Chapter Thirty-Three
The leader of the Center's surveillance team, Willem Linden, flipped quickly from image to image on the large monitor set up in front of him, swiftly checking the TV pictures transmitted by the sensor packages mounted on lampposts around La Courneuve. The images were nearly identical. Each revealed long stretches of pavement and avenues strewn with small, sad heaps of slime-stained clothing and whitened bone. Shots from several cameras, those deployed around the perimeter of the target area, showed wrecked police cars, fire trucks, and ambulances — most with their engines running and their roof lights still flashing. The first emergency crews, rushing to answer frantic calls for help, had driven straight into the invisible nanophage cloud and died with those they had come to aid.
Linden spoke into his mike, reporting to the distant Center. “There appear to be no survivors among those outside.”
“That is excellent news,” the faintly distorted voice of the man named Lazarus said. “And the nanophages themselves?”
“One moment,” Linden said. He entered a series of codes on the keyboard set up before him. The TV pictures disappeared from his screen, replaced by a series of graphs — one for each deployed sensor package. Every gray box included an air scoop and collection kit designed to gather a representative sample of the nanophages falling through the air around them. As the white-haired man watched, lines on each graph suddenly spiked upward. “Their self-destruct sequences have just activated,” he reported.
The spherical semiconductor shell of each Stage III nanophage contained a timed self-destruct mechanism to scramble its working core — the chemical loads that smashed peptide bonds. As these microscopic bomblets detonated, they released a small burst of intense heat. IR detectors inside the collection kits were picking up those bursts of heat.
Linden saw the lines on each graph drop back to zero. “Nanophage self-destruct complete,” he said.
“Good,” Lazarus replied. “Proceed to the final phase of Field Experiment Three.”
“Understood,” Linden said. He entered another series of command sequences on his keyboard. Flashing red letters appeared on his screen. “Charges activated.”
Several miles to the north and east, the demolition charges rigged at the base of each gray sensor box exploded. Fountains of blinding white flame soared high into the air as the white phosphorus filler in each charge ignited. In milliseconds, temperatures at the heart of each towering column of fire reached five thousand degrees Fahrenheit — consuming every separate element of the sensor boxes, inextricably mingling their metals and plastics with the now-molten steel and iron of the lampposts. When the smoke and flames faded away, there were no usable traces left of the instruments, cameras, and communications devices set out to study the slaughter in La Courneuve.
The persistent chirping of his phone roused President Sam Castilla from an uneasy, dream-filled sleep. He fumbled for his glasses, put them on, and saw from the clock on his nightstand that it was nearly four-thirty in the morning. The sky outside the White House family quarters was still pitch-black, untouched by any hint of the approaching dawn. He grabbed the phone. “Castilla here.”
“I'm sorry to wake you, Mr. President,” Emily Powell-Hill said. His national security adviser sounded both weary and depressed. “But there's a situation developing outside Paris that you need to know about. The first news is just hitting the airwaves — CNN, Fox, the BBC, all of them have the same rough details.”
Castilla sat up in bed, automatically glancing apologetically to his left for the early morning interruption before remembering that his wife, Cassie, was away on yet another international goodwill tour, this one through Asia. He felt a sharp pang of loneliness and then fought off the wave of sadness that came with it. The demands of the presidency were inexorable, he thought. You could not dodge them. You could not ignore them. You could only soldier on and try to honor the trust the people had placed in you. Among other things, that meant accepting periodic separations from the woman you loved.
He punched the TV remote, bringing up one of the several competing twenty-four-hour cable news channels. The screen showed the deserted streets of a suburb just outside Paris, filmed from a helicopter orbiting high overhead. Suddenly the picture zoomed in, revealing hundreds of grotesque clumps of melted flesh and bone that had once been living human beings.
'… many thousands of people are feared dead, though the French government steadfastly refuses to speculate on either the cause or the magnitude of this apparent disaster. Outside observers, however, have commented on the striking similarities between the horrible deaths reported here and those blamed on nanophages released from the Teller Institute for Advanced Technology in Santa Fe, New Mexico, only days ago. But so far, it is impossible to confirm their suspicions. Only a few civil defense units equipped with full chemical protective suits have been allowed to enter La Courneuve in a frantic quest for survivors and answers….'
Shaken to his core, Castilla snapped off the television. “My God,” he murmured. “It's happening again.”
“Yes, sir,” Powell-Hill replied grimly. “I'm afraid so.”
Still holding the phone, Castilla levered himself out of bed and threw a bathrobe over his pajamas. “Get everybody in here, Emily,” he said, forcing himself to sound calmer and more in control than he felt. “I want a full NSC meeting in the Situation Room as soon as possible.”
He disconnected and punched in a new number. The phone on the other end rang only once before it was picked up.
“Klein here, Mr. President.”
“Don't you ever sleep, Fred?” Castilla heard himself ask.
“When I can, Sam,” the head of Covert-One replied. “Which is far less often than I would like. One of the hazards of the trade, I fear — just like your job.”
“You've seen the news?”
“Yes, I have,” Klein confirmed. He hesitated. “As a matter of fact, I was just about to call you.”
“Concerning this new horror in Paris?” the president asked.
“Not exactly,” the other man said quietly. “Though I'm afraid that there may well be a connection. One I do not yet fully understand.” He cleared his throat. “I've just received a very troubling report from Colonel Smith. Do you remember what Hideo Nomura said about his father's belief that the CIA was waging a covert war on the Lazarus Movement?”
“Yes, I do,” Castilla said. “As I recall, Hideo first thought it was an indication of Jinjiro's increasingly shaky mental state. And we both agreed with him.”
'So we did. Well, I'm sorry to have to tell you that it seems Jinjiro Nomura was right,“ Klein said somberly. ”And we were both wrong. Dead wrong, Sam. I'm afraid that senior officials in the CIA and the FBI, and possibly other services, have been conducting an illegal campaign of sabotage, murder, and terrorism designed to discredit and destroy the Movement.'
“That's an ugly accusation, Fred,” Castilla said tightly. “A real ugly accusation. You'd better tell me exactly what you've got to back it up.”
The nation's chief executive listened in stunned silence while Klein recounted the damning evidence gathered by Jon Smith and Peter Howell — both in New Mexico and outside Hal Burke's country house. “Where are Smith and Howell now?” Castilla asked when the head of Covert-One finished bringing him up to speed.
“In a car on their way back to Washington,” the other man said. “They were able to break contact with the mercenaries who ambushed them roughly an hour ago. I dispatched support and transportation as soon as Jon was able to safely make contact with me.”
“Good,” Castilla said. “Now, what about Burke, Pierson, and their hired guns? We need to arrest them and start getting to the bottom of this mess.”
“I have more bad news there,” Klein said slowly. “My staff has been listening in on the police and fire department frequencies for that part of Virginia. Burke's farmhouse is on fire. Right now, the blaze is still out of control. And the local sheriff's department hasn't been able to find anyone responsible for all the shooting his
