The Atlantis Plague(91)
Around the small saloon, the scientists nodded. David and Shaw eyed each other, like two gunfighters in a bar in the Old West, each waiting for the other to draw.
Dr. Brenner interrupted the tension. “There’s something I haven’t told you, Dr. Warner.”
“What?” Kate asked through the speakerphone, not bothering to make the call private.
“The Orchid leadership has ordered us to execute Euthanasia Protocol.”
“I don’t—”
“We had standing orders,” Brenner went on. “If either Orchid failed or the Immari ever became a viable threat, our orders were to issue cancellation commands to the implants—to let the dying die quickly. That would leave a world of Orchid survivors, a base to save the Alliance. So far, we have simply ignored those orders. We’ve focused on our research and hoped the leadership wouldn’t actually go through with the plan. But we’ve heard rumors. If we don’t execute Euthanasia Protocol, Allied troops may take control of Continuity and do it for us.”
Kate sat back against the white couch.
No one said a word.
“Can you slow down Euthanasia Protocol?” Kate asked.
“We can try. But… let’s hope your therapy works.”
Downstairs, in their stateroom, David almost screamed at Kate, “You mean you had an open line to a global consortium this whole time?”
“Yes. What?”
“Call them back. Here’s what you say…”
Kate called the Continuity number. Dr. Brenner?—No, everything is fine. I need a favor. I need you to contact British Intelligence and ask them if they have an officer named Adam Shaw. Also, could you inquire with the World Health Organization about someone named Dr. Arthur Janus?—Yes, that would be very helpful.—Fine. Call me back as soon as you know. It’s very important.
Dr. Paul Brenner hung up the phone and glanced at the names. Shaw and Janus. What was happening on board that boat? Was Kate in danger?
He had actually grown quite attached to her. Seeing her in the videos for weeks, then talking with her in person. It was almost as though she were some “dream girl” come to life.
He hoped she would be all right. He picked up the phone and dialed his contacts at the WHO and British Intelligence. Each promised they would call back as soon as they had answers.
Paul had one more call to make—he hoped—but it would have to wait on Symphony, on the results.
He exited his office and walked down the hall of the CDC office building. The mood was dismal; everyone was overworked and burned out. Spirits were low, and for good reason: they had made no progress on a cure for the plague and had no prospects—not until the call from Kate nearly half an hour ago.
How long would it take Symphony? If there even was a cure to find in the research Kate and her team had sent…
The glass wall that held Orchid Ops parted, two glass pieces sliding to let him pass. Every head in the converted conference room turned to him. The scene was like the study hall of a college dorm, where students had crammed for sixty days straight: the conference tables were arranged haphazardly, littered with laptops, stacks of papers, maps, coffee-stained reports, and half-full Styrofoam cups.
The looks on their faces told Paul everything he needed to know.
The four large screens that dotted the walls confirmed it. The flashing text read: One therapy identified.
They had seen this text so many times before, and the celebration each time had been a little more muted than the previous. But the atmosphere felt different now. The team swarmed Paul, and everyone was talking excitedly about the new data and what to do next. Research sites were proposed and shot down.
“We test it here, on our own cohort,” Paul said.
“Are you sure?”
“We’ve got some people that can’t wait.” He glanced at the Euthanasia Protocol countdown. Less than four hours left. There were a lot of people that couldn’t wait.
But he wanted to be sure before they rolled it out worldwide. He had a phone call to make.
On his way back to his office, Paul stopped by the makeshift infirmary.
He stood at his sister’s bedside. Her breathing was shallow, but he knew she recognized him. She reached out for his hand.
He stepped forward to take her hand. Her grip was weak.
“I think we’ve found it, Elaine. You’re going to be just fine.”
He felt her hand squeeze his, ever so slightly.
Paul picked up the phone. Several minutes later, he was connected to the Situation Room in the White House.
“Mr. President, we have a new therapy. We’re extremely optimistic. I’m asking you to delay Euthanasia Protocol.”