An Eighty Percent Solution Part 20

"Just one more thing," Augustine interrupted. "How did he know Tony's real name?"

Tony entered the ancient theatre, stepping around the worst of the mold and mildew on the floor. Nearly one hundred people milled about, not settled and confident as usual before an all-hands strategy meeting, but more like a disturbed anthill. They whispered, but with large s.p.a.ces between them and their confidant. No one shook hands, or kissed on the cheek or patted on another's back. If any doubt remained, it erased itself as he moved closer. The stinging scent of nervous perspiration mixed with other less pleasant smells.

Sonya stepped around the puddles and the one large hole on the decrepit stage, bearing dark lines in her cheeks and creases in her brow. The ripped flatie screen behind her bore graffiti on top of other graffiti from several generations of tag artists. As she called the meeting to order, the team sat not in little knots as usual but spread wide, with no fewer than two seats between each listener. Tony found himself making a point to sit right next to Augustine in the front row as a show of confidence. Unfortunately for him, the seat upholstery held a vast quant.i.ty of water from the leaking roof and the moisture wicked up through his pants. He showed his solidarity by suffering the minor discomfort and not changing seats.

"I have two topics for our agenda, and then I'll open it up for new business," began Sonya. "First, Suet is doing as well as can be expected. Her seizures abated last night but she's still running an excessively high fever.

"The other three aren't doing as well." What few smiles Suet's condition prompted disappeared with the speed of a candle in a gla.s.s furnace. "Because of his high fever, Linc's kidneys shut down yesterday and he's being forced to suffer dialysis along with other treatments. I won't trouble you with describing Tolly and Jonah's symptoms. Just say they're dissimilar and lifethreatening, and leave it at that.

"Additionally we have four other cases of people coming down with mysterious ailments over the last week. While we aren't sure they're connected in any way, we've drawn blood from everyone in this room. The testing we've done thus far is inconclusive. As I know more, I'll let you know." The group murmured. While she couldn't hear their words, Sonya felt their fear even more than when she had entered. "Are there any questions?"

"Are the symptoms at all similar?" someone called out.

"No, as I said earlier. The only common thing among all of them seems to be a fever. However, this is one of our body's standard defense mechanisms to most illnesses."

"Anyone outside of our group getting ill?"

"There's no evidence of any others, a.s.sociated or not with our group, getting ill in larger numbers or with similar pathologies."

"If they're so dissimilar, is there any reason to believe these illnesses are connected?"

"The statistical probability that this number of a small group should come down with seriously debilitating disease within the same timeframe is vanis.h.i.+ngly small. In fact, 'small' is giving it too much credit. That they're dissimilar actually makes it less likely, not more likely. When all factors are added in, the correct descriptive might be infinitesimal. If I covered this flattie screen behind me with zeros, it might not be enough. Any more questions?"

Sonya paused for just a few moments before moving on. "Item two: We have an opportunity for a coup in tapping into the corps' executive data nets. This isn't your standard icebreaker job, but rather a physical tap. Additionally, the data we may be obtaining could possibly be falsified, leading us into more than one trap. Any questions?"

"How did we find out about it?"

"We're keeping that tight to our vest at the moment. Let us just say our source gave us other information that allowed us to successfully complete seven other very profitable missions with zero losses."

"Why kinds of information are we likely to get?"

Augustine fielded this one. "Any new net we tackle gives us scads of useless information and a handful of gems. We feel this net will be the inverse, with a majority of the information truly valuable. Specifically what that information is, well, we can't tell right now." The auditorium fell silent except for the drips from the ubiquitous leaks from the ceiling.

"Normally, this type of decision would've remained at the executive action committee," explained Sonya, "but that committee is down by four members and this kind of action could decimate our action member ranks."

"f.u.c.k that, we're being decimated now," someone called out from the back.

"In all good faith," Tony threw in, "I should let you know the executive action committee did discuss this. They recognized the risks and the potential benefits. We agreed to bring it to the members.h.i.+p as a whole, but we also took our own vote. Seventy-five percent felt it should be done, the lowest of any action taken by the committee in nearly its entire existence."

"OK, if there's no more discussion, I will call for a vote. All those in favor of continuing with this action." A ma.s.s of hands flew up into the air, covering most occupied seats. "Those opposed?" Exactly eleven hands went into the air, less than ten percent of the a.s.sembly.

