Wentz looked duped. “Why would they think that?”
“Well…because it’s true. We’ve been doing it for decades—saves us lots of money. Why send up our own missions when we can tap and analyze
“Cloak and Dagger is alive and well,” Wentz supposed. “The United States—the world’s best friend.”
Ashton ignored the sarcasm. “General, a year ago, the joint Japanese/Russian mission was initiated. A collection probe—QSR4—landed in the Tharsus Bulge on Mars and immediately began to relay findings back to earth—”
“And to
“Yes. And what the collector discovered was more than bacterial fiber fossils but…
“You’re not joking, are you?” Wentz asked.
“No, General, we’re not,” Jones said. “The mission’s analysis sensors positively identified the organisms as
Wentz frowned. “Do I look like a microbiologist?”
Ashton crossed her legs in the chair. “What he means, sir, is that the CDC analysis of the molecular specs strongly suggests that the Tharsus bacteria is host to a virus more hazardous than anything ever found on earth.”
Wentz stared at them through a dark interlude.
“In about six months,” Jones went on, “the return stage of the QSR4 mission is going to pick up that collector and bring it back to earth.”
“So tell them to scrub the pickup,” Wentz made the most obvious suggestion. “I think if you told them they were bringing a deadly virus back to earth, they wouldn’t have to think long before they aborted the entire mission.”
“We can’t do that, General. That would acknowledge what they’ve suspected all along—that our own agents have been planting tap-sensors in their probes. It would ruin foreign relations.”
Wentz almost laughed. “Well then
“It’s not that simple, sir,” Ashton said.
Wentz considered this. “Fine, then do what you Big Brother guys do best. Destroy the return stage before it gets back—”
“That’s even less serviceable,” Jones countered. “It would be plainly detectable as a hostile attack on the geostatic DPS net. They’d never believe it was an accident, and since the U.S. is the only country in the world with the sufficient anti-satellite technology to pull something like that off—”
“They’d know it was us,” Wentz agreed.
“And considering the upcoming trade agreements pending in Congress,” Ashton reminded, “we’d lose all economic ties with the Japanese forever, and the Russians would more than likely freeze all U.S. investment assets currently in place.”
“So you see our dilemma,” Jones said. “If we sabotage their return mission on its way back, we risk an economic war that could put us in a true depression. And if we tell them of our knowledge of the nature of the bacteria—that we’ve secretly installed the equivalent of analytical eaves-dropping devices on their space missions, then the news will hit every wire service in the world, and we’ll lose every ally we have.”
Wentz couldn’t believe the knit-picking here. “What are you guys? Republicans? You consider positive U.S. foreign relations more important than preventing a potential plague?”
“It wouldn’t be a
Jones’ voice grated, “Millions, and potentially
Wentz shook his head in complete outrage. “So like I just told you. To hell with foreign relations and the economy. This is
“Again,” Jones said, “it’s not quite that simple. Don’t you read the papers?”
“Hell, no,” Wentz said. “They’re all bias. I watch Fox News, that’s it.”
“Well, then, you might be aware that the Russian parliament is squeezing the executive branch to sign a non-aggression pact with Red China.”
“Sure, but it’ll never happen. Putin would never bend to that. He’d disband the entire parliament first. He’d shut down the government.”
“Not if he’s dead,” Ashton said. “And not if his government is replaced.”
Wentz’s eyes narrowed. “I guess you people know something I don’t.”
“Putin’s government is on the verge of collapse,” Jones said. “The opposition parties have been trying to kill him for two years. That last heart attack? It wasn’t natural causes. A radical element of the GRU managed to get some potassium dichlorate in his food. It was a U.S. team of cardiologists from Johns Hopkins that saved his life. The fact of the matter is, Putin won’t last till Christmas; his government will topple.”
Ashton again: “And whatever party takes over will sign the pact with Red China because it’s the easiest way to cut defense funding and pump it into the economy, avoid a revolution. China is still technically our enemy, and if they sign a pact with Russia?”
“Russia becomes a potential enemy again too,” Wentz realized. “And the Cold War starts all over again.”
Jones stood up, aiming a wooden pointer at the mural depicting the QSR4’s return trip to earth. “Exactly, and if Russia and Red China become allies…what do you think they’ll do if they find out that return-stage is bringing back a virus deadlier than anything the planet has ever known?”
Wentz’s eyes widened to the size of slot-machine slugs. “They might
“That’s right, General,” Ashton said. “They might try to contain it, and preserve it as a weapon.”
“A weapon we’d have no defense against,” Jones tacked on.
Ashton looked right into Wentz’s eyes. “So, General, we’re asking you to undertake a mission which would circumvent what is potentially the worst catastrophe in human history, an event that could wipe out the human race…”
—
CHAPTER 9
“They’re always best when you catch them yourself,” Pete said, then smacked a claw with the wooden mallet.
“They sure are,” Joyce Wentz agreed. The kitchen swam in spicy aromas of Old Bay and vinegar. A quick glance out the window showed the yard darkening, the sun going down. It was nearing 9 p.m. “And you did a great job cooking them,” she added. “These are the best I’ve had.”
The heap of cooked crabs lay on the newspaper-covered table. They were starting to get cool. Joyce suspected that her son knew full well that she was placating him—anything to avoid the issue. Soon she couldn’t think of anything to say as they sat there in silence plucking tender white crabmeat. The hardest part was simply containing her rage.
