CHAPTER 85
CDC
Atlanta, Georgia
Dr. Paul Brenner slowly opened the door to his nephew’s private hospital room.
The boy lay still. Panic ran through Paul.
A second passed, and Matthew’s chest rose slightly.
A breath.
Paul gently pulled the door closed.
“Uncle Paul!” Matthew called as he rolled over and coughed.
“Hey, Matt. I was just checking on you.”
“Where’s Mom?”
“Your mother’s… still helping me with something.”
“When can I see her?”
Paul froze, not sure what to say. “Soon,” he mumbled absently.
Matthew sat up and broke into another fit of coughing, spraying tiny specks of blood onto his hand.
Paul stared at the droplets of blood that slowly began to flow across the boy’s hand, coalescing into small ravines of red.
Matthew eyed it, then wiped his hand on his shirt.
Paul grabbed his arm. “Don’t wipe it—just… wait, I’m going to get a nurse.” He rose and fled the room. He heard Matthew call to him, but Paul was already out of the room, walking quickly. He couldn’t watch, couldn’t stay in the room another second. I’m finally breaking, losing it, he thought.
He wanted to go to his office, lock the door, and wait until the whole thing, the whole world was over.
His assistant rose at the sight of him. “Dr. Brenner, you have a message—”
He waved his hand at her as he quickly paced past. “No messages, Clara.”
“It’s from the World Health Organization,” she said. She held up two pieces of paper. “And another from British intelligence.”
Paul snatched the pages out of her hand and read them quickly. Then he read them again. He turned and stumbled into his office, his eyes still on the pages. What does it mean?
He closed the door and quickly dialed Kate Warner. The sat phone didn’t ring. Straight to voicemail. Was it off? Out of reception?
“Kate, it’s Paul. Uh, Brenner.” Of course she knew which “Paul.” Somehow even leaving a message for Kate Warner made him nervous. “Look, I heard from my contact at WHO. It seems there’s no record of a Dr. Arthur Janus. And I also heard from British intelligence. They have no agents named Adam Shaw. They even checked the classified records.” He paused, not sure what to add. “I hope you’re okay, Kate.”
Dorian slammed the helicopter door and watched the hordes of swarming people grow smaller as he and his special ops team rose above Valletta.
“What’s our destination, sir?” the pilot called back to him.
Dorian pulled out his phone. No messages.
“They went west,” he shouted. “We’ll have to look for their helicopter. Try the cities first.”
In the catacombs of St. Paul, below the city of Rabat, Kamau walked in front of Janus. The tall African led the way with an assault rifle. The beam from the flashlight he’d strapped to the gun barely illuminated the wide tunnel. The glow from the lantern Janus carried behind him didn’t help much.
“Where are you from, Mr. Kamau?” Janus asked quietly.
Kamau hesitated, then said, “Africa.”
“What part?”
Another pause, as if Kamau didn’t want to answer. “Kenya, outside Nairobi. Now we should—”
“Near the birthplace of the modern human race. I think it only fitting that we should have someone from east Africa on our expedition, hunting for the one African that changed history, who set humanity on its course.”
Kamau turned back, shining the flashlight in Janus’s face. “We should remain silent.”
Janus held a hand up to shield his eyes. “Very well.”
In another part of the catacombs, Dr. Shen Chang walked just ahead of Adam Shaw. The British soldier had made Chang walk first. “For safety,” Shaw had said.
Chang stopped and swung the lantern back to face Shaw.
“Are you recording our path?” Chang asked.
“And leaving breadcrumbs, Doctor. Keep moving.”
The lantern light only half-illuminated Shaw’s face, and in that instant Chang thought the man, who was likely in his early thirties, momentarily appeared much younger.
The face—that younger face—Chang knew it. Where had he seen it?
Years, decades ago. Right after he had delivered Kate from her mother’s body, from the tubes.
In the memory, Howard Keegan, the Director of Clocktower and one of two members of the Immari council, sat behind a massive oak desk in his office. Chang fidgeted nervously in the chair across from him.