"Pa.s.sed. We'll go ahead with this mission. To do so, we need some help from you. We're in need of some specialized equipment. As I said, this isn't your standard icebreaker mission, nor is it a simple breaking and entering. Please avail yourself should you be called upon by the team doing the job. With that, I'll close the meeting."

For the next thirty minutes Sonya did the meet-and-greet thing. Tony watched from his seat as people came up to talk with her, but never too closely. Sonya slumped slightly between each new face and then stood up straight in alternation, like someone catching themselves just before falling asleep in cla.s.s. Not only that, but her hair had lost its black l.u.s.ter, like the faded look of a billboard out during one too many rainstorms. As she disengaged from her final conversation, her right hand twitched nervously. She dropped unceremoniously into the seat next to Tony wearing a frown of concentration.

"You look exhausted."

"More than you can imagine."

"I've been doing some research on witchcraft."

"Research? The library, right?"

"Yeah. I read that some witches can draw energy from those around them. I'd like to volunteer."

Sonya didn't laugh, but the corners of her mouth did manage to go up. "Well, in this case your book learning didn't do you one whit of good. That one's a fable."

"It was worth a try."

"The only way you can help me is to carry me home."

"I will if you want. Not like you're large enough to make more than an armful."

"Thanks, but no. Besides, we have something else to do."

"Oh?"

Sonya scanned the room briefly, but no one lingered. "I dissembled when I said I didn't have any more information about the disease. I do. The blood work shows a common base virus in each of those affected. The same base virus is in the vast majority of those in the audience."

"s.h.i.+t."

"In that you've mastered the understatement, Tony."

"So what's next? Who do you know in the influenza game?"

"Our organization is missing medical people. For whatever reason, we've never been able to recruit anyone significant in that field. I'm the closest. However, I personally have someone who owes me a favor. His s.h.i.+h Tzu nearly died of a respiratory infection. I think it's time to call in that marker."

"I can't think of a better time," Tony said, his damp a.s.s reminding him of another issue. "But can we stop by my place first? I have a wardrobe problem."

"It's a two," the tiny Korean said, looking at the virus projection on the wall. He flicked to yet another picture that bore similarities.

"Come again, Doc?" Tony said, sitting on the padded examination table.

"Sorry. Common name for one of the genetically engineered war viruses."

"A war virus? I don't think I ever heard of that."

"Probably not. It was a failed experiment in the ABC teams back some hundred years or so ago. The bio warfare folks were trying to create a plague that wouldn't wipe out the entire population, but rather stop after causing a bunch of damage. Best they came up with was a strain of influenza that would only be pa.s.sed on by two generations of hosts, hence the name."

"Want to give an example, Doctor?"

"Sure. Let us say we give a two to patient A, also known as patient zero. He's the original host. Once the disease has spread to a certain point, he can pa.s.s the disease to anyone he comes into contact with-let's call them patients B1 through B20. Note that it pa.s.ses just like any influenza, mostly large droplets or touch. All the B's are contagious when this disease progresses to a certain point. They pa.s.s it on to C1,1 through C20,20, if you can envision the matrix in your head. Note that the study I read showed a contagion rate of twenty individuals was nominal during normal activities, at least with an agent deadly enough to be effective for its original intent.

"By the time it reaches the C hosts, the virus has worn out its ability to replicate and is no longer contagious. The Cs can't give it to anyone. Note by this time A is dead and ninety percent of Bs are dying. The Cs will have about a seventy percent mortality. It worked out to an optimax of about four hundred total victims, with an overall mortality rate of seventy-one or seventy-two percent."

"Only four hundred people, eh?" Tony said sourly.

"Yes, sir. The risks weren't worth it. Bio weapons then, just as today, are only a good way to get the entire deploying country removed from the gene pool. They tried to work it up to a three transfers or higher, but it never scaled. Anyway, they pa.s.sed it on to the black ops folks. Never heard of it being used."

"You do now."

"Really?"

"Those are all blood samples from people I know," Sonya said quietly. Her eyes barely changed when she heard her own death sentence.

"Are you..." The doctor looked up to hear the continuous-and, in this case, rea.s.suring-whisper of a decontamination particle flow coming down from the ceiling.

