happen if word got out. And that’s just for this itchy thing, the bugs-under-the-skin thing. Just imagine what the response is going to be like if people see pictures of the triangles.”
“Or get wind of grannies slicing up their kids, then playing all Scar-face with the cops,” Otto said. “Psycho grandmamas would definitely upset Mister and Missus Average American.”
Amos nodded. “Murray does have a point, I suppose. There were a dozen Morgellons cases five years ago, now there are over fifteen hundred, reported in all fifty states and in Europe.”
“So why haven’t we heard more about the triangles?” Margaret asked.
“We know this isn’t delusional. We’ve seen the little buggers, and we’ve seen the chemical imbalances in Brewbaker’s brain. This is real, Amos.”
“Because most of the cases are delusional, but not all. It’s the fibers, Margaret. There are documented cases with blue, red, black and white fibers that are made up of cellulose. There have been three instances where doctors had the fibers analyzed over the past four years, and guess what-they had the exact chemical composition as Brewbaker’s. Exact, as in down to the molecules.”
“Your fizzles.”
Amos smiled. “Yes, the fizzles. We have the triangle cases we’ve seen in the past few weeks. Let’s assume those are cases where the organism made it to the larval stage. However, this Morgellons research indicated there have been multiple cases, over several years, where we see the fibers, where we see fizzles. It’s possible there were full-blown larval infections before the last few weeks, sure, but if they existed, no one has heard about them.”
Agent Otto whipped himself in circles. He seemed to be trying to see how many spins he could get off of one push. “So the fibers have been around for a while, but only now are reaching this larval stage? Does that mean they’re evolving?”
Margaret started to speak, a kind of automatic reaction to correct a layman’s guess at science, but stopped. Otto oversimplified it, but his concept was right on the money.
“Amos,” Margaret said, “has this task force been mapping the occurrences of the actual fibers?”
Amos shrugged. “I would imagine so, but I’m not sure. We’d have to talk to them.”
Margaret flipped through the pages. “Doctor Frank Cheng. He’s the project lead. I need to talk to this man. I don’t know if Murray will let me call him.”
“Margaret, may I say something?” Otto asked.
“Sure.”
He spun once in his chair, then gripped the desk with both hands, smiling the whole time. “You seem to let people push you around. You ever notice that?”
She felt her face turning red. Just because she had a problem, and everyone knew she had a problem, didn’t mean Otto had to actually talk about it.
“That’s none of your business,” she said.
“Because it seems to me you’re a lot stronger than you think. We’re dealing with some pretty crazy stuff here, am I right?”
She nodded.
“So if you’ve got something you feel we need to do, maybe you should stop being such a pussy.”
“Excuse me?”
Amos slapped the coffee table. “Preach on, Brother Otto!”
“I said, Margaret, stop being such a pussy.”
“I heard what you said.”
“So stop letting Murray tell you what to do.”
Margaret’s jaw dropped. “Are you completely deranged? He’s the deputy director of the CIA, man! How can I not let him tell me what to do?”
“So he’s the deputy director. Do you know what you are?”
“Tell her!” Amos screamed. He stood and raised his hands to the sky.
“Tell the good sister what she is!”
“Yes, Agent Otto, please tell me what I am.”
Otto spun twice, then spoke. “ You are the lead epidemiologist studying a new, unknown disease with horrific implications.”
“Horrific!” Amos echoed.
“You are short-staffed, and you can’t get the experts you should have.”
“It’s a sin!” Amos said.
“Amos,” Margaret said, “just knock it the fuck off.”
Amos smiled, then picked up a magazine off the coffee table and sat down, pretending to read.
“Margaret, he put you in charge of this. What will happen if you insist on talking to this Cheng guy? Do you think Murray is going to bring in someone else to replace you?”
She started to speak, then stopped. No. Murray wouldn’t do that. Not because she was the end-all be-all, but because he wanted to keep this tight as a drum. Murray needed her.
“So,” Otto said as he gave one strong push. He started spinning, speaking one syllable on each revolution, almost as if he’d read her mind.
“Use…what…you…have.”
Her anger faded.
Agent Clarence Otto was right.
26.
The seedlings continuously monitored development, fed by data from the roaming readers. At a certain point, the seedlings’ checklists determined that the readers’ jobs were completed. A chemical signal rolled through the host. The readers went through a phase change. With a simple adjustment, the sawlike jaws dropped off and the balls sealed up tight.
Inside the balls, death started to brew.
They inflated, filling themselves with a new chemical compound. Herders moved the chemical balls throughout the framework, wedging them here, wedging them there.
Where the jaws had been, a crusty cap appeared. The deadly compound ate away at the inside of the cap, but the seedlings flooded the structure with another chemical that added thickness to the cap from the outside. It was a delicate balance, but as long as the seedlings remained “alive,” kept making the chemical, the poison balls would remain sealed.
If the seedlings ceased to function, however, the caps would disintegrate and the vile catalyst inside would spread through the framework, dissolving it, the modified stem cells and all the cells they had created. Cells would blacken, die, then dissolve, the resulting waste material moving on to poison other cells. The ensuing chain reaction would dissolve every soft tissue it reached-framework, muscle, skin, organs…everything.
To stop this from happening, the seedlings had to survive.
But this host had no way of knowing that.
27.
“I’m sorry, Mister Phillips,” the doctor said. “He just slipped away. We thought we had him out of the woods, and then he was just gone.”
