Authors: Dean Crawford
The Americans were heavily influenced by the Rockefeller family – owners of Standard Oil – competitors of Bernhard’s Royal Dutch Petroleum. Bilderberg business always reflected
the concerns of the oil industry in its meetings which centered almost entirely on two unnerving facts: one, that oil was rapidly running out; and two, that the population of the planet and its
demands for fuel were still increasing at a trimetric rate. Soon, it would all be over and humanity would come to an end. The search for alternatives was pointless as everything from hydrogen cells
to the virtually useless wind turbines required abundant supplies of rare metals which were hoarded by China; materials such as europium, lanthanum, neodymium and countless others. It was now no
longer about how to save humanity: it was about who would survive the coming catastrophe.
Donald Wolfe cleared his throat. If this speech went down well, then his next, to world leaders at the United Nations, would herald nothing less than a new epoch in human history.
‘The United States Army Medical Research Institute of Infectious Diseases,’ he began, ‘is the army’s main institution and facility for infectious-disease research that
may have defensive applications against biological warfare. At the present time, the development and procurement of medical countermeasures for pandemic influenza and other emerging infectious
diseases is our chief concern, especially in these difficult times of cultural upheaval, ideological wars fought in the name of opposing religions and ever-increasing population density. Any one of
them, at any time, could be the cause of agents that could potentially kill millions of people.’ Wolfe smiled. ‘So we’re handy to know.’
A ripple of polite humor swept across the tables, white smiles above black tuxedos and ball gowns, a couple of the suited magnates raised champagne glasses to Wolfe. He should have despised them
for making their fortunes by selling drugs at the highest prices to the Western world while withholding them from those who needed them most, the poor of the developing world, but he
couldn’t, for he had become wealthy outside his military service on the back of the vast chemical wonderland that was Big Pharma. Hell, it wasn’t their fault that some countries
couldn’t afford medicines: if those country’s governments had spent more on their own people than on buying weapons then there wouldn’t be such a divide between the healthy West
and the sickly East. It was a point of view Wolfe had made on a few occasions when traveling overseas as a representative of his department, and the reason why the higher office he’d sought
had eluded him. Washington didn’t like straight talkers and people who ‘tell it like it is’, as a senator had once told him. It risked giving ordinary citizens the illusion that
they actually had some kind of influence in government, and that was the last thing that the ruling classes wanted.
‘But right now there’s a problem, and it’s one I know you’re already familiar with. Our ability to create new drugs to treat those in need is rapidly declining. In the
fields of medicine, biotechnology and pharmacology, drug discovery is the process by which drugs are discovered or designed, and productivity has collapsed over the past twenty years. In the past
most drugs have been discovered either by identifying the active ingredient from traditional remedies or by serendipitous
discovery
. A new approach has been to understand how disease and
infection are controlled at the molecular and physiological level and to target specific entities based on this knowledge.’
The process of drug discovery involved the identification of candidates, synthesis, characterization, screening and assays for therapeutic efficacy. Once a compound had shown its value in these
tests, it began the process of being developed prior to clinical trials. And it was that which was slowing down the arrival of new drugs to the market.
‘Despite our advances in technology and understanding of biological systems, drug discovery is still a long, expensive, difficult and inefficient process with low rates of new therapeutic
discovery. Currently, the research and development cost of each new molecular entity is approximately 1.8 billion US dollars, a financial burden too great for us to bear. Information on the human
genome has been hailed as promising to virtually eliminate the bottleneck in therapeutic targets that has been one limiting factor on the rate of therapeutic discovery. However, data indicates that
this is not so and that the genome cannot be relied upon to cure all ills. In short, ladies and gentlemen, it’s time for change.’
Wolfe regarded them for a long moment before speaking again.
