THE VIRON CONSPIRACY (JAKE SCARNE THRILLERS #4) (17 page)

CHAPTER 28 - VIRONS

“The Viron?”

“Yes,” Lenzer said. “A combination of virus and prion, of course.  A bit of a misnomer, since it is much more prion than virus. We had considered Prius, but apparently that is the name of a popular new automobile. Ironic. I think they call such a vehicle a hybrid, which would have been appropriate enough, since our particle is also a hybrid.” Lenzer cackled. “The hybrid car is supposed to be good for the environment. Another similarity with our little discovery. Once we depopulate the world a bit, the environment should benefit greatly, yes!”

Depopulate the world? What is he talking about, Turchin thought.

“A prion? I am unfamiliar with the term.”

“You know what a virus is, don’t you,” Lenzer said, looking exasperated.

“Of course I know what a virus is. Don’t talk down to me!”

“All right, all right. Calm down. We’re not in the basement of the Lubyanka.”

Lenzer poured the Russian some more vodka.  

“As opposed to all other known infectious agents, such as viruses, bacteria, fungi or parasites, which contain nucleic material, DNA or RNA, prions are composed of misfolded proteins. Prions, like viruses, are not actually living organisms, but like viruses, they can reproduce by taking over the functions of living cells. They spread by transmitting their
deformed protein state. When a prion enters a healthy organism, it converts properly folded proteins into a disease-associated form. The prion is like a small computer. It acts as a template to create more misfolded proteins. The new prions convert more warped proteins. And so on. A chain reaction of prions. Prions induce the formation of an amyloid fold, in which the protein polymerises into an aggregate consisting of tightly packed beta sheets. Amyloid aggregates are fibrils …”

“Enough,” Turchin said, his eyes glazing over. “I’m sorry I asked. I bow to your expertise. And these prions are dangerous?”

“They are responsible for a variety of gruesome ailments including spongiform encephalopathies in a variety of mammals, including bovine spongiform encephalopathy, also known as Mad Cow Disease. In humans, they have been identified in Creutzfeldt-Jakob Disease, Gerstmann–Sträussler–Scheinker syndrome, Fatal Familial Insomnia and Kuru, an incurable degenerative neurological disorder endemic to tribal regions of Papua New Guinea. In fact, all known prion diseases affect the structure of the brain or other neural tissue and are invariably fatal”

“Good Lord! Why work with such horrible material?”

Lenzer’s face took on a messianic cast.

“Because by genetically mixing prions with certain viruses, we were able to tame their most dangerous aspects, at least those aspects dangerous to researchers. The prion’s structure is extremely stable. They are resistant to breakdown by chemical and physical agents, and are thus difficult to dispose and contain. But our Virons have a different structure. Their vir
al genes allow for vaccination, which all of us have undergone. And we can adjust their life span, or whatever you want to call it, since they are not really alive. It is an amazing creation. If I didn’t have other plans, I might insist on being put up for the Nobel Prize. The Viron has all the best attributes of both virus and prion. It comes in all sizes. Depending on the magnification used, it can look like either one, which will drive the epidemiologists crazy. By the time they can get a handle on it, if they ever do, it will be too late. And it is so malleable. We can program it to do virtually anything. And the delivery systems are undetectable.”

“Systems?”

“Yes. There are several. In the India test, we used protein bars that BVM supplied to some United Nations food program. We tracked the particular shipment, of course, because we wanted a controlled experiment. The subjects ate the bars and were infected.”

“How did you track one shipment?”

Lenzer airily waved one of his hands.

“Simple. You saw the map in our trading room. Our computers are quite sophisticated. My assistants made sure the ship the doctored pallet was on was not diverted and a GPS device in the pallet did the rest. We hired someone on the ground in India to make sure the protein bars got exactly to the village we used as a control. He, of course, did not know what we were doing. But he was well-paid.”

“And the ‘subjects’? What happened to them?”

“Everyone who ate at least one of the protean bars became symptomatic within a week. Roughly 100 of 400 villagers died. The rest were incapacitated, some permanently. A powerful weapon, no?”

Although he was aware of the conspiracy’s implications, the Russian was nevertheless chilled by Lenzer’s cold recitation of the massacre, for that was what it was.

“How can you be sure all the protein bars were consumed? What if the illness pops up somewhere else and spreads. Won’t that endanger our plans?”

“You don’t understand, Anzor. The Viron is a perfect weapon. We engineered the Indian batch to have a shelf life of only one month. You and I could eat one of those bars for dessert now and nothing would happen. The Viron would be inactive. They are quite tasty, by the way.”  

“And the other ‘experiments’?”

