Pandemic (The Extinction Files #1)
A.G. Riddle
A Note about Fact & Fiction
PANDEMIC is a work of both fact and fiction. I have attempted to depict the CDC and WHO responses to a deadly outbreak in Africa as accurately as fiction allows. Several experts in the field contributed to this work. Any errors, however, are mine alone.
Much of the science included in PANDEMIC is real. In particular, research regarding the M13 phage and GP3 protein is 100% factual. Therapies developed from M13 and GP3 are currently in clinical trials, where they show great promise in curing Alzheimer’s, Parkinson’s, and amyloid disorders.
My website (agriddle.com) includes a fact vs. fiction section and other bonus content for PANDEMIC.
Thanks for reading.
- Gerry
A.G. Riddle
Prologue The US Coast Guard cutter had been searching the Arctic Ocean for three months, though none of the crew knew exactly what they were searching for. At their last port, the icebreaker had taken on a team of thirty scientists and a dozen crates filled with some very strange instruments. The crew was told nothing about their guests or the mysterious equipment. Day after day, ice broke and crumbled at the Healy’s bow, and the men and women aboard carried on with their duties, operating in radio silence as instructed.
The secrecy and monotony of the crew’s daily routine inspired an endless flow of rumors. They speculated while they took their meals and in their off-hours, while playing chess, cards, and video games. Their best guess was that they were searching for a submarine or sunken military ship—likely of American or perhaps Russian origin—or perhaps a cargo vessel carrying dangerous material. A few of the crew believed they were searching for nuclear warheads, fired decades ago during the Cold War but aborted over the Arctic Ocean.
At four a.m. Anchorage time, the phone on the wall by the captain’s bunk buzzed. The man grabbed it without turning the light on.
“Miller.”
“Stop the ship, Captain. We’ve found it.” The mission’s chief scientist, Dr. Hans Emmerich, hung up without another word.
After calling the bridge and ordering a full stop, Captain Walter Miller dressed quickly and made his way to the ship’s main research bay. Like the rest of the crew, he was curious about what it was. But most of all he wanted to know if what lay beneath them was a threat to the 117 men and women serving aboard his ship.
Miller nodded at the guards by the hatch and ducked inside. A dozen scientists were arguing by a bank of screens. He marched toward them, squinting at the images that showed the rocky sea floor bathed in a green hue. In the middle of several of the images lay a dark, oblong object.
“Captain.” Dr. Emmerich’s voice was like a clothesline, stopping Miller in his tracks. “I’m afraid we’re exceptionally busy at the moment.” Emmerich stepped in front of the Coast Guard officer and tried to corral him away from the screens, but Miller stood his ground.
“I came to see if we can provide any assistance,” Miller said.
“We’re quite capable, Captain. Please maintain your current position—and radio silence.”
Miller motioned toward the screens. “So you’ve been looking for a sub.”
Emmerich said nothing.
“Is it American? Russian?”
“We believe it’s a vessel of… multi-national sponsorship.”
Miller squinted, wondering what that meant.
“Now, Captain, you really must excuse me. We have a lot of work to do. We’ll be launching the submersible soon.”
Miller nodded. “Understood. Good luck, Doctor.”
When the captain was gone, Emmerich instructed two of the younger researchers to stand by the door. “Nobody else gets in.”
At his computer terminal, Emmerich sent an encrypted email.
Have located wreck believed to be RSV Beagle. Commencing search. Coordinates and initial imagery attached.
Thirty minutes later, Dr. Emmerich and three other scientists sat in the submersible, making their way to the ocean floor.
On the other side of the world, the cargo ship Kentaro Maru was moving through the Indian Ocean just off the coast of Somalia.
In a conference room adjacent to the ship’s bridge, two men had been arguing all afternoon, their shouts causing the crew to wince periodically.
A bridge officer knocked on the door and waited nervously. They ignored him and continued yelling at each other.
He knocked again.
Silence.
He swallowed hard and pushed the door open.
A tall man named Conner McClain stood behind the long conference table. His angry expression made his badly scarred face look even more hideous. He spoke quickly, with an Australian accent, his volume just below a yell.
“For your sake, this better blow my mind, Lieutenant.”
“Sir, the Americans have found the Beagle.”
“How?”
“They’re using a new seafloor mapping tech—”
“Are they on a plane, submarine, or ship?”
“A ship. The Healy. It’s a US Coast Guard icebreaker. They’re launching a submersible though.”
“Do they know what’s on the Beagle yet?”
“We don’t know. We don’t think so.”
“Good. Sink the icebreaker.”
The other man in the conference room spoke for the first time. “Don’t do this, Conner.”
“We have no choice.”
“We do. This is an opportunity.”
“Opportunity for what?”
“To show the world what’s aboard the Beagle.”
Conner turned to the young officer. “You have your orders, Lieutenant. Dismissed.”
When the door closed, Conner spoke quietly to the other man in the conference room. “We’re on the verge of the most important event in human history. We’re not going to let the barbarian hordes vote on it.”
Dr. Hans Emmerich held his breath when the submarine’s outer hatch opened.
Behind him, Dr. Peter Finch studied a laptop screen. “Clear. Seal’s good.”
“Radiation?” Emmerich asked.