Medusa by Clive Cussler
“This time, it’s the whole bucket, Kurt. The feds classified our findings and made all the lab people government employees, so that anyone talking out of turn could be prosecuted for treason. They also added White House and military people to the board. Then they moved most of the research to a secret undersea lab.”
“Why not stay at Bonefish Key?” Austin asked.
“Too public, for one thing. But there were practical reasons too. We wanted to be near the resource. The blue medusa once covered a wide area, but now it is found primarily in and around a specific deepwater canyon. And we wanted to quarantine our work. We were developing an enhanced version of the medusa, a sort of superjellyfish, a dangerous predator, not the kind of thing you’d want to find in your swimming pool.”
“Are you saying you were working with malignant mutant life-forms, Doc?”
“Essentially, yes.”
“What would happen if they got in the wild?”
“Don’t worry, there’s no danger of them wiping out the ocean’s biomass. They can’t reproduce and would eventually die out in the open. We took great care during the genetic engineering to prevent the possibility of proliferation.”
“That’s still playing with dynamite, Doc. Mother Nature doesn’t like to be upstaged.”
“I know, I know,” Kane said, his voice tightening. “But we were under intense pressure from the government. We had to have greater quantities of the toxin to conduct our synthesis experiments, so we simply grew bigger medusae. The enhanced creatures proved to be more aggressive than the original, and the toxin they produced went off the charts.”
“Before you came to the Beebe, you were in the Pacific Ocean,” Austin observed. “Is that where they put the lab?”
“Yes. Micronesia, to be more exact. The government used an undersea observatory under development for the Navy. We call it Davy Jones’s Locker. I was working there when I heard I’d been nominated for the B3 dive. The project was about to be wrapped up, so I left my assistant, Lois Mitchell, in charge and took a leave of absence. You know the rest.”
“Only up to the point when the Coast Guard snatched you from the deck of the Beebe.”
“The call I got on the Beebe was to tell me that the secret lab had vanished around the same time as the attack on the B3. The security ship guarding the lab was heavily damaged by a missile that may have been launched from a submarine. The whole undersea complex of labs and living quarters, along with the staff, disappeared from the bottom. The Navy’s still searching.”
Austin gazed at Kane as if he’d seen the little man who wasn’t there.
“You’re just full of surprises, Doc.” Stavros was coming from the kitchen with plates in his hands. “Why don’t you tell me about it over appetizers?”
In between bites of pita bread, Kane told Austin about the attack on the support ship and described the depressions left in the ocean floor. When Kane asked Austin if he had any idea how the lab could have been moved, Austin said he’d run it by Zavala. Then he asked a question of his own.
“How far had the research gone when the lab disappeared?”
“We had identified the microorganism that produced the chemical in the jellyfish. With that done, we were on the verge of being able to produce the synthesized version in quantity. We were going to skip over the clinical trials and rely on lab tests and computer models even as we distributed it. There wasn’t time otherwise. We had to have the medicine manufactured and in place if and when the virus broke out of China and spread to other countries.”
“Have you thought of who might be behind the lab’s disappearance?” Austin said.
“I’ve been turning the question over in my mind for days. All I’ve got in return has been a headache.”
“You said that a missile was used to knock out the support ship and that it probably was launched from a submarine. Only a government or a big organization would have the resources to attack the bathysphere and move the lab,” Austin said.
“My thoughts exactly. It follows that only a government would have the resources to untangle this mess. Without that lab, we have no defense against the pandemic. The virus is spreading in China. Once it hits urban areas there, it will break out beyond her borders.”
“The Navy must have ships searching,” Austin said.
“They’re combing the area. But the people who did this would have expected a Navy search and done something to forestall it. A White House guy at my board meeting said he had heard Vice President Sandecker sing your praises, and I saw what you did when the bathysphere was all but lost. So I put out the word that I wanted to see you. And here we are.”
“And here’s our dinner,” Austin said.
He ordered a dry white Santorini wine to go with the fish. For the next half hour, Austin entertained Kane with accounts of dives he had made in the Greek island’s caldera and theories about Santorini being the site of the legendary Atlantis. He then pushed away his empty dinner plate and ordered a custard and thick Greek coffee.
“Well?” Kane asked expectantly.
“I’ll do what I can, but you will have to be totally up front with me, Doc. No holding back. And I’ll need to be able to get in touch with you at any time.”
“You’ll have my full cooperation, Kurt.” He looked over at his bodyguards. “My babysitters are giving me the eye. I have to leave. They think that there’s a whole army of assassins waiting out there to do me in.”
“Don’t be too tough on them, they’re only trying to keep you alive. I’ll pick up the tab.”
Kane jotted down a number where he could be reached. Austin watched Kane with careful eyes as he left the restaurant trailed by the two men. Then he signaled Stavros for the check.
LIEUTENANT CASEY WAS WAITING outside the restaurant in the navy SUV. Austin got in this time without an invitation.
“Nice to see you again, Lieutenant.”
Casey handed him a phone, and Sandecker’s voice crackled on the line.
“Dr. Kane fill you in on the situation, Kurt?”
“He told me about the blue medusa research and the missing lab.”
