Immortality (46 page)

McKafferty was en route to Lake Superior. The huge cargo helicopter streaked across the ground at tree level. In his lap was a PC tablet which displayed the original NSA analysis that had led to planning this kind of emergency action. Behind his lead bird was a small armada of helos filled with soldiers and equipment. The NSA precursor alert had come in hours ago. The alert was the same as the others he’d received during the past two weeks; but from the moment he’d seen this one, he’d felt a twinge of fear in his gut; and fear was something McKafferty never felt. Fear was an enemy he worked hard to crush in his men, fighting it in himself was new. He lit a cigarette and drew deeply on it. The experiments they were carrying with them would confirm or disprove a critical NSA theory. What unnerved him was that the theory could prove to be true; and if it was, then they might have their first real weapon in this fight. He wanted it to be true. He needed this weapon – the world needed this weapon. What he could not handle was the spark of fear that this new hope would turn out to be nothing more than a statistical error. He looked down at the report and read through it again.

Two weeks ago, NSA analysts, while reviewing their take from orbital birds, had uncovered something unexpected. This prompted them to re-examine old data where they found the same signal had been hidden all along. They were picking up an increase in what the geeks called ‘low frequency background signal noise’ or white noise
.
This noise preceded and accompanied all kill zones. The background noise originally appeared to be of natural origin, until specialized computer programs had picked out an organized pattern in it. The spy birds were designed to intercept all radio signals, from low frequency submarine chatter to high frequency microwave. To accomplish this feat from near earth orbit, the satellites were equipped with antenna arrays that were miles in diameter. The arrays were really nothing more than thread-like wires that had been stretched out in space by sets of tiny maneuvering engines the size of cigars. The result was literally an invisible spider web that caught radio signals. The system was so sensitive it could pick up the electromagnetic impulse when someone flipped on an electric shaver. An immense amount of computer wizardry was necessary to filter out all the earth’s background noise – and that was the rub. The seeds’ signal was part of the noise that was usually tossed out. The NSA was working double time right now to completely re-engineer their programs, so they could focus on this seed noise and ignore all the communications signals that were previously so important to them.

Five days ago, McKafferty had successfully used the first ever precursor alert the NSA had issued to pre-position his team’s brainstem experiments in New York. They’d received less than thirty minutes of warning and had barely succeeded in getting everything into position. No warning had been issued to the population. At that time, no one was certain the prediction would pan out. The prediction had; and as a result of his quick action, McKafferty had gotten two things he desperately needed: images of COBIC killing and a way of predicting future kill zones. He consoled himself that giving New Yorkers thirty minutes of warning might have actually caused more deaths through panic than it would have saved; and at that time they hadn’t even been sure kill zone predications were possible.

They now understood these signals were how the microscopic robots coordinated their actions. If the NSA could break the encoding, they’d be closer to finding out who was behind this assault. But for now, there was something even more important. According to the NSA, this massing of bacteria had turned up a possible weakness. It looked like the nanotech bugs were being affected by a top secret radio installation in Lake Superior. Near the end of the cold war, the United States Navy had buried a ten mile long, low frequency transmission antenna under the lakebed. The antenna was used to communicate with submarines. The cloud of microbes appeared to be drawn toward the antenna and then repelled when they got too close. It was like moths flying at a bare electric bulb and then being driven off by the heat. The reaction certainly looked like proof that these microbes were sensitive to powerful radio waves. The implications of this NSA theory were big. The idea was that these bugs could be controlled or deterred with radio signals.

Whoever had built and unleashed this computerized weapon possessed technology beyond anything the U.S. government owned. In McKafferty’s mind, he saw a terrorist version of Einstein. There had to be a genius madman mixed up in this attack. The insanity of what this enemy had done was almost justification for Project Big Boy.