"Yes."

"I'm sorry, Sonya. It'd take months to work out something akin to a vaccination. Note I said vaccination, not a cure, and any vaccine has about a two percent disease rate. It would just restart a disease that'll die out after two generations on its own."

"I know. Still, can you explain why it would manifest differently in each host?"

"Maybe because of the catalyst. Ah, your look reminds me I forgot to share that bit. This disease requires a trigger to start its actions. No catalyst, no disease. It'll lie dormant for years waiting. Some catalysts can be gengineered to be as common as oxygen, but others can be quite complex, such as the specific ethanol combination that makes up Bailey's whiskey, but not Jack Daniels. Others may be just any alcohol. If the catalyst possessed the latter's broadness, each set of symptoms would depend on the type of trigger."

"Doc, I have just two more minor requests and then I'll consider our debt wiped."

"Ask away."

"I need to know which of these samples shows patient zero and what catalyst this particular strain would trigger on."

"Give me two days."

Tony sweated despite the November chill. He huddled further under the active-camouflage cloak. His right hand flexed spasmodically around a machine pistol, chosen because its larger slugs were more effective against any of the possible armored targets today than those of a flechette gun. Two pairs of footsteps closed on his position and approached within a meter of his position before veering off along the fence line.

The GAM members knew they all remained undetected by the simple fact that no cries of alarm pierced the chill night air, nor were any weapons discharged. When Tony could no longer hear the footfalls, he risked lifting his poncho just enough to see the guards at over 100 hundred meters and moving away. The aerial purr from a hover drone caused Tony to freeze in place. Drone visuals focused like some primitive predator, mostly on motion. While he couldn't see it, he could hear it pause and hover in place.

"Just move on," Tony thought. "Nothing here but a patch of gra.s.s."

The drone's sounds finally receded. Tony risked another quick look to see it floating back the other direction, ignoring the patch of gra.s.s that his cloak imitated. Three clicks on his mic sounded the all-clear.

Martin and Andrea both came up from their nearly invisible positions. Despite the advances in electronic surveillance and visual aids, night remained a playground for the professional thief and saboteur. Tony's team wore black garb under their active camo, either of which offered little for the natural or electronic eye to focus on outside the brightness of day.

Without talking, the three walked slowly but cautiously over to the nearby building and began climbing up the patterned stone face. Mechanical tools, designed specifically for this mission, gripped the patterns themselves, allowing the trio to scale the building confidently, if slowly. They opened and slid through an unlocked, nondescript fourth floor window. Despite always being lit, bathrooms seemed to offer themselves as perfect points of entry with no surveillance, and often less than zero physical security. The GAM actively sought them out as entrances and exits.

Tony pointed at the stall second from the end. There they set up a dummy on the toilet and stored several sets of emergency equipment. Andrea wired an explosive to the stall door so that if it were forced open, the smoldering ruin would announce a compromised escape route. Martin changed clothes while Tony stood guard.

Martin, now wearing a business suit and a badly faked employee badge, walked brazenly out of the bathroom, just like a corpie who belonged. Tony and Andrea waited until the three clicks over their comms told them the camera outside pointed away. Almost as one they sprinted across the hall into its blind spot. The camera blithely spun from one side to the other, allowing the pair to sprint down the hall to an unmarked door just twenty meters from the bathroom. All this took place as Martin continued to walk up and around the next corner.

Andrea gave three clicks on her mic as she opened the simple lock in less than four-tenths of a second. After they raced in, Tony mostly closed the door, watching the camera through the crack in the door. The mindless Cyclops tracked back toward them and then away again. Tony clicked thrice and Martin sprinted around the corner and through the door.

The janitorial closet, like most of its ilk, measured three meters deep and two across. A drain sink hunkered down in the far corner sporting a faucet that leaked just one drop every few seconds. An automated floor polis.h.i.+ng bot silently occupied its charging cradle. Two meters of industrial shelving neatly displayed bathroom and cleaning products. Seven meters above their head, a plastic network trough clothed in Taste Dynamics security tape hung next to the exposed ceramcrete supports from the fifth floor.