‘We need to focus new drug development to a changed home market. There are now simply too many people with too many physiological variations causing too many mutations in infectious and
contagious diseases for our ability to control and treat those conditions, regardless of cost, time or availability. Sooner or later, one of those diseases is going to become a pandemic, with the
loss of millions, perhaps even billions of people. In the fourteenth century in Europe, the plague known as the Black Death eliminated some sixty percent of the population, who were suffering from
compromised immunity due to chronic malnutrition, a predicament common still in the developing world. It is not the science that is at fault, it is the fact that there are simply too many human
beings populating our planet acting as petri dishes for and carriers of exotic infectious diseases. If we do not act now, their carrying of the next great pandemic could spill over into our own
countries and threaten humanity’s very existence.’
To Wolfe’s surprise, there was a sudden burst of rapturous applause that thundered round the stage. Wolfe raised a hand before speaking again as the furore died down.
‘There will be some, particularly our friends in the media, who will no doubt vilify my comments as ignorant of the needs of millions of people around the world who have complained for
many decades about their lack of access to desperately needed drugs. However, sometimes science reaches a point where the volume of demands placed upon it can no longer be met by even its most
talented and determined servants. The truth is, ladies and gentlemen, that we need a reduction in population to improve almost every single facet of our modern lives. There is no silver bullet.
There is no miracle cure. And there is no light at the end of the tunnel if we continue on our current path of excess consumption and bloated ignorance of the limits of our planet and our own human
ingenuity in solving not just our own problems but those of our fellow man. We have outgrown our beds, and now we are forced to lie in them.’
More applause clattered around the room, and Wolfe turned to wave to the wings of the stage. Instantly, three young girls hurried out, running to his side and clinging to him with shy gazes.
They were joined by Wolfe’s wife, who stood alongside him at the lectern as he spoke.
‘Our global population is impossible to maintain in the face of a world beset by a growing specter of so-called “peak” phenomena, the point at which consumption totally
overwhelms resources. We have peak oil, peak water, peak phosphorus, peak grain and peak fish already threatening civilization at large. I say to you all now, to the watching media and the people
who will see this on the news, not as the Director of Operations at USAMRIID but as a husband, a father and a human being: for all of our sakes we must reduce our numbers in order to conserve the
very resources upon which we depend, before our success as a society becomes our downfall as a species.’
Donald Wolfe, resplendent in his tuxedo and neatly parted hair, replaced the microphone on the lectern and stepped politely off the stage as wave after wave of applause followed him. The diners
were all on their feet and clapping far harder than was necessary, as though each and every clap accounted for the millions of dollars that had flowed into their accounts over the decades. Voices
accompanied the slaps on his back as he weaved between the tables.
‘About goddamn time.’
‘Took the words right out of my mouth, Donald.’
‘Good work, Wolfe, you’ll save our lives with that.’
Wolfe worked his way through the tables, to where one of the discreet men he had been watching stood to greet him and gestured toward the exit.
‘We need to talk, Donald,’ the man said. ‘Please, this way.’
7.12 p.m.
Darkness. Disorientation. Confusion.
Tyler Willis was lying on something that felt hard and cold. His hands and feet tingled uncomfortably where thick leather straps had cut off the circulation, fastening him down so firmly that he
could not move an inch. He could hear movement, the opening and closing of a door and a strange rasping sound, but his vision was obscured by a black cloth covering his head.
The cloth was whipped aside, bright light stinging his eyes. Willis blinked and saw that he was lying on his back on a mortuary slab. Above him, Jeb Oppenheimer looked down into his eyes. The
old man’s breath wheezed softly, carrying with it the mingled vapors of cigar smoke and peppermint.
‘Welcome,’ Oppenheimer said.
‘Where am I?’ Willis asked.
‘Somewhere entirely secure,’ Oppenheimer replied. ‘Trust me, Tyler, it’s just you, me and our observer.’
The old man gestured to one side with a nod, and Willis turned his head to see a middle-aged woman handcuffed to a table a couple of yards away.
‘Tyler Willis,’ he said, ‘I’d like you to meet Lillian Cruz.’
‘What the hell is this?’ Willis said.
The old man tossed the black cloth down across Willis’s legs, and he felt it touch his bare skin. He strained to look down and saw that he was entirely naked. Oppenheimer reached out, and
removed Willis’s spectacles, slipping them into his pocket before studying him with mild interest.