McKafferty shook his head. No, Big Boy was even greater insanity. He could not let them do it. He wondered exactly which group of Pentagon fools had come up with the idea of using tactical nukes to sterilize large swatches of the country with electromagnetic pulses which should fry the nano-circuitry in this bug. The idea was being promoted as a kind of nanotech firebreak. What a brilliant idea, thought McKafferty. Let’s poison the globe with radiation to save the chosen few. The world was filled with crazy people. There had to be a scientific principle at work that caused most of them to gravitate toward seats of political power – maybe a law of the massively stupid attracting like-minds?

Mark and Kathy found a four-wheel drive Chevy Suburban waiting at the airfield. Two soldiers were milling around the truck; one was a driver, the other was a heavily armed bodyguard. Wearing an NBC suit again felt ominous to Mark. These were a different model than he’d worn in Los Angeles. They had winter camouflage coloration, a full faceplate instead of a gasmask, and combat audio which made it possible to hear his surroundings with intensified detail. The dirt road they were on was narrow. A trail of dust and gravel was being kicked up behind them as they raced along. The terrain was mostly trees, scrub grass, and rocks.

The truck slowed and then stopped at the edge of an embankment. Just below them, Lake Superior stretched out like an endless sea. Water loaded with COBIC was lapping up on the rocks, leaving greenish-blue deposits behind. Mark opened the door. He had an odd feeling as his feet touched the ground. It was as if he was stepping onto a dead planet. There was work to do. He heard Kathy’s door slam shut.

Mark edged his way sideways down the embankment. The bodyguard accompanied him; the driver, who was now also heavily armed, had stayed with Kathy. Mark had a canvas shoulder pack filled with empty specimen jars and an aluminum pole with a fixture designed to grip the jars. He was nearing the water. The vista fascinated and repelled him. The entire area was saturated with lethal bacteria. He thought about how easily seeds passed through human flesh. Could it pass through NBC suits as easily? The idea made him feel like thousands of insects were crawling over his skin. A primal fear urged him to run. He could almost sense death seething like a poison within the lake. The bacteria were piling up at the shoreline into mats that were several inches thick. The plume itself spread out across the water like a slick of oil for as far he could see. He recognized that, without a doubt, he was looking at the creation of the same fossil mats he’d collected. As impossible as it was for him to believe, he was now certain he was witnessing the same kind of event that had wiped dinosaurs off the face of the earth. He couldn’t shake the reoccurring insane question from his mind. Could COBIC have contained the same nanotech seeds millions of years ago?

He started to attach a sample jar to the end of the pole. The work was difficult with gloved hands. The jar was the size of a pill bottle and had a locking cap that, once closed, required a special tool to open. The jar slipped from his fingers and cracked on the stony ground. Kathy had come up beside him along with the driver. She said nothing. He knew without looking she was experiencing the same instinctive fears. Dotted along the coast, scientific groups were setting up equipment: meteorological monitors, cameras, air samplers. The human figures were too far off for Mark to be certain, but it seemed like their movements were stiffened with fear.

The afternoon sun was a bright glare on his faceplate. He was having some difficulty drawing air into his lungs. He felt like he was breathing dust but knew it was only in his mind. He forced himself to ignore the suffocating feeling and attached a jar to his sampling pole. He dipped the jar into the water and drew out a chunk of mat. The sample was thicker than he’d imagined, almost gelatinous. He capped the jar. Kathy helped him by logging the jar’s serial number in a lab book. Their eyes met for an instant. Her pupils were wide. He could see the tension and fear in her. He slid the jar into a padded section of the canvas bag.

Mark slowly worked his way down the shore. Along the way, he took samples from thicker parts of the mat. Kathy had gone back to the truck. He knew he couldn’t endure being here much longer. All his instincts were screaming
run
, again and again, in growing crescendos of panic. With extreme effort, he was just remaining calm enough to work. Without warning, he began to feel dizzy, almost to the point of fainting. The symptoms came on fast. What was wrong with him? He felt like his diabetes was acting up. He heard the bodyguard fall with a thud. He turned and stared at the man in disbelief. Commotion from a dozen voices filled the radio link.

“Mark!”

