The Atlantis Plague (The Origin Mystery, #2)(4)
CHAPTER 2
Centers for Disease Control and Prevention (CDC)
Atlanta, Georgia
Dr. Paul Brenner rubbed his eyelids as he sat down at his computer. He hadn’t slept in twenty hours. His brain was fried, and it was affecting his work. Intellectually, he knew he needed rest, but he couldn’t bring himself to stop. The computer screen flashed to life, and he decided he would check his messages, then allow himself a one-hour nap—tops.
1 NEW MESSAGE
He grabbed his mouse and clicked it, feeling a new surge of energy…
FROM: Marbella (OD-108)
SUBJECT: Alpha-493 Results (Subject MB-2918) The message contained no text, only a video that instantly began playing. Dr. Kate Warner filled his screen, and Paul fidgeted in his chair. She was gorgeous. For some reason, just seeing her made him nervous.
Atlantis Plague, Trial Alpha-493… result negative.
When the video ended, Paul picked up the phone. “Set up a conference—All of them—Yes, now.”
Fifteen minutes later he sat at the end of a conference table, staring at the twelve screens in front of him, each filled with the face of a different researcher at a different site around the world.
Paul stood. “I just received the results of Trial Alpha-493. Negative. I—”
The scientists erupted with questions and incriminations. Eleven weeks ago, in the wake of the outbreak, this group had been clinical, civil… focused.
Now the prevailing feeling was fear. And it was warranted.
CHAPTER 3
Orchid District
Marbella, Spain
It was the same dream, and that pleased Kate to no end. She almost felt as though she could control it now, like a video she could rewind and relive at will. It was the only thing that brought her joy anymore.
She lay in a bed in Gibraltar, on the second floor of a villa just steps from the shore. A cool breeze blew through the open doors to the veranda, pushing the thin white linen curtains into the room, then letting them fall back to the wall. The breeze seemed to drift in and retreat out in sync with the waves below, and with her long, slow breaths there in the bed. It was a perfect moment, all things in harmony, as if the entire world were a single heart, beating as one.
She lay on her back, staring at the ceiling, not daring to close her eyes. David was asleep beside her, on his stomach. His muscular arm rested haphazardly across her stomach, covering most of the large scar there. She wanted to touch his arm, but she wouldn’t risk it—or any act that could end the dream.
She felt the arm move slightly. The subtle motion seemed to shatter the scene, like an earthquake shaking, then bringing down the walls and ceiling. The room shuddered one last time and faded to black, to the darkened, cramped “cell” she occupied in Marbella. The soft comfort of the queen bed was gone, and she lay again on the harsh mattress of the narrow cot. But… the arm was still there. Not David’s. A different arm. It was moving, reaching across her stomach. Kate froze. The hand wrapped around her, patted her pocket, then fumbled for her closed hand, trying to get the tube. She grabbed the thief’s wrist and twisted it as hard as she could.
A man screamed in pain as Kate stood, jerked the chain on the light above, and stared down at…
Martin.
“So they sent you.”
Her adoptive father struggled to get back to his feet. He was well past sixty, and the last few months had taken a toll on him physically. He looked haggard, but his voice was still soft, grandfatherly. “You know, you can be overly dramatic sometimes, Kate.”
“I’m not the one breaking into people’s rooms and patting them down in the dark.” She held the tube up. “Why do you want this so much? What’s going on here?”
Martin rubbed his wrist and squinted at her, as if the single light bulb swinging in the room was blinding him. He turned, grabbed a sack off the small table in the corner, and handed it to her. “Put this on.”
Kate turned it over. It wasn’t a sack at all—it was a floppy white sun hat, the type one of her fun but high-maintenance college friends might have worn to a horse race. Martin must have taken it from the remains of one of the Marbellan vacationers. “Why?” Kate asked.
“Can’t you just trust me?”
“Apparently I can’t.” She motioned to the bed.
Martin’s voice was flat, cold, and matter of fact. “It’s to hide your face. There are guards outside this building, and if they see you, they’ll take you into custody, or worse, shoot you on sight.” He walked out of the room.
Kate hesitated a moment, then followed him, clutching the hat at her side. “Wait. Where are you taking me?”
“You want some answers?”
“Yes.” She hesitated. “But I want to check on the boys before we go.”
Martin eyed her, then nodded.
Kate cracked the door to the boys’ small room and found them doing what they spent ninety-nine percent of their time doing: writing on the walls. For most seven-and eight-year-old boys, the scribblings would have been dinosaurs and soldiers, but Adi and Surya had created an almost wall-to-wall tapestry of equations and math symbols.
The two Indonesian children still displayed so many of the hallmark characteristics of autism. They were completely consumed with their work; neither noticed Kate enter the room. Adi was balancing on a chair he had placed on one of the desks, reaching up, writing on one of the last empty places on the wall.