First Shift: Legacy (Shift, #1)(31)

“That’s right. And you wouldn’t see it coming, either. That’s what they’ve been working on, those snakes.” His eyes unfocused for a moment, then snapped back to Donald. “You know what Nobel invented?”

The question came from nowhere. Donald tilted his head in confusion.

“You know, the peace prize guy.”

“Um, dynamite?” Donald wondered where this was going, if the Senator had been cooped up too long.

“TNT, right. You ever think that’s funny, the man behind a prize for peace coming up with something so destructive?”

“I think it’s because it saved so many lives, sir. At first. Weren’t they using something worse for a while?”

“That’s right. I forget how sharp you are. Nitroglycerine. One shake and off with your arm.”

Donald decided Thurman must be on some kind of sedative for the procedure. The old man was rambling.

“You see, you can’t make something for good without someone else figuring out all the bad it can do.”

“Yessir.”

Senator Thurman released the invisible pinch and studied the pad of his thumb for a moment. He blew a puff of air across it. “Anything these puppies can stitch, they can unstitch.”

He peered across the pod at Donald. “You know why we went into Iran the first time? It wasn’t about nukes, I’ll tell you that. I crawled through every hole that’s ever been dug in those dunes over there, and those rats had a bigger prize they were chasing than nukes. You see, they’ve figured out how to attack us without being seen, without having to blow themselves up, and with zero repercussions.”

Donald was pretty sure he didn’t have the clearance to hear any of this.

“Well, the Iranians didn’t figure it out for themselves so much as steal what Israel was working on.” He smiled at Donald. “So, of course, we had to start playing catch-up.”

“I don’t understa—”

“These critters in here are programmed for my DNA, Donny. Think about that. Have you ever had your ancestry tested?” He looked Donald up and down like he was surveying a mottled mutt. “What are you, anyway? Scottish?”

“Maybe Irish, sir. I honestly couldn’t tell you.” He didn’t want to admit that it was unimportant to him; it seemed like a topic Thurman was anything but apathetic about.

“Well, these buggers can tell. If they ever get them perfected, that is. They could tell you what clan you came from. And that’s what those crazy Iranians are working on: a weapon you can’t see, that you can’t stop, and if it decides you’re Jewish, even a quarter Jew—” Thurman drew his thumb across his own neck.

“I thought we were wrong about that. We never found any NBs in Iran.”

“That’s because they self-destructed. Remotely. Poof.” The old man’s eyes widened.

Donald laughed. “You sound like one of those conspiracy theorists—”

Senator Thurman leaned back and rested his head against the wall. “Donny, the conspiracy theorists sound like us.”

Donald waited for the Senator to laugh. Or smile. It wasn’t happening.

“What does this have to do with me?” he asked. “Or our project?” He suspected the answer was: nothing.

Thurman closed his eyes, his head still tilted back against the wall behind him. “You know why Florida has such pretty sunrises?”

Donald wanted to throw his water bottle. He wanted to get up, spin in circles, scream, then beat on the door until they hauled him out of there in a straightjacket. Instead, he took a sip of water and spun the cap back on.

Thurman cracked an eye. Studied him. He finally realized Donald wasn’t going to guess.

“It’s because the sand from Africa blows clear across the Atlantic.”

Donald nodded. He saw what the Senator was getting at. He’d heard the same fear-mongering on the twenty-four-hour news programs, how toxins and tiny machines can circle the globe, just like seeds and pollens have done for millennia.

“It’s coming, Donny. I know it is. I’ve got eyes and ears everywhere, even in here. I asked you to meet me here because I want you to have a seat at the after party.”

“Sir?”

“You and Helen both.”

Donald scratched his arm and glanced at the door. He wanted out of there.

“It’s just a contingency plan for now, you understand? There are plans in place for anything. Mountains for the president to crawl inside of, but we need something else.”

Donald remembered the congressman from Atlanta prattling on about zombies and the CDC. This sounded like more of that nonsense.

“I’m happy to serve on any committee you think’s important—”

“Good.” The Senator took the book from his lap and handed it to Donald, who was prepared this time for how heavy it would be. “Read this,” Thurman said.

Donald checked the cover. It was familiar, but instead of French script, it read: The Order. He opened it to a random page and started skimming.

“That’s your bible from now on, son. When I was in the war, I met boys no higher than your knee who had the entire Qur'an memorized, every stinkin’ verse. You need to do better.”

“Memorize?”

“As near as you can. And don’t worry, you’ve got a couple of years.”