Kathy was shouting in his ears over the radio. He turned to where she’d been standing by the truck. She wasn’t there. Panic gripped him; then, a new wave of dizziness hit that left him spinning. He stumbled to one knee. He looked up toward the edge of the embankment. Kathy was by a group of trees. The driver was restraining her.

“Mark!”

He weakly got up and looked down the shoreline. People in NBC suits were dropping to the ground. One fell into the bacterial soup and disappeared amid a thick splash. From nowhere, a bird fell into the dirt in front of him. The animal fluttered a bit; then, took off. Nothing seemed real. Time was running in slow motion – seconds were being stretched into minutes. He looked out across the water. The thick matting of COBIC appeared completely inert, yet he knew it was the source of this murdering. The illusions of safety were peeled away, the supposed protection of all their technology – like NBC suits – were false. What remained was a visceral understanding: he was about to die. He was in the middle of a kill zone. He heard through the suit’s combat audio the sounds of death. He saw a truck rolling slowly uncontrolled out into the lake. He looked up at Kathy. He heard her crying over the radio. She was so scared. He had to get to her. He started up the embankment. Everything was spinning badly. He stumbled drunkenly. Lacking the muscle control to stand, frustrated, he tried clawing his way forward on hands and knees. The world dimmed.

McKafferty was ten minutes away from the landing zone when word reached him. There was confusion. First, there was an NSA warning that an imminent precursor signal was being detected from Lake Superior. Now, five minutes later, he was getting sketchy reports of a localized kill zone occurring at the lake. The decision was his: continue or turn back. The experiment was too important. Soldiers were paid to take risks. If he didn’t go, the delay might prove costly in civilian lives. The NSA could warn him if another kill zone was coming and they could bug out fast. All they needed was a quarter mile of altitude from the zone to be safe. He put his hand on the shoulder of his communications officer, Lieutenant Alice Rivers.

“Instruct COMS we’re continuing with the mission.”

“Yes, Sir.”

“Lieutenant.”

“Sir?”

“Do you have a husband or kids?”

“Yes and no, Sir. I’ve been married for a year now, but no kids.”

McKafferty nodded to himself. The responsibility of this job was wearing on him.

“I’ve been married for over twenty years,” he said. “Haven’t been that great of a husband, Lieutenant Rivers.”

“Yes, Sir?”

“Transmit the message.”

An embankment a few hundred yards away was littered with bodies, while other dead floated near the shore in the soupy layer of bacterium. Survivors were moving among the dead, kneeling down, checking. Mark hadn’t fully lost consciousness. He’d experienced none of the respiratory or heart failure symptoms of SAAC. Sitting on the ground in his NBC suit, he felt his strength returning. Kathy was kneeling in front of him. He heard her talking over the radio link to someone at the CDC. She was describing his symptoms. She and the driver had felt nothing. They must have been just outside the radius of the kill zone. He had been within the radius and should have died. He heard the radio call to the CDC disconnect.

“Mark,” said Kathy.

“Yeah, Doc,” he said.

“You know we could have all been killed,” said Kathy. Her words hung in the air for a minute.

“I know,” he said. “I also know last night was not a mistake.”

Mark was surprised he’d said what he’d been thinking all day, and surprised he’d just said it over an open radio channel. Apparently almost dying had a way of cutting through all the unnecessary emotional blockage. Kathy stared at him. Her eyes were level and direct. They moved back and forth over his face as if she were able to look deep inside him and see every corner of his being.

“I don’t know what to think,” she finally said.

“Maybe you should stop thinking?” said Mark.

The ground began to tremble. There was a powerful thumping. A blast of wind and dust hit them from nowhere. The NBC suit fluttered against Mark’s skin. He looked up and saw the belly of a huge helicopter coming in low overhead.

“What the hell?” he yelled as the shadow passed over him.

The helo angled off over the water, sending circular waves out below it. Other helicopters followed the first in close formation. They landed several hundred yards away. Some of the helicopters were larger than anything Mark knew existed. The rotors had to be a hundred feet across. Rear platform hatches dropped open on the big ones. A Humvee drove out the back of one, while soldiers in camouflage NBC suits piled out of others.