Douglas Preston - Mount Dragon

“Lots of numbers. What do they all mean?”

“That an integrity breach had occurred. Someone’s bio-hazard suit had been compromised.”

“And who made this report?”

“Carson. Dr. Guy Carson. He reported it over the global emergency channel.”

“I see,” Teece nodded. “Proceed.”

“I went immediately to the security station, assessed the situation, then assumed command of the facility for the duration of the stage-two alert.”

“Did you, now? Before informing Dr. Singer?” Teece looked toward the director.

“That is the protocol,” said Nye flatly.

“And Dr. Singer, when you heard that Mr. Nye had put himself in charge you cheerfully agreed, naturally?”

“Naturally.”

“Dr. Singer,” said Teece a little more sharply. “I spent this afternoon reviewing videotapes of the accident. I’ve listened to most of the communications that took place. Now, would you care to answer the question again?”

There was a silence. “Well,” Singer said at last, “the truth is, I wasn’t too happy about it, no. But I went along.”

“And Mr. Nye,” Teece continued, “you say that assuming temporary command was company protocol. But according to my information, you’re only supposed to do so if, in your judgment, the director is unable to appropriately discharge his duties.”

“That is correct,” said Nye.

“Therefore, I can only conclude that you had prior reason to think the director was not discharging his duties properly.”

There was another long pause. “That is correct,” Nye repeated.

“That’s absurd!” Singer cried out. “There was no need for it. I had complete control of the situation.”

Nye sat rigidly, his face a stone mask.

“So what was it,” Teece continued placidly, “that led you to think Dr. Singer here wouldn’t have been able to handle the emergency?”

This time, Nye didn’t hesitate. “I felt Dr. Singer had allowed himself to become too close to the people he was supposed to be supervising. He is a scientist, but he is overly emotional and poor at handling stress. If the emergency had been left in his hands, the outcome might have been quite different.”

Singer jumped to his feet. “What’s wrong with being a little friendly?” he snapped. “Mr. Teece, it should be obvious even on such short acquaintance what kind of man you’re talking to here. He’s a megalomaniac. Nobody likes him. He disappears into the desert practically every weekend. Why Scopes keeps him on is a mystery to everyone.”

“Ah! I see.” Teece cheerfully consulted his folder, letting the uncomfortable silence lengthen. Singer returned to his original position at the window, his back to Nye. Teece took a pen from his pocket and made a few notations. Then he waggled it in front of Nye. “I understand these things are streng verboten around here. Good thing I’m exempt. I hate computers.” He replaced the pen carefully.

“Now, Dr. Singer,” he continued, “let’s proceed to this virus you’re working on, X-FLU. The documents I’ve been given are rather uninformative. What, exactly, makes it so deadly?”

“Once we’re learned that,” Singer said, “we’ll be able to do something about it.”

“Do something about it?”

“Make it safe, of course.”

“Why are you working with such a terrifying pathogen to begin with?”

Singer turned to face him. “It wasn’t our intention, believe me. The virulence of X-FLU is an unexpected side effect of our gene-therapy technique. The virus is in transition. Once the product is stabilized, this will no longer be a concern.” He paused. “The tragedy is that Rosalind was exposed to the virus at this early stage.”

“Rosalind Brandon-Smith.” Teece repeated the name slowly. “We’re not entirely happy with the way her autopsy was conducted, as you know.”

“We followed all the standard guidelines,” Nye interjected. “The autopsy was conducted within the Level-5 facility, in security suits, and was followed by incineration of the corpse and decontamination of all laboratories within the secure perimeter.”

“It’s the brevity of the pathologist’s report that concerns me, Mr. Nye,” Teece said. “And brief as it is, there are several things that puzzle me. For example, as best as I can fathom, Brandon-Smith’s brain essentially exploded. And yet at the time of death she was locked in the quarantine chamber, far from any medical help.”

“We didn’t know that she had contracted the disease,” said Singer.

“How can that be? She was scratched by an infected chimpanzee. Surely she would have shown antibodies in her bloodstream.”

“No. From the time the antibodies appear until time of death—well, it can obviously be very short.”

Teece frowned. “Disturbingly short, it appears.”

“You’ve got to remember, this is the first time a human being has been exposed to the X-FLU virus. And hopefully the last. We didn’t know what to expect. And the X-FLU strain was particularly virulent. By the time the blood tests came back positive, she was dead.”

“The blood. That’s another strange thing in this report. Apparently, there was significant internal bleeding before death.” Teece looked in his folder, and caressed the paragraph with his finger. “Look here. Her organs were practically awash in blood. Leakage from the blood vessels, it says.”

“No doubt a symptom of the X-FLU infection,” said Singer. “Not unheard of. The Ebola virus does the same thing.”

“But the pathology reports I have on the X-FLU chimpanzees don’t show any such symptom.”

“Obviously the disease affects humans differently from chimps. Nothing remarkable about that.”

“Perhaps not.” Teece flipped pages. “But there are other curious things about this report. For example, her brain shows high levels of certain neurotransmitters. Dopamine and serotonin, to be exact.”

Singer spread his hands. “Another symptom of X-FLU, I’d expect.”

Teece closed the folder. “Again, the infected chimps show no such elevated levels.”

Singer sighed. “Mr. Teece, what’s your point? We’ve all too aware of the dangerousness of this virus. Our efforts have been directed toward neutralizing it. We have a scientist, Guy Carson, devoted to nothing else.”

“Carson. Yes. The one who replaced Franklin Burt. Poor Dr. Burt, currently residing in Featherwood Park sanatorium.” Teece leaned forward and lowered his voice. “Now, that’s another really odd thing, Doctor. I talked to a David Fossey, Franklin Burt’s attending physician. Burt also has leaky blood vessels. And his levels of dopamine and serotonin are wildly elevated.”

There was a shocked silence in the room.

“Jesus,” said Singer. His eyes had taken on a faraway look, as if he was calculating something.

Teece held up a finger. “But! Burt exhibits no X-FLU antibodies, and it’s been weeks since he was at Mount Dragon. So he can’t have the disease.”

There was a noticeable decrease of tension. “A coincidence, then,” Nye said, sitting back in the sofa.

“Unlikely. Are you working on any other deadly pathogens here?”

Singer shook his head. “We have the usual stuff on ice—Marburg, Ebola Zaire, Lassa—but none of those would cause insanity.”

“Quite right,” said Teece. “Nothing else?”

“Absolutely not.”

Teece turned toward the security director. “What exactly did happen to Dr. Burt?”

“Dr. Singer recommended his removal,” Nye said simply.

“Dr. Singer?” Teece prompted.

“He was becoming confused, agitated.” Singer hesitated. “We were friends. He was an unusually sensitive person, very kind and concerned. Though he didn’t talk about it much, I think he missed his wife a great deal. The stress here is remarkable. ... You need a certain kind of toughness, which he didn’t have. It did him in. When I began to notice signs of incipient paranoia, I recommended he be taken to Albuquerque General for observation.”