“Good. This thing is ready to blow up if we don’t find the lab and get hold of that vaccine. You’ve got to find Davy Jones’s Locker. I’ll put the whole damn U.S. Navy at your disposal.”
“How long do we have, Admiral?”
“The CDC computers say the virus will hit the major Chinese cities seventy-two hours from midnight. It will be raging around the world within weeks.”
“Then there is still time?”
“Not really. Once the virus goes beyond China’s borders, it will become unstoppable. The President is gearing up the National Guard so he can declare a state of emergency.”
“In that case, I’ll take whatever help you can give me, sir.”
“If you need more, give me or Casey a call directly. Don’t bother going through intermediaries.” His voice softened. “Good luck, Kurt. And keep an eye on that libidinous Mexican pal of yours.”
Austin handed the phone back.
“When do we leave, Lieutenant?”
“I’ll pick you up and we’ll be at the airport at three a.m.” He paused, then said, “Just to let you know, I have a wife and two kids, Kurt. I’m told that there will be no way to protect them once this thing spreads to the U.S.”
“Those are three good reasons to move quickly, then.”
Austin said he would see Casey in a few hours and got out of the SUV in front of the NUMA tower. He called Zavala’s number on his way to his office to retrieve the Pyramid file but got no response. He wasn’t surprised. His friend could have joined the surveillance team and might be unable to talk. Austin left him a message to call back as soon as he was clear.
Austin picked up the file, then got on the elevator and headed to the fifteenth floor. He followed a corridor to a door marked NUMASAT and stepped into a large, dimly lit space that had a wide, curving wall lined with glowing television screens. The screens displ
Presiding over the communications network was an eccentric genius named Jack Wilmut, who supervised the system from an elaborate console in the center of the room surrounded by workstations. From his perch, he could also keep track of every NUMA research project, ship, and staffer working in the field. He saw Austin approaching, and a smile crossed his plumpish face.
“What a surprise to find you here at headquarters, Kurt.”
Austin pulled a chair up to the console.
“Don’t kid me, Jack, you could figure out exactly where I am in a second. I’ve got a favor. I’ve lost contact with Joe. Can you find him?”
Wilmut patted down one side of his double comb-over.
“He’s probably in a Washington boudoir,” he said. Seeing from Austin’s unsmiling face that he was deadly serious, he added, “I’ll do my best. What’s he got?”
“Transmitter in his Corvette, for one.”
“Easy,” Wilmut said.
He tapped the keyboard in front of him, and seconds later the screen displayed a blinking red star on a map of Falls Church. The location was displayed in a box next to the star.
“The car is at the Eden Center. He probably stopped in for some Vietnamese food.”
The Eden Center was a complex of shops and restaurants that served the Vietnamese population of Falls Church.
“He doesn’t like Vietnamese food,” Austin said. “Try finding his phone.”
Wilmut traced Zavala’s cell through its GPS chip.
A second blinking star appeared on the outskirts of the city, several miles from the first. Wilmut enlarged the map and switched to a satellite picture. The star was on one of a couple of dozen rectangles, apparently the roofs of large buildings. He zoomed in.
“Looks like an industrial complex,” Wilmut said. “All the buildings look pretty much alike.”
“I need an address,” Austin said.
Wilmut punched a button and GOOD LUCK FORTUNE COOKIE COMPANY appeared on the screen. He laughed, and said, “Guess he likes Chinese food.”
Austin thanked Wilmut, and rode the elevator down to the garage to pick up his Jeep Cherokee. As he drove along the Potomac, he found Caitlin’s number in his directory. She immediately recognized his voice.
“This must be my lucky week,” she said. “The two handsomest men at NUMA calling me. How are you, Kurt?”
“I’m a little worried about Joe. Do you know anything about an FBI Asian gang stakeout involving Charlie Yoo?”
“No such thing, Kurt. Charlie is a guest of the Bureau. He is notified of field ops only at our discretion, and we don’t have anything like that going.”
“That’s what I thought,” Austin said. “Thanks for your help, Caitlin.”
“What the hell—”
Austin clicked off, and the unfinished question was lost in the ether. Driving with one hand, he quickly programmed the address Wilmut had given him into the dashboard GPS unit.
Next, he reached for a rack under his seat, pulled out the holster containing his Bowen revolver, put it on the seat beside him, then stomped on the gas.
Unknown
NUMA 8 - Medusa
CHAPTER 27
DOOLEY’S VINTAGE SINGLE-WIDE MOBILE HOME ON A PINE Island canal was no five-star hotel, but it had distinct advantages that would not be found at the Four Seasons.
Pine Island was several miles distant from Bonefish Key. The trailer had a water view. And it had Dooley Greene sitting in a deck chair at the end of a dilapidated dock, cigar stub clenched between his teeth, 16-gauge shotgun on his lap, keeping an eye peeled for trouble.
Relying on his deep knowledge of local waters, Dooley had earlier made a fast crossing to the mainland. He had kept his boat’s running lights turned off until he headed into a canal lined with mobile homes. As the boat coasted up to the dock and Dooley killed the motor, Gamay confronted Paul.