“The British authorities are still scratching their heads over an outbreak of what they assumed is Mad Cow Disease. They assumed the local badger population was the disease vector. Slaughtered thousands of the poor animals when, in fact, we infected a few dairy herds with Virons we engineered into a grain-and-soybean feed. Again, short-term efficacy, impossible to detect. But a few sick cows created a small panic. The potential for wide disruption of a food supply is obvious. In the United States, we have tested a Viron that mimics Goss’s Wilt, which damages, but does not destroy, a corn crop. There is a test going on right now in Iowa.”

“Isn’t that too close to home? What happens if someone connects the dots? Right back to you.”

“They won’t have a clue. By adjusting the strength of the Virons in various seeds, we can cause disease in some corn, while a nearby stand remains healthy. They will never blame BVM. In fact, I expect them to come to us for help in their investigation. They often do.”

The sun had gone down and the night air grew cool. Turchin shivered. But he was fairly certain it had nothing to do with the temperature.

“You seem to have exceeded your brief, Roland. When we supported your rise through the ranks at BVM, the object was to gain control of the world’s most innovative agribusiness, and bend it to our purposes.”

“How long have we known each other, Anzor? You recruited me right out of university in Leipzig for work on biological agents. After the Berlin Wall came down, you continued to support my research, even when it was unpopular with your new bosses in Moscow. We shared the same vision. As you rose in the ranks, so did I. Now, we have reached a point where we don’t have to answer to any governments. They will fear us. We can control our own destinies.”

Lenzer stood up.  

“There was an outbreak recently of porcine epidemic diarrhea virus in Ohio. Thousands of piglets died. The authorities are concentrating on semen used to artificially inseminate sows. In Israel and Saudi Arabia there have been outbreaks of a disease everyone assumes is Middle East respiratory syndrome, or MERS. They are killing Egyptian tomb bats by the tens of thousands, the typical MERS vector.” Lenzer cackled again. “They should be looking at camels, which we infected with a specialized Viron made from a harmless camel virus and one of our prions. Perhaps you read about those hundreds of dead dolphins found on beaches all along the East Coast. We did that, just to test the resistance of one of our Virons to salt water. The fools at the National Oceanic and Atmospheric Administration are blaming cetacean morbillivirus, a marine strain of a virus similar to measles.”

Turchin knocked back his vodka and poured himself another. But he was cold sober, stunned by what he’d just heard.

“We even found a way to kill trees specifically engineered to resist a deadly fungus,” Lenzer gloated. “The Americans hope to restore their beloved chestnut forests. I fear they will be sorely disappointed.”

“How many people know about this?”

Lenzer laughed.

“Don’t worry, Anzor. Most of the Virons were delivered by employees or middlemen who know nothing of what they were doing. Why would a supplier of camel feed in Hebron associate what he was doing with an outbreak of a disease caused by bats? Other than you and I, only three of my staff know what is actually going on. And they are totally loyal. Most of the others know only the specific Virons they are working with and are unaware that some samples have been weaponized. And soon it won’t matter. I plan on offering some of the fruits, or should I say, the grains, of our research to the highest bidders. Of course, Russia will have first choice, if you can convince your superiors. I don’t imagine that will be too hard to do. If you thought BVM was a prize worth having, what do you think they will pay for control of not only world food production, but world health?”

“You are playing a dangerous game, Roland. The Americans, and others, may consider you a common criminal and try to take your research by force.”

“Let them try. I will keep much of the research, and the most virulent Virons, someplace safe, just in case. I will threaten to give it to terrorists. Or, perhaps, I will engineer some of my Virons so that they persist in the environment. After a few million dead, no one will balk at my terms.”      

The man is clearly insane, Turchin thought. Once we get all of his research, we’ll have to do something about him. My joke about Hitler might not be too far from the mark. This lunatic probably wants to establish a Fourth Reich. What did Churchill say about the Germans: They’re either at your feet
, or at your throat.

The door to the patio opened and Lenzer’s thuggish manservant walked out, holding a cell phone.

“Karl! I told you we were not to be disturbed. Scheisskerl!”

“I’m sorry, Doctor Lenzer,” the manservant said calmly. “But one of your lab assistants is on the phone. He says it is an emergency.”

Apparently Karl was used to Lenzer’s abuse, even being called a “shithead,” Turchin mused.

Lenzer angrily snatched the phone out of the man’s hand.

“Yes. What is it? Speak up. What’s the matter with your voice?” A pause. “Who hit you?”

A look of incredulity crossed Lenzer’s face as he listened for a moment.

“Yes. You were right to call. Try to keep the police away. I’ll be there in a few minutes.”

He turned to his manservant.

“Get the car! Hurry!”

Karl ran off.

“What is the problem?” Turchin asked.

“There was a power failure after a transformer explosion. Then, a fire alarm in my laboratory.”

“Is that unusual?”

