programming caused them to close and lock in order to section off the building and contain any leak in as small an area as possible. I left the locking subroutine intact but introduced an error into the subroutine that causes them to shut.”
“So they’ll still be open when the deadbolt extends,” Sarie said. “It’ll block them open.”
“Exactly. The other change was more difficult because I had to create the code from scratch, but I just ran a simulation and it is fully functional.”
“The monkey cages?”
“Yes. The locks on the cages will retract and then be permanently frozen in that position.”
She nodded slowly, trying to will her heart to slow. For all intents and purposes, they were turning the facility into a tomb. One that would descend into unimaginable violence and chaos before going silent forever.
“Are you all right?” Zarin said, concern visible in his dark eyes.
“Yes.”
“It’s not a pleasant prospect, is it?”
“No. But I’m coming to terms with it.”
“As am I,” he said. “But I would like to have seen my family again. There is so much left unsaid when you think you have time.”
She smiled weakly, a bit queasy at the realization that there was no one she needed to see. The university would have a tasteful memorial when it became clear that she was never going to reappear. Her colleagues would shake their heads and say that they’d warned her about spending so much time alone in the bush. And then life would go on.
“If you’ll excuse me,” Zarin said, standing. “I’m going to pray.”
She watched him leave, wishing she’d inherited her father’s devotion to the Bible. A little comfort from above would be welcome in light of the facility’s complete lack of alcohol.
The coffee machine still had some dregs in it from last night, and she’d have to settle for that. It seemed a bit surreal to have reached the point in her life that there was no longer time to brew a fresh cup.
She wondered what the people who found them would think of what they saw: the blood, the demolished makeshift barricades, the human and animal corpses still tangled together.
The important thing, though, was that by then, the parasite would be long dead.
77
Sarie van Keuren sat in front of Zarin’s terminal listening to the endless drone of the monkeys and watching the clock march inevitably forward. She’d hoped he would come back — that she wouldn’t be left to do this alone. But she respected his desire for solitude.
It was hard to recognize herself in the reflection on the sleeping computer screen. The drawn features, dark- rimmed eyes, and dead expression seemed to belong to someone else. Someone who had wandered too far from home.
She wiped away a tear and touched the keyboard, bringing the monitor back to life. A few clicks of the mouse brought up the emergency lockdown button, and she hovered the cursor over it, thinking of Zarin and the family he was leaving behind. Of the family she would never have.
An insignificant twitch of her finger activated the alarm, overpowering the screams of the monkeys. She held her breath, resisting the urge to run. Better for it to be over quick.
But nothing happened.
Sarie turned in her chair and examined the closed door leading to the hallway. It should have automatically opened and the deadbolt should have extended. Confused, she clicked the button again. The alarm kept droning, but the door stayed closed and the monkeys remained safely in their cages.
The screen flickered and went blank for a moment, finally reverting to the log-in page. She typed in Zarin’s password and was trying to access the facility’s schematic when the door behind her finally opened.
The computer wasn’t responsible, though, and she jumped to her feet as three men with machine guns burst in. Omidi followed a moment later, dragging Yousef Zarin along behind him. The academic’s right leg was broken and it gave way when Omidi let go, leaving him bleeding and confused on the tile floor.
“Do you think I wasn’t watching you?” Omidi screamed. “Do you think I didn’t read the report Zarin wrote about this place?”
“I…,” Sarie stammered. “I thought one of the cage locks was defective. That—”
The Iranian rushed her, slamming an open hand into the side of her face hard enough to knock her to the ground. “We have people monitoring the computers! We saw him rewriting the security subroutines. Now tell me what
Sarie shook her head violently, trying to clear it. Zarin hadn’t talked. He’d managed to hold out despite the torture he’d endured.
“I…I infected the rest of the lab animals,” she said, sticking to the obvious. “We—”
“I know that,” Omidi said, aiming his pistol at Zarin. “You’ve been working day and night with the parasite. Tell me what you’ve done to it!”
“Nothing!”
Omidi pressed the barrel of his gun into the back of the injured scientist’s head. “Tell me or he dies!”
“That’s what I did — nothing!” Sarie said, being careful not to give away anything his believers couldn’t easily figure out on their own. “I haven’t really sped up the time to full symptoms; I’ve just been infecting the animals with larger and larger loads.”
“The great Sarie van Keuren could think of nothing better than that?” he said, curling a finger around the pistol’s trigger. “Give me the truth! Now!”
It was over. One last diversion that might save a tiny handful of lives was all that she had left. “Okay! Don’t hurt him. I was selecting for parasites that attack the corneas to add blindness to the symptomatology.”
She jerked at the sound of the gun, raising a hand to shield her eyes from the blood and brain matter splashing across her.
“You will show our scientist
Sarie stared down at the scientist’s body, no longer feeling fear. No longer feeling anything. Finally, she just raised her hand and extended her middle finger.
78
The truck fishtailed in a bog of deep sand, causing the canvas at the back to flutter open. Through it, Peter Howell could see a similar vehicle close behind, straining to keep up. It’d be a miracle if it made it. Or, perhaps more accurately, it would be a miracle if any of them made it.
He pulled the canvas closed again and scanned the faces of the men crammed in among the sandbags used to make the truck heavier. The stoicism and laser-like focus he’d found so comforting in the SAS were completely absent. Every expression told a different story: hatred — for him, for the British in general, for the Iranian government. Fear. Self-doubt.
A rousing pep talk was probably in order, but since only a few of the men spoke English, it probably wouldn’t have much impact. Instead, he peered out a small hole cut in the canopy, squinting into the sun at the approaching guard towers. There was one on either side of the entry gate, each armed with a well-placed machine gun and manned by soldiers he suspected were far more seasoned than any of his boys — many of whom were now
