“The air strike on Oakland was called in response to an outbreak, and did not involve the president,” said the man from the CDC. I managed not to cringe at the sound of his voice. “Consider your words before you make accusations.”
“It was a pretty convenient outbreak, considering one of your people had just shown up, running for her life,” snapped Shaun. “Don’t try to bullshit us, okay? We all know we’re not leaving this building alive. So there’s no point in fucking with our heads.”
“Shaun.” President Ryman actually sounded offended. “Please don’t make assumptions. You’re absolutely going to leave here alive. At a certain point, it became inevitable that we’d bring you here to fully explain the situation.”
“Does that point have anything to do with us having secure footage of a living clone of Georgia Mason running around Seattle?” asked Alaric. “I ask purely out of academic curiosity, you understand. I know you’re going to lie through your teeth.”
President Ryman sighed. “You don’t trust me anymore, do you?”
“Have you given us a reason to?” I asked.
“You’re alive, Georgia. I’d think that might be enough to buy me a little patience.”
“You were planning to have me killed and replaced with a more tractable version. I think that explains a little crankiness.”
The man from the CDC cleared his throat. “It doesn’t matter who’s angry with whom. You are here to have the true nature of the Kellis-Amberlee infection explained. With that in mind, I believe it’s time we make you understand why you have been remiss in your lines of inquiry.”
“Ever notice how people like to use five-dollar words when they know they’re wrong?” asked Becks, of no one in particular.
President Ryman shook his head. “Arguing is getting us nowhere. This way.” He gestured down the hall before starting to walk. His Secret Servicemen promptly moved to get behind us, making it clear that we’d be herded along if we didn’t come on our own.
We went.
The hallway led to a room with walls covered by crystal display screens. Two of them were already showing the structure of the Kellis-Amberlee virus. Another showed an outline of a generic human body. Ryman walked to the large table at the center of the room and stopped, clearly unhappy, as he turned to the man from the CDC.
“I believe that, at this point, I must remind you that national security depends on your silence,” said the man from the CDC. “Nothing said here can leave this room.”
“Uh, reporters,” said Becks. “Or did you forget?”
“Even reporters have things they care about,” he said, with chilling calm. “Perhaps you feel immortal. Perhaps you consider martyrdom something to aspire to—a thrilling entry for your much-lauded ‘Wall.’ But you have a family, don’t you? Rebecca Atherton, of the Westchester Athertons. Your youngest sister was married this past summer. Katherine. A very pretty girl. It’s a pity they live in such a remote area.”
Becks’s eyes widened before narrowing into angry slits, filled with a murderous rage. “Don’t you even—” she began.
“And you, Mr. Kwong. Your sister is your only remaining family. She’s currently in the custody of Stacy and Michael Mason—not people renowned for their ability to keep children alive, when you stop to think about it.”
For possibly the first time in my life, original or artificial, the urge to defend the Masons rose inside me. “You’ve made your point,” I snapped. “We’ll keep our mouths shut. Now do you want to explain what the hell is so important that you need to tell us your evil plan before you have us all shot?”
“It’s not an evil plan, Georgia; it’s the truth.” With those words, President Ryman went from sounding weary to sounding utterly heartbroken. “You’ve become too associated with this whole situation, and that means we need you. You’re the ones who tell the truth, and the ones who fell off the radar when things turned bad. People will believe you.”
“Even when we’re lying to them?”
His silence was all the answer I needed.
“Please sit,” said the man from the CDC.
Grudgingly, I sat. The others did the same. Only the man from the CDC remained standing.
“The first thing you need to understand is that the KA virus, being manmade, bonds tightly to anything it encounters,” he began, in the sort of easy, lecturing tone that all doctors seem to learn in medical school. Ignoring the tension in the room, he produced a remote from his pocket and pointed it at the nearest screen. The Kellis-Amberlee model displayed there began to rotate. “This tendency created the hybridized virus to begin with. And it is what has complicated our cure for the infection.”