“It can happen. But one of my men said he saw Rasmussen and Stone, the writer, in the building. Stone was dressed in a lab coat and hit him in the throat. They wanted to know where my private lab was.”

“What is in your lab?”

“The secret of the Viron. And some details of our tests.”

“You fool!”

“Where am I supposed to keep them, in my head? There is no danger. My lab can only be accessed by a palm print. Mine.”

“But you are concerned.”

“I want to know what those two are up to. Come on. Let’s go.”

Turchin smiled. His KGB instincts kicked in. Transformer explosion? Fire alarm? Assault? Too many coincidences. It sounded like a covert operation. Rasmussen and Stone. The Americans possibly weren’t as dim as he thought. 

“I don’t think I should show up at a break-in at your lab, Roland. People might ask questions. I will wait here.”

“As you wish.”  

C
HAPTER 29 - STAIRS

Anne Rasmussen reached into her bag of tricks and pulled out a small flat device that resembled a mini-iPad. She placed it over the palm reader and turned it on. Scarne saw several flashes.

“Palms leave an imprint,” she explained. “This reads the last one left behind, copies it and shoots it back. Lenzer should have invested in a retina scan. We haven’t figured out how to beat that one yet.”

They heard the door unlock. They went in. When Scarne closed the door, it didn’t lock.

“We haven’t worked all the problems out with the palm gizmo,” Rasmussen explained. “It screws up the system. It will have to be reset.”

Inside the small lab was a counter with microscopes, test tubes, burners, beakers and all the other accoutrements of science. Refrigerators and cabinets lined one wall. At the back of the room was a desk with a computer station. Rasmussen headed right to it and sat. She booted the computer up with Scarne looking over her shoulder.

“It’s password protected,” he said.

“Not a problem,” she said.

“Of course not,” he said.

She reached into her bag and removed a thumb drive. She plugged it into the computer and started hitting some function keys. Her fingers moved too fast for Scarne to follow. In less than a minute, she had Lenzer’s password.

“You don’t have Amelia Earhart in that bag, do you?”

“Password breaker,” she said. “Never leave home without one.”

“I’m definitely moving to Australia,” Scarne said.

“Don’t bother. You’ve seen too much. I’ll have to shoot you when this is all over.”

They began going through files. Some were named after diseases. Some after countries or cities. After 10 minutes
, Scarne said, “Jesus Christ.” Bryan Valance wasn’t Lenzer’s only victim. The madman had killed hundreds, maybe thousands, of innocent people.

“That son-of-a-bitch,” Anne said. “I’ve got to get this to Washington.” She moved the cursor. “Damn it!”

“What’s the matter?”

“This computer isn’t connected to the Internet,” Rasmussen said. “Probably for security reasons. We have to take some of this with us.”

She grabbed another thumb drive from her bag and started downloading the files on to it. The whooping from the fire alarm abruptly stopped. Then the lights blinked out briefly and came back on.

“Fuck!” Rasmussen said. “That was the generators going off line and the outside power kicking back in. I’ll have to restart the computer.”

“We’re sure to have company soon,” Scarne said. “And I’m not sure it’s going to be the good guys.”

“I need more time, Jake,” Rasmussen said.

“How long?”

“Ten minutes.”

“OK. I’ll see if I can stall anyone coming. Don’t wait for me. Soon as you have enough, skedaddle out of here. We passed a back stairwell exit. Use that. I’ll be fine. If it’s the bad guys I have my gun. If it’s the good guys, I’ll surrender and tell them we spilled a beaker of Ebola. They won’t come back here. Just make sure you raise some bail money for me. We’ve broken about a dozen laws.”

She looked at him and touched his arm.

“Good luck, Jake. And, thanks.”

Scarne went down the corridor, where he could keep an eye on both the elevator and the stairs they’d used. He was betting on the stairs.  After a power outage and a fire alarm, he didn’t think anyone would chance the elevator.

But no one used either. He waited the full 10 minutes and then ran back to Lenzer’s office.

There was a man dressed like a butler standing in front of the door holding two guns. One was a Glock, probably Anne’s. The back stairs! Scarne mentally kicked himself. He should have known.

The man raised the other gun, which looked like a Lugar. Scarne was just passing the door to another office and he dove through it as the man fired. There was a connecting door to the next office up the corridor. Scarne, pulling his own gun, ran through it. Through the glass panels in the corridor door of the second office he saw the gunman moving past.

Scarne walked out into the corridor, now behind the other man, who turned at the sound of the other door opening. Scarne shot him three times just as he was bringing his Lugar up. He grunted and fell over backwards, both of his guns firing wildly. Amid the gunfire and shattering glass of nearby labs, Scarne could see firemen emerging from the front stairwell. They quickly dove back into the stairwell.

