Was it a trick? Was he just trying to find out the details of what she had done in order to reverse the damage? How the hell was she supposed to know? The bottom line was, she’d been caught. There was no point to further scheming or protests. If Yousef Zarin was truly with her, he could potentially help her save millions of lives. If he was against her, she was already dead.
“You’re not going to tell Omidi?” she said, mindful of the ever-present cameras bolted to the ceiling above them.
“Omidi is a pig. This is an act of desperation — an evil perpetrated by politicians trying to cling to power and disguising it as piety. I will help you. But I’m afraid the path you’ve taken is of no use.”
He was right, of course. It had been her own act of desperation. In the unlikely event that she was given the time necessary to perfect the genetic modifications, they wouldn’t last. The parasite was too adaptable — if it were released in a place that didn’t have Africa’s geographic isolation, it would evolve with devastating speed, hiding its symptoms, modifying the way it spread, extending the contagion period in the people it infected.
In the back of her mind, she knew she should be cautious, but she so desperately needed someone to stand with her. To not be alone anymore.
“Is there a way out, Yousef?? Or a way to communicate with the outside world? I have friends who might be able to help.”
The Iranian shook his head. “We are a hundred meters underground and all messages leaving the facility have to be approved by Omidi personally.”
“Then we have to think of something else.”
He nodded. “And quickly. I suspect that the scientists who are no longer with us — the ones loyal to Omidi — are working on a way to transport the parasite outside the human body.”
“What? Are you sure?”
“He came to me and asked if I agreed that work on transportation should wait until the final genetic sequence was done and I supported you, but he asked questions that were too technical for him to have devised on his own. It was clear that his people were advising him that the modifications wouldn’t affect transportation modalities.”
“Then we have to get out of here, Yousef. We have to get help.”
“I’m afraid that’s impossible. However, we are not powerless.”
“What do you mean?”
“I was brought here years ago when this was a secret bioweapons lab and asked to write a report on safety issues. There were many problems — systems that are archaic or nonfunctional, poorly thought-out procedures, unrepaired cracks in the walls and ceiling. The government counted on the facility’s isolation. The closest population center is a village two hours’ drive from here.”
“As near as I can tell, they didn’t listen to you. This place is a disaster waiting to happen.”
He nodded. “Shortly after my inspection, America attacked Iraq because of the WMD program they believed was going on there. My government feared the same fate could befall Iran and shut the facility down.”
“So you still understand the weaknesses in the systems here?”
“Better than anyone, I imagine.”
She leaned back in her chair and stared past him, watching the other people in the room doing their best not to call attention to themselves. She wondered what they’d say if they knew what she and Yousef were about to doom them to.
74
The ancient Russian helicopter felt like it was going to rattle apart as it skimmed across the top of the ridge. Smith gripped the rusted instrument panel as the ground fell away and Farrokh dove hard toward the valley below.
He hadn’t been given access to his phone or any other method of communication, and all questions — about the search for Omidi and the parasite, about where Peter Howell had disappeared to, about when the hell they were going to
“There,” Farrokh shouted over the sound of the rotors. He pointed toward a group of fifty or so people who were still at the very edge of visibility, some in formations that were obviously military, others moving quickly over what may have been an obstacle course.
“Our newest training ground,” the Iranian explained, tracing a sweeping arc over the men and then setting down in the shadow of a towering cliff. “Before this, we were focused on purely peaceful protest techniques enhanced with technology. But the more successful we are, the more desperate and violent the government becomes.”
“So you’re developing a military arm?”
The Iranian shut down the engine and jumped out with Smith close behind. “It isn’t intended as an offensive force. I believe that if we’re patient, we can win without blood on our hands. Trying to depose the old men entrenched in our government would be a poor strategy.”
“Better to just wait for them to die and quietly replace them.”
“Just so,” Farrokh said. “Overt violence against the government would be a publicity disaster for us. I suspect it’s no different in the United States. No matter how despised the government, any attempt by a group to physically overthrow it would be wildly unpopular. On the other hand, having no capability to protect my followers seemed irresponsible.”
“Hope for the best but prepare for the worst,” Smith said. “It’s a policy that’s always worked for me.”
He shaded his eyes from the sun and watched two men fail to climb a ten-foot obstacle course wall, then scanned right to a line of prone men having mixed success shooting targets at fifty yards. An instructor paced impatiently behind them, occasionally stopping to adjust a poor position or give a piece of advice. His face was shaded by a broad straw hat, but the athletic grace and pent-up energy were unmistakable.
“Will you excuse me for a moment?” Farrokh said, breaking off and heading toward a knot of men studying something rolled out on a collapsible table.
Smith nodded and kept walking, cupping his hands around his mouth as he neared the range. “Peter!”
Howell turned and then barked something at the men on the ground. A moment later, they were running in formation toward a scaffold hung with climbing ropes.
“I was starting to worry about you, old boy,” he said, taking Smith’s hand and shaking it warmly.
“I could say the same. But you don’t look any worse for the wear.”
“A cot and three squares a day. What more can men like us ask for?”
It was an interesting philosophical question, but one better dealt with later. “What have we got?”
“Forty-eight men with a few months of combat training and nine army veterans, two of whom have a special forces background. They’re like me, though — a little long in the tooth.”
“What about the forty-eight? Can they fight?”
Howell frowned. “They’re dedicated and smart as hell. But I’ll bet at least half of them are carrying inhalers, if you take my meaning.”
“You go into battle with the army you have, not the army you wish you had.”
“Indeed. Just make sure you’re behind them when they start shooting.”
75
Jon Smith adjusted his stiff legs into a slightly less uncomfortable position on the hard ground. They were 180