“Before I burst from curiosity, please tell me how you happened to dash from one coast to the other and arrive just in time to rescue the fair maidens in distress. You weren’t scheduled to arrive here for a couple of days.”
“Kurt called and said he might have unknowingly sent you into danger. I couldn’t reach you by phone, so I put the seminar on hold and flew standby to Florida.”
“How’d you hook up with Dooley?”
“More good luck: he hooked up with me,” Paul said. “I was at the Pine Island Marina looking for a ride to Bonefish Key, checking out boats and desperately hoping someone had left a key in the ignition, when Dooley saw me and asked what I was doing. When I mentioned your name, he jumped at the chance to take me to Bonefish. He then noticed that two kayaks were missing, and figured out where you might have gone.”
“Thanks, Dooley,” Gamay said. She gave him a peck on the cheek. “You’re probably wondering what all this is about.”
“You learn that it’s healthier to mind your own business around here, Dr. Gamay, but I’ll admit to being a little curious about what’s going on.”
“You’re not the only one.”
Gamay glanced at Song Lee, who had been huddled on a seat during the trip to the mainland.
Dooley tied up the boat and led the way to the trailer. He extracted a six-pack of Diet Coke from the refrigerator, passed three cans around along with a bag of Goldfish crackers. Without saying a word, he took his shotgun out of a locked cabinet. With the 16-gauge slung over one arm, he ambled out to the dock with the rest of the six-pack.
Song Lee and the Trouts went into the trailer and sat around a Formica-and-chrome kitchen table. She sipped her Coke like an automaton and stared into space.
Gamay sensed that Lee was in shock from the violence she had witnessed.
“It’s okay, Dr. Lee,” she said. “You’re safe now.”
Lee turned her head, and Gamay saw tears glistening in her eyes.
“I’m a doctor,” Lee said. “I’m supposed to save lives, not take them.”
“You saved our lives,” Gamay said. “That man and his friends would have killed us both.”
“I know that. Still . . .”
“Do you have any idea who they were?” Paul asked.
Lee wiped the tears away with the back of her hand.
“He said he had been watching me for days,” she said. “He was waiting for me where I had left the kayak and forced me to go to the house. We were waiting for people coming to take me away. I pleaded with him. We argued. That’s when I grabbed the knife and ran.”
Gamay put her hand on Lee’s forearm.
“I think you had better start at the beginning,” Gamay said.
Lee gulped down her Coke like a thirsty longshoreman, then began to tell her story.
She had been born in a rural part of China, excelled in science as a college student, and went to study in the U.S. on a grant from the Chinese government. She had seen firsthand the ravages of disease among the poorer citizens of China and wanted to do something about it. She specialized in immunology at Harvard Medical School, and did her residency at Massachusetts General Hospital.
Returning to China, she found a job with a government program targeting the health of slum dwellers. The work centered on prevention, making sure that people were immunized and eliminating the sources of disease in the water and air. Her success led to a position in a hospital, where she was working at the time the SARS epidemic broke out.
Finally, Lee told Gamay how she had been exiled to the countryside after questioning the government’s response to SARS, and about her redemption and assignment to Bonefish Key, to work on a vaccine, based on an ocean organism, for a new virus strain.
“The blue medusa?”
“That’s right.” She seemed surprised. “It’s related to the highly toxic sea wasp. How did you know about it?”
“I badgered Dr. Mayhew, and he showed me the research room.”
“I’m a marine biologist with NUMA. I came to Bonefish Key because I was interested in ocean biomedicine.”
“From the looks of it, you were more interested in me,” Lee said.
“Sometimes things just happen,” Gamay said.
Lee smiled.
“You sound like a Chinese philosopher, Dr. Trout. Anyway, I’m glad you were interested or I might not be here.”
“Dr. Mayhew said the blue medusa was a new species.”
“That’s right. Bigger and more aggressive than the sea wasp. After the work moved to the new lab, they were going to use genetic engineering to produce a more powerful toxin.”
“I wasn’t aware there was another lab,” Gamay said.
“It was secret. They called it Davy Jones’s Locker. Dr. Kane and Lois Mitchell, his assistant, left Bonefish Key and took a number of scientists and technicians with them. Dr. Mayhew and the remaining staff stayed on to make sure there were no flaws in the original research. I was charting the probable spread of the virus and how best to contain it.”
“How effective was the toxin-derived drug?” Paul said.
“It was limited at first,” Lee said. “The medusae toxin is incredibly unpredictable. Even a small amount could kill a human, and at first more lab animals died than were cured. Then we made a huge breakthrough in identifying the molecular makeup of the microbe that produces the toxin. We were on the verge of synthesis. And clinical tests would have been the next step.”
Song Lee’s eyelids had been drooping as she talked, and Gamay suggested she lie down on the sofa. Then she and Paul stepped out of the trailer into the warm Florida night.
“Thanks for coming to our rescue, Galahad,” Gamay said.
“Sorry if Sir Dooley and I cut it too close,” Paul said. “What’s your reaction to Song Lee’s story?”
“I know for a fact that she didn’t make up the man she killed or his trigger-happy pals, so I assume that everything else she said is true.”