The Hades Factor - Страница 4

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She had devoted herself to science, and somewhere along the way she had gotten extremely lucky. She had never expected to marry. Fall in love, perhaps. But marry? No. Few men wanted a wife obsessed with her work. But Jon understood. In fact, it excited him that she could look at a cell and discuss it in graphic, colorful detail with him. In turn, she had found his endless curiosity invigorating. Like two children at a kindergarten party, they had found their favorite playmates in each other ― well suited not only professionally but temperamentally. Both were dedicated, compassionate, and as in love with life as with each other.

She had never known such happiness, and she had Jon to thank for it.

With an impatient shake of her head, she turned on her computer to examine the lab notes for anything she might have missed. She found nothing of any significance.

Then, as more DNA sequence data was arriving, and she continued to review in her mind all the clinical data so far on the virus, she had a strange feeling.

She had seen this virus ― or one that was incredibly similar ― somewhere.

She wracked her brain. Dug through her memory. Rooted through her past.

Nothing came to mind. Finally she read one of her team members' reports that suggested the new virus might be related to Machupo, one of the first discovered hemorrhagic fevers, again by Karl Johnson.

Africa pushed none of her buttons. But Bolivia…?

Peru!

Her student anthropology field trip, and ―

Victor Tremont.

Yes, that had been his name. A biologist on a field trip to Peru to collect plants and dirts for potential medicinals for… what company? A pharmaceutical firm… Blanchard Pharmaceuticals!

She turned back to her computer, quickly entered the Internet, and searched for Blanchard. She found it almost at once ― in Long Lake, New York. And Victor Tremont was president and Chief Operating Officer now. She reached for her phone and dialed the number.

It was Sunday morning, but giant corporations sometimes kept their telephones open all weekend for important calls. Blanchard did. A human voice answered, and when Sophia asked for Victor Tremont, the voice told her to wait. She drummed her fingers on the desk, trying to control her worried impatience.

At last a series of clicks and silences on the far end of the line were interrupted by another human voice. This time it was neutral, toneless: “May I ask your name and business with Dr. Tremont?”

“Sophia Russell. Tell him it's about a trip to Peru where we met.”

“Please hold.” More silence. Then: "Mr. Tremont will speak with you now.

“Ms…. Russell?” Obviously he was consulting the name handed to him on a pad. “What can I do for you?” His voice was low and pleasant but commanding. A man clearly accustomed to being in charge.

She said mildly, “Actually, it's Dr. Russell now. You don't remember my name, Dr. Tremont?”

“Can't say I do. But you mentioned Peru, and I do remember Peru. Twelve or thirteen years ago, wasn't it?” He was acknowledging why he was talking to her, but giving nothing away in case she was a job seeker or it was all some hoax.

“Thirteen, and I certainly remember you.” She was trying to keep it light. “What I'm interested in is that time on the Caraibo River. I was with a group of anthropology undergrads on a field trip from Syracuse while you were collecting potential medicinal materials. I'm calling to ask about the virus you found in those remote tribesmen, the natives the others called the Monkey Blood People.”

In his large corner office at the other end of the line, Victor Tremont felt a jolt of fear. Just as quickly, he repressed it. He swiveled in his desk chair to stare out at the lake, which was shimmering like mercury in the early-morning light. On the far side, a thick pine forest stretched and climbed to the high mountains in the distance.

Annoyed that she had surprised him with such a potentially devastating memory, Tremont continued to swivel. He kept his voice friendly. “Now I remember you. The eager blond young lady dazzled by science. I wondered whether you'd go on to become an anthropologist. Did you?”

“No, I ended up with a doctorate in cell and molecular biology. That's why I need your help. I'm working at the army's infectious diseases research center at Fort Detrick. We've come across a virus that sounds a lot like the one in Peru ― an unknown type causing headaches, fever, and acute respiratory distress syndrome that can kill otherwise healthy people within hours and produce a violent hemorrhage in the lungs. Does that ring a bell, Dr. Tremont?”

“Call me Victor, and I seem to recall your first name is Susan… Sally… something like…?”

“Sophia.”

“Of course. Sophia Russell. Fort Detrick,” he said, as if writing it down. “I'm glad to hear you remained in science. Sometimes I wish I'd stayed in the lab instead of jumping to the front office. But that's water over a long-ago dam, eh?” He laughed.