Andrea pointed at an exposed bolt near the ceiling, probably left from the construction of the building a dozen or more years ago. Tony nodded and formed a cradle with his fingers. The tiny Andrea ran with a jump into his hands. Tony flung her upward, where she latched onto the support with one hand much stronger than that of most Olympic gymnasts. She quickly fastened her climbing belt to the bolt as a working point to hang from. Tony bent over and let Martin climb up on top of him. Andrea and Martin worked with the smooth and steady speed of seasoned professionals, with every move rehea.r.s.ed. The trickiest part of the operation involved nothing more than two trinkets eight centimeters long, bearing an official Taste Dynamics seal, artificially weathered to look more than two years old.

The two devices must simultaneously cut each of the unidirectional security optics, in two precise locations each. "In place," Tony heard whispered through his earpiece from his crouched position.

"In place here. Cut in three, two, one, cut."

"Augustine?"

"Good link on both devices," she replied from her far distant location. "No apparent deception from Nanogate. Definitely high-level information and controls. No direct connection to security except a one-way lockdown function, so I can't poll to see if this link compromised itself."

"Mission complete. Wrapping up and returning." Tony grunted quietly as Martin s.h.i.+fted his weight. Martin gave him the thumbs-up as he dismounted. They created a cradle of their arms and Andrea disconnected and dropped from her perch into it.

Martin cracked the door and watched for the camera to swing away before exiting. As a group they bolted back to the eye's blind spot and just moments later off to the bathroom. Reversing their procedures, they climbed down. The moment their feet hit the ground, their good luck came to an end.

"Excuse me. May I have your DNA, please?" The security bot trained a variety of weapons on them, but spoke in the most deferential of tones.

"My name is Tony Meyers, Manager Optical Systems, sixtieth floor," Martin said, trying the bluff they had rehea.r.s.ed for an interception inside.

"Thank you, Mr. Mey-"

Andrea struck first. Her machine pistol tore into the optical sensors on the robot's head as she dove to the side. Tony and Martin both fired simultaneously and with equal ineffectuality at the armored body.

"Must disable before its control gets picked up by human intervention, or the mission is blown," Martin called out.

Lightning bolts of pain struck along Tony's nervous system. The bot's Neural Amplification Device caused no physical damage, but Tony felt his body tear itself apart. The agony made him wish it literally tore him apart to limit his pain. He shook violently in place, unable to move from his position. While the torture limited his curiosity, his mind processed Martin and Andrea in similar straits.

After seemingly an eternity of electrical impulses that felt as if they were charring blackened pathways through his body, a tiny white man, his lower body encased in skintight lemon yellow, appeared behind the security bot. A single, deceptively slow swipe of his katana removed its head. Another swing split the body vertically in two, and the sword lodged itself a full meter into its ma.s.sive motive mechanism.

As suddenly as the pain had begun, it released. Tony gasped as the cessation hurt almost as bad as the source. Andrew and Andrea lay on the ground next to him. It took him several moments to regain body orientation enough to even realize he also lay p.r.o.ne.

"I know you're in pain," the little man said with a precision in his voice. "The pain was nerve inducted only. You must go before the security force arrives. You have thirty-six seconds."

"Thank you..." Tony gasped as the trio wrenched themselves off the ground.

"My name is unimportant. Nanogate, however, sends his regards. Now, please go. You now have twenty-eight seconds."

"But what about you?"

"Unfortunately, I've been seen. Your faces are known. I, however, must erase my DNA to prevent implications. Fifteen seconds." From out of nowhere the man produced a pair of nova grenades.

Tony wasted none of the remaining time on the horror he felt as he sprinted for their exit. Moments later, an ultra-brilliant flare of light announced that everything in a 60 meter radius of the small man ceased to exist. Tony wasted a brief glance back. He mentally sent a "G.o.dspeed" to their immolated savior.

The Portland rain caused the theatre to leak even more than during their last meeting. The rain always lifted Sonya's spirits in the past, but now it dragged her down even more into the gray oblivion she faced. In some places, the noise of water cascades covered up even nearby conversations like the sun overpowers a tiny penlight.

Saddened, she watched Tony converse with Carl and Andrew down in the front row. In a few moments everyone would share her world, a world that had diverged from the others since yesterday afternoon. Selfishly, she wondered if she should allow them to keep the gift of ignorance.

One of the constant aches in her side increased in intensity to something just shy of a burning brand. She couldn't continue to hide her own infirmity much longer. They must know the truth.