Immune (The Rho Agenda #2)(135)

Populations that had already been starving remained hungry, but were now strong and healthy. Violent food wars were breaking out all across the sub-Sahara. Roving death squads, which had once satisfied themselves with beheadings, had now become known as Torso Squads, hacking only the arms and legs from the victims, leaving their undying, limbless, nanite-infested bodies as a burden for their families.

Even more nasty Blood Cults had sprung up, their new religion based on nanite worship. Believing that immortality could be achieved by drinking the nanited blood from living bodies, their dark rituals involved hanging victims by their ankles and draining their blood into drinking vessels, which were then passed amongst the worshipers. Meanwhile, the nanites that remained in the victims’ bodies worked their magic, keeping them alive throughout the festivities. At least until they were roasted for the final feast.

For problems to escalate this quickly, while worldwide nanite distribution was still ramping up, should have brought the program to a grinding halt. But it hadn’t. Instead of being a showstopper, the problems were regarded as the inevitable growing pains associated with a major breakthrough, a small inconvenience when compared to the amazing health benefits delivered to the treated populations. It certainly hadn’t significantly muted the clamor in the UN to increase the nanite delivery rate. God only knew what would happen when distribution moved to the other continents, including Asia, Europe, and North America.

“Tell me about the Ripper.”

The question surprised Kromly. As he refocused on the Colombian, a new question occurred to him. Was the assassin’s mission somehow related to the Rho Project? Although it was well-known that Eduardo had a special fascination with Jack Gregory, that was strictly a personal matter.

“I can’t tell you anything you don’t already know.”

“He was seen taking a packet from your pocket at the Washington Monument the day before yesterday. Tell me about that.”

Kromly felt his chest tighten. How the hell did Eduardo have that information? Who had been watching him? A sick sense of betrayal churned his stomach. Someone he’d trusted in his efforts to crack the Stephenson disk must have turned. One of his own people.

Kromly took a deep breath. It appeared that lifetime of conditioning was about to be put to the ultimate test.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about. Sorry, I can’t help.”

Something moved in his head. What the hell was that? Not really a thought, something foreign. Weird.

“I told you.” Eduardo’s voice pulled Kromly’s eyes to El Chupacabra’s. “My specialty isn’t pain. It’s fear.”

There it was again, a feeling so odd he couldn’t place it. Even more disconcerting, Kromly found himself unable to break Eduardo’s gaze.

“A little trick I picked up recently,” Eduardo continued. “If this wasn’t your death day, I wouldn’t even be telling you about it.”

Kromly struggled to speak but couldn’t seem to make his lips respond.

“Don’t worry. I can’t read your thoughts. It’s more of a feel and amplify your feelings thing.” Once again, Eduardo smiled. “Now, let’s find out what Garfield Kromly truly fears.”

There was really only one thing that Kromly truly feared and nobody else knew about it. It happened a little over five years ago and had been the subject of his nightmares ever since.

As Pam’s breast cancer spread throughout her body, her other organs had begun to fail. At the end, her lungs had filled with fluid, leaving her terrified, struggling for every little gulp of air. Garfield had sat beside her, holding her hand, hating himself for not being able to do something to help her. If only he could have breathed for her, just to ease her passage, but he couldn’t. His lovely Pam had lingered for days before finally gasping out her last breath.

The terror Garfield had seen in her face those last terrible days haunted his dreams, leaving him gasping in rhythm with his wife when he awakened, as if he could unwind her fear by absorbing it into himself.

Suddenly, Garfield’s world shifted. He was back in the Bethesda Naval Hospital, only this time he was laying in bed beside his wife. She looked at him hopefully, mouthing the words “Please help me.”

Instinctively, he knew that his wish had been granted, that every lungful of air he inhaled would go directly to his wife.

Kromly struggled to inhale, but he couldn’t. Pam was next to him, looking at him, counting on him, and he couldn’t take a breath.

With panic rising in his chest, he worked his lungs. Nothing. It was as if he had stuck his head into a vacuum chamber. No amount of effort yielded the slightest amount of air intake. The hope that had shown in Pam’s eyes only moments ago faded, leaving only a terror they both shared. Horror filled his soul.

Garfield Kromly screamed, the sound filling the hunting cabin and leaching out through the window pane, through the crack beneath the door.

“What did the Ripper take?”

Disorientation made Kromly dizzy. “Fuck you.”

He was back in the hospital, but this time Pam was whimpering. Garfield reached for her hand but something held him down. If only he could breathe, Pam would get air. He pulled with his lungs, but something covered his face. Someone was holding a plastic bag over his head. Eduardo’s blurred face peered in at him, the thin smile crinkling his lips through the translucent plastic.