She asked, “Do you recall the virus?”

“No. Can't say I do. I went into sales and management soon after Peru, and probably that's why the incident escapes me. As I said, it was a long time ago. But from what I recall of my molecular biology, the scenario you suggest is unlikely. You must be thinking of a series of different viruses we heard about on that trip. There was no shortage. I remember that much.”

She dug the phone into her ear, frustrated. “No, I'm certain there was this one single agent that came from working with the Monkey Blood People. I didn't pay a lot of attention at the time. But then, I never expected to end up in biology, much less cell and molecular. Still, the oddness of it stuck with me.”

“ `The Monkey Blood People'? How bizarre. I'm sure I'd recall a tribe with such a colorful name as that.”

Urgency filled her voice. “Dr. Tremont, listen. Please. This is vital. Critical. We've just received three cases of a virus that reminds me of the one in Peru. Those natives had a cure that worked almost eighty percent of the time ― drinking the blood of a certain monkey. As I recall, that's what astonished you.”

“And still would,” Tremont agreed. The accuracy of her memory was unnerving. “Primitive Indians with a cure for a fatal virus? But I know nothing about it,” he lied smoothly. “The way you describe what happened, I'm certain I'd remember. What do your colleagues say? Surely some worked in Peru, too.”

She sighed. “I wanted to check with you first. We have enough false alarms, and it's been a long time since Peru for me, too. But if you don't remember…” Her voice trailed off. She was terribly disappointed. “I'm certain there was a virus. Perhaps I'll contact Peru. They must have a record of unusual cures among the Indians.”

Victor Tremont's voice rose slightly. “That may not be necessary. I kept a journal of my trips back then. Notes on the plants and potential pharmaceuticals. Perhaps I jotted down something about your virus as well.”

Sophia leaped at the suggestion. “I'd appreciate your looking. Right away.”

“Whoa.” Tremont gave a warm chuckle. He had her. “The notebooks are stored somewhere in my house. Probably the attic. Maybe the basement. I'll have to get back to you tomorrow.”

“I owe you, Victor. Maybe the world will. First thing tomorrow, please. You have no idea how important this could be.” She gave him her phone number.

“Oh, I think I know,” Tremont assured her. “Tomorrow morning at the latest.”

He hung up and rotated once more to gaze out at the brightening lake and the high mountains that suddenly seemed to loom close and ominous. He stood up and walked to the window. He was a tall man of medium build, with a distinctive face on which nature had played one of her more kindly tricks: From a youth's oversized nose, gawky ears, and thin cheeks, he had grown into a good-looking man. He was now in his fifties, and his features had filled out. His face was aquiline, smooth, and aristocratic. The nose was the perfect size ― straight and strong, a fitting centerpiece for his very English face. With his tan skin and thick, iron-gray hair, he drew attention wherever he went. But he knew it was not his dignity and attractiveness that people found so appealing. It was his self-confidence. He radiated power, and less-assured people found that compelling.

Despite what he had told Sophia Russell, Victor Tremont made no move to go home to his secluded estate. Instead, he stared unseeing at the mountains and fought off tension. He was angry… and annoyed.

Sophia Russell. My God, Sophia Russell!

Who would have thought? He had not even recognized her name initially. In fact, still did not remember any of the names of that insignificant little student group. And he doubted any would recall his. But Russell had. What kind of brain retained such detail? Obviously the trivial was too important to her. He shook his head, disgusted. In truth, she was not a problem. Just a nuisance. Still, she must be dealt with. He unlocked the secret drawer in his carved desk, took out a cell phone, and dialed.

An emotionless voice with a faint accent answered. “Yes?”

“I need to talk to you,” Victor Tremont ordered. “My office. Ten minutes.” He hung up, returned the cell phone to the locked drawer, and picked up his regular office phone. “Muriel? Get me General Caspar in Washington.”

CHAPTER THREE

9:14 A.M., Monday, October 13

Fort Detrick, Maryland

As employees arrived at USAMRIID that Monday morning, word quickly spread through the campus's buildings of the weekend's fruitless search to identify and find a way to contain some new killer virus. The press still had not discovered the story, and the director's office ordered everyone to maintain media silence. No one was to talk to a reporter, and only those working in the labs were kept in the loop about the agonizing quest.