The Genesis Plague (2010)

explain that?’

‘Maybe they burned the clothes, Yaeger,’ Crawford said. ‘Maybe they were a bunch of sick perverts who liked playing games with naked Kurds. Does it really matter? And we both know that soldiers have sticky fingers, would have confiscated any jewellery and valuables. For all we know, these bones might have been exhumed from another site and moved here for safekeeping.’

Jason wasn’t buying the colonel’s argument, but held back a rebuttal. Crawford was clearly determined to see things his way.

‘Wait …’ the engineer interjected. ‘Look at this,’ she said.

Crawford and Jason turned their attention back to the screen.

‘See this?’ she said, pointing to something on the wall just to the right of where the bot had entered the cave. ‘Looks similar to the pictures and writing on the wall of the entry tunnel.’

Jason examined the image. A section of the wall had been hewn flat, then covered in relief images and lines of wedge-shaped text.

‘More pictures and scribble,’ Crawford said. ‘Let’s cut the—’

But the colonel was cut short by a bellowing blast that echoed out from the cave and shook the ground.

39

MISSOURI

Professor Brooke Thompson stared out the jet’s cabin window at the angular patchwork of docile farmland that blanketed the flat Midwest landscape in squares and circles hued in russet and ochre. The layout repeated itself as far as the eye could see, interrupted only by a random village or a grove of naked trees surrounding a rural home.

Even here, far from encroaching cities, humankind had dramatically altered the environment to suit its needs and ensure survival. Come spring, the fields would be sowed with plant seeds not native to this land. Over the centuries, America’s hardy varieties of wheat, oats and various other grains had been imported from Europe. And long before those food staples had been transplanted in European soil and selectively bred over millennia, they’d been naturally thriving in the Middle East’s Fertile Crescent - a veritable paradise for early humans.

Similarly, horses, cows, sheep, chickens and pigs - none of which had been native to the Americas - were brought in by early European settlers. But every one of these domesticated animals and beasts of burden originated from the Middle East.

The same pattern applied to humans themselves. Over 60,000 years ago, the first hunter-gatherer groups ventured out from North Africa and crossed the land bridge into the Middle East (an exodus across the Sinai long before Moses fled Egypt) to embark on their intercontinental migrations.

Though she marvelled at how this jet so smoothly cut the air to move her across a continent in mere hours, humans had been moving around the globe for millennia before planes existed - first by foot, then on the backs of animals, then by boats and ships and trains. Technology had quite literally sped things along. Technology had even permitted modern cities, like Las Vegas, to rise up in the heart of a desert.

All this moving around, she thought. All this trading of ideas and things.

This brief reflection on the pace of progress had her contemplating the fate of the ancient Mesopotamians who’d once inhabited Iraq’s northern mountains. They too possessed sophisticated technology. But where had they gone after the floods had for ever changed the land? Did they go west into Europe? Or did they trek east to India or China? What happened to them?

The bigger mystery was that their incredibly sophisticated language hadn’t made the journey from that cave. If it had, it would have spread like wild fire and set commerce and technology on a fast-track. The world as humans now knew it could be fundamentally different - possibly far more advanced.

Why hadn’t they brought their language with them?

The cave etchings chronicled mass devastation. But could they all have died in the floods? Even the fastest rise in rivers, the most aggressive deluge, would have granted ample time for the Mesopotamians to flee the region. Then again, not all of them would have had the ability to write; only a handful of scribes would have been trained in the language. So it was plausible that the scribes who had stayed behind to complete their work in the cave subsequently drowned in the flood waters.

It amazed Brooke how such seemingly isolated events could ripple through human history.

‘Here you go,’ Flaherty interrupted.

Brooke turned as Flaherty set a plate and can of soda on the table in front of her.

‘Turkey and provolone on wheat,’ Flaherty said, pointing to the sandwich. ‘The best I could do. I saw some chips and cashews in the galley too …’ He thumbed towards the front of the plane.

‘No, this is perfect, thanks,’ she replied gratefully. ‘I feel like I should be leaving you a tip.’

‘Very funny.’ Flaherty settled into the comfortable leather cabin chair opposite hers. ‘Not too shabby, eh?’ he said, raising his eyebrows and circling his gaze around the jet’s spacious, sleek interior, aromatic with new-car smell. The rich furnishings included two mahogany tables inlaid with chequerboards of onyx and pearl, a fifty-two- inch LCD television, a fully stocked wet bar and leather divans.

‘Sure beats flying coach,’ she admitted. For Brooke, the jet further confirmed GSC’s deep pockets and clout.

‘I could sure get used to this. Wicked nice.’ He cracked open his can and swilled some cola.

‘I take it this is the first time you’ve been on this jet?’

‘First time,’ he confirmed. ‘This treatment is usually reserved for VIPs, not the peons.’

‘Well then I guess I should feel honoured.’

A phone suddenly rang and Flaherty had to look around before spotting the portable handset mounted in the fuselage wall.

‘I guess that’s for us,’ he said, getting up to retrieve the phone.

‘The odds are in our favour,’ she said.

‘Agent Flaherty here,’ he responded into the handset.

Pause.

‘Wow, that was fast,’ he said, turning to Brooke and giving a thumbs-up.

While eating her turkey sandwich, Brooke watched Thomas Flaherty for a solid three minutes as he kept the phone to his ear and jotted away on his mini notepad. She caught herself examining Flaherty’s hands for a wedding ring.

Who were these people? she wondered. How could they simultaneously work for the government and outside of it? Justice certainly had many faces, and checks and balances were needed. Even the watchers needed watching, she decided.

Flaherty ended the call and returned the phone to its mount on the fuselage wall and came back grinning.

She spread her hands. ‘So?’

‘Good stuff,’ he said, sitting. ‘Remember back in 2008 when the FBI nailed that guy for mailing anthrax- tainted letters to a couple of senators right after 9/11?’

She nodded. On the coat-tails of the terror attack of September 11, 2001, it was hard to forget the frenzy resulting from the incident that killed five and infected seventeen others during September and October 2001. Letters containing refined anthrax had been mailed to Washington, New York and Boca Raton. She recalled that network news offices were among the targets, including ABC, CBS and NBC.

‘Okay. Well, turns out the guy, Bruce Ivins, had been a senior biodefence researcher at USAMRIID. He was working on a vaccine for anthrax … and supposedly wanted to test it out in a real-life simulation. Bit of an eccentric … wound up dead before he was formally charged. Officially from suicide, unofficially murdered. Anyway, after those investigations implicated USAM-RIID, Fort Detrick set out to account for every vial in the Infectious Disease unit’s inventory. Took them four months to complete it. By June 2009, over 70,000 samples had been catalogued … 9,000 of which had not been previously documented in the agency’s database. Everything from Ebola to’ - he paused to check his notes - ‘stuff called “equine encephalitis virus”. And among the overlooked samples were some very interesting specimens procured by one Colonel Frank Roselli.’ He looked at her and smiled. ‘Or, just plain “Frank”.’