Scarne charged back and burst into Lenzer’s lab.  A snarling Lenzer was holding Anne Rasmussen down on the floor by the throat. In his right hand was a syringe. Lenzer’s arm began its downward arc. Scarne, still 10 feet away, fired.

The round caught Lenzer in the right ear. Blood and brain matter splattered on the wall and Lenzer tumbled sideways off Rasmussen, leaving the syringe dangling loosely in her chest. She started to sit up, and it fell out, not having gone in too deeply. She began clawing at her blouse.

“God, it burns,” she said, as tears welled up.

“Lie still,” Scarne said as he reached her, pushing her flat to the floor.

He ripped open her blouse and unhooked her bra. There was a small purplish hole, barely visible in the aureole just below the nipple on left breast. It was oozing a greenish liquid. Scarne didn’t know what was in the needle, but he assumed it wasn’t going to do her any good. It probably wouldn’t do him any good either, he knew, but he couldn’t just wait for help to arrive. The syringe still looked almost full. Maybe there was a chance if she hadn’t been injected with too big a dose of whatever was in it.

Scarne grasped Rasmussen’s nipple and tilted it upwards, while pulling down the area below it with his fingers, trying to spread the needle hole as wide as he could. Anne cried out. He leaned down and put his mouth over the hole and sucked as hard as he could. It must have been painful, because she screamed and her body bucked. But he kept at it. At first he felt a bitter taste in his mouth. He spit the green fluid on the floor and bent to his task. God, I hope it’s really not Ebola, he thought wildly.

The next mouthful was less bitter and red-tinged. Soon, all he could taste was the girl’s salty blood. He squeezed the breast. Blood dripped out. It wasn’t much, so he let it bleed.

Scarne felt her hand on his face.

“Thank you,” she said weakly.

“This doesn’t mean we’re engaged,” he said, and
again bent to his task.

Scarne heard the pounding of footsteps behind him. He turned to see a burley young State Trooper, gun drawn, staring at Lenzer’s body and the gore on the wall. Then he looked at Scarne.

“Get off her, pal,” the trooper said, leveling his gun at Scarne.

“Appearances aren’t everything,” Scarne said. “Call an ambulance. This woman is a Federal agent and she’s been poisoned.”

The trooper looked confused.

“Do what he asks,” Anne said. “Please.”

The cop kept his gun trained on Scarne but reached for his communicator.

***

“What was it?”

“Lenzer picked up the first syringe he saw,” Scarne said. “It was filled with some sort of camel virus.”

It was noon of the following day. Anne Rasmussen was sitting up in a bed in Boone City Memorial Hospital. Scarne had spent the previous night and most of the morning answering questions from city, state and Federal law enforcement. Everyone wanted jurisdiction but it looked like the Feds would carry the day. The fact that the Federal intelligence officer who was assaulted had invoked the Patriot Act got everyone’s attention. A planeload of Rasmussen’s D.C.S. colleagues was flying in from Washington. 

“Camel virus?”

“Yes. Causes a mild respiratory infection in dromedaries but is believed harmless to humans, although the research on that is scanty. Apparently, not too many people kiss camels. Docs gave us gamma globulin and a boxcar full of anti-virals, but they are not too concerned. Our blood work came back clean. They did say that you might grow another breast, though. But not to worry. It’s really a hump. Let them know if you suddenly get very thirsty.”

Anne Rasmussen blushed. Then laughed.

“You didn’t know what was in that syringe, Jake. That was an incredibly brave thing to do.”

“I’d like to think you would have done the same for me.”

Anne Rasmussen smiled.

“That might have depended upon where he stuck you with the needle. I went to Catholic school.”

Scarne laughed and got up to leave. He stuck out his hand and she took it.

“You’re a hell of an agent, Annie.”

“You’re not so bad yourself, kiddo. I owe you one.”

“There is something you can do for me.”

“Name it.”

“The Boone City Sheriff told me not to leave town.”

“He actually said that?”

“Yeah. I felt like a cattle rustler.”

“I presume you will ignore him.”

“Being told not to leave town is a sign it’s a good time to leave town. But Wyatt Earp confiscated my gun. I’m kind of fond of it, especially since it
has a phony serial number.”

Anne looked at Scarne.

“You are an outlaw, aren’t you?”

“Look who’s talking. The only thing legal in that black bag of yours is probably your lipstick.”

“Point taken. Don’t worry about your gun. My agency will probably take control of all the physical evidence.” She smiled. “Do you want it sent to your home or office?”

Scarne leaned down and kissed her on the cheek. When he started to straighten up, she pulled him back and gave him a lingering kiss on the lips.

“If you’re ever in D.C., Jake,” she said when they finished, “you might want to look me up.”

“Sure. As long as you promise not to hit me over the head again.”

“Most guys like a gal who acts hard to get.”