some hoax.
“Thirteen, and I certainly remember you.” She was trying to keep it light. “What I'm interested in is that time on the Caraibo River. I was with a group of anthropology undergrads on a field trip from Syracuse while you were collecting potential medicinal materials. I'm calling to ask about the virus you found in those remote tribesmen, the natives the others called the Monkey Blood People.”
In his large corner office at the other end of the line, Victor Tremont felt a jolt of fear. Just as quickly, he repressed it. He swiveled in his desk chair to stare out at the lake, which was shimmering like mercury in the early-morning light. On the far side, a thick pine forest stretched and climbed to the high mountains in the distance.
Annoyed that she had surprised him with such a potentially devastating memory, Tremont continued to swivel. He kept his voice friendly. “Now I remember you. The eager blond young lady dazzled by science. I wondered whether you'd go on to become an anthropologist. Did you?”
“No, I ended up with a doctorate in cell and molecular biology. That's why I need your help. I'm working at the army's infectious diseases research center at Fort Detrick. We've come across a virus that sounds a lot like the one in Peru ? an unknown type causing headaches, fever, and acute respiratory distress syndrome that can kill otherwise healthy people within hours and produce a violent hemorrhage in the lungs. Does that ring a bell, Dr. Tremont?”
“Call me Victor, and I seem to recall your first name is Susan… Sally… something like…?”
“Sophia.”
“Of course. Sophia Russell. Fort Detrick,” he said, as if writing it down. “I'm glad to hear you remained in science. Sometimes I wish I'd stayed in the lab instead of jumping to the front office. But that's water over a long- ago dam, eh?” He laughed.
She asked, “Do you recall the virus?”
“No. Can't say I do. I went into sales and management soon after Peru, and probably that's why the incident escapes me. As I said, it was a long time ago. But from what I recall of my molecular biology, the scenario you suggest is unlikely. You must be thinking of a series of different viruses we heard about on that trip. There was no shortage. I remember that much.”
She dug the phone into her ear, frustrated. “No, I'm certain there was this one single agent that came from working with the Monkey Blood People. I didn't pay a lot of attention at the time. But then, I never expected to end up in biology, much less cell and molecular. Still, the oddness of it stuck with me.”
“ `The Monkey Blood People'? How bizarre. I'm sure I'd recall a tribe with such a colorful name as that.”
Urgency filled her voice. “Dr. Tremont, listen. Please. This is vital. Critical. We've just received three cases of a virus that reminds me of the one in Peru. Those natives had a cure that worked almost eighty percent of the time ? drinking the blood of a certain monkey. As I recall, that's what astonished you.”
“And still would,” Tremont agreed. The accuracy of her memory was unnerving. “Primitive Indians with a cure for a fatal virus? But I know nothing about it,” he lied smoothly. “The way you describe what happened, I'm certain I'd remember. What do your colleagues say? Surely some worked in Peru, too.”
She sighed. “I wanted to check with you first. We have enough false alarms, and it's been a long time since Peru for me, too. But if you don't remember…” Her voice trailed off. She was terribly disappointed. “I'm certain there was a virus. Perhaps I'll contact Peru. They must have a record of unusual cures among the Indians.”
Victor Tremont's voice rose slightly. “That may not be necessary. I kept a journal of my trips back then. Notes on the plants and potential pharmaceuticals. Perhaps I jotted down something about your virus as well.”
Sophia leaped at the suggestion. “I'd appreciate your looking. Right away.”
“Whoa.” Tremont gave a warm chuckle. He had her. “The notebooks are stored somewhere in my house. Probably the attic. Maybe the basement. I'll have to get back to you tomorrow.”
“I owe you, Victor. Maybe the world will. First thing tomorrow, please. You have no idea how important this could be.” She gave him her phone number.
“Oh, I think I know,” Tremont assured her. “Tomorrow morning at the latest.”
He hung up and rotated once more to gaze out at the brightening lake and the high mountains that suddenly seemed to loom close and ominous. He stood up and walked to the window. He was a tall man of medium build, with a distinctive face on which nature had played one of her more kindly tricks: From a youth's oversized nose, gawky ears, and thin cheeks, he had grown into a good-looking man. He was now in his fifties, and his features had filled out. His face was aquiline, smooth, and aristocratic. The nose was the perfect size ? straight and strong, a fitting centerpiece for his very English face. With his tan skin and thick, iron-gray hair, he drew attention wherever he went. But he knew it was not his dignity and attractiveness that people found so appealing. It was his self- confidence. He radiated power, and less-assured people found that compelling.
Despite what he had told Sophia Russell, Victor Tremont made no move to go home to his secluded estate. Instead, he stared unseeing at the mountains and fought off tension. He was angry… and annoyed.
Sophia Russell. My God, Sophia Russell!
Who would have thought? He had not even recognized her name initially. In fact, still did not remember any of the names of that insignificant little student group. And he doubted any would recall his. But Russell had. What kind of brain retained such detail? Obviously the trivial was too important to her. He shook his head, disgusted. In truth, she was not a problem. Just a nuisance. Still, she must be dealt with. He unlocked the secret drawer in his carved desk, took out a cell phone, and dialed.
An emotionless voice with a faint accent answered. “Yes?”
“I need to talk to you,” Victor Tremont ordered. “My office. Ten minutes.” He hung up, returned the cell phone to the locked drawer, and picked up his regular office phone. “Muriel? Get me General Caspar in Washington.”
CHAPTER THREE
As employees arrived at USAMRIID that Monday morning, word quickly spread through the campus's buildings of the weekend's fruitless search to identify and find a way to contain some new killer virus. The press still had not discovered the story, and the director's office ordered everyone to maintain media silence. No one was to talk to a reporter, and only those working in the labs were kept in the loop about the agonizing quest.
Meanwhile, regular work still had to be done. There were forms to be filed, equipment to be maintained, phone calls to be answered. In the sergeant major's office, Specialist Four Hideo Takeda was in his cubicle sorting mail when he opened an official-looking envelope emblazoned with the U.S. Department of Defense logo.
After he read and reread the letter, he leaned over the divider between his cubicle and that of Specialist Five Sandra Quinn, his fellow clerk. He confided in an excited whisper, “It's my transfer to Okinawa.”
“You're kidding.”
“We'd given up.” He grinned. His girlfriend, Miko, was stationed on Okinawa.
“Better tell the boss right away,” Sandra warned. “It means teaching a new clerk to deal with the goddamned absentminded professors we got here. She'll be pissed. Man, they're all out of their minds today anyway with this new crisis, aren't they?”
“Screw her,” Specialist Takeda swore cheerfully.
“Not in my worst nightmare.” Sgt. Maj. Helen Daugherty stood in her office doorway. “Would you care to step in here, Specialist Takeda?” she said with exaggerated politeness. “Or would you prefer I beat you senseless first?”
An imposing six-foot blonde with the shoulders to offset all her whistle-producing curves, the sergeant major looked down with her best piranha smile at the five-foot-six Takeda. The clerk hurried out of his cubicle with a nervous show of fear not entirely faked. With Daugherty, as befitted any good sergeant major, you were never fully sure you were safe.
“Close the door, Takeda. And take a seat.”