“I want you to do a thorough exam of the boy you extracted from the tube. His name is Dieter Kane, but we call him Dorian Sloane now. He’s having some trouble getting… acclimated.”
“Is he—”
Keegan pointed his finger at Chang. “You tell me what’s wrong with him, Doctor. Don’t overlook anything. Just give him a full workup and come back here, understand?”
When Chang had finished the examination, he returned to Keegan’s office, taking the same seat in front of the gargantuan desk. He unfolded his pad and began making his report. A few significant scars on his lower back and buttocks, indicative of past severe corporal punishment, perhaps two or three years before present. Physically, quite fit. Two centimeters taller than the average for his age. Several recent bruises, likely connected… Chang looked up. “Do you suspect abuse?”
“No, for God’s sake, Doctor! He’s the abuser. What the hell is wrong with him?”
“I’m afraid I don’t—”
“Listen to me. Sixty years ago, when he went into that tube, he was the sweetest kid in the world. When he came out, he was as mean as a damn snake. He’s a borderline sociopath. That tube did something to him, Doctor, and I want to know what it is.”
Chang just sat there, unsure what to say.
The side door to the study burst open, and Dorian ran in.
“Stay out, Dorian! We’re working here.”
Another boy ran in behind Dorian, bumping into him. He peeked out from behind Dorian’s shoulder. The face.
The two boys retreated, pulling the heavy door closed behind them.
Keegan sat back in his chair, pinching the bridge of his nose.
Chang hated the silence. “The other boy…”
“What?” Keegan leaned forward. “Oh, he’s my son, Adam. I’m raising Dorian as his brother, hoping it will help give him some stability, some sense of family. Dorian’s own family is dead. But… I’m scared to death that Dorian’s darkness, his sickness, will infect Adam, corrupt him. And this is a sickness, Doctor. Something is very, very wrong with him.”
Chang was back in the stone corridor, the memory gone, the dim light returned. He stared at Adam Shaw, the half of his face he could see. Yes, it was him. Dorian’s adoptive brother. Keegan’s son.
“What?” Shaw demanded.
Chang took a step back. “Nothing.”
Shaw closed the distance on him. “Did you hear something?”
“No… I…” Chang grasped for words, some excuse. Think. Say something.
Shaw smiled slowly. “You remember me, don’t you, Chang?”
Chang froze. Why can’t I move? It was like some invisible snake had bitten him and a paralyzing poison was coursing through every inch of his body.
“I was wondering if you would. It’s too bad. Martin remembered me too.”
“Help!” Chang yelled out, a split second before Shaw drew the knife from his belt and slashed quickly across Chang’s throat and windpipe, spraying blood on the stone wall and sending Chang to the ground, gurgling, clasping his opened throat, fighting for a breath that wouldn’t come.
Shaw wiped the bloody knife on Chang’s torso, then stepped over the dying man. Shaw placed an explosive on the floor of the tunnel, quickly armed it, and ran deeper into the tunnel.
Kamau stopped at the sound. It sounded like a cry for help. He turned to Janus. The man had something. A weapon?
Kamau raised his rifle.
A blinding light, brighter than anything Kamau had ever seen, assaulted him. A sound, not a vibration, some sort of tuning fork went off in his head. He fell to his knees. What was Janus doing to him? He felt like his head was swelling, as if his brain were exploding from the inside out.
Janus stepped past him without a word.
The cry for help stopped David in his tracks. Who was it? The killer was making his move.
The sound was close. An adjacent tunnel? An intersecting tunnel?
Kate’s voice was a whisper. “David—”
“Shhh. Keep moving.” He led the way, racing through the tunnel now. Before, David had paused at every opening, sweeping his assault rifle left and right.
Now speed was the key, putting some distance between them and the sound, getting to a safe, defensible position.
Up ahead, the tunnel ended in a large burial room with a stone table that had been carved out of the rock.
David slowed his pace, his mind wondering what to do. Turn back?
He came to a stop, and an eerie feeling ran up his back. He moved to turn, but a voice called out, “Don’t move.”