‘The human body is a remarkable feat of nature,’ he said. ‘The result of eight million years of evolution. It’s strange, don’t you think, that our scientists spend
years researching the origins of life on our planet when we carry the answers within our own cells? Bacteria were some of the first forms of life to emerge on Earth, but they did not make way for
more advanced forms of life. Instead they joined us, are a part of the fabric of our existence.’ He leaned toward Willis. ‘Did you know, Tyler, that there are more bacteria living
inside you than there are cells that make up your body?’
‘Let me go,’ Willis said.
Oppenheimer smiled as though pitying him.
‘I’d love to, Tyler, I really would. But alas, despite your prodigious talents, if I leave you to continue on your path the whole population of our planet will pay the
price.’
Willis swallowed thickly, shaking his head.
‘You can’t keep it for yourself. Sooner or later it will be found by others, no matter what you do to me or to anyone else.’
‘What the hell are you talking about?’ Lillian Cruz demanded.
Oppenheimer smiled but ignored her, tutting to himself and shaking his head as he reached out to an unseen tray nearby and pulled on a pair of thin surgical gloves. Willis felt his bowels
convulse with fear.
‘The unworthy, unwashed masses can only learn of what we’ve strived to achieve, Tyler, if they are alive to do so. Soon they will not be. Those of us who remain will not care,
because we will be the sole remaining tenants of this wonderful world of ours.’
Willis felt his entire body begin to tremble uncontrollably as Oppenheimer lifted from the unseen tray a brand new surgical scalpel, gently sliding the glinting blade from its plastic sheath and
examining the tip intently.
‘Hey!’ Lillian shouted.
‘One of the sharpest tools of the modern surgeon,’ Oppenheimer murmured to himself. ‘Of course, it’s been some time since I dissected a human cadaver, and they were so
dull, so lifeless. Most had been in storage for weeks or months, pale, somehow false. So much more interesting to perform the procedure while the subject is still . . . vibrant.’
He looked down, and Willis felt his bowels loosen as his thighs trembled and his ankles rattled loudly against the mortuary slab.
‘You don’t have to do this,’ Willis said in short, sharp jerks.
‘Of course I don’t,’ Oppenheimer agreed. ‘But I want answers, and I want Lillian here to know that there is nothing I will not do to achieve my aims and that she would be
sensible to comply with my demands. So, tell me, where did Hiram Conley contract his infection and how can I get there?’
‘I don’t know,’ Willis said, hot tears running freely down his cheeks. ‘He came to me with the samples, but wouldn’t say where he’d gotten them.’
Oppenheimer looked down at Willis for a long moment and then wagged a crooked finger at him.
‘Now that’s not helping either of us, is it, Tyler? One more time: where did Hiram Conley obtain his infection?’
Lillian strained against her handcuffs.
‘Let him go, for God’s sake!’
Willis sucked in a deep breath.
‘He didn’t tell me anything! For God’s sake, I swear it’s the truth. If I knew I would tell you!’
Oppenheimer leaned over Willis’s chest and rested the blade on his sternum. Willis felt a tiny prick of pain against his skin.
‘Well, Tyler, we’ll soon find out.’
The pain suddenly spread like fire as Willis felt the blade plunge hilt-deep into his flesh. Oppenheimer drew it down toward the navel in a searing line of agony, thick blood spilling across
Willis’s dark skin as the sound of his own screams filled the room. The terrible pain reached his groin and then changed as the blade was pulled from his flesh with a sucking sound that sent
a bolt of nausea churning through his stomach. He felt his blood trickling warmly down his flanks as Oppenheimer’s wrinkled features looked down at him as though studying a dissected
insect.
‘Did that pinch?’ Oppenheimer asked.
‘I’ll do what you want!’ Lillian shouted, yanking on the handcuffs as she tried to reach Oppenheimer. ‘Just let him alone!’
Willis, his eyes blurred with tears of pain and helplessness, spat his answer in a frothing dribble.