Douglas Preston - Mount Dragon

“I went back to the library and downloaded the most important data onto these CDs: the video, the filtration data, my on-line X-FLU logs, Burt’s notes. Now, I’m going to add this CSF data to—”

He stopped, staring at the screen.

GOOD EVENING, GUY CARSON.

YOU HAVE 1 UNREAD MESSAGE

Quickly, Carson brought up the waiting electronic mail.

Ciao , Guy.

I couldn’t help but notice the hellacious CPU time you soaked up , running that modeling program early this morning . It warms my heart to see you burning the midnight oil , but it wasn’t clear , from the on-line logs , exactly what you were doing

I’m sure you wouldn’t be wasting your time , or mine , without good reason . Does this mean you’ve made a breakthrough? I hope so for both our sakes. I don’t need pretty pictures , I need results . Time is growing cruelly short.

Oh , yes . I almost forgot . Why this sudden interest in PurBlood?

I await your reply.

Brent

“Jesus, look at that,” de Vaca said. “I can almost feel his breath on the back of my neck.”

“Time is cruelly short, all right,” Carson muttered. “If only he knew.” He slid one of the CDs into the terminal’s drive bay and copied the cerebrospinal-fluid results onto it. Then he initiated the network’s chat mode.

“Are you crazy?” de Vaca hissed. “Who the hell are you going to page?”

“Shut up and watch,” Carson said, as he continued to type.

Chat target: Guy

Carson@Biomed.Dragon.GeneDyne

“Now I know you’re crazy,” de Vaca said. “Requesting to chat with yourself.”

“Levine told me that, if I ever needed to reach him, I should send a chat request across the network, using myself as the recipient as well as the sender,” Carson said. “That would initiate a communications agent he’d planted, to connect with his computer.”

“You’re going to send him the data on PurBlood,” de Vaca said.

“Yes. He’s the only person that can help us.”

Carson waited, fighting to keep calm. He imagined the small communications daemon burrowing secretly through the GeneDyne net, out into a public-access service, and then to Levine’s computer. Somewhere, Levine’s laptop would be flashing a message now. Assuming it was connected to the network, and Levine was around to hear it. Come on . Come on.

Suddenly the screen went blank.

Hello. I’ve been expecting your call.

Carson typed frantically.

Dr. Levine, pay careful attention. There ¡s a crisis here at Mount Dragon. You were right about the virus. But it’s more than that, much more. We can’t do anything about it here, and we need your help. It is of the utmost importance that you act quickly. I am going to transmit to you a document I’ve prepared that explains the situation, along with files of supporting information. There is one other thing I must add: Please do what you can to get us out of here as soon as possible. I believe we are in real danger. And do whatever you must to get the stocks of X-FLU safely out of the hands of the Mount Dragon staff. As you will learn from the data I’m transmitting, they all need immediate medical attention. I’m commencing data transmission now, using standard net—work protocols.

He initiated the upload with a few keystrokes, and an access light on the terminal’s faceplate lit up. Carson sat back gingerly, watching the data feed. Even with maximum compression and at the widest bandwidth the network would allow, it would take almost forty minutes to transmit the data. It was all too likely that the next time Scopes came nosing around, he’d notice the heavy use of resources. Or one of his network lackeys would point it out to him. And how the hell was he going to reply to Scopes’s e-mail?

Suddenly the datastream was interrupted.

Guy? Are you there?

We’re here. What’s wrong?

Who is this ‘we’? Is someone else there with you?

My lab assistant is also aware of the situation.

Very good. Now, listen to me. Is there anyone else on site who can help you?

No. We’re on our own. Dr. Levine, let me continue the upload.

There’s no time for that. I’ve received enough already to see what the problem is, and what I don’t have I can get from the GeneDyne net. Thank you for trusting me with this. I’ll see that the proper authorities are immediately called in to handle the situation.

Listen, Dr. Levine, we need to get out of here. We believe the OSHA investigator who came here may have been killed.

Of course. Getting you out will be my highest priority. You and de Vaca keep on as you have been and don’t make any attempts to escape. Just stay calm. Okay?

Okay.

Guy, your work has been brilliant. Tell me how you stumbled across this.

As Carson prepared to type his response, a sudden chill shot through him.

You and de Vaca stay calm . But he had never spoken of de Vaca to Levine.

Who is this?he typed.

Suddenly the pixels on the screen began to dissolve into a snowstorm of white and black. The speaker next to the terminal came to life with a squeal of static. De Vaca gasped in surprise. Carson, rooted to his chair, watched the screen in disbelief, despair turning his limbs to lead. Was that the sound of raucous laughter, blending with the squeal of static in an infernal fugue? Was that a face, forming slowly out of the chaos on the screen: a face with jug ears, thick glasses, and impertinent cowlick?

Suddenly, the screen went blank, and the hiss of static abruptly cut off. The room was plunged in silent darkness! And then Carson heard the lonesome wail of the Mount Dragon alarm, rising in intensity across the desert sands.

PART THREE

Carson met de Vaca’s eyes.

“Let’s go,” he hissed, powering down the terminal with a stab of his finger.

They eased out of the radiology lab, closing the door quietly behind them. Quickly, Carson scanned the immediate area. Quartz emergency beacons had come up along the perimeter fence. As he watched, Carson saw klieg lights snap into ivory brilliance, first in the front guard tower, then in the rear. The twin beams began slowly scanning the compound. There was no moon, and large sections of the facility were sunken in pools of impenetrable darkness. He urged de Vaca forward into the shadow of the machine shop. They crept along the base of the building and around a corner, then scurried across a walkway to a dark area behind the incinerator building.

They heard a shout and the distant running of feet.

“It’ll take them a few minutes to get organized,” Carson said. “This is our chance to get the hell out.” He patted his pocket, ensuring that the CDs and the evidence they contained were still safe. “Looks like you’ll get a chance to test your hot-wiring skills, after all. Let’s grab a Hummer while we still can.”

De Vaca hesitated.

“Let’s move!” he urged.

“We can’t,” she whispered fiercely in his ear. “Not without destroying the stocks of X-FLU first.”

“Are you crazy?” Carson snapped.