. Specimen number four has shown some truly amazing findings. I’m not sure you would believe me if I told you, so I will just show you.”
Sanji started to turn his head from the microscope to regard his partner. “And Marcus, about earlier…” His words were cut short by the stinging, burning sensation he felt in his left shoulder.
“What the hell!?” howled Sanji, as he angrily got to his feet after realizing Marcus was behind the pain. Marcus was already backing away slowly. Thankfully the lab tech had not followed him, and as it was dinnertime, there were no other techs in the lab.
“You bastard!” bellowed Sanji, “What the hell have you done to me?” His words already sounded heavy and effortful, his breathing more labored. He stumbled several steps forward before falling limply to the floor, eyes wide with the horror of what he just experienced.
Marcus cautiously crept forward still not completely able to grasp what he had done. Slowly, he knelt next to Sanji’s crumpled form and uttered two simple words.
“It’s over.”
The next five minutes were a blur of activity, so fast that the ICT personnel tasked with monitoring the facility and the scientists were left powerless to intervene. Marcus first closed and barricaded the door leading to the dining and living quarters, engaging the biometric lock installed as an emergency failsafe to prevent inadvertent pathogen release.
Mr. Handler was notified immediately when the monitor detected Dr. Johnson’s elevated stress level and Dr. Bhatnagar’s declining vital parameters. Gazing at the remote monitors, he saw a flurry of activity within laboratory A but, one by one, the monitors went black as Marcus completed his second order of business: smearing the cameras with the thick grease he discovered in the maintenance cabinet just inside the lab’s main doors.
As Marcus stood on a chair stretching to reach the last camera, he lost his balance and crashed to the ground. Cursing loudly, his tirade was joined by frenetic banging on the outside of the lab door. Despite frantic calls to several of his most trusted lab techs demanding they assist Dr. Bhatnagar immediately, Mr. Handler realized that in spite of all his preparations and all the vast resources at his disposal, he was powerless to control the situation unfolding before him, albeit over five thousand miles away.
Ribs aching and forehead bleeding, Marcus doggedly climbed to his feet and set to work on the next part of his plan. Though he wasn’t certain, he assumed that ICT was likely archiving and cataloging all the data collected from their experiments. He also assumed they could wipe all the data remotely if needed and planned for that possibility by copying a complete data set onto each of the two USB microdrives. He would keep one in his possession as he fled the facility, but accepting his chances of escape were slim, he planned to try to get a second copy out. He took the fire axe out of the case near the exit door and carried it over to the intranet mainframe. With the force of a major league slugger and the fury of a pit fighter, he swung the axe again and again, smashing the large computer into a hundred pieces. Satisfied it was damaged beyond salvage, he methodically moved through the lab obliterating all traces of their research. As he finished, he hoped that in little more than five minutes he had been able to erase all they had accomplished over the last eighteen months. Deep in his soul, however, he could not ignore the ominous feeling rising in his chest – the feeling that in some way it may not be possible to undo what had been done, to uncross the lines they had so recklessly crossed.
The last thing he intended to do before escaping himself was to free the research subjects. He could not bring himself to smash and destroy the monkeys in the same manner in which he destroyed all the other evidence. Instead, he hastily moved from cage to cage unlatching and opening each door as he passed. The animals, in turn, tore from their cages like a shot and began howling wildly. To Marcus, the uproarious sound was disconcerting, as he had never heard them all bellow so ferociously and in unison. He ran to the fire exit leading to the small outdoor sitting area and flung the door open with a resounding thud. Neither the door nor the sitting area was particularly secure, as there were other means by which to keep the residents of the facility in place. The monkeys immediately scrambled toward the warm sunlight filtering in through the open door. Their howls threatened to bring the walls down with their feral intensity.
Almost as an afterthought, Marcus remembered the second USB Microdrive nestled securely in a waterproof, impact-resistant case in his right pocket. He lunged toward the monkeys as they haphazardly burst through the door into the world outside. With a single finger on his right hand he managed to snare one of the collars. The monkey stopped its frantic charge instantly. The sudden change in demeanor was equally as shocking as the primal rage he witnessed seconds before. Hands trembling, he attached the case securely to the animal’s collar. Staring blankly at the #4 on the monkey’s tag, Marcus said in a flat tone, “Go and save the world, Lazarus.”
He released the animal’s collar, but the monkey did not immediately rush through the door as the others had. Instead, the monkey glanced briefly toward the door before turning back to Marcus and tearing a considerable chunk of tissue from his throat. As he lay gurgling and unable to speak, in a pool of his own blood, Dr. Marcus Johnson watched Lazarus, a monster of his own creation, shamble through the door and into the jungle beyond. His reeling brain was momentarily transfixed by the beauty of the sunlight reflecting off the droplets of crimson fluid raining down from the monkey’s gnashing teeth. For an instant, Marcus recalled the words Sanji spoke about #4 just before he killed him. This was the last confused thought that crossed his fading mind before the blood loss ushered him into oblivion, along with all fleeting thoughts of what he had done.
Chapter 2
September 8, 2015
Javari River Valley
Amazonas, Brazil
The four-man security force trudged slowly through the dense, overgrown foliage of the Brazilian jungle as they escorted the medical team in search of the remote village described by the boy. The medical team consisted of a physician, two nurses, and a clinical scientist whose job was predominately data collection for the NHS. Two days earlier, a boy approximately eleven or twelve years old, was found wandering aimlessly in the jungle, covered in blood from head to toe. It seemed likely he was from the previously uncontacted Wapachu tribe based on his language and the markings on his body. The circumstances leading to his wandering alone in the jungle several miles from his native tribal land were unclear.
A group of local foragers happened upon him and, fearing he might be seriously injured, rushed to his aid. As the group approached, the young boy went berserk and attacked them. They reported his attacks were feral and ‘defensive – like that of a frightened animal.’ They were ultimately able to subdue and calm the boy, after which th
ey brought him to the regional military outpost less than a mile from where he was discovered. Despite the substantial difficulties posed by the language barrier, the medical team at the outpost listened intently as the boy tried to explain what had happened using the unusual dialect of his little known language that had been fostered in isolation by his tribe. He talked of brutal attacks filled with extreme violence, horrific abuses, and inconceivable atrocities. Speaking in frantic, distant, and disorganized sentences, the boy sounded as though he might be suffering from PTSD or some other mental ailment. The story relayed by the boy was incongruous with the information known about the Wapachu, as there had been no reported violence involving the tribe in many years. Though there were previous isolated disputes and feuds between the various indigenous tribes in this region of Brazil, they were overall peaceful and reclusive people.
Dr. Vincent Cardosa, the outpost physician tasked with evaluating and questioning the boy, had studied the Arawakan language, but felt certain he was simply unable to accurately interpret what the boy was telling him. What did seem abundantly clear was something horrible had happened to the boy’s tribe. He spoke of 'monsters,' though he occasionally referred to the perpetrators of the violence as ‘my people’ or ‘those things.’ In addition, he displayed an irrational fear of essentially all humans – far greater than Dr. Cardosa had previously seen in any other uncontacted tribes he had encountered. To Dr. Cardosa, he seemed to behave much like an abused dog, equating all humans with his next beating or torment. Had his village suffered an attack by another tribe in the region, or perhaps by an outside group such as one of the paramilitary guerrilla units or drug cartels thought to be active in the area? One thing was certain; something scared the boy beyond all reason.