Brian O'Grady - Hybrid

The sergeant led Martin up the marble staircase. They’re too grand to be steps , Martin thought as the young marine quietly opened one of the twelve-foot doors. “He will be waiting for you in the library, sir. Across the foyer, first door on your right.”

Martin stepped into the dark entranceway, wondering how a marine sergeant came by the word “foyer.” The door closed behind him with a small but resounding click. It was dark, and if it hadn’t been for the lights of the two SUVs shining through the thick glass, it would have been completely black. “Hello,” he called out tentatively. His voice echoed as if he were on a sound stage.

“In here, Dr. Martin,” returned a thickly accented and gruff voice.

Martin immediately recalled the distinctive voice and followed it into a dark room. His eyes had started to adjust, and he could make out several wing-backed chairs arranged around a large table. One of the chairs was occupied. The thick smell of books filled the air, and he was suddenly reminded of his medical school’s library.

“Excuse the darkness. I no longer have need for light, but if you feel it is necessary, there is a lamp on the table.”

Martin found it and clicked it on. The harsh light momentarily blinded him, but he could see that the man in the chair didn’t react.

“It is somewhat ironic that I prefer this room, don’t you think, Dr. Martin? It’s the smell, I think.”

Martin remained standing, taking stock of what was left of Jaime Avanti. He was blind — that much was obvious. His pupils were as wide as they could be in the harsh lamplight, and the whites of his eyes had taken on a sickly yellow hue. But that paled in comparison to the other physical changes. He had always been a thick, robust man, the prototypical Russian. Ukrainian, Martin corrected himself, but time had not been kind to Avanti. Gone were the large belly and the powerful arms and shoulders; what remained was a skeleton, a shadow of his former self. Even his trademark hirsuteness was gone. Patches of white hair covered a wrinkled skull, and a thin beard reached down to his sunken chest.

“I am told that my appearance has changed over the past fifteen years. I’m guessing that yours has as well, but hopefully not as much as mine.”

“No, it hasn’t,” Martin said in a voice full of surprise and disgust. He hadn’t really thought about how he would feel seeing Avanti, a man he once knew who had chosen to become a terrorist. “You look like shit, Jaime,” he said with undisguised loathing.

“That’s what I like about you Jews, no beating around the bush. Yes, I probably do look like shit, but that’s not why you are here. What have your military people told you?”

“That you broke into my lab and stole samples of Ebola, among other things.” Martin moved to a chair opposite Avanti and sat down, completely comfortable that what was left of Jaime Avanti posed no physical threat.

“‘Among other things?’ You are exactly as I remembered, Nathan, pompous and self-absorbed.” Avanti’s voice was tired. “A slow-acting virus has been released into the population of Colorado. It is a mutated and less virulent form of the virus you know as EDH1. I believe that this may have been one of the ‘other things’ General McDaniels shared with you.”

“We have reviewed a case of viral encephalitis from Colorado, and electron microscopy does confirm an unknown virus that looks very much like EDH1. However, it is a single case, and hardly worth all this drama.” Martin tried to keep his voice relaxed and casual.

“I estimate that over the next three months, more than twenty-three thousand citizens of Colorado will die as a direct result of the infection, and a much larger number will be affected by, shall we say, the consequences of the infection.” He turned his face towards Martin and smiled wide enough to expose his yellow teeth. “Perhaps that’s worth a little drama.”

Martin was glad that Avanti couldn’t watch the color drain from his face.

“Now that I have your attention,” Avanti continued, “I need to impress upon you the seriousness of this situation. I asked you here so that we may discuss this as colleagues.”

“You stopped being my colleague the moment you threatened innocent lives.”

“Innocent. So self-righteous. .” Avanti’s voice trailed off. . “You’re not here so we could argue banalities; there are more pressing issues.”

“So why am I here?”

“To hear what I have to say and ultimately to make a decision,” Avanti reached for a small briefcase on the table next to him. “Do you remember the last time we met?”

“Not clearly,” Martin watched as Avanti fumbled with the latch and suppressed the instinct to help the blind man.

“It was the 1992 UN conference on population sustainability. You had just started working for the CDC and I was an invited guest.” Avanti retrieved a glossy program guide from the briefcase and tossed it to Martin.

A collage of smiling children spelled out the word “United Nations” and beneath it in bold black script: Social Carrying Capacity and the Population Bomb . “I remember.” Martin said softly while leafing through the distantly familiar pages. “What does any of this have to do with what you and your people have done in Colorado?”

“I need to correct a few of your misconceptions. First, they are not my people…”

Martin scoffed loudly. ”Bullshit! At least give me the courtesy of the truth.”

“I understand that you are under a good deal of stress, but if you could control yourself for just a little longer perhaps we can get through this.” Avanti paused for a moment and took Martin’s silence as a sign that he could continue. “Now, as I was saying, they are not my people. Undoubtedly, you have been told that for a time I lived and worked with a group of ’Islamic extremists,’ and it was under their umbrella that we originally created the Hybrid virus. However, I was never counted among their numbers, and I do not now wish to be remembered as one of them. They simply paid the bills, and supplied the raw materials.”

“I was told that you were a Muslim.”

“Surely, you are not implying that all Muslims are terrorists?” Avanti chuckled.

“You seem to be both,” Martin countered.

“Superficially perhaps,” Avanti smiled knowingly. ”At least that’s what they believe.”

“Who, the Americans, or the extremists?” Martin noted that Avanti’s flair for the dramatic had not dimmed with time.

“Both of course, but in time the truth will be known.” The sagging face that a moment earlier was pulled into a smile was now fixed with determination. “If you haven’t guessed by now, I am quite close to death, and it is because of this that I have been sent to deliver their message. I am believed to be a good and faithful Muslim and have been given this great honor because of my service to Allah.” Avanti paused and expertly reached for a glass of water on the table that separated them. “Excuse me, but my mouth gets dry so quickly these days,” he said before nosily draining the glass. “Where was I?” he said to himself.

“Delivering a message,” Martin answered.

“Demands really, and in different times I would view them as quite reasonable, but these are extraordinary times, and I have little concern for states and territories, or even for religions.”

“You have me thoroughly confused,” Martin said.

“The message I bring to your government is pure subterfuge. No matter what you do, the original Hybrid Virus will be released, and there is nothing you or anyone can do to stop it.”

“Then why bother with demands; if you intend to kill us, why not just get on with it?” A single thought kept recycling through Nathan’s mind: this is not really happening; it’s just an academic exercise of a worst